#it's story reasons i swear. I'm also still looking for more music to maybe make the drop slightly less jarring

[movedto-mrs-bluemarine]

𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧' 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

~ Ben x Tara playlist ~

L.A. Connection………Rainbow // Drive………Incubus // Beautiful Disaster………311 // Space Truckin'………Deep Purple // Kryptonite………3 Doors Down // Scar Tissue………Red Hot Chili Peppers // Spiderhead………Cage the Elephant // Paralyzer………Finger Eleven // Smooth………Santana ft. Rob Thomas // Better Than Me………Hinder // Something About Us………Daft Punk // Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now………The Smiths // Miss U………Blackfield // Into the Ocean………Blue October + more

• Divider credits go to @/cafekitsune!

• Pro/Com/ship dni

[oftenderweapons]

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.1

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 7k

Rating: 18+ (This part is pretty innocent, but Part 2 will feature mature content)

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sexual thoughts. Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss.

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout to the incredible folks who helped me find courage to keep believing in this fic - and finally posting it. To Mars (@joheunsaram), To Bells (@youtifulhobi) to Yannie (@ressjeon), my power squad who believed in this fic (and in my writing skills) more than I did. Here's to me finally breaking my dry spell!!! And to some of my old and new supporters and cheerleaders @lelegzem0, @aanncchhuu, @blushingatyou and @percheee (other people are most definitely in this list but Tumblr is limiting my access to previous notes so I can't find you all) You folks are part of the reason I'm still rolling in the dust here on Tumblr

Part two out now!

Here's my masterlist, just in case you're new

Also: disclaimer! (very important, I should have put this first) I'm not Brazilian, and I have very little familiarity with Brazilian culture, but I really wanted to do a shoutout to this incredible country, its people, its art and its music. If you have any notes you would like to leave regarding Antonio's characters and Yoongi's attachment to Brazilian culture, you are the most welcome, both here in the comments and in my blog. I'd love to learn more 💜

Enjoy the fic!!!

May is a great thing. Flowers everywhere, the smell of sunscreen starting to spread in the air, orange dawns, hair getting frizzy with salty air and too much time in the water. Sand under your toes, loose linen garments, wearing a sports bra and a pair of shorts all the time, throwing an oversized sweater on when the night gets too cold, the smell of citrus and geranium to keep mosquitoes away. 

Early summer is great. Way better than midsummer and August. May and mid-September had always been your favourite times of the year: the beginning felt like sparks starting to burst, and the end felt like the natural conclusion of things, that languid nostalgia sweeping in gently, like the soft wind ready to carry in autumn days and blow the leaves away. 

The smell of rosemary and lavender and juniper accompanied you to the beach as you walked down one of the side alleys. 

“Good morn’ Earl!”

The old man turned to greet you as he kept watering the hibiscus bushes before the sun became too blinding, burning the poor flowers. “Morning Sunny!”

“Remember your heart pill!”

“Sure! Already took it!” Earl shouted back, his voice bubbly and bright. 

You waved at him as you kept walking, ready to meet your next friend. “Hello Rosa!”

“Hi Sunny!” 

The old lady already had her cocker spaniel on a leash, ready for her morning walk. “When’s Mindy coming around this year?”

“Mid-July. And she’s taking her children too!” The woman looked ecstatic about her daughter visiting. 

“That sounds amazing! I really have to rush, bye Rosa! And bye Lemon!”

“Lemon say bye!” Rosa told her dog, making her bark just in time before you started your jog. 

Being a lifeguard was great. It was the life you had always dreamed of. You had always worked out to fit in the lifeguard guidelines requirements, and a good ninety percent of your decisions had been oriented to making sure that you could be a lifeguard from the second week of May to the first week of October — that is the entirety of tourist season. Once autumn arrived, you would resume working at the retirement home: it was only your second year with that working arrangement, and you weren’t sure it would work at first, but your grandmother being the godmother of the director of the elderly institute guaranteed you would always find a spot working there; plus, they were also constantly in need of an extra set of hands, especially if those hands came with a degree in nursing. 

You’ve always known you wanted to work in elderly care just as much as you’ve always known you were made to be a lifeguard. Your parents were worried over the sort of sacrifices and strains that such an occupation would entail: all the caregiving, and the cleaning and the affection you spend on people you’re inevitably going to lose; yet it felt natural to you. Sure, some people can be antagonistic and diffident, in some cases you end up being more of a nanny than a nurse, but most of the time, it’s worth it. After two years in this field, the ups are definitely brighter than the darkest lows, and you’re under the strong impression that it will keep being so. 

Back to the glorious morning in front of you, you took off your flip-flops as you reached the best place in the world: the golden beach of Honeycomb Cove. Smiling, you fixed your cap on top of your head and walked to your tower, depositing your stuff in the cabin before going for your morning run. As you were opening the umbrella, taking in the blue infinity of the ocean before you, you spotted an unfamiliar figure below, a big fisher hat on its head, a long-sleeved white shirt covering its arms, a stick in one hand while the other was pressed to his lower back in a fist. 

“Hi, hello there!” you greeted, a wide smile for the small, old man walking on the shore before your tower. The bizarre figure lifted his head up, eyes squinted, his button nose curiously pointing about as he looked for the voice. 

“Over here! Good morning, sir!” You waved energetically at him, the man frowning — not that you could notice that, because of the distance and the hat. 

“Morning?” he greeted back in confusion before continuing his walk. 

Yoongi was extremely confused when he heard the voice. His night had been too long for him not to suppose he was hearing voices. Maybe his time had finally come and that was the call of some deity summoning him to whatever comes after the struggles of the living. 

What he didn’t expect was for the voice to call again, this time the source clearly identifiable. He squinted at the lifeguard tower and offered a small wave in greeting. 

She — that had to be a she — seemed to be set alight in sunlight, the early morning light making her glow in something brighter than gold. 

He had a precise image in his mind for a second, something his grandmother had told him when he was a child. Something like mythology, like Achilles’ halo of hair, or Helios who carries the chariot of the Sun. 

He shook his head and continued walking, turning around only once he was several feet ahead and her long legs had carried her in the opposite direction, her wide strides amazing Yoongi, who could just stare at her golden, looped locks bouncing as she played with the back-and-forth of the tide, running along it. 

For a second, Yoongi thought of The Girl from Ipanema, shortly before remembering all the controversies behind it, and how much his grandmother hated the song because of “the male gaze”. With chastised pupils, he let his gaze fall back to the fragments of seashells at his feet, the distant fall of her feet meeting the sound of the tide calling to his ears in a hypnotizing beat. 

All the way back to his home, Yoongi let it ring and echo through all the empty halls of his brain, until he could finally — although artificially — recreate it in the calm of his home, and let it resonate through its corridors.

Yoongi would define himself quite a reserved man. He had his home — an old Victorian-style house in the more quiet and deserted part of the bay, too inhospitable for tourists, still linked to the naval history of the cove. He had renovated the house after his grandmother had left it to him, replacing the old wooden axes with new, not rotten ones, repainting the walls and repolishing the floors, installing soundproof panels on the room he had decided to turn into his studio. 

It had only been a short while since he’d moved into the beach house; his college in San Francisco and his scholarship and research in New Orleans had sent him spiralling between opposites, diving deep into sounds he wasn’t entirely familiar with, and in a bout of homesickness and confusion, he’d decided to return to his true roots, to his true north. 

Here he could daydream of green hills and golden beaches of a faraway place that he could only imagine through the saudade of an old immigrant. He could feel the beat of that city that was nothing but an overgrown village, the roaring of cars on dirt roads, and that open-armed man that seemed to be every man, every woman, every human being in that open-armed city — that all-forgiving man that seemed to welcome strangers, with their weary feet and guilty souls. 

He knew the place that inhabited his wildest dreams, his most romanticised visions, no longer existed. It had been erased by decades of progress and politics and human greed. That place where all his bedtime stories took place was no longer, and maybe it had never been. Yet Yoongi longed to reach that all-forgiving stone man and feel, just feel how the rolling waves carried all the nostalgia and the sins and the tears of those lost souls that reached a new land hoping for fortune and maybe a brand new start. 

He too was something in between worlds. Son of a woman adopted by a foreigner and a man lost in time, somewhere. And there was nothing more foreign to him than the woman who had raised him, the same woman who had given him the house he was living in. He had always been drifting in something somewhat estranged. His mother had been a nobody, abandoned before an orphanage, the only known facts were her name — Moonbae — and that she had been abandoned as the last of sixth children, her family too poor to afford her. As a twist of fate, she had then been adopted by an American anthropologist — Yoongi’s grandma — who had always respected her will to stay away from her past. Still, loss persecuted her, her loving, if a little taciturn adoptive father passing due to a mysterious disease somewhere in Guatemala. 

It took several years for Beatrice and Moonbae to settle in the old colonial house in Honeycomb Cove; Trice had returned to her great-grandmother to assist the incredibly old lady to her last breath. Needless to say, she then inherited the house. The women lived sheltered, quiet lives until Moonbae got pregnant. A summer fling, that was all it was, the man a fleeting tourist who took a risk too many, fathering a son he would never take care of. 

His absence was filled by someone who looked the exact opposite of the little moonbeam of a child, laying pale and tranquil in his cradle, lulled by strange, exotic songs that his grandmother had perfected for him. 

Beatrice fell in love with a man who became everything to Yoongi — someone Moonbae never approved of, so much so that she decided to leave town when her son was maybe four years old. She never returned. Beatrice never looked for her either. 

Antonio was eighteen years younger than Beatrice, his skin a rich cinnamon shade, his accent so thick that it took a while for Yoongi to decipher the heavy Brazilian cadence in the man’s English. 

Yoongi preferred when Antonio spoke Brazilian Portuguese, anyways. By the time the boy was fourteen, he and his acquired grandfather easily conversed on the wooden patio, drinking lemonade, a guitar in the man’s arms. Antonio taught Yoongi everything, the boy so taciturn, so eager to listen, that the nationless musician let all his woes and nostalgia pour out. And maybe the man was no citizen, something in between an exile and a fugitive, but in that old house, he found a home, with Trice constantly refusing to marry him and loving him like a madwoman at the same time. 

Yoongi doubted love like that could exist anymore. A love so strong that when she had passed, Antonio had magically drifted away together with her a few months after, disregarding his significantly younger age. What the not-so-old man would never say was that he passed in tranquillity, knowing that he had taught his spiritual child all he had to offer. 

And just so, Yoongi won a scholarship, all because of the easy, wordless afternoons when Antonio taught him to play three instruments and speak that language that reminded Yoongi of his old cat, Sweeper, and the way he lazily rolled around in the sun. 

Now he was just a young man graduated from a prestigious music academy in San Francisco, two of his compositions had been featured as soundtrack in a couple movies, and he was already producing for a small recording studio specialised in chamber music. He didn’t make much money out of it, to be true, but sometimes he managed to have an extra income with royalties, and he was currently composing his first mixtape — for which a studio had already contacted him, and the fact that Antonio had introduced him to some of the most influential artists in the San Francisco scene had quite definitely jump-started his career. 

He was living a cool life, the kind of life he had always seen himself living. He worked at night and finished his day at seven am; then he would head out for a walk, when the sun was still gentle in summer and when it would be barely up in winter. And next, he would sleep. Wake up around five pm. Get some food ready and start all over again. He’d returned to Honeycomb Cove only six months prior, so he hadn’t yet entirely reconnected with his local social circle, plus most of his friends were still in college, which meant that it wasn’t that easy to arrange a get together. But to be true he was quite excited about Seokjin being back in town and spring break approaching. By summer come, they would all be a great team again and he would feel like he had all the time in the world. 

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell. That had to be his pizza. It was almost eleven and Gerry, the old Italian man who owned the pizza place at the end of the street, always knew that Tuesday night meant late night pizza for Yoongi. 

He grabbed the money — already perfectly calculated so he could pay for the pizza and leave a tip for the delivery boy, Pippo. But tonight it wasn't the delivery boy knocking at his door. As he opened it, he found a wondrous mass of blond curls right in front of his eyes. “Oh, hi!” 

“Hey!” The voice sounded chirpy, familiar. 

A sudden breeze pushed the stranger’s perfume past the doorway, the scent crashing over Yoongi like the surf. God she smells good, Yoongi thought, lips agape as he stared at the woman in his doorway. It was a mix of coconut and papaya, the scent overpowering the tasty smell of his pizza. 

You put on your friendliest, warmest, brightest smile, then said: “We met on the beach right? You must be Min Yoongi. I'm _____. Gerry said you always dine alone and told me you could use some company.”

“I'm not a charity case,” Yoongi replied before realising how rude he'd just been. 

“Well, that's a funny introduction, Not A Charity Case. Is that the name you chose to go by? Like Jenny From The Block?” You shook your head and looked away. “What told you it's not me who could use a friend. May I?” You asked, pointing at the door, asking if you could enter. “You can ask Gerry. He sent me. I've just arrived for the season and I could really use a friend. He told me you're a good person and you're always alone too.” 

Yoongi was almost outraged by your insolence. Were you always so blunt? He was also confused: what kind of setup was this?!

You passed him the pizza and he lifted the lid, checking that it was actually his and that you weren't an imposter, or a serial killer. 

'Take the golden retriever girl. She needs a smart friend. -G,’ read a note left inside the box.

“Yeah, I’m Yoongi,” he said, almost defeated. “Come on in, then.” If he found his house entirely stripped of anything worth money, he would sue Gerry. 

“Oh. Thank you.” You flashed him a grin. 

Yoongi's knees almost caved. What a smile. It was like… like staring at the sun. But in a good way. It was like a blue sky. Soothing. Serene. Cloudless, pacific. 

You placed your own pizza box next to his on the counter while at the same time you looked around. “Wow, your house is so pretty. Your family lives here?” 

Yoongi opened his pizza and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I don't have a family anymore.” 

You froze. “I'm sorry.” You were already failing at this. That's why your friends all had fake teeth and a medical record thicker than your cookbook. Not to mention the average age.

“It's okay. I got used to that. You should be the lifeguard, right? Wait, would you like some beer?” 

You shook your head. “I'd like some water please.” 

Of course you would, he realised. You had to be one of those health freaks. He could already anticipate how easily he could make you run from him with his suicidal diet. 

He placed a glass beside your pizza box before sitting down and getting ready to dig in. “I still owe you the money. From the pizza.” 

“I already paid for both. I thought that since I wasn't bringing you a housewarming present, I could at least buy you some food.” You took a slice and started eating up, humming and nodding at the taste. “I get why he works so much. This pizza is heaven.”

“Yeah. All the kids here grew up on sunshine and Gerry's pizza,” Yoongi mentioned casually. He liked that you talked with your mouth full. He did, too. Beatrice had never liked that. 

“Are you from the neighbourhood?” He asked before wolfing down another slice. 

“Kinda. I live a bit farther into the mainland. I used to come here on holiday when I was little. With my parents.” You took a sip of water as Yoongi learned one more thing about you. 

“I thought so. I don’t really remember you from growing up, and me and my friends know all of the locals.” Yoongi studied your face, trying to dissect any detail that could make you familiar. 

“I see. You’ve been raised here, I assume?”

“Yup.” The silence is heavy, but at least you can distract yourself with food. “So, lifeguard? That your dream job?” He said it sarcastically, almost evilly before he realised you were nodding eagerly and happily. 

“My great-grandpa was a sailor. I've always wanted to live by the sea.” You munched on the crunchy crust, Yoongi blinking rapidly. 

Making fun of you felt like shooting a dead body. There was no use — and no mercy — in doing that. “Shouldn't you be in college or something?” 

“I took nursing school. And I'm old enough to be out of college.” Yoongi’s tone had really made that sound like an insult, but you tried your best not to assume the worst.

Yoongi tried to get on his better behaviour. You were a new person, you wouldn’t understand his sardonic tone. “I'm sorry,” he said, contrite. 

“For what? Me being a certified nurse and a person in charge of other people's lives? I know I look stupid, no need to rub it in.” You arched an eyebrow, rather fed up with the weirdness of this exchange, of the man sitting before you. You stood up and closed the box of your pizza, still half uneaten. “Sorry I disturbed your night. Enjoy your meal—” 

“Wait, no! Don't go, please.” He didn't know what suddenly convinced him to make you stay. “I was a dick, I'm sorry, let's start over.” 

You hesitated for at least three seconds and then, despite your better judgement, you sat back. “I'm ____. But my friends call me Sunny. It's my middle name. Really. My parents thought it funny.”

It suited you so damn bad. Yoongi wanted to bask in your aura in a hammock with a slight breeze and a samba playing in the distance. “It's a really nice name. It really suits your appearance. And I mean that as a compliment.” 

You breathed out the tiniest laugh. 

“I'm Yoongi and that's the only name I have. We don't use middle names.” He relaxed once you opened your box once more. 

“Where is it from?” You asked, recognising the name being foreign. 

“My mom's name is Korean. She picked a Korean one for me too. Just to remind me we're not entirely American.” He was vaguely bitter about that. Maybe just indifferent, you told yourself. That must have been tough. 

“That's interesting,” you mused, drinking some water. “How old are you?” 

Your question was naive. Childlike. “I'm twenty-three. And you're…?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” You smiled and he was once more lost in how radiant you looked. 

Once you were finished eating, you rinsed your hands at the sink, helping him get rid of the boxes before shyly following him as he moved to the living room. 

“Wow.”

“It's a bit overwhelming, I know.” He looked around, analysing the room through a stranger's eyes. “My grandma was an anthropologist, my grandpa too, though I never met him. She travelled a lot and always brought back fancy things.” 

“What's this?” you asked, watching a strange fork of sorts. 

Yoongi sat down and grabbed a bizarre little stick, no bigger than a pen, with a large ball at the end. He hit the fork, a soothing, metallic sound coming out of it and the box at its base, amplifying the cold dong. “It's a diapason. It gives a specific note. This one sounds like la. Or A, whatever notation you prefer. We use it to tune instruments like guitars.” 

You nodded. “That's interesting. I like it.” 

Yoongi chuckled. “It's very soothing, right? It resonates at a frequency that has positive effects on humans. My grandma used to play it when I needed to calm down as a baby.” 

Thinking that the coarse man before you had been a baby felt baffling. “And it still relaxes you?” 

“It does. But I think it's more of a reflex. I think they trained me. Like Pavlov's dog… Wait, was that Pavlov?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a giggle. 

“Sometimes I think I was a strange experiment. That's what happens when you have two scientists in your home.” He shrugged with a funny grin on his face, his cheeks going puffy as he did so. 

“It's okay. You lived through that. You're not doing bad for a lab rat. You could be having bald spots by now,” you joked, almost expecting him to get confused or disgusted. Instead he laughed. 

His laugh was so soft. He actually looked soft, with his gums out, his cheeks puffed up, his nose curled up cutely. Yoongi was cute. Very much so. 

“So, what do you do for a living?” 

He blushed to his ears. “I'm a musician. And a producer.” 

“Wow. That sounds cool! How does that work?” Your voice was filled with wonder, making Yoongi understand that after all it wasn't like you were dumb. You were just unashamed of not knowing things. 

“I make songs. Spend too much time on the computer fixing songs for other people. And then spend a little bit of time with my instruments, going through riffs and melodies, finding little things that inspire me for longer songs or pieces.” Yoongi stopped himself from dumping all of his artistic worries over you. 

“You studied at UCLA?” you asked, knowing that was the best place for a person like him. 

“Actually, no. My grandfather got me into an academy in the city. I mean, my granny's boyfriend,” he corrected himself. Considering Antonio his grandpa had always come natural to him, but he'd never substituted himself for Trice's husband. 

“It's so cute that she found a boyfriend. You mentioned your grandpa passed so I guess she met the guy after?” You posed the question gently, wording it accurately. 

Yoongi nodded. “Yup. I was a toddler when they met.” 

You hummed. “With all respect to your grandpa, I like when old people find a partner — or at least, someone meaningful to them. It brings a lot of joy and newness in their lives. Partnered old folks have a way less lonely life. And it seems they live longer too! I read a paper for a course back in college.” 

Yoongi was pleased to receive confirmation of you being an old people's person. Hopefully you also hated kids so he could actually deem himself safe. “So you actually liked nursing school.”

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. “I’ve always liked the idea of working in a retirement home. Old people have so many stories and so little audience. I like staying with them, helping them write memories they can pass to their overly busy children and grandchildren. And they learn about technology, they play cards. They crochet! Isn't that amazing?!” you exclaimed with a radiant look on your face. 

Yoongi realised you were a genuinely generous person. You reaching out to him wasn't just Gerry forcing you to Yoongi's place, but hopefully you needing a friend. It really seemed you could use a pal your age. “And how does that pair up with your lifeguard position?” 

You shrugged. “I've always loved the beach. And splitting it with caregiving helps me from taking nursing too seriously. It helps me worry less about people… passing, you know.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t thought about what it means taking care of someone day after day after day, and then suddenly they’re gone. He also thought about the different weights of a job: probably that was the same reason why it had taken him so long to work on his music while delivering piece after piece for commission. He had lost the passionate side of it.

“So, your granny's boyfriend got you into a music academy and then?” 

Yoongi smiled, then he started telling you everything about that. 

The two of you talked way deep in the night, the initial strangeness turning into easy chit-chat about school, life, family and work… It was almost one in the morning when you realised it was time for you to go. Once Yoongi noticed how long he’d been talking to you, he blushed and understood it was time to say goodnight, no matter how warm and welcome he felt at your side. 

He accompanied you to the door, then stood on the porch, waving at you before wondering whether he should accompany you home. “You’re staying here in town, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just five minutes away from here. I have my bike.”

“You don’t want me to drive you?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for your reply. 

You shook your head. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Yoongi realised the reason why he felt sad about you refusing was exclusively because he wouldn’t be able to spend more time with you. He was struggling to let go, after only a couple hours of chatting, and at least half of that being awkward acquainting with someone new. 

And to further increase his struggles, he could almost hear Antonio scolding him for letting go of someone that made him feel good. “Will I see you tomorrow morning at the beach?”

You were ready to leave when you heard Yoongi’s question. It sounded vaguely insecure, as if he was testing the waters. “Come meet me at seven. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. He should have asked for your number. Stupid social anxiety. 

“Goodnight Yoongi!” You waved from the gate before leaving.

He stood there, arms crossed, shrinking inside his striped polo shirt, its long sleeve doing very little in keeping him warm. So unexpectedly his night had changed. He thought about the percussion riff he’d jotted down that morning around nine, laying in bed, sleepless. For all he knew, you could have possibly changed his life. 

He would remember tonight forever. 

The following day, Yoongi left his house at six forty-five. You had given him a when, but not an exact where. He was nervous. And he was somehow hoping that seeing you in broad daylight would somehow lessen your magic. 

How wrong he was. 

He waited for you at the feet of your tower, leaning against it nonchalantly while he almost ran to get there in time. Watching you arrive in sunglasses and a white sundress was definitely something. You looked like the kind of girl that could have starred in Dirty Dancing. 

“Good morning, sir!” you greeted, waving. 

“Stop treating me like an old man,” he complained, however you heard some irony in his voice. 

“Not my fault you behave like one!” you bit back, amused and maybe a little cheeky. “Hello Yoongi,” you tried again, more calmly now that you were standing before him. “I’ll go get changed quickly so we can go on a walk.”

He nodded and looked at the horizon before him, his ears blushing at the thought that you were half naked just a few steps away. You looked so lean and fit and tall and he was… He was struggling not to let his mind run wild. After all you were just a prettily shaped woman. No more, and no less. 

All the months that had passed since he’d last slept with someone weren’t a valid reason for him to think of you half naked.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, basically throwing yourself down the stairs and taking a few small jumps on your spot — like a golden retriever too excited about going out. You started with a jog, only to watch Yoongi’s panicked look. 

You exploded with laughter. “See, I told you! You’re an old man!”

Yoongi hid his smile with a pout before catching up with a few quick steps. “Do you need to run or can you just walk?”

“I’ll walk in the water. Helps me burn more energy and work on my stamina,” you replied, entering the water to the point it reached your knees. “You can walk on the shore. Did you sleep well?”

He looked away.

“Oh, right. You work at night. So— Did you… produce?” You looked down, careful about not splashing him. 

“Oh, yeah. The conversation with you was very inspirational,” he conceded. He hadn’t worked half as much in the last four weeks. Listening to the little riffs and chords hidden in your voice was like experimenting with a new genre. It was as if he was building a new theme for you. Something that signified your presence, but at the same time conveyed the fits and starts of meeting someone new, and getting to know them, and discovering something new about oneself from all the analogies and differences they could see with the other person. As much as he was composing about you, about the little bits he’d learned about you, he was in some way also composing about himself. 

The process had been thrilling and once he’d finished the first, roughest draft, at dawn, the music felt so vibrant that it could properly and proudly accompany the rise of the sun. It was of course still only a draft, but the way you’d talked deep into the night, the way you’d circled around things until they’d come out right, had inspired him to give it all a try. It didn’t need to be perfect, it only needed to work. And work, in the end, it did. He only wished he had sampled a piece of your conversation — that joke about him being a lab rat… the laughs that followed. It would have been great for a skit. 

“You know, I really wish I could listen to your music. I'm kind of curious about what such a quiet person considers noise worth listening to.” You looked at him. “After all, music is just very tidy noise right?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I would agree to that.” He looked at the seashells on the shore. “I'll make you a playlist. I'll include random stuff I like listening to.”

“Oh, I'd love that!” you replied enthusiastically. “We can make a playlist for our walks!” 

Yoongi’s ears perked up at that: “walks”, plural, which meant you would do this again, soon. He was pleased at the way you had so casually hinted at creating a routine. He had someone to share music recommendations with. Someone who would maybe recommend pieces to him in return. He realised he was excited about this. So many new sensations, and none of that as unpleasant as he’d thought. He could get used tho this.

Once the two of you said goodbye, he realised he couldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about making a playlist and sharing it with you. Walking with you in the gentle morning sun. Hearing you laugh. 

Yoongi understood: he was making a new friend. 

Having walks with Yoongi became extraordinary. You started associating him with the tender colours of the shyest sunshine, and the sweet cotton scent of his shirts in the gentle morning breeze. The way his soft locks danced in the ocean air, tangling together, the way his cheeks turned into little ice cream scoops when he smiled at you as you greeted him good morning. 

Likewise, Yoongi started adoring sunshine. You ended each of his nights, bringing him into the reign of soft morning light, introducing him to a brightness he'd always much preferred doing without. Truth was that his ears had become acquainted with your vintage summer bops, with the way your steps would automatically sync up with the beat of Pumped Up Kicks when the song started playing, and your little blonde baby curls would end up bouncing by the time the first chorus came around. Sometimes you looked like one of those strange horses trained to match the rhythm of music. Dressage, wasn't that? 

And then, you loved his calm acoustic ballads, the relaxing guitar riffs that accompanied the rise of the sun. 

Once your shared routine of morning walks was sufficiently cemented, you trained him, like a stray cat, to stick around some more after your walk, convincing him to join you for a morning snack. You always brought him iced coffee and a peach jam sandwich while you drank your aloe and matcha drink before indulging in an avocado toast. He liked your mornings as much as you did. You also probably liked each other too. 

Your perfect sunny streak was tainted only by a mildly cloudy morning, during which Yoongi showed up at your tower anyway, an extra sweater on top of his long sleeved shirt. He knew you'd probably be cold. 

The striped black number seemed to be big enough for you to fill it up comfortably. After all, you were half a head taller than him, and your arms were significantly longer. At least by three or four inches, he had to admit. 

When you showed up, you looked drowsy, your hair was half low and you were carrying a different bag from usual. “Morning old man,” you called, placing your bag at the feet of the stairs. 

“Morning, Sunny. Wait. Are those actually knitting devices in your bag? Wonder Woman ____ knits?” 

“Shut up. Linda taught me. It's just something to share with the ladies at The Orchard,” you justified yourself. “We'll see if you still joke about that once you get your soft, handmade cosy sweater this winter.” 

Yoongi blinked, suddenly realising his expression had been shifting to a pout. “Are you still going to be around this winter?” 

You invited him upstairs, avoiding the question for now. Could you wait from September to May to see him again? Could you go so long without him? 

As you picked up a half knitted torso from your bag, pressing it to his face, you realised you couldn't. You also realised you had made a naive mistake. You had thought you were domesticating a stray but in the meanwhile you had opened him your home, your heart. You had invested your time in him and that made him much more than a stray. You were giving him a forever home.

“Is this for me?” he asked innocently, gently, rubbing his face against the soft, airy fabric. 

“It’s alpaca wool,” you commented drily. You already knew you would give up on your long-term dream sweater only to see him all fluffed up in the pastel mesh of colours. You smiled as he pressed it closer to his face.

“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling up against the small piece of knitwork. The moment he opened his eyes, you realised his nose was just a tiny bit red from the chilly breeze coming from the sea, carrying a storm in its wake. His cheeks were rosy and puffy, his eyes big and dark. And his eyelashes, so dainty and insanely… flirtatious? He looked like he was seducing you for the slowest of seconds. 

You looked away, cheeks aflame. “Let’s go. Before the rain comes.”

Yoongi startled at your tone, cloudy for the first time since that night when you’d known each other too little, and he’d been unforgivably too sarcastic. He followed you like a confused pet down the stairs, then grabbed his earpods and passed one to you. 

You were especially thankful for the music now that your thoughts were too scattered for you to form sentences and make some conversation. 

“It will rain in a bunch of minutes,” Yoongi commented. “There’s no use walking today.”

You ignored him. Would he leave if you agreed with his statement? Would he think walking was pointless, and therefore there was no reason for the two of you to spend any time together today? Too lost in trying to find a meaning to how sad you felt at the thought of being apart, you didn’t realise a raindrop had hit your nose. 

The storm was coming. 

An angry guitar riff came on, The Neighbourhood blaring from the earphone as Yoongi grabbed your hand. One drop followed the other, his hand around your wrist as he tugged at your arm, running fast, faster, to a speed that felt ridiculous considering how lazy he always was. 

‘I’m going back to 505, if it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive. In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs, and a smile…’

You ran, faster, short of breath, the music carrying you across the sand. You didn’t even realise you were trusting Yoongi completely, even as he led you past your tower, even as he kept running while the downpour broke loose, even as The Beatles came on, singing about jars by the door and lonely people, even as the morning got so dark, the sky like a purple shiner after a rowdy pub fight. 

You kept running, Yoongi panting as the two of you finally recognised the fence of his house, the tower barely visible behind the thick cover of rain and mist. “Come on!” he gasped out. 

You kept running until you were under his porch. “What the hell, Yoongi! Why didn’t we stop at the tower!?” you scolded him, barely alive, barely breathing — how had he worn you out like this? He was way less trained than you, and yet he’d managed to run by your side, keeping your pace, ending up winded, sure, but in way better a state than you’d thought he would be.

He shook his head, bent in two, his hands gripping his knees. “I was distracted! I wasn’t thinking!”

You shook your head, too busy pulling oxygen into your lungs to fight him back. After a few breathless minutes, you sat down on the first step of the staircase. “You knew it would rain. Why did you come?”

Yoongi felt called out all of a sudden. “I— I thought you were expecting me to come. I don’t have your number so I couldn’t text you. Or call you.” He sat down beside you, his hands pressed in between his knees. “I didn’t want you to worry or think I had forgotten.” He took in a large breath. Somehow the little effort of a confession required way more air than the makeshift marathon under the storm — it was definitely shorter than a marathon. Probably not even a tenth of it. He just knew that was the longest and the fastest he’d ever run, but you were running, and you were so majestic and he just wanted to be part of it. 

Yoongi paused, gathered his courage, then murmured, “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

You recognised the guitar strums immediately, the song changing once more. You looked at Yoongi, Hozier’s soft voice crooning at your ear. “What about you? Were you feeling lonely?”

He looked away, too shy, too old, too used-to-it to admit it. He had no right to feel lonely when you weren’t around. He had been alone for so long, but loneliness? It had been a stranger to him until he’d learnt your name. “I don’t—”

You pushed his hair off his face, your index finger casually following the handsome curve of his jawline. “Yoongi?”

He finally turned to look at you, once more innocent in the way he seemed to seduce you. He looked so pure and for the first time you felt so desperate to taint him. You needed him to look normal and mundane and you prayed for your crush to fade, for his sinless charms to be washed away so he would show his true colours, because no man should be allowed to be perfect the way he felt perfect to you. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart tied up with pining.

‘Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.’

You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed until it was too late, the lyrics making you open them only to notice Yoongi leaning towards you, his lips protruding in the most imploring pout you had ever seen. 

You were ruined. 

You tugged the earpod off, almost throwing it to the ground before hollering a ‘see you ‘round’ and running off in the cold rain. 

Yoongi, confused, afraid, sat on his porch as he watched you disappear. 

Part 2 will be out now!!

[pardonmydelays]

what do you love the most about twenty one pilots?

i fucking love this question, but there's no easy answer to it. i guess i'm gonna have to try tho, because sometimes i feel like maybe some of you don't really understand WHY i totally changed my entire blog when clancy came out (it's kinda like me loving this band was my biggest secret for such a long time, idk. i still remember how a few months before it i've mentioned something and anix literally yelled at me like "WHY THE FUCK YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU LIKE TWENTY ONE PILOTS" lmao. anyway).

first of all, no one has ever made me feel so seen and understood. there's real magic in tyler joseph's lyrics, you might hate me for what i'm about to say right now, but speaking of tortured poets - for me it's not taylor, it's tyler. and the scariest part of it all is that i very often relate to his lyrics. but that's also beautiful - it's therapeutic in a way. so when clancy came out and i realized i relate to pretty much EVERY song on this record, i just thought to myself, oh lord, how did i survive this long without their music. it's always been them for me. i will never abandon them again, i swear.

second thing, the lore. you all know i'm a slut for stories told through music (*cough* musical theatre *cough*). also, if the plot of the story is complex and weird as fuck, there's a pretty big chance it will become my favourite thing in the world. the entire lore is an insane metaphor for mental health struggles so, obviously, i can find a part of myself in it. i would die for their lore, honestly. it's all i can think about. and clancy will always be my fucking blorbo.

another thing i love a lot about them, and it's something you don't really see if you don't watch their interviews or live performances, they are literally just two dudes. both josh and tyler have always been very anxious and awkward and weird and that's what makes them more human in my opinion - just two fucking idiots who are best friends, lmao. they are so relatable in every possible way. they are also the funniest dudes in the entire world. and their friendship is so fucking beautiful. the only difference between us and them, truly, is that they are extremely talented and they have their own band.

also, they care about the clique so fucking much, this was probably mentioned on my blog before (maybe even today in a previous ask). they don't care about the charts, about awards, about anything really, all they care about is their music and fans. they don't do it to be the best band in the world. they do it to save lives - our lives as much as their own (if it wasn't for this music i don't know how i would have fought this). and that's what makes them different and honestly, better than the other artists.

they are also pretty much unproblematic. i wasn't really sure if i should mention that, but i feel like i need to. tyler joseph made one stupid mistake a few years ago - the way people reacted to this still breaks my fucking heart. he realized he was wrong tho, he apologized. the other day i saw a post here on tumblr about how he's fucking problematic and racist and the worst man on the planet etc etc. can we... fucking stop, please. it was just a stupid joke and he knows it was dumb and unnecessary. most people wouldn't even apologize, but he did. end of story. i will defend him with my life (not saying he is perfect, but shit, if you want to cancel him for one mistake maybe you should look at yourself first).

i feel like there are thousand different reasons but i'm just gonna stop here, because it's too fucking long already and no one will read it anyway.

[sweepseven]

Cirque du Soleil Alegría In a New Light review

So far the kindest thing I've done for myself in 2024 was go all the way to London to see this show. What a lovely, desperately needed reset. No need to linger on the preamble because team: this show continues to be damn near perfect. It felt like a true gift to be there. There are three total changes I would make if it were to suit me perfectly. Just three. That's insane. For comparison I love Ka with all my heart but I'd make probably fifty changes if given the opportunity. The three I'd make are:

Less clown time (though I swear the reason is different from my usual clown complaints)

Replace duo adagio

Reinstate Valsajoïa, the single greatest original song Cirque has produced since probably 2016. Possibly even 2008.

So let's talk about those three, and also the other one million reasons this is Cirque's greatest show in nearly 20 years.

Preshow animation: My friend and I had a time getting to Royal Albert Hall on time so I didn't get to soak in everything to quite the extent that I prefer to before a show starts, but the moment I walked in my guess that this show in this setting was the most perfect pair imaginable was validated. I don't think I'm even being biased because it's so recent - I genuinely think the only set that could maybe suit this theatre better is Quidam. The crown of the stage disappeared into the darkness above, creating an astounding sense of immersion and scale, and even the iconic mushroom acoustic diffusers look like they belonged to the set. The rigging was a delight to see too - I'm always fascinated by how they adapt the rigging to adjust for the lack of pylons. It wasn't as cozy as a Grand Chapiteau, of course, but the audience is so dense and extends so high, and the entire setting is so elegant, that the size and scope were a perfect match.

The animation itself was Fleur messing around with the Old Birds. Pretty unremarkable. He didn't shout Alegria! like in the original show, but then again I'm not sure I remember him doing it back in 2019 either. Bring it baaaack, it's iconiiiic.

Opening: Gonna confess up front that I was in tears for the duration of Mirko. The current singer duo, Sarah Menesse and Cassía Raquel, are incredible in every way. I'll talk more about them further down but it bears stating now that I was in shambles within the first five seconds. Details I never want to forget: the silhouette of the Nymphs' wings behind the curtain; the sharp, prim, yet commanding presence of the White Singer on the right side. I was completely taken by her in four notes.

Acro poles: This was a strong act five years ago and I think it's only grown tighter with time! This show wastes no time on ceremony and dives right into the action, which is a fun contrast between the old and new versions. The original made a grand show of parading and presenting the different factions. Here it's more bam here are the Aristocrats, bam here are the Bronx real quick, now everyone out of the way, we're getting right to it. Where the original was the story of forcibly overthrowing an old order, this one respects the structure of the past while willingly - if cautiously - making way for the future. This act does a very good job of illustrating that. The Aristocrats look like a fun, if slightly catty bunch! You almost want to be one... until you meet the Bronx.

Cyr wheel: I completely forgot Rinalto Vera is back for this act. I had only just recovered from Mirko and then this fucking song starts and I'm beside myself all over again. This is the kind of thing that makes me hold onto faith that the old Cirque is still in there somewhere - this, the musical refs to La Nouba in Drawn to Life... they know how to respect their old shows! When they bother, they do it beautifully! I only wish they treated their new creations with the same respect and care they pay to their golden era.

Anyway Ghislain Ramage is the only person I want to see on a cyr wheel ever again. I saw him work magic in Kooza and that was without the deliberate weight that comes from a non-rotational act. Something about him seems impossible - like he's too tall to be that lithe and fluid, or that you couldn't possibly evoke so much emotion from a cyr wheel act. He does. Every moment of it was mesmerizing.

It's the nitpickiest thing I could possibly say, but I do think something is lost in not having this act performed by an Old Bird or Aristocrat. Though since the mirror imagery of the original wasn't brought over to IANL, I suppose it's not completely necessary. Still. That was an element that really brought an inimitable quality to the original act and I wished there was an analog in this version. It could very well have made it the best act in the entire show. Yes, the entire show, which is crazy because you already know how I feel about.......

Duo trapeze: Fuck me, people. This act. It's a wonder I can be relied upon to behave rationally because it. is. utter. perfection. The only thing that holds me in my seat is the fear that if I move or blink I'll miss a split-second. I forgot the White Singer was onstage because I was too busy watching. That is fucking unheard of. My hands were clasped over my heart. I was beaming in awe the entire time. No other artist has had the particular effect Nicolai Kuntz has on me. Fucking this?? That relaxed, cross-legged on a goddamn trapeze gazing in admiration? That is shit designed to kill me. That is fucking lethal.

Anyway the skill level in this act is exquisite from both Nicolai and Roxane - another perfect act that has somehow grown more perfect with time. And what I love most about it is that though although they're a duo, although the song is called Querer, although the entire point is that they're impossibly aligned, it still feels just shy of romantic. The love being expressed here is not specifically for one another, but for flight itself, and the joy of sharing it with someone who understands. I might be projecting, since this act feels like a live illustration of my personal love for trapeze, but they have never seemed like lovers to me. More perfectly kindred spirits, and it serves the act beautifully.

Fire knife dance: Excellent! Impossibly high energy! The crowd adored it! We had one drop, which I've never seen in a fire act, but the artist handled it with fun and grace. There is nothing negative to be said for this act, but I can't not mention how exceptional Tuione Tovo was. Holding that against this artist feels like a teacher never giving A+s because "there's always something better." But there really was something undefinable in Tuione's energy and smile that isn't quite here.

Aerial straps: How many times can I say "a perfect act has become yet more perfect"? I've seen a lot of straps acts, people. Like, too many. I have immense respect for the discipline so it's not hard to impress me, but it's quite difficult to surprise me. There is a drop to ankles in this act that surprised me. I gasped. This act looks at every other romantic straps duo act and says "ok amateurs." The little smooch had the audience in raptures. The snow is used to better effect than the world deserves. It's just exquisite.

Hoops: I know Elena Lev is the queen, but I think this artist might actually be better! And she's so young! She's got her whole career ahead of her! This is probably the best hoops act Cirque has going for it right now, and that's really saying something. She does the "spin like fifteen hoops" thing better than I think I've ever seen anyone do it. Her control over her apparatus is unmatched.

Powertrack: OOO-EE! POWERTRAAAAACK. Top five act in the show right here, and it would earn that position through energy alone. And it's got a fuck ton going on for it besides. Every trick is massive. Every one is executed with fierce, tangible joy. Fleur has an excellent highlight moment that's indicative of a character adjustment in the new version (see below) that I really loved. I wanted to see Lucie Colebeck's triple bad (the first and so far only female triple tuck in Cirque history!!) but it was performed by another artist tonight. Still amazing. Watching this act makes you feel like you can run a marathon.

Duo adagio: The one and only let down of the whole show. I just do not like these Nymphs. I don't like their wings, I never have, and I can't believe Cirque is so opposed to returning to something just a notch closer to the luxurious feathers of the original. Their wings feel like a symbol of their overall impact on the show: kinda just there and we don't really know why. This act was the same. And it's a goddamn shame because Cassía's Vai Vedrai is power made musical. Slotting this act so late in the show makes it feel like a rotational act and it's just not fair to the artists or the song, probably the second most famous in Alegria's history. Last time I got handbalancing in instead and it was a gorgeous story of an Angel supported by a Bronx that was reiterated in high bar. Any sort of connection to the broader show is unfortunately missing in this act, which seems to only exist to remind you that the Nymphs are characters. I'd prefer to see this replaced with a return to the slow, luxurious contortion style of the 90s. Or imagine Dralion's ballet on lights here!! Or ribbon manipulation from the early days. Maybe a little too similar to hoops, but don't forget this is the show that has swinging trapeze and aerials traps and...

Flying trapeze: My light, my love, my delight. The Flying Tunizianis are immaculate. This is perfect flying trapeze act construction imo: some swings to let the audience know what's happening, an easy trick or two (planches) to prime them, then flips and twists galore to show what the fuck it's really all about. And! Importantly! A pause in the middle with a few styles and splits to bring back some grace and remind you trapeze is more than just guessing what the fuck you just saw. It is so, so good. For myriad stupid reasons I haven't flown in a month, and I'm so excited and inspired to get back at it after seeing this act. iirc the biggest tricks were triples and a double double (or full out? it all happened so fast!!). Either way, difficulty level second only to Mystere and I would argue better act composition overall.

However. I felt the removal of Valsajoïa acutely. It was nice to hear a little Icare, but if we didn't need it for aerial high bar's comeback, we certainly don't need it here. I suppose they were going for a more "daring" sound, but tbh I don't think it does a lot to enhance the act further, especially with the way the Tunizianis have choreographed it. The result isn't as graceful nor as impactful, even with the (tragic! teasing!) snatches of Valsapena and Valsajoïa still left in there.

I spent the whole act praying for some kind of suicide dismount and the very last was a reverse one and lost my fucking mind. My inspiration trick, my signature, my beloved!!! I gotta learn a reverse one bad.

Finale: What is there left to say? It's brief, it's gorgeous, it's effective: just like the transition from opening to acro pole, the transition from flying trapeze to finale is quick and honest, and the whole thing is over before you know it. It feels like a real thank you for joining the cast in the journey of the show. A joyous, magical feeling.

Music: I leaned back and scrubbed my face with my hands just now. That's what it's like trying to summarize what the fuck was going on vocally and instrumentally in this show.

It. Was. Splendid. I was utterly convinced that no one could do an IANL White Singer like Irene Lombard, and then here's comes Sarah with a flavor and characterization all her own. Where Irene was an angel, Sarah was a witch. She was sharp, she annunciated, every note was a call to action that drove the plot forward. Some songs were her strength (like Mirko), and some I prefer Irene (like Querer). At all times both singers' presences were impossible to ignore, and for a show with such a reputation for well-recognized, highly awarded music, the legacy is not lost.

This is also a very mobile band, which I always love. Accordion and cello parade around at times, sometimes even to emphasize character arcs (like the accordion following one clown after he's cast out of court to highlight his sorrow to both comical and emotional effect). Drums have a fantastic, well deserved Kooza-esque highlight moment during fire knife dance. Though you don't see them every moment, there's no point in the show that you can miss the fact that the music is live. They've struck an exceptional balance between highlighted and unobtrusive.

If anyone would like a recording of this performance's audio, drop me an ask and I'll be glad to share.

Clowns: My primary critique. Listen: they are so good. But I think Cirque noticed that and responded by giving them too much time. Their every act is strong but maybe 2-3 minutes too long, and it has the effect of pulling focus from the theme of the show and settling it on their shoulders instead. The result weakens both: they are not highlighted enough to carry a show like the Luzia clown main character does, and they take up too much time for the audience to realize they are meant to be one story among many.

Taken as they are though, the clown acts really are excellent. They are not tedious in the moment, only when held up against the broader landscape of the show. Their relationship still feels a little transgressive in a beautiful, comforting, validating way. Muted though the love story is, something about that adds to the honesty as much as the bravery. It deserves a ton of praise for that. Everyone in the room was fully invested in them. Snowstorm was beautiful and the music does so much to enhance the storytelling they give us.

(I did not remember the extended gun cleaning/masturbation gag from 2019 but that was the only part where I was like okay, let's move it along, boys.)

Misc.

Fleur doesn't seem like much of a bad guy anymore, and though I miss his old ornery edge, I'm not bothered by his current phase. He helps paint a picture not of a broken kingdom, but of a confused one, which leaves room for collaboration and acceptance reinforced by acts like acro pole and powertrack. There is room for both regimes in this new future. When it comes time to hand the crystal over to the White Singer, he does so without an ounce of reluctance or apprehension. It's a gesture of "let's do this together," not "you take the lead." It's very warm and effective.

Le Bal isn't quite as fun as it was in 2019. It wasn't positioned as a joking funeral march but rather just further hijinks between Fleur and the Old Birds. Like the lack of mirrors in cyr wheel, this wasn't a detriment to the show as it exists today, but it was a simplification of something that was once a little more dynamic.

Overall: As always I am exhausted just writing this. I beg you: see Alegria. Travel as far and as long as you can to make it happen. It is worth it. I live in fear that it'll never come back to do a full and proper North American tour (NYC deserves it, god damn it, it's been over six years), but if it never does, I'll know I made every effort, and I'll know it paid off in droves.

[firstdivisiongirl]

hii can i get a male match up please for tokyo revengers :) im a she/her - sorry if theres quite a bit here D:

- i like animals especially red pandas and i also like bugs too. i also sometimes like to read both manga and actual books, i like any theme but when it comes to manga i either like shonen or stories like goodnight punpun/ a girl on the shore

im very enthusiastic towards music, i listen to any genre. i can go from heavy mental and rock, to goth, to something like lana del ray where i feel like i need to be in the rain with red wine, to calm/ smthin indie, sole crushing, and then scene. theres a whole lot more i could add. lemme also add in midwest emo.

- i cant exactly pinpoint what i dislike aside from the wind because it messes up with my hair, i swear if the wind was a solid id have it knocked down immediately. though I also tend to get annoyed by people that don't use common sense.

- my hobies incule art, i have a lot of sketchbooks and majority of my lessons are done by doodling and getting told off by my the teacher cause i dont pay attention, but i still carry on. i also like to make jewelry such as bracelets/neclases, their mainly beaded but their still cute to wear and i like to make bracelets for close people

- (just for extra info here →) im mentaly unstable and have severe attached issues as well as issues with family on every aspect. id like to get better, however i just end up going down a loop hole so i cant/dont which makes everything much harder than it needs to be.

- my energy gets drained QUICK so im mostly a listener rather than a speaker when it comes to social interactions, however i do have my days where i can be jumpy and almost euthoric and talk like my life depends on it with a lot of excitement

- also i can get sudden motivation that i end up reorganising my room, one day it'd look that then after 4 months itd look like this. i tend to do spontanious little things here and there when im in a good mood and that includes in dying/cutting my hair. also ive pierced myself 6x with thumb tacks and their all healed very nicely. i have 9 ear piercings in total.

- never was much of an academic person in school, but i tend to be smart outside of it and i find enjoyment in observing people and using my own thoughts rather than finding sources

- i wont call myself shy, maybe at first sure but as i get comfortable i can go all out and i dont mind in making the first move as long as i get the same energy back, otherwise if that energy isn't given then ill forget all about them.

- i can be extremely clingy when i want to be, i hold back in latching onto someone on a daily basis. i wanna hold someone's hand, be on their back like a bag, and just overall connect soles. im touch starved and overall I can be very affectionate physically, though I'm awful at using my words for affection.

Hello! There isn’t too much. It’s actually a good thing. That means it’s easier to pick because I know more about you. It makes the match more accurate. So let’s go!

You Got…

Izana Kurokawa!!!!!

Boy is all about loyalty and keeping those he loves around!! So you wanting to be clingy, is perfect!!!

He’s a leader so he would do all the talking for you

Very patient (we saw his like 8 year plan to take down Mikey lol) so if you are struggling with anything, he’s there for you.

Would play music for you on his guitar. I think indie rock probably.

Idk why but I also called him a human red panda. The reason his because he looks cute but is a menance like red pandas.

At home dates or concerts! I hope you like the matchup!!!

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

This isn't a hate post toward LSF (I know this is the third critical post about them this week), but this is something I say about most kpop groups. I hate the idea that choreographies have to look hard. You see this the most in 4th gen groups, since compared to previous gens they are above average dancers but probably below average singers, so the focus is always on choreo. Their companies probably think: they're young, they're powerful, they're good dancers, so they must break their bodies every time, regardless of the song, or even if the choreo is good. I don't get it. Most choreos are intense for no reason. The boys just jump around a lot like they're doing a HIIT workout (debut era TXT, I'm looking at you especially), while the girls have to jump less and hop and shuffle across the room more, and also twirl around and drop to their knees and keep their hands up all the time, like they're in a Zumba class. I say this a lot but I really feel tired and lowkey stressed looking at them. They're exhausting themselves and breaking their bodies for mediocre choreos that could fit any group or song (it doesn't help that most groups share choreographers).

Now, regarding LSF, pls, explain to me in what way the Blue Flame choreo fits the song? Maybe it fits the lyrics but I didn't even watch the whole video because I found it so exhausting to watch the girls move nonstop for no reason while keeping a fake smile on their faces like they're not tired. It's obvious they're not meant to sing the song, because they couldn't sing and dance it well even if they wanted to. A good choreo tells a story that is unique to the song, and to the group, and has moments of tension and relaxation so that the whole choreo doesn't blend in together and so that the audience has the chance to take it in and be impressed. It should also highlight each member and the group's strengths and weaknesses. Yet, many gg choreos make the members look awkward. I mean, who the fuck OK-ed After Like? I swear IVE's team really needs to give them choreos they can pull off. Kitsch is too difficult for them imo, but they still did well, and look at how well they pulled off I AM? After Like made them look bad and it's genuinely mindblowing that no one thought to change the choreo...

Anyway, kpop is all about the performance for some people, but the best part about it to me is still very much the music and the idols themselves.

[uglypastels]

Painless Endeavour // tattoo artist Eddie x reader

a/n: I had this idea and I went with it. Might not be entirely era accurate, but we're not here for a history lesson, are we? Also, here, Eddie has much more tattoos. (Also, I am actually obsessed with tattooist!Eddie so if anyone wants more of him... just let me know)

summary: an AU in which, after his first failed attempt to graduate, Eddie drops out of school to follow an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour. 3 years go by and you stumble into that same studio, unlocking some lost memories.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking (weed and cigs), tattoo gun needles-- pain, making out while high. The story also includes the use of flashbacks (indented italics).

Best believe that needle won´t hurt you.

Best to see these true colours, than to follow one of your false virtues. - Tattoo, Van Halen

You knew exactly what you were doing, your mind was set in stone, yet when you saw the slightly dilapidated black sign in front of you, your heart leapt up to your throat. This was it. Only a few steps away, and then there was no going back. You wouldn't let yourself run away. Not this time. You had run away from things for way too long, and today was the day when you would finally take a risk. 

The letters creating Black Skull Ink called to you. The little voice in your head telling you to turn around had been completely shut off as you told yourself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. Don't forget to breathe. 

There was no bell above the door as you opened it, and the place looked just like the outside, rundown and… you didn't really want to think about what else it reminded you of. Large sheets with tattoo designs covered the walls, combined with other images that you assumed the artists working there had drawn. The light was surprisingly bright, focusing on the front desk, behind which was a station set up with something that looked very similar to a chair you've undoubtedly seen at your dentist's appointments.  

Behind that front desk, a man was seated, drumming his pencil to the beat of the music that was playing loudly. He looked up at the movement at the door, halting whatever he was doing to talk to you, but not before leaning over to the sound system and putting the volume down to a more reasonable level. 

'How can I help you, sweetheart?' he asked when you made eye contact, and you froze. For one, the nickname startled you for a moment, especially as you took the image of the man in. A pair of big brown doe eyes, eyeliner smudged around it. He looked you up and down, more out of curiousness and awaiting an answer to his question than anything. His long dark hair was pushed back, a black and white bandana keeping it in place, out of his face. He was wearing a black t-shirt, on it a logo of a band you didn't really know, and he covered it with red flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal the countless tattoos on his arms. He had pulled out a cigarette from between his lips to ask you the question you still had not answered.

Secondly, as you looked into those brown eyes of his, you felt as if you had looked into them before… a long time ago. It was like a vague and blurry memory you weren't even sure existed.

'Well?' he nudged you on to speak. 

'Oh, uhm, I want a tattoo.' You said, your voice suddenly much weaker; it was coming closer and closer to the point of no return. The guy smiled at your response, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray on the table. You kept looking at him, unable to push away the feeling that there was something very familiar about him. Like you had seen this stranger before– and not in the "its a small town, everyone knows everyone" way. 

'Then you've come to the right place,' he leaned over the desk counter, reaching out his hand to you, 'I'm Eddie.' Perhaps it was all in your head. He didn't seem to know you, so it must be just your mind playing games with itself. Maybe he just reminded you of someone else. So, you quickly push all of those thoughts down as you introduce yourself. 

'y/n,' you took his hand and shook it, a bit weak. But Eddie didn't seem much phased with it. He pointed to the stool at your side of the table, for you to take a seat.

'What were you thinking of getting?' So it went that quick. Somehow, the informality of it all, if that was the way to describe it, threw you off. You had imagined it all to go much more differently. Surely, there would be a bigger process to something like getting a tattoo? One thing was for sure– you were glad that you had been holding on to the piece of paper for the entire day and that you remembered to pull it out at Eddie's question. If you hadn't, you didn't even want to think of what you could have ended up with on your skin. The paper had wrinkled slightly on your way to the parlour, but the sketch was still visible.

'Something like this, maybe? If that's possible?' you looked at Eddie as he took your drawing in. 'I know it's not the best thing ever, I'm not exactly a great artist–' 

'No, no. it's great.' He looked up at you, 'I mean, the lines are wonky as shit, but I can easily get that fixed for you. Where would you want it?' 

'I was thinking, here,' you pointed at the inner side of your thigh. You had thought long about it, as you really wanted the tattoo, have for a long time, no matter how scary the idea was, but getting it would also mean having to deal with what all the other people thought. Which, to be frank, wasn't really any of their business. This was something you were doing for yourself. So, it had to be a place not easily accessible or visible to keep it out of the preying claws of the judgemental raptors in your town. 'What do you think?' but for some reason, you did feel like you needed some kind of validation. Some recognition or at least Eddie's professional opinion and approval on your choice of placement and design. 

'Yeah, easily done.' thankfully, he gave you the reaction you had hoped for, 'Shouldn't hurt too much, either, so that should be good news for you.' He smiled, but for some reason, his words of supposed reassurance only made you more nervous. 

'How much will it, though? I mean, hurt?' You had a nervous habit of biting the inside of your cheek, and that is exactly what you did as Eddie replied to your question. Perhaps he saw the panic in your eyes because he was quick to respond, with a very sensitive and caring tone that you did not expect from someone who looked like… well, him. 

'Don't worry. It won't hurt much, especially since you only want the linework done, no big patches of colour, it will be like a cat scratch… a really long one, but it won't be bad.' He gave you his sweetest smile, showing the dimples in his cheeks, and placed his hand over yours, 'I promise.'

'If you say so,' you smiled, at least half of it genuinely meant before quickly looking away. You just couldn't keep looking at Eddie, those thoughts from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. So you let your eyes wander about the artwork on the walls. Primarily black and dark, you could see something that resembled demon faces in them. Abstract, but beautiful, in that sick and twisted sort of way.

'Why don't I go to the back and redraw this little masterpiece for you,' Eddie waved the drawing you had made up, regaining your focus, 'you can sit down there, it's probably more comfortable.' He pointed at one of the big chairs in the corner. So sit down in the chair is what you did. 

Next to it was an old crate that had been repurposed as a coffee table and a stack of magazines. Tattoo Expo, Skin Ink, Flash Tattoo… you wouldn't have been surprised if, in the stores, most of these were sold next to the Playboys, as the covers of almost all of the issues had a photograph of a woman posing sensually, at least half-naked, if not entirely. Bored, you picked up the issue on top of the pile. You never understood the appeal of those kinds of magazines, why guys would need that to get off on. But the longer you looked through them (as if what else was there to do while you waited), you realised that these magazines were far from your generic glossy porn pages. 

The women in these magazines, while yes, very much naked, looked like pieces of living art. The vibrant colours popped off their skin, and the images that had been etched into their bodies were some of the most gorgeous drawings you had ever seen. Intricate mandalas, flowers, dragons, and entire fantastical scenes. But there were also more abstract pieces, still showcasing the artistry put into it. 

'Like what you see?' Eddie asked out of nowhere. Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, you shut the magazine closed, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

'Don't worry, you're allowed to look at those,' he smiled, the pencil he had been drawing with behind his ear. 'I was just getting some stencil paper. I'll be done in a few minutes.' 

'Sorry– you just scared me.' You admitted, putting the magazine back onto its pile, heat coming over your cheeks. 

'Didn't mean to,' he said, swiftly returning to his work. He had his workstation at the other end of the studio, and since you were the only two people there, it felt a bit silly to not acknowledge each other in the room. You could almost hear him draw the stencil over the music, yet you kept quiet. It was his job, after all, and you didn't want to distract or disturb him. So you listened to the music playing around you. It was some kind of hard rock– metal– band that your parents would never have let you listen to when you were younger. They didn't allow you a lot of things, and perhaps this, what you were getting yourself into there, was also a small act of rebellion against them. Most people would probably think so if they looked at you, but it wasn't that what made you go get this tattoo. 

You listened to the music but quickly realised that there was something off with the singing voice. It sounded as if it was layered… coming from two different places: one was obviously from the speaker, but the other… was Eddie. He was softly singing along the lyrics as he drew. 

You knew, at first sight, you'd enjoy my attack–

The song continued on, but Eddie pulled his chair back and got up, a thin sheet of paper in hand. With a spark of excitement in his eyes, he came over to the front desk and waved to you to come over, which you eagerly did. He leaned on the table with his forearms. 

'Alright, here we go,' he turned the paper for you to take a look. It was almost the exact same drawing, except that the lines were much crisper, and he added in some details you hadn't even thought about, but seeing it all together– it was exactly what you had wanted. 

'It's perfect,' you smiled, looking up at him. 

'That's what I like to hear.' He seemed very proud. 'So, ready to do this?'

'I think so,' you nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your throat. Eddie raised an eyebrow, but you persisted. 'I am.'

'Ok then. Can you pay upfront?' 

'Oh yeah, yeah, sure. Is cash ok?' You pulled out your wallet and handed Eddie the amount of money he had requested. You watched him put it into the register… or try to. The cash drawer seemed to be stuck, so Eddie slammed his hand against the side of it until the machine opened up with a ding. He gave you your change of ten bucks too.

As he handed you the money, your fingertips touched for a moment. For some reason, one that was even unknown to you, you expected there to be something. Some kind of feeling you'd feel at his touch, but there wasn't really anything. He gave you the money, and you stuffed it back into your wallet. Eddie gave you the time to put everything back in your bag before leading the way to the back of the room.

'You can sit right here,' he pointed to the dentist's appointment chair, which, at closer inspection, didn't really look anything like it.. 'I'll just get everything ready. Then you can take off those jeans, maybe. Just the one leg is fine.' Right, suddenly, the idea of getting your first tattoo done on the inside of your thigh didn't feel like such a great idea. But all that anxiety was a thing of past You. You could do this. This guy was a professional, after all. He knew what he was doing, and he seemed very nice. Seemed… it was more than that. Even though you could not explain any of it, you just had that feeling that you knew this guy. Somehow, things were very slowly stacking up. Not far enough yet to get a picture of what you thought you were remembering. But you were aware that there was that something. 

'It's ok, if you're having second doubts, I can always give you your money back,' Eddie glanced over at you when you realised you had most likely zoned out. He had been preparing the tattoo gun– and Jesus H. Christ did it look gigantic. The needle was practically– 

No! Stop it. Don't do that, you told yourself. You told your inner self you thought until Eddie asked: 'Don't do what?' 

'Fuck, sorry, I thought I was saying that in my head. You don't have to stop doing anything.' You felt like a complete idiot. 

'I can't do much if you don't take that pantleg off,' he pointed at your jeans, and, in petrifying embarrassment, you started to undress. Only half. Like Eddie suggested, you pulled the jeans right back up over your other leg that would not be getting assaulted by a million tiny little knives– this was not helping!

'Actually, wait,' he stopped what he was doing, 'let me set the chair up lower, if that's alright, with you?'

'Yeah, of course.' You got up and watched him push down the chair's backrest, so now it was flat like an actual bed. 

'Ok, if you will lie down on your side for me, sweetheart, then I'll get right to work.' And with that, he turned back to his machine while you made yourself comfortable. Because of the tattoo placement, you had to lie down with your back to him, but the longer you lay there, the more you doubted it. 

'Can I still change the placement?' you looked over your shoulder at Eddie.

'Yeah, of course. Where would you want it?' 

You sat up straight and pointed at the front of your thigh. 'Just a few inches to the side.' 

Eddie laughed. 'Yeah, that is no problem at all. It will probably fit your leg nicer, too,' he grabbed a paper towel and some disinfecting liquid, spraying it onto the paper. 'May I?' He pointed at your leg and waited for your permission before applying the towel. It was cold, both the towel and his hand. He wiped the paper over your skin gently. His touch was so light; his every move was like he was scared to break you. The same went for when he had taken the small razor and started to go over that spot of your leg. And again when he took a new paper towel and cleaned it again. It had almost been relaxing, even with the harsh music still playing. Another song had come on by this point, but you could tell it was the same band. He must have put on a cassette of theirs. You wondered if he had put it on a loop or if, in ten minutes, he would have to pause the session to go and put on something new to fill the background with. 

The chair's headrest felt a bit too high, so you repositioned yourself in the chair as Eddie grabbed the stencil. 

'You alright?' he noticed you wiggling around.

'Yeah, just trying to get comfortable.' You managed to, in the best way possible. 

'I wish I could tell you that this is just a temporary thing, but this chair has been a piece of shit since it got here– Do you mind?' he put the stencil up, close to your leg, to indicate he wanted to put it on you. 

'Oh, no, not at all.' You let him, 'and you don't have to ask me every time.' It felt a bit unnecessary since it was his literal job to have his hands on you… just, perhaps, phrased a bit better.

'I'd rather not risk it,' he said, 'you're the client. Your comfort is a priority.' 

'That is very chivalrous of you,' you teased, as both of you knew that it was basic human decency, which still managed to go over many people's heads. 

'Oh, I don't care about that. But if you start moving around, I might fuck up the tattoo, and then you'll want your money back, and my boss will be pissed and blah blah blah blah blah,' he started laughing again, and you could swear it was one of the nicest laughs you had ever heard… but you had heard it before. You must have. Just the place wasn't coming to you. The dots weren't connecting. 

With your permission given, Eddie stretched out the stencil and carefully placed it in the place you had indicated. You watched, almost with a held-in breath, as he gently stuck it to you, making sure nothing was sticking out, or there were any irregularities in the paper. It was a bit damp, again cold, and his touch consistently delicate. No one had ever touched you like that before… except… 

But no, that was impossible. 

Eddie pulled the paper off, revealing the drawing in a thin blue line copied onto you. One step removed from it remaining permanently on you. 

'Alright, so that's all done. Now the fun part can start,' Eddie was clearly looking forward to this part as a little mischievous spark blew up in him. He chuckled, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he turned around to grab the tattoo machine. The relaxation you had felt moments before immediately scattered. You were reminded why exactly you were lying on that leathery chair under the bright yellow light. Just the sound of the machine buzzing made you tense up.

'Would it be a stretch to assume this will be your first tattoo?' Eddie turned the machine on for a test run, and you flinched. 

'What gave me away?'

'Oh nothing, just,' he started the machine again, and, once again, you flinched. 'That.' 

'I don't know why I'm this jumpy,'  the laugh that left you was empty. You couldn't believe how dumb you were acting, stressing out over something you knew you had no reason to be scared about.

'It's alright.' Eddie reassured you. You tried to focus on him as he spoke instead of what he was holding in his hand. 'I've had much worse clients.'

'What's the worst you've had?'

'You know, the usual psychos…One guy almost bit me once.' 

'Bit you?' You knew that he was telling you this to distract you and keep your mind occupied, which was highly appreciated. 

'Yeah, bastard wanted a face tattoo and couldn't take it. Took him all of five minutes to start crying like a baby.' He rolled his little workstation closer to you, locating the needed ink. You, meanwhile, were still processing what he had told you. 

'Face tattoo… why would people do that?' Then you quickly realised how it might come off a bit judgemental. 'I mean, it must hurt so bad!' 

'I know, right,' Eddie looked at you with a shocked expression. His free hand reached up to his bottom lip, and he pulled at it, 'what kind of sick mutherfucker would do that to themselves?' and so, he revealed, in smudged and faded grey letters spelling out "VIRGIN" on the inside of his mouth. You looked at it with wide eyes.

'Oh, I didn't mean it like– but wauw,' you burst into a fit of giggles, which Eddie was quick to join in. 'That is hilarious,' your stomach started to hurt, 'but why "Virgin"?'

'Oh, you know, I wanted something that really spoke to me.' He shrugged and dipped the needle into the ink, 'On that deep, personal level.' 

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' you had almost caught on to your normal breathing. With one big sigh, you said, 'Madonna, right?'

Eddie had the tattoo gun in his hand, but when you had said that, he let it drop on the table, not being able to keep a straight face. 

'Fucking hell. Yeah, exactly.' Eddie composed himself, shaking his head with amusement. He needed another second to properly get control back over his body before he picked the tattoo gun back up. With a paper towel, he wiped off the ink sitting on it before he dropped the machine and dipped it in the container of ink once more. You took a deep breath, shutting your eyes as if you were diving underwater instead of getting a permanent sticker painted onto your thigh. 

'Just relax for me, sweetheart,' he cooed, finally bringing the needle up to your skin. Right at the time that you had taken your needed exhale, releasing some of the tension in your body. The dozens of pinpricks ran up and down your leg as Eddie drove the needles over the lineart he had done for you.

You couldn't look at it, so you pulled your head up, getting blinded by the light above. After that, you let your mind wander, trying to think about anything else but the pain in your leg. The proper subject to keep your mind away from the present was Eddie's tattoos. The light above your head was getting too much, so you had to look back down, but you didn't want to actually see what Eddie was doing, so you focused in on him. His arms, specifically. Covered in black and grey pictures. Very similar art as to what was plastered over the walls. But one stuck out to you in particular. 

A flock of bats flying on his lower arm. You had definitely seen that before. Memories were now flooding in, and with the evidence of those bats… there was no way that two people in Hawkins had the same exact lip tattoo.

'Did you go to Hawkins High, by any chance?' you asked, not sure really of how to bring up what you were going for. It wasn't the most casual topic to mention. 

'I'd love for you to show me a person in this town that didn't,' he answered as he leaned over to pick up some more ink on his needle. 'But yeah, I did. Class of '84.' 

'84, that was the year you were supposed to graduate. It was just one darn D in Spanish that unravelled all your plans and made you retake your final year of high school. It had honestly been a bunch of bullshit, and you were still sure, to this day, 2 and a half years later, that Mrs Brund had failed you simply for the sake of taking out her midlife crisis on one poor sucker in her class. 

On the last day of school, when you realised you wouldn't be graduating with the rest of your friends, someone threw a giant party. Technically you had nothing to celebrate, but it was an excellent excuse to get drunk and momentarily forget how miserable you felt. Your parents weren't angry… just disappointed. You were disappointed too, of course. And just so frustrated at everything. What better way to remove your frustrations than the mystery punch someone had served on the kitchen counter. Completely unattended, perfect for you to drown your teenage-angst-sorrows in. 

"Woah, I'd suggest slowing down with that shit," a voice said to you as you were about to chug your second cup. You looked over to where the voice came from. He stood in the doorway. Hair a bit shorter, fewer tattoos and a leather jacket instead of a flannel, but it was undeniably him. Eddie Munson had stood in front of you at your non-graduation party 2 and a half years ago, and now he was sitting next to you, tattooing your thigh. 

The memories were coming in clear as day now. Or, at least, a very dark and foggy day. The alcohol you had managed to down helped you forget a huge portion of that night. Perhaps that is why you didn't recognise Eddie so quickly. Did he remember you? Or anything that had happened that night? Probably not. He would have said something, right? 

Then again, as you watched him trace those lines of ink on your leg, you could not imagine admitting to what you just remembered. 

Eddie walked over to you and quickly took the cup from your hand, spilling it right back into the punch bowl. Not exactly the most hygienic move, but everyone was too drunk to care, and there was no one even in the kitchen with you to see him do it. 

"I really think you had enough."

"What do you know about me?" You leaned against the countertop. You had no idea what was in the punch, but the effects kicked in quickly. All your worries drifted away as you swayed to the music blasting in the living room. 

"Nothing, except that you just had a whole cup of that shit, and it would probably fuel a horse for a lifetime, so you should stop before you're ahead." He pushed the punch bowl away from you. 

"I'm y/n," you extended your hand to him. 

"I know," he shook it, amused. "And Eddie." 

"Well, Eddie, if you don't know anything about me, how do you know my name?" 

"Everyone should know the name of the class president, shouldn't they?" He quipped, leaning against the counter beside you. Usually, mentioning your achievements brought you pride, but now… it was like a deflated balloon. What was the point of anything you had done over the past years if you couldn't graduate properly when you were supposed to? 

"Did I say something–" Eddie noticed your empty expression. 

"No. no. it's nothing." You reached out for an almost empty bowl of chips.

"If you say so, sweetheart," he didn't know you and understood that it wasn't any of his business, which is probably what you appreciated the most out of everything that he had done that night. He didn't try to comfort you over whatever made you sad. Instead, he helped you forget it. 

And then you forgot him. 

'You knew my name,' the words slipped out of your mouth, thinking back to that night. But Eddie hadn't been listening, too focused in on his work. But he had acknowledged you speak, so he cocked his head up. 

'Sorry, what was that? I didn't hear you, sweetheart?' He was using the same nickname since you had walked into the studio. But you couldn't jump to conclusions. It could easily just be his thing when talking to women. A little bit of careless flirting. 

'Nothing, it's nothing,' you shook it off, letting him continue his work. But maybe that had been a mistake, as you just become aware of his hands. 

He had been working his way through the tattoo upwards, not wanting to wipe off the stencil at the top as he tattooed each of the lines. But he was nearing the top now. His hands were softly moving over the top of your thigh, and against all your intuitions, you could feel that warm feeling glow inside you. More memories, not helping your situation. 

To help you sober up, Eddie took you outside. He had intended on just going out to the garden, but you started walking further and further down the road. There had been a playground somewhere in this neighbourhood. 

And indeed, there was. A large colourful tower, with a slide, monkey bars– the lot—  included. 

"I'll race you," you said. 

"Oh, you're on," Eddie ran like his life depended on it, but so did you. You both reached the tower around the same time, but Eddie climbed up via the slide while you opted for the more traditional climbing route. His shoes squeaked as they slipped down the metal. Nonetheless, he made it to the top before you. 

"What do I win?" He asked once you climbed inside the tower. He was sitting on the floor, back against the plastic wall. 

"The honour of outracing me?" You sat down next to him. 

"Should have told me that before I almost broke my leg on that thing." He pointed over to the slide, which you were now sitting right across from.

The walk to the park and playground, though short, had done wonders for you. The fresh summer air took care of whatever that punch had left you with, so you sat in the playground castle next to Eddie with only a slight buzz in your head. You had come there entirely on impulse and had no idea what to do now that you had arrived at your destination. You both remained silent. Two complete strangers, sitting shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sky above the railings of their little tower. 

At one point, you put your head on his shoulder. His hair had a surprisingly sweet scent to it, but it was overshadowed by the smell that you knew all too well. 

"Do you smoke?" you asked. 

"Uh, yeah. Want one?" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. But you shook your head. 

"No, that's not what I meant," for some reason, it was a bit funny to you how you had suddenly landed in this position with a guy you barely knew who needed clarification between smoking weed and cigarettes. Because he didn't question anything, you said. Eddie just put his cigarettes back and then roamed around in the inner lining of that jacket to pull out a little metal box. 

"Would you perhaps be interested in some of this?" He opened the box, showing you already pre-rolled joints. You scrunched your nose.

"No thanks, but if you want to, go right ahead." 

"Are you sure?" He looked at you with his big eyes, possibly thinking this was some kind of test, but you had meant it all earnestly, not caring about the secondhand smoke. You nudged him on. 

"I know you want to. Just do it." And so Eddie put one of his joints between his lips and brought out his lighter. It was a heavy silver one, engraved on all sides. He flicked it on a few times before the flame appeared, lighting his face up with a bright orange glow. You watched him bring the fire up to the tip of the joint and watched it burn as he quickly took a long inhale. He sucked his cheeks in hollow and pulled out the blunt, still keeping the smoke in his mouth for another second until releasing it in a slow cloud. Out of respect for your lungs, he turned aside, so the smoke wouldn't blow in your face. You still didn't care, though.

You watched him in astonishment. The way he moved was so casual, so relaxed. He didn't have a care for the world, and it showed, and you wished that could be you, or at least a small part of you, for the time being. 

'Tell me,' Eddie asked, breaking up a long period of silence, 'why exactly did you choose to get this tattoo?' 

'Isn't that a bit of a personal question?' you raised an eyebrow. Not that you minded telling him, you were just curious as to how he would respond. 

'Baby, you're half-naked and I'm literally on top of you right now, I think we've surpassed the formalities.' He was highly amused by his own antics. He wiped at your skin to get rid of some excess ink, 'I can guess if you'd prefer?' 

'I'd like to see you try.' You dared him, and he was quick to take on the challenge.

'Alright… attempt at pissing off Mommy and Daddy?' 

'Would have done it somewhere where it's more visible, wouldn't I?' 

'That is a very fair point… then it must be a midlife crisis.' He wiped the ink again and quickly moved on to the next line of the tattoo. 

'So you either think I'm really old, or am going to die very young. Thanks.' 

'That did come out wrong, didn't it?' 

'A little bit, yeah– sorry, can I just–' you waited for him to stop what he was doing so you could reposition yourself. 'Thanks.' 

'So not rebelling or having an identity crisis… what is it then?' He asked as he went back to work. 

'Can't it be just for fun?' 

'You don't seem like the type, though.'

'I'd like to be the type.' You sighed, dropping your head back down on the headrest and looking up at the ceiling. 'Actually, I don't want to be "a type"; I just want to be me.' 

'There we go! That's the answer I was looking for.' Eddie cheered out playfully. 'And I completely agree. People care too much about what others think of them. It's forced conforming.' 

'Yeah, exactly.' You smiled to yourself. He was right. About everything. And you had also, most definitely, been one of those people that cared more about what the rest thought, and it was getting exhausting. 

"I'm not graduating this year," you blurted out. Eddie was the first person you had told. Before your best friends, before your parents even. This random guy you had never spoken to and were now sharing weed air with was the first person you told your darkest moment about. And his response baffled you. 

"Me too," not a care in the world. 

"Oh."

"What? You thought you were the only one with problems around here?" He didn't mean it viciously; you could tell by his laugh. 

"No," you knew how much of a mess Hawkins was, fuck, a kid had gone missing not so long ago. "Just, hate the idea of having to go back there next year."

"Not exactly looking forward to it either, sweetheart." maybe it was the way that little word made your heart skip. Maybe it was the way he sat there, head tilted back as he let the smoke escape his lips. How he had his hand on top of his knee, holding the joint so casually. Or maybe it was the way he looked over at you afterwards. Eyes dark, curious, thoughtful. Something others would call dangerous, but all you saw was excitement.

Just like that, you had found common ground with the guy everyone could call your Polar Opposite. Something to bond with the man you wouldn't have ever spoken to if it wasn't for the fact he saved you from alcohol poisoning. You really would not have exchanged a single word if it wasn't for that punch. He was nowhere near your social radar at school, just another face you didn't recognise. And now, you sat together in this playground, two blocks away from anyone you actually knew. 

You would never have talked to him if it wasn't for that punch. Not even because you were so different, but because that difference scared you. You had grown up with the same exact group of friends; what was the point of talking to new people? Ones who you would have nothing in common with… 

It surprised you how you had not told him to fuck off after he poured out your drink. That's what you would have done at any other party. But you stayed, talked, took that walk to the park, and sat there with him, inhaling the secondhand smoke from his weed and letting it consume all your worries. 

Eddie kept looking at you, probably because you kept looking at him. Your eyes locked in on each other, and a game had started. Not a silly staring contest, but more of a dare. Who would pull out of it first? Because as you looked at him, your bodies pulled together as if magnetised. Slowly, your chest bumped up to his, and his lips ghosted over yours, so close you could practically feel them.

And then you did.

He had chapped lips and a bit of a stubble on his chin, scratching against your skin, but it didn't matter. As soon as you kissed, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. Awkwardly, you climbed over his leg, needing to be as close to him as possible. What started out as a soft and tender kiss was now evolving, growing, into a passionate and heated moment. The warmth of it escalated through the rest of your body, an entirely new sensation. It wasn't your first kiss, far from it, but the feeling that came with it– that was something you had never felt before. No one had touched you like Eddie had in that moment. It wasn't even anything intense, and he still had one of his hands holding on to a blunt, but the way his other hand held you, fingers digging into your thigh… 

Your teeth grazed over his bottom lip, revealing that ironic tattoo, then still fresh and the ink vibrantly blank in contrast to the natural soft pink. 

The tattoo machine buzzed as it slid across your leg, when a sharp sting, a pain suddenly worse than it had been for the past hour, made you jump.  

'Fuck, sorry,' you apologised quickly, repositioning yourself to how you had been lying down before. Eddie had pulled his hands away at your quick movement, and he sat there, looking like a deer getting arrested in the headlights. 

'It's alright. Was it a spasm?' he wiped off some drops of ink that had spilt from the tip of the needle onto your leg. 

'Uhm, yeah, just like a sharp pain, too.' 

'I'll try to be gentle.' He winked and went back to work. You, however, lost the ability to breathe for a short second. When you finally did, with a deep inhale, you considered shortly the idea of bringing up that night. Maybe he didn't remember it? But then why mention it? Why make him remember? Would it be worse than ignoring it, though? It was highly likely that he did remember everything that night, more than you did, and was embarrassed about it too. He would mention it, wouldn't he? You weren't. 

And yet, he kept on tattooing and kept on coming closer and closer to the top of your thigh, wiping it off with that paper towel, brushing his thumb over the spots he was about to touch with the needles. He was so close to you, too, you could feel his warm breath on you. 

He pulled away from you to take a deep breath. 

"Fuck," you felt him say it against your cheek, and the sensation again rushed through you, down to your very core. 

"Yeah," your breath was shaky. Eyes closed, for it felt too good to be real. You just let it all wash over you, the pure bliss.

However, it was a feeling that was slowly subsiding, and you needed more. The kisses Eddie left on your jaw and neck were helping, but it wasn't enough. 

"Eddie," you said airily, to which he responded with an attentive hum. "I need more." 

"I really  doubt that, sweetheart." He chuckled, pulling your hair aside and kissing you right beneath your ear. His words and actions felt counterintuitive and confusing. 

"What?"

"Believe me, you don't want this." Your lips met for another brief kiss. This one was again much more simple and soft. 

"Why wouldn't I?" You had opened your eyes once that kiss ended, looking back into his. He was smiling, but it was sadder than all those great smiles he had shared with you before. 

"Be honest, do you really want to have sex with me?" 

Your silence was more telling than any words you would have said, and Eddie understood it completely. But when you thought about it, it wasn't because it was Eddie. In general, you did not feel like you could do it… with anyone.

Sitting in that chair now, you didn't regret what had happened at the party. You regretted what followed. Eddie had let you escape for the night, given you a true experience, a little taste of what life could be, and you let it pass. The morning after, you didn't remember much, but also just let slip away the things you did. You never tried to find the man that had made you feel alive, didn't even bother to remember his name. Instead, you went back to what you knew and wasted your heart on guys that couldn't give a shit about it. 

You had run away from something once again. 

And maybe it was dramatic and childish to now think of that tiny moment in your life and perhaps make it bigger than it really was. The relevance you put to it was completely arbitrary, but now it stuck, and the fact that you had run away and yet still managed to return to him somehow… 

Even though you had never been the kind of person to believe in fate, this also didn't feel like just a big coincidence. 

'Almost finished here,' Eddie murmured over the tattoo. In the background, the music faded out, and no new song started playing. The loop had played out. The only sound in the room now was only the buzz of the machine gun. 'You're doing amazing, by the way.' 

'Thanks,' you laughed. It really hadn't been as bad as you had imagined. Not bad at all.

"We should probably head back, don't want your friends to think you got kidnapped," he joked and did, indeed, bring you back to the party, and after you parted your ways, you still managed to get more drunk while having fun with your friends. But throughout the entire night, the feeling of Eddie's lips against yours, his hands on your body, the bitter taste of leftover alcohol and weed… it lingered on you. 

An unforgettable kiss that still managed to be lost overnight. The next day you woke up in your own bed, feeling sick and with a headache that made all the bright colours in your room scream. The events of the night all blurred into one second, and all you could directly recall was that you had made out with someone, drank way too much, and danced with your friends; in what order that might have been, you could not know. 

But you also woke up feeling a bit lighter. When you eventually told your parents about not graduating, something in the back of your mind told you that it would be ok. A little voice calling out to you, reminding you you wouldn't be alone. 

The next time you would hear that voice would be 2 and a half years later. 

'Aaand… we're done.' 

'What?' you blinked slowly, watching Eddie get up out of his seat. You looked down at your leg. The skin was a bit agitated by the constant abuse it had received over the last hour, but you could see through it as the image that was now on your skin was absolutely perfect. 

'Sorry, I wasn't very talkative, sometimes I just really get in the zone,' Eddie laughed, grabbing another paper towel and another bottle of disinfectant. 'Let me just clean that up for you, and wrap it up.' 

'Thanks.' You were glad you had decided to wear your looser jeans, as your thigh already felt sore as Eddie was applying the bandage over it. But, to have tight jeans around it, too… you didn't think you would be able to make it home. 

'Really, thanks for everything.' You said again once you were up and fully dressed. 

'It's been my pleasure, just remember to come back here if you ever want anything else done.' He was cleaning up his station, putting away equipment, and unattached the used needle from the tattoo gun. The way he was working so efficiently, you could keep watching him all day– but that would have been creepy and weird. It was your time to go home. But you couldn't make yourself go. Not now, before you knew-

'You said "class of 84",'  you bit your cheek again, 'but you didn't graduate, did you?'

'Never said I did.'

'You never did… you dropped out during the summer.' You had no idea why these words were leaving your mouth, but you hoped that Eddie wouldn't take too much offence in your rambling brain. 

'Nothing escapes Miss Class President, does it?' He smirked, turning the light above the tattoo station off. 

'You do remember,' you gasped. 'Oh god,' now the embarrassment was coming in like a flood. 'When did you-'

'Pretty much the second you walked in. Was actually a bit offended you didn't.' He winked, walking with you to the front of the store again. You could see through the windows that the sun was slowly coming down.

'I am really, so sorry- it's been so long and I had been so-' you felt awful. For everything. But, Eddie being Eddie, put his hand on your shoulder, brushed some hair out of your face with his other, and spoke softly and calmly.

'I know. And you really don't have to apologise for anything.' His dimples were visible again, 'I'm just… happy to have been able to be a first for you.' The small comment made you smile too, in a little nervous sense, but mostly because you saw that he really didn't mind. Everything was alright between you.

At that moment, something rushed over you. Maybe adrenaline, or something. It kicked in higher than it had when you made out with Eddie in that playground castle, or when you had gotten your ears pierced against your parents' wishes. You felt it more than when you had laid down on that chair to get the tattoo. This was the moment for you to take a big risk. A leap into something where you truly didn't know where you could end up. There were big chances of a catastrophe, but you didn't care. You had to truly say fuck it to take that leap now.

'I promise I'll leave your parlour soon,' you guaranteed Eddie, 'I just want to say that– and I know it's not my place to say it– but I wish you hadn't dropped out.' 

Eddie took a step back and blinked slowly. He didn't say anything, just looked at you, so, not caring if you would make the situation worse or not, you kept on talking: 

'I wish that because, that night or at least the bits I can still remember,' you both lightly laughed at that, 'really put my life into perspective. Not in like a very dramatic sense, of course not, but it just made me think: It, subconsciously, stayed with me, in the back of my mind for the past 3 years, and I just realised that now. 

'I think, that night, I felt like I had made a friend easier than I had ever done anything before, and the fact that I didn't even remember it properly makes me want to kick myself. So, when I say that I wish you had stayed in school, I wish you had walked into that dumb and ugly building after the summer so I could have seen your face and instantly remembered everything that had happened in that playground castle and that we could have had more moments like that or even better ones, or worse ones, but that it wasn't where it had ended.' 

Eddie looked at you, confused as if he didn't understand what you were asking him. But then that smile reappeared, full of mischief. 

'Are you-' he crossed his arms, 'asking me out?' 

'Jesus Christ,' You hid your hands in your face. Out of all of the things you had just said… that's what he picked up? Well, maybe that is what you had meant and even thinking about it, his question didn't offend you. On the contrary, it made that old bubbly feeling in your stomach bubble up. So, pushing away any sense of shame, putting up the most confident facade you could evoke out of yourself, you looked up at him and said, 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Well, that is certainly not something I expected to happen when I woke up this morning.' his tongue poked out from the corner of his lips as you waited for his answer. 'How about tomorrow? I can pick you up. Around 7?' 

'Sure. 7 sounds good.' you gave him your address, and with that, you left to go home. 

Even though you knew exactly where you were going, to your car, to drive home, it didn't feel like it. You had just taken that leap into uncertain terrains, but it didn't scare you for once. The anxieties that followed you throughout your life were, for once, exchanged for excitement. Perhaps that's just what it had been the entire time, but it didn't matter. And it didn't matter where this would eventually end up, you and Eddie. It might be a perfect happily ever after, or it might end with just the one horrible date. You didn't know, and, truly, for once, you didn't care. 

The End

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masterlist is linked in bio and navigation post!!

taglist (link in bio and navigation post) : @spiderrrling @hellfire-state-of-mind @theglitterymess @dorianelizabeth @theletterhart @niyahwhoreworld @chatnoirfangirl1624 @fopdoodle1624 @pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard

[i-arch-my-backula]

hi I luv your content, can do you some headcannons for dwayne? 🥹🥹

Dwayne my beloved. I still laugh thinking about Billy just walking around shirtless all the time on set. It's pretty funny to my. Again talking about my mutual Lost (@/lostbxys) Dwayne is his favorite boy and I'm stealing a lot of these head cannons from him. Also Lost I know you won't do this but just in case don't try to cancel me for these lmao.

General and Relationship head cannons for Dwayne tlb

Warnings: None I can think of.

I agree he was turned in the 1700's. He was the first boy to be turned out of the four of them.

He got mad hoes. Like everyone was kinda scared of him so he picked up chicks and dudes left and right.

I can see him bonding with Paul at woodstock about being labeled something for how many partners they have had.

He isn't like the actual biological big brother to Laddie he still fills the role. He's very protective over Laddie and takes the role of being a big brother seriously.

He probably has something for his hair that he uses to keep it so nice. He's from the 1700's he knows some like plant oils or whatever to keep his hair nice and clean.

Also has only three shirts. One from Woodstock, one from the night he turned, one from when he was a kid and I think Lost mentioned a fourth one but that was awhile ago.

He's great at shoplifting he just doesn't do it often. When he does he uses Paul and or Marko as a distraction.

Listens to more "girly" music (by that I mean female artists and artists popular with women and girls) with Star sometimes. Not his favorite kind of music but it's nice to listen to with Star.

Made his jacket with the help of Marko. Probably stole it from a victim. Maybe a greaser from the 50's? I like the idea of the boys being greasers.

He scolds Paul all the time for how he treats his hair. "Paul your hair is so fried I can blow on it and it would snap in half." Forces Paul to let him wash out his hair once at week at least. Also probably steals hairspray for him.

Has a few tattoos on him here and there.

Makes sure the boys keep the swearing down around Laddie. They get very creative with their insults too. "Marko if you looked up while it was raining you'd drown." "I can't drown stupid we're vampires."

Relationship head cannons

Dwayne probably met you when he saw you helping Laddie when he got lost. He'll notice how attractive you are and probably will ask you out from there.

Will get teased by Paul and Marko and will roll his eyes about it. He'll get protective over you too and insist to David that you're not gonna be a victim.

Will tell you about the whole vampire thing before you two start dating. Won't force you to turn but he will let you know it's gonna have to happen eventually. But who doesn't wanna be a vampire with a hot vampire boyfriend.

I mentioned this before but Dwayne's main love language is quality time. He loves spending time with you doing things you both love. Playing game on the boardwalk, watching the sunset if he gets up early enough, walks on the beach, reading to you, going for rides alone, whatever he can do with you he wants to do.

Is ok with physical touch but he's gonna have to warm up to it a bit. Not really used to it all that much but he's not totally shut off to the idea. He'll hold your hand often and give soft cheek kisses around the boys. Won'r do much physical affection around Laddie however.

If you ask about it he will go over his past, leaving out some bits he wants to forget about along the way. He's been alive for over 3 centuries so he's got a lot of stories to tell. Will tell you stories about the other boys too. I like the idea of him telling you about the time Marko got bucked off a horse and the reason he got on the horse in the first place was because "I grew up on a farm. I can ride horses."

When you do turn he's going to make sure your first hunt is special. Just the two of you together and the victims. After this he'll help you get the hang of all the new vampire stuff. "Dwayne my nails keep breaking." "Don't worry about it darling they grow back quick."

That's another thing. He loves pet names. Darling, pretty boy/girl, lovely, honey, dear, handsome, beautiful, etc. Lot's of pet names.

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending. 

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands. 

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore. 

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems. 

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house? 

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements. 

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like. 

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly. 

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment. 

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins. 

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher. 

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?” 

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before? 

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?” 

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow. 

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always. 

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow.  "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry? 

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing. 

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous. 

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard. 

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself. 

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room. 

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway. 

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows. 

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation. 

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

[sonnetthebard]

This is kind of a crack idea, but I don't really care and I'm throwing it out anyway

Curt and Owen have to go undercover in a show for a mission(keeping an eye on one of the members of the cast maybe?). The show? Either Spies are Forever or a Hatchetfield show, take your pick -S

S anon... you have been waiting a while for this, and I apologize. With Headless, I needed a moment to recharge. So this is going to be a Modern! SAF fic. And as a treat, we're going original cast in an AU. That's right folks. Extra meta content. You asked for crack, you're gonna get crack. Please note: Most of the stories pertaining to the real people involved in this oneshot are made up based on what facts I know about them/ what I’m able to pick up on personalities. I don’t know any of these people personally, though. This is going to be such a ride, so buckle up.

Genre: Comedy/ Action/ Fluff

Words: 5639

TL;DR: Curt and Owen take the stage in order to monitor Chimera and one of their operatives. The thing is, they only have a vague clue as to who they're going after: he was one of the writers.

TW: Swearing, Guns, Fighting- But not much, this is mostly just gonna be a joke.

_________________________________________________

"Next we have... Curt Mega?" The longer-haired one read off, looking at Curt. "Cool name! We might have to use that- if, of course, that's okay with you."

"Oh... yeah, that's fine." Curt chuckled softly.

What, precisely, was Curt doing? Only the thing he'd vowed to Owen that he would never do (other than, of course, leave him): auditioning for a musical. Owen was a total theatre kid, and he'd done his share of musicals. Curt was always in the audience, but he'd jokingly told Owen that he would never be joining him up there. But... here he was. In an audition room. Curt never broke promises, not even joke ones. But these were... extenuating circumstances. In other words, this was for a mission and he had no doubt that Cynthia would actually kill him if he didn't follow through with his orders. Owen gave him a sly, triumphant smirk from across the room, where he was waiting for his audition. Curt got up, following the guy back further into the studio where they were holding auditions.

This mission was an odd one. It was monitoring a potential operative with Chimera Worldwide. Sure, they had the world by storm now- but A.S.S. was getting intel telling them that they might be breaching the privacy rights of people all over the world. In fact, Chimera may be a lot more criminal than they would seem to the naked eye. There was evidence coming to light of plots that could very well end in world domination. The worst part: apparently they were pretty plausible. One world government, puppeted by Chimera. That's why MI6 had sent Owen, and A.S.S. had sent Curt. They were their best agents, and a duo that had proven to work well together.

What did all of that have to do with a musical? To the average joe, nothing. Oh, Chimera had done well. They'd even declined to offer these guys a production grant so as to not seem shady. But... the A.S.S. had reason to believe that one of the writers and producers for the show that they were about to audition for was an operative for Chimera. Now, this play in and of itself may be an independent project. It may have nothing to do with Chimera. But... it was looking like the easiest way to monitor this operative, and so here Curt and Owen were. Owen was thrilled! He loved doing shows. He usually had to slot them into his schedule carefully, though. He couldn't do them during missions. So a mission where he was doing theatre was basically a dream come true for him.

Curt and Owen had chosen roles according to their experience with theatre. Curt had chosen to keep his name as his theatrical stage name, and Owen already did keep his name as a stage name. It was risky, but it also provided their names with a solid cover in the world outside of espionage. Owen had a legitimate resume built. That was why he was going for the lead, currently named 'JB' for 'James Bond' (subject to change). Curt, on the other hand, had stolen his resume from another actor named Curt Mega (who had fully agreed to that and signed an NDA and luckily enough happened to look like Curt). He had literally no acting experience, so he was going for a smaller role: The Informant and Ensemble. Both would likely have eyes on different parts of the production process and the cast. Hopefully they'd get a good idea of what was going on and who their target was. Maybe they'd even get to eliminate the threat! That was Curt's favourite part of missions.

"So, Curt... you did Glee?" The guy who had initially called him asked as they walked.

"Yep!" Curt lied.

"I recognize you! You were one of the Warblers- nice job on that solo in Uptown Girl, by the way." The man chuckled. Oh good. He was passable as the other Curt Mega. "I did Glee too. I was only there for, like, an episode though. But my buddy Darren... well, you probably know him."

"Yeah. He did a phenomenal job as Blaine." Curt smirked. Darren was also on an NDA. The government was being extremely careful.

"I'm Joey Richter. Me and my friends Brian and Corey wrote this show." The man introduced himself, extending his hand. Curt took it, giving him a firm shake. Joey smirked. "Damn... you've got a good shake."

"Thanks." Curt chuckled. He liked this guy. It was hard to imagine right now that he could be talking to an agent for one of the greatest evils known to man since... probably the Nazis. "I'm Curt... I mean, you know that, I just..."

"Yeah, I get it." Joey chuckled along with him. They walked into a room. Inside there were four other men. Two sat behind a table, Curt's supposed 'resume' and headshots laid out in front of them, a stack of papers on the side. Two other men shared a piano bench stationed by a keyboard. None of them were dressed particularly formally. Actually, they were all dressed pretty similarly to Curt. Short-sleeved patterned button-ups were about as formal as it got. So Curt and his black, white and gold striped short-sleeved button-up were in good company. "Hey, guys! This is Curt!"

"Hey! Welcome to the auditions for Spies are Forever!" One of the men behind the table smiled brightly. God, all of these men looked... so innocent. Curt couldn't see any of them being traitors to their country, much less mankind.

"Okay, so that's Brian. The guy beside him is Corey." Joey introduced. Corey waved. "The two guys at the piano bench are Clark and Pierce, our composers and band."

"Hey, Curt." Clark smirked.

"You brought your sixteen bars?" Pierce checked.

"Yep." Curt nodded, popping his 'p' and passing him the binder with his sheet music in it.

He'd brought Being Alive from Company, which Owen said was "such a cliche" and "a terrible choice for a comic show", but it was the song Curt felt most comfortable singing. So he was singing it anyways. Owen was very adamant that Curt had to be careful to actually be cast in the show, but Curt held that that song was his best chance. Curt had always thought he was an okay singer. He had his range that he shined in, and he used that. He never performed though. He wasn't that good. That's why he was going for a mostly non-singing role. He went over his cut with Clark, who was actually the one who would be playing for him. Then he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and gave it the old college try.

The odd thing, Curt thought, was that they seemed very into it. Either they were being very nice to him or they were genuinely enjoying the performance. Curt was a bit surprised by that. Owen was the performer among the two of them. Curt supposed it could just be the song. But then... something else unexpected happened. They asked Curt to do his cold read as 'JB'... and change the name to his own. 'Agent Curt Mega'. It was all getting a bit real for Curt. They liked him. And they liked his cold read. They were laughing during his cold read- and at all the right times! Curt was very confused. This wasn't where he was supposed to shine. He walked out of the audition room, and Owen was called in.

Owen really could not have come out sooner. Curt was anxious. What had he just done? He had given it his best because he thought that the best that could get him was ensemble. Was it going to get him more? Was he ready for more? He was past the point of no return, but... God, what had he just done? Owen came out of his audition, smug and content with himself. Apparently they'd asked him to read multiple sides. Curt hadn't the heart to tell him they'd asked him to read for the lead. A few days passed. Curt almost forgot that he'd even auditioned. That it had been so successful. Basking in the California sun could do that to you. But three days later, it all came back to him all too vividly.

"Curt, I got the email!" Owen announced from where he was lazing on the couch across from Curt in their hotel room. He sat up quickly, eager.

"What does it say?" Curt asked eagerly, sitting up with him. Owen scrolled down on his phone.

"Well... I'm in the show..." Owen furrowed his brows. "But... not in the role I thought. I got Deadliest Man Alive."

"Oh." Curt frowned. "I'm sorry. I know you really wanted the lead."

"It seemed like a juicy part." Owen hummed, still a bit dazed by the rejection. "I was looking forward to it."

"I know, babe." Curt sighed, getting up and wrapping his partner in a hug. "Maybe this one will be even juicier!"

"Maybe..." Owen nodded. "Thank you, love. For trying to make me feel better."

"Yeah, no problem!" Curt smiled softly.

"Did you get your email?" Owen asked.

"I... haven't checked." Curt admitted.

"Well go on, then! Sit! We'll check together!" Owen urged him. Curt sighed, sitting beside him and opening his email. Owen peered over his shoulder. The email from the Tin Can Bros was the first one that popped up right at the top. "Open it, Curt!"

"Okay..." Curt chuckled nervously, pressing the email to open it. He scrolled down, sighing in relief. "I got in, O."

"Congratulations!" Owen cheered, grinning. he was genuinely happy for Curt, and excited to be in the same show. "What role?"

"Let me scroll down..." Curt chuckled, before his heart stopped. Naturally, his laughter stopped with it, and his face fell.

"Love, what is it?" Owen furrowed his brows, concerned by the sudden mood shift. Immediately, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. "Curt, is there anything in there indicating that we might be compromised?"

"No..." Curt shook his head, staring at the role.

"Then... darling, what's wrong?" Owen blinked, before looking over his shoulder. His face fell to a state of shock almost equal to Curt's when he read the words, bolded on the screen: We would like to offer you the role of 'JB', renamed Agent Curt Mega. "Oh..."

_________________________________________________

Rehearsals for Spies Are Forever were potentially one of the best times Curt had ever had. Everyone loved him! Apparently, his voice was much better than he'd given himself credit for, as was his acting. Even Owen admitted it. It turned out Curt was perfect for the role. The songs fit right for him, the personality was spot on... the spy was even gay! It was as though it was written specifically for him to perform. Curt truly was having the time of his life. And Owen was loving the role of Deadliest Man Alive. It turned out it was a significantly juicier role than Curt's- funny, dark. And he even had a minor side comedic role to take on, Dick Big. So he could flex his chops in different area. There was a bit of a minor complication with the characters, though.

It turned out Curt's was not the only name that they'd liked. The Tin Can Bros had thought Owen's name was absolutely perfect... for Curt's partner turned villain. Romantic partner turned villain, to boot. They liked the ship name Curtwen. Ironically, both Owen and Joey were playing versions of Agent Owen Carvour- Owen playing him when he was in disguise as Deadliest Man Alive, Joey playing him out of disguise. Owen didn't make a fuss- he couldn't in the position he was in. But he didn't like being portrayed that way, or his name being used that way. The truth was, Owen had used to be morally grey. He'd had a phase where he'd almost betrayed his country and Curt. He'd very nearly done some terrible things. He wouldn't way who for, but Owen had implied it might have been Chimera. But he and Curt had worked through that, and he saw the error of his ways. It hurt seeing his name associated with villainy again. But for the sake of the mission, he literally could not complain.

As for the mission, they weren't really getting too far yet- and that wasn’t for lack of effort. As hard as finding a balance between rehearsal and espionage was, they’d managed to find a routine and stick to it. The work they were doing really should have been productive for them. They'd bugged all three writers and the two composers, but HQ (who was monitoring those so that the boys could focus on rehearsing so that they didn’t become too suspicious) was saying that they'd not gotten any suspicious activity from those except for Joey constantly being with an unidentified girl. But it seemed like that was his girlfriend and not another operative. So either this operative was smart and onto them or taking a hiatus from their work. Background checks were pretty clean. They were going purely off their interactions with these writers, which wasn’t really helping. All five of them were lovely. All five of them were also extremely smart. And all five of them had acting experience. Right now, though... Joey, Clark and Pierce weren't their main suspects. Joey was just too genuine to be bad, as were Pierce and Clark. Plus, if we're looking at technicalities (as Owen tended to), Clark and Pierce were composers, not writers. It was between Brian and Corey- unless something changed. Truly, it was anyone's game.

Owen and Curt were on break. It had been a hard day of rehearsal so far. Curt had just had to rehearse his pseudo-love-song with Mary Kate (who was lovely, but he was a bit jealous of- Owen had called her 'gorgeous' on multiple occasions now), and though it wasn't physically or musically demanding it was hard not to just start laughing. Especially with Curt, a gay man who had experienced this before. And Lauren played his meddling mother during the song, which only made it harder not to laugh. His own mother had no idea what he did or who he was seeing, and it was better that way. She just thought he was a single banker. He liked Lauren’s version of his mom better. She was way funnier. It had taken a bit of time just to get a run in where Curt wasn't giggling the entire time. The song was just so well written! He knew it was so unprofessional (and Owen had certainly reminded him of that) but he couldn't help it! And the Bros were laughing with him, so it was all good. He was glad to be on break, because his sides were killing him. He scrolled through his phone, checking for anything from HQ, before he felt a hand on his back.

"You know, Curt, I don't know if I've told you this lately but you're really, really great!" Joey told him.

"Thanks, man." Curt chuckled. "Thanks for the opportunity!"

"Thank you for coming out for our show!" Joey smirked. His voice dropped to a lower volume. “Listen... you and Owen are dating, right?”

"Yeah..." Curt furrowed his brows. He and Owen had chosen to be open about that. They were all pretty supportive of the LGBTQ+ community. The actor playing Susan and The Informant had even confessed to him that they thought they might be nonbinary- maybe even female leaning. 

"Okay, so for the whole anniversary thing..." Joey fidgeted a bit nervously. "I mean... I've got an anniversary coming up, and, like, it's not my first, but... I think I’ve used every trick in the dating book at this point, and-"

"Wait, you're dating?" Curt blinked.

"Oh! Right, you're new!" Joey started to laugh. "Um... yeah! It's me and Lo."

"You and Lauren?" Curt smirked. He chuckled. "I knew it!"

"We're not public about the relationship yet, though, so... keep it quiet?" Joey pleaded.

"Oh yeah, you're safe." Curt assured him.

"So... any ideas?" Joey asked. “I really want this to be special for her.”

"Have you guys done the beach yet?" Curt offered. "Like, just a picnic- something you both love to eat- out on the beach."

"Yeah, did that two years ago." Joey sighed.

"Alright... how about a museum?" Curt offered. "It can be any museum that has something the two of you could bond over. But... I mean, Owen is super into experiencing art together."

"That we haven't done... not by ourselves on a date." Joey considered. "It doesn't even really have to be art, does it?"

"Nah, that's the beauty of museums! There are museums out there for everything." Curt smirked. “Maybe you two could go to a movie museum.”

"That’s probably more our speed.” Joey chuckled. “Thanks, man!”

"No problem.” Curt winked playfully. Then, he got an idea. He trusted Joey, so hopefully this worked. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

"I mean, I kinda owe you one." Joey chuckled. “Ask away!”

"Have you noticed anyone... acting a bit weird? Like... different from the way they usually do." Curt whispered.

"I... think I know who you mean." Joey nodded. "With Mary Kate... I think she honestly just misses Sean, you know? The rehearsals are a long time for her to be away from him. Those two are so close."

"Yeah... yeah, that must be hard on her." Curt hummed sympathetically. That... wasn't what he'd been going for.

"But I don't know what's going on with Brian." Joey confided in him. "I mean, it's not like he's been acting weird, per se, but... I mean, he always used to be down to just hang after work. But recently, he's been too busy to do that? I honestly thought it was just me who was picking up on that, but like... you're noticing it too?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Curt lied, all the sympathy he could muster in his tone. Bingo. He'd just gotten some really, really good intel there. If there was anyone who would be able to know when one of the writers was acting shady, it was Joey. They were his best friends. And Curt tended to agree with Joey anyways. Corey just didn’t give off villain vibes. Neither did Brian, but out of the two of them, Brian gave off more. “Glad it’s not just me.”

"What's he saying about me?" Brian rolled his eyes playfully, approaching his bag from behind them to grab something. Shit. He must have heard his name. 

"Uh..." Joey blushed.

"Oh, he was just telling me about how you two met." Curt lied. Joey gave him a questioning look. But Curt remembered him mentioning it in another one of his longwinded vents. "U of Michigan, Freshmen year. You two got into a lot of trouble."

"He's not telling you any of the bad stuff, is he?" Brian teased.

"Nah, man- I respect the bro code!" Joey scoffed playfully. Curt gave Joey a wink, and Joey gave him a grateful look in return. The wink hadn't gone unnoticed by Brian though.

"Oh god, he is telling you the bad stuff, isn't he?" Brian groaned playfully. "Listen, if Lauren asks, none of it was us."

"Oh don't worry... I'm great with secrets." Curt chuckled. He kinda wanted context now. Knowing those two, it was nothing serious- Joey had a heart of gold. He wouldn't be involved in anything bad. Especially not with his soon-to-be-girlfriend. So probably pranks, or other such shenanigans.

"Guys... I already knew it was you." Lauren rolled her eyes. None of them had noticed her by her own rehearsal bag picking up her water bottle. "It was so obvious... I may have believed you when you blamed Holden like... once? Twice? But you literally signed off half of the time."

"We did?" Joey blinked, looking at Brian.

"Okay, look, some of the time... I was pretty proud of our work." Brian defended himself.

"Dude!" Joey started to snicker. "And here I was keeping secrets from my girlfriend for you!"

"Sorry, Joey." Brian winced. 

“Eh, I guess I have to forgive you.” Joey rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re my best friend.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Lauren asked, noticing a pink piece of paper sticking out of Curt’s rehearsal bag. Curt blushed profusely. That was the letter Owen had written to pick him up. he took it everywhere with him in case he panicked so that he could read it, remember those days and calm down. It helped. He’d meant to keep it hidden. 

“Oh... it’s nothing.” Curt lied. 

“It’s not nothing, is it?” Lauren smirked. She gave him a genuine look. “Is it personal?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad.” Owen chuckled. Curt blushed further, feeling Owen wrap his arms around his waist. When had he gotten there?”

“What’s going on over here?” Corey asked, joining them. It seemed they had formed a rather large clump. 

“I think Lauren might be about to read the first letter I ever wrote to Curtis.” Owen smirked triumphantly, clearly not embarrassed by that prospect. 

“Ooooo romantic!” Tessa teased Curt. When had she shown up? God, for a spy, Curt was not very observant. He took a brief look at his surroundings. Ah. Everyone was there. Fantastic. 

“Oh hell yeah I am!” Lauren smirked. She plucked the paper out of Curt’s bag. 

“Oh god...” Curt groaned. 

“You okay with this?” Corey checked with Curt. Curt nodded reluctantly. 

“I mean, as long as O is.” Curt sighed, relenting.

With that, Lauren used the rest of their break to overdramatically read out Owen’s letter. Curt was a blushing mess, and Owen was grinning like an idiot. Evidently he was proud of himself- as he should have been. It was a good letter. At least Curt and Owen now had an idea of who to look into: Brian Rosenthal. It was a bit odd to think that Brosenthal might be a Chimera operative. He was a funny, quirky... he didn’t seem ruthless enough. Maybe they were wrong. But this was literally all the intel they could get at the moment. Mind you, they needed concrete evidence before they could actually do anything, but... at least they had a lead. Even if it was a weird one. The thing about espionage was that leads were usually weird. So they... well, they managed to bug all of the writers’ houses a bit more to give HQ more to work with, but especially Brian’s. That way the minute they had solid evidence, they could act. Well... not the minute. More like within about twenty minutes. But same difference. There was nothing else they could do. 

________________________________________________

Nothing happened through the rest of the rehearsal process. Literally nothing. No one did anything suspicious. Honestly, Curt and Owen were starting to think that their superiors were wrong. They were performing their shows- with excellent reception, might they add. People were loving Curt. The real Curt Mega was getting huge acclaim on Curt’s behalf. And the fans... well they were going mad. It was looking like the show would be a huge success- which meant two things. One, Curt was going to have to do more theatre. Cleary he was good at it. Two, his life as a spy was about to get more... complicated. IT turned out these guys had a bit of a cult following because they had been involved with a theatre group called Team Starkid? Curt knew about them from his mission briefing, but honestly he’d never thought that they were that big of a deal. When he’d confessed that to Owen he’d gotten a long lecture. Apparently Owen was also a fan, and that was half of why he was so excited to be doing this show. But that was a topic for another time. 

It was about the third show in when they finally got the evidence they had been looking for. It... was not when they’d planned to find anything. Actually, it was at the least convenient time. Between acts. It was also in the least expected way. Curt had to get his props for the top of Act Two. Owen decided to go with him, mostly to make sure he wasn’t a total and utter child. Honestly, they just meant to get their props before places. They were the only ones in that area backstage- the stagehands were resetting the stage and helping with costume changes/ tech issues. Well, they thought they were the only ones backstage. They should have been. But it turns out that someone else had anticipated the lack of people, and was using that to his advantage. At first, all Curt and Owen could hear were murmurs- not distinguishable in the slightest. Bey both gave each other a look before pulling out their real guns (which they hid on their costumes just in case) and following the sound. And that was when they saw him. The culprit behind all of this: Bri- Corey Lubowich? They lowered their guns a bit, staying dead quiet. That wasn’t what they’d been expecting. {erhaps this was a false alarm. 

“I am in the middle of a- no, I get that my work with you is important! Believe me, I know!” Corey hissed. “I just... tonight is one of my shows! I’m going on as the Prince! I- well can it wait half an hour? I mean I’d prefer two hours, but if I have to whip out my laptop backstage, I- well I’m kinda insisting on- come on, you guys know my theatre is important to me!”

“Okay... so we were wrong...” Owen whispered. 

“We don’t know that...” Curt reasoned. “It could be his family.”

“Of course I’m loyal! When have I not done what you said? I have sacrificed so much for you!” Corey fumed quietly. “Chimera is my life now! Not theatre, not my family or friends. Chimera! Do you know how fucking weird that is for someone my age?! I’m too young for all this corporate shit! No! No, of course that’s not what I’m saying just- can I have my night? Come on, this is really important.”

“Okay, I take that back.” Curt blinked, stunned. He was just a bit too loud. Corey’s head snapped in their direction, and both men raised their guns. Corey’s eyes fumbled, and he pulled out a gun of his own, haphazardly aiming it at them. 

“Okay... shit, guys, I’m going to have to call you back... we’ve got a situation.” Corey muttered. His face fell and he rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “No, not a theatre situation. An us situation. I’ll fill you in- look, they have guns. Just- I really don’t have the time for this anymore- NOT MY JOB WITH YOU! This conversation! Jesus, I’ve got two guns pointed at me! Let me go! Okay, fine! Bye!”

“You...” Curt spat, glaring at Corey. 

“You guys finally figured it out...” Corey sighed, raising his gun fully at them. 

“You know who we are?” Curt blinked. 

“How?” Owen asked him coldly. 

“Chimera has eyes and ears everywhere.” Corey rolled his eyes. “Just like in the show. I knew you were coming, and I knew you were looking for me. I just didn’t think you’d actually find me.”

“Are you insulting our intelligence?” Owen scoffed. 

“No. I just thought I set up Brian pretty well.” Corey admitted. “It was pretty easy, too... all I had to do was point out to Joey that Brian wasn’t coming to as many of our hangouts as he used to. You trusted Joey. Joey relayed that to you. Threw you completely off my scent.”

“Yeah, aren’t you just the friend of the year.” Curt rolled his eyes. “You threw your bro under the bus.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t get a false tip-off and eliminate him.” Owen hummed in agreement. “You’ve no clue the kinds of things that could set our superiors off.”

“Well... It’s Brian. The chances of him doing anything sketchy are slim to none.” Corey reasoned. 

“Corey, I’m going to need you to put that gun down and put your hands behind your head.” Curt sighed. 

“Alright, guys, places!” Joey called out to them. Everyone was backstage- except, oddly, Lauren (who was usually pretty punctual on cues). Shit. Their timing was awful. “You can play with the... are those our prop guns?”

“No... those are too modern.” Brian furrowed his brows, approaching them to get a closer look. He blinked before stumbling back. “Holy shit, guys... are those real guns?”

“Yes, they are... and you’re going to need to stay back.” Curt told them levelly. “Lubowich, gun down, hands behind your head.”

“We outgun and outman you.” Owen reminded him. The fact that Corey was so reluctant was astounding. “And we have a license to kill if you don’t cooperate.”

“Okay, guys, what the fuck?!” Joey exclaimed. 

“Can we just... put the guns down and talk this out?” Tessa pleaded. 

“No... we can’t.” Curt shook his head. “My name is Agent Curt Mega, American Secret Service. My partner is Owen Carvour, MI6.”

“Our credentials...” Owen muttered, pulling them out with one hand and holding them out to Brian, who was closest. He hesitantly took them. Corey shot Owen while he wasn’t in peak position to shoot him. Curt shot Corey back with no hesitation. Neither shot was fatal, Corey’s hitting Owen in the arm and Curt’s hitting Corey in the shoulder. The impact was enough to make both men stumble back. Owen stayed on his feet, but Corey fell. Curt kept his gun trained on Corey. 

“Holy shit, they’re not lying...” Brian mumbled. 

“Okay, Corey... what the actual fuck, man?!” Joey fumed, definitely feeling a bit betrayed. 

“Corey... why are you fighting the secret service?” Mary Kate asked coolly, trying to be the level-headed one. 

“He works for Chimera.” Curt told them, knowing they might not get a clear response from Corey for a bit. 

“The assholes who wouldn’t fund us?” Brian groaned. Corey grunted in admittance. “Come on, man! This just keeps getting worse and worse!”

“Okay, guys, I’m here. Sorry I took so-” Lauren started, rushing out. She saw the scene playing out and blinked. “Holy fuck! What’s going on?!”

“They’re actual fucking spies, Lo.” Joey hissed. “All three of them.”

“Pretty sure Curt and Owen are the good guys.” Brian added in a whisper. 

“Oh yeah, Curt and Owen are definitely the good guys.” Tessa gulped. 

“Corey is an agent for Chimera.” Curt explained. 

“Please tell me this is an elaborate prank.” Lauren chuckled nervously. 

“No, Lo... this time it’s real.” Joey sighed. 

“Okay, but... Chimera’s just a huge global corporation, right?” Mary Kate reasoned. 

“Not really.” Corey croaked out. 

“They’re plotting world domination.” Owen grunted. 

“Corey...” Joey breathed. 

“World domination makes it sound bad.” Corey grimaced. “We more just want control over every world government... and then maybe to take all of them out and form one Chimera government.”

“That doesn’t make it sound any better.” Tessa winced. 

“Why?” Brian asked Corey, hurt. “Why are you doing this?”

“Honestly, I just needed a bit of extra money in college.” Corey muttered, trying and failing to find his footing. Clearly he wasn’t a field agent too often. 

“So you turned to espionage?!” Lauren scoffed incredulously. 

“Honestly I started as a delivery boy and then I found out some shit I should never have known...” Corey sighed. “It escalated really quickly.”

“God, this is a mess.” Joey groaned. 

“Curt, love, can you give our superiors a ring?” Owen prompted him. “I’ll deal with our former friend here.”

“On it.” Curt nodded, pulling out his phone. 

“So... do we stop the show?” Brian asked Owen as he pulled out a zip-tie- another essential item Owen always kept on him, even in costumes.

“Oh no... the A.S.S. is the epitome of discretion. Believe me, you’ll have no clue what’s going on. Just see if you can find a friend in the audience to go on for The Prince.” Owen told them, tying up Corey and forcing him onto his feet. “Owen will take him outside and... he should honestly be ready to go on after We Love The Prince.”

“Holy shit... okay...” Lauren sighed. 

“I’ll make an announcement that we’re having technical difficulties...” Joey planned. “Let’s, um... just take a moment to breathe and get back into the right headspace.”

“We’ll be back in a moment.” Curt told them as he and Owen took Corey outside. 

“Rot in hell, you asshole!” Brian called after him, sniffing. Was he... crying? You know what, it was completely fair. That was one hell of a betrayal. 

So Curt and Owen passed Corey onto their superiors, and Spies Are Forever was able to go on. They got Nick Lang to play The Prince, which only made the fans more excited. Curt and Owen were allowed the opportunity to finish their run with the show- which Curt was so, so grateful for. He loved theatre. he never thought he would, but he loved it. And Owen loved that he loved it. Spies are Forever was the first of many shows for Curt. He got into the habit, like Owen, of doing shows between missions. In fact, he actually got to make Owen a little jealous later on- he got into a Starkid show. Mind you, they knew who he was. Fully this time. They even supported him- helped him build a public backstory. The real Curt Mega’s wife even played wife to him publicly when she needed to. It was a new start in Curt’s life and one that he hadn’t even known he needed. Finally, everything seemed like it was okay.

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (3/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Not gonna lie, I forget I'm writing this story, remember, and then the moment I sit down to write, I get called away. But here's part three!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two | Three

-/-

His head is pounding. It’s been awhile since it has pounded like this. Usually, it’s from a lack of sleep from the nightmares or the stress. This morning, he knows it’s from the rum. He did everything he could to cancel it out – coffee, water, food, medicine – but his head is still pounding. He is a bloody lightweight now.

Huh.

Killian is making it sound like that’s a bad thing, when really, it’s good. A week ago he was standing with a beer bottle in his hand early in the morning tempted to drown his entire day away. Last night, he made it the entire day without wanting to get pissed and only had two small drinks to toast his friends goodbye.

That’s progress.

This hangover, though, damn. It’s a sign he’s making progress, but damn.

Or he’s simply getting old, which is something else he doesn’t want to think about.

“Fuck,” Killian moans, pressing his fingers against his temples as he opens his eyes. His neck is also killing him, probably from how he slept on this damn couch all night. He should have driven home, but he didn’t trust himself to. Besides, Ariel had offered the couch before she went to bed.

Emma had too.

He’d nearly left after she offered. She was likely only doing it because she assumed Ariel or Eric already offered. He gets the feeling the woman doesn’t like him, which usually isn’t something that happens with him, and that intrigues him. It also makes him realize how much of an asshole he is.

How has he gotten to a point in his life where he expects women to always fancy his company?

Killian sits up, his muscles aching, and slowly, he rises from the couch. The lights in the house are all off, and he knows he can leave now with no one knowing the wiser that he slept over, that he felt bad enough to not be able to drive home. Or maybe that he didn’t want to spend another night in that giant house by himself.

The floor creaks beneath him with each step he takes, but no one seems to stir. Killian finds a notepad and pen in the kitchen and quickly scribbles a note to Ariel and Eric. He said his goodbyes to them last night, and he’ll talk to them on the phone at some point today. He doesn’t need to stick around to say another goodbye this morning. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and they won’t be up for hours. Killian finishes his note, grabs his wallet and keys from the counter, and heads out the front door to his car. It takes him a moment to find his car, to remember what said of the road they drive on over here, but he eventually spots it across the street under a large tree when a light from the house turns on.

Killian turns to see it’s coming from an upstairs window, and Emma Swan is standing between the curtains. He nods, and he swears he sees the slightest nod in return before the curtains rustle and she turns off the light.

She didn’t get in until two this morning, and she’s up at six. How the hell is she functioning?

Then again, how is he functioning?

Killian’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and after he gets in his Jeep, he checks the message.

Elsa Jones: The girls say thank you for their new Leggo set. My bare feet do not.

Killian laughs and puts his phone back in his pocket. That’s how he’s functioning. He may have flown across an ocean, but he’d never leave Ally and Sophia. They’ve already lost enough, and Liam will have his head, someway and somehow, if he doesn’t do everything he can to make sure all his girls are happy.

To make sure Killian is happy too.

“Bloody hell,” Killian whispers to himself as he cranks the engine, “it’s too early to be thinking like this.”

He should be able to have at least a little reprieve from the voices in his head.

-/-

Killian doesn’t leave the house much over the next few days. He doesn’t have reason to. He’s got everything he could possibly need in the house, including his own private stretch of beach that he walks along a few times a day, but the repetition of nothing begins to drive him mad. He trains in almost the same way as he did when he was playing, and while that takes up a good portion of his day, it’s not enough to keep him occupied. He reads the books that the owners of the house left behind but finds it’s mostly romance novels he can’t stomach. For a day or two, he binges Netflix, leaving a permanent imprint of his ass in the couch cushions, but there’s only so much time he can spend staring at screens.

Elsa and the girls call more than once a day with them being on summer holidays, and he gets a call or two from Scarlet, who finally had the bullocks to ask Belle out to dinner. That was good to hear since Killian has been giving Will shit about doing that for years now, and it’s good to see that people are moving on with their lives.

He’s not, not really, but he’s not trying to move on so much as he’s trying to not be a total disaster every day.

Sitting in this house alone all day every day isn’t helping. Why did anyone think sending him to be alone would be a good idea in the wake of his brother’s death? He knows it’s more so the scum English tabloids would leave him alone and he could fix his public image so he doesn’t go broke before he’s forty from loss of sponsorships and possible opportunities to get involved in the league, but damn, this was a bad idea.

At least he’s not drinking himself to sleep anymore.

Or drinking himself awake. He thinks that feat is slightly more impressive.

Killian puts his bottle of water down and opens the door that leads to the deck. It’s cool out today, the sun hidden behind the clouds, and since he cannot stay here anymore, he decides he’ll go for a run. It’s been years since he ran outside and not on a pitch or a treadmill, but maybe it’ll be a good distraction. He’s noticed more people filling into the houses around him, the summer tourists showing up in large droves now, so at the very least he can pass time watching people while hoping no one watches him.

It takes him little time to get dressed, lace up his trainers, and pop headphones in his ears before he’s out the door. The roads aren’t flat around his house, so he drives the Jeep a few miles until he finds smoother, less crowded ground. Maybe it’s a way to keep him from running that little bit longer, but mostly he knows his knees need the flat surfaces right now.

He really has gotten old, hasn’t he?

Eventually, he finds what looks like a good path behind a long stretch of beach, finds a place to park, and then he starts running.

It’s horrible, which was expected, but he does it anyway. There are families lining the beaches, music playing from speakers and phones, and he watches as boats skip out on the water. Maybe he should rent a boat for a weekend and take it out. It’d be nice to be out on the water again. He hasn’t been since Liam’s death, the fear of something similar happening to him despite the unlikeliness, but maybe one day while he’s here. It’s not as if he has anything better to do.

Killian runs until the endorphins kick in and then again until his legs get tired. He’s an idiot, however, because he doesn’t think to turn around to his Jeep.

Bloody hell.

He stops and reaches his hands over his head, stretching out his shoulders, and looks to see what’s around him. It’s mostly beach, but there are several restaurants and shops a few blocks down. He notices the familiar Blue Dog Tavern sign and the long deck filled with their outside seating. That means he’s minutes away from a populated area of shops and restaurants where he could cool down and catch his breath, but he still walks toward the Blue Dog. There’s another diner around here he went to that was horrible, and he doesn’t feel like taking the chance again. He’s still over his phase of twenty-four-hour diners. He doesn’t think he can handle more sticky tables.

Killian cools down on the walk to the restaurant, taking in the people walking along the sidewalk, and he dodges them until he’s inside and the cool air is hitting against his skin. It’s past the prime of the lunch rush, so the place is mostly empty. He thinks of going to the bar again, but as he wants to stay as out of the way as possible, he asks the hostess to seat him at a booth in the corner.

“Is someone coming to meet you?” she asks, smacking her gum as she hands him a menu.

“I’m afraid not. Just me today.”

She smiles, popping her gum again, and leans forward, casually popping a button on her shirt. Killian tries not to snicker at the obvious attempt, mostly because she is attractive, but the last thing he needs is to burn more bridges at one of the few places in towns he likes. “Well, if you want company, all you have to do is come find me. I’m Marina.”

He raises his brow. “Seems like you were born to work by the ocean then.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because your name is Marina.”

She cocks her head to the side and laughs. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, love.” Killian smiles and nods toward the front. “I believe you’re needed.”

She jumps and walks away, obviously putting a little sway in her hips when she moves, and in another life, he’d ask her to join him for lunch and meet her after her shift. He nearly does it now, but the man he’s been and the man he’s trying to be war with each other in his mind.

No burning bridges, he reminds himself. He’s done enough of that in his lifetime.

He orders water and coffee and avoids eye contact with Marina as much as possible, especially when she keeps finding ways to come by his table despite there being no other customers in his section. He texts Will and Rob, sends Elsa some pictures of the beach to show the girls, responds to Ariel about him doing another video conference with a hospital back home, and then he puts his phone away and tries to focus on his meal.

Unsurprisingly, it does not take a hell of a lot of focus to eat a sandwich and chips.

The music coming over the intercoms keeps him occupied for awhile, so does the television hanging over the bar until someone changes it to ESPN, and eventually Killian starts fidgeting for headphones and something to do while he waits for his meal to settle and drinks another cup of coffee. He needs to start the trek back to his Jeep, but that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Heather, I get that you don’t want to be here, but your uncle and your parents want you here. And you either need to take it up with them or start doing some actual work.”

Killian recognizes that voice, and he sinks in his booth. He was hoping to get away with not running into her here today, if only to save himself the headache. He doesn’t have any paper money on hand, so he can’t pay and leave, and he imagines there’s very little chance he’ll avoid her when she’s walking right toward him with Heather, his server from last week.

She’s in those bloody jean shorts again. They barely cover anything and hug her ass to show it off, and the blouse she’s wearing is fitted to her skin. Her hair is down, hitting past midway on her back, and she looks just as gorgeous as she has every other time he’s seen her…which is exactly why he needs her to not notice him.

So, of course, she does.

Right after she teaches Heather how to clean the tables, she looks up and over at Killian, raises both brows, and walks toward him with her arms crossed beneath her chest. “Anything I can help you with today?”

“The check may be nice, Swan. Lovely to see you again.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks over her shoulder, holds up a signal toward Killian’s server, and he hustles to the back, presumably to get the check. “I can recommend other restaurants in the area. This place is great, but I promise there are better ones.”

He shrugs. “I like the food and how calm it is during off hours. Are you enjoying your house with no Fishers in it?”

“I don’t mind when they come to stay.”

It’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Killian points to his temple and taps. “I know this may surprise you, but I’m actually quite perceptive.”

Her smile is tight, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “The Fishers are great landlords, and I can’t complain.”

“I’m not going to tell them what you’re saying, love.”

She smiles again, and he can tell she’s still faking it for him. “All I can say is I’m glad not to have strange men scaring me in my kitchen at two in the morning. Now they simply show up at my work.”

He lifts his glass. “It’s good food, and you’re right, I don’t know of many other reliable eateries around here. Some of them seem a little too…made for tourists.”

“And the Blue Dog Tavern doesn’t? I mean, come on. We have a giant blue animated dog cutout outside. We’re on all those lists of ‘Places in Martha’s Vineyard you have to visit.’ We’re made for tourists like you.”

“I am not a tourist.”

“Says the man who is renting one of the big houses out in Edgartown and staying here for the summer. I’m guessing you go to the beach and lounge around the pool and go through way too many of the bad books the owners of the house have on their shelves.”

Killian huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the booth. That was a little too spot on. “How do you know where I’m staying? Wait, no. Ariel, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiles, and God, it feels like a hell of an accomplishment to get her to smile. “She went on and on about the great Killian Jones.”

“Ah, so you know who I am then?” He leans forward and waggles his brows, flashing his brightest smile.

“Yeah, a rich British tourist who is friends with my landlords.” Someone calls her name from across the restaurant, and Emma holds one finger up. “Your check will be with you soon. I’ll ask Marina to give you some other restaurant recommendations on your way out. You’ll get sick of this place soon enough.”

“I’m perfectly happy with it, Swan.”

She shrugs and walks away, and Killian chuckles to himself. He doesn’t understand this woman at all, but she intrigues him.

He knows that’s a dangerous game to play.

Killian gets the check, pays it, and before he can escape, Marina corners him to give him more recommendations. She ends up veering into bars and clubs on the island and the surrounding towns, asking him if he wants her to show him around, but he declines and takes the list of places. Maybe he’ll check them out, but the last thing he needs is to go to a club. A bar, maybe, but not a club. He’s learned that there’s a hell of a difference.

He’s also learned that he’s bored to tears in this place, and no amount of calls to Ariel and Elsa can solve that boredom. He finds himself googling pre-season training information, checking up on mates and rivals, and while that’s a bit of a slip-up, he does manage to still stay away from looking himself up. He never used to have the urge to google himself or to read any of the tabloids, but ever since his retirement, he’s been curious. Were people sad? Happy? Did he leave any kind of lasting impact? Or did they all just see him as the drunk, washed up old man with a dirtied past?

That is a path he absolutely cannot go down, and since he’s already run a half marathon today, he decides to shower and get dressed to go to one of the places Marina recommended. If his time alone doesn’t start to get less depressing, he thinks he’s going to have to fly back to London and bother Elsa and the girls until they kick him out. He’ll pay for the remaining time on the house, but he won’t be staying there.

While the sun sets, Killian drives down new roads on the island, going to different towns and neighborhoods to see what others are doing, before ending up at a bar near his house. Marina said it was a spot for locals with good food and a quiet energy, so he doubts Marina has ever stepped foot into it. Killian pushes open the old oak door, and the lights inside are dimmed, the music quiet. There’s a guy playing guitar in the corner hidden between two pillars, and Killian finds himself sitting at the opposite end of the bar on a stool that’s cushion squeaks when he sits down.

Charming.

“You eating, drinking, or both?” The bartender asks, wiping his hands off with a cloth.

“Eating. Have any recommendations?”

“You have an objection to seafood?” the old man asks.

“Not a one.”

“Good. I’ll fix you up with the daily catch.”

Killian nods as the man makes his way through a door behind the bar, and then Killian swivels on his stool, looking around the place. He doesn’t know about the food yet, but Marina was right. It definitely has a quiet energy to it. There are people in nearly every booth and at every table, but there’s a hushed tone except for a laugh in the booth nearest him. His eyes are drawn there, and to both his surprise and horror, he finds Emma Swan with her head tilted back with laughter.

Fuck.

She’s definitely going to think he’s stalking her, and as hungry and bored as he is, he’s still tempted to leave. So of course, that’s when Emma stops laughing and looks directly at him.

Bollocks. Utter bollocks.

She blinks and stares at him a little longer, her brows raising before falling, and then she turns back to whoever is sitting in the booth with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms moving, but he turns on the stool until he can see her no longer, wishing at the very least he had a water to nurse.

“Hiya. Come sit in our booth with us.”

Killian twists and looks at the brunette who’s now sitting next to him. “Pardon?”

She sticks out her hand, and he takes it, shaking it. “Ruby Lucas. You’re Killian Jones, the – ”

“There’s no need to – ”

“ – the guy who scared Emma half to death at her house in the middle of the night,” Ruby completes, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “And I must say, you are much more attractive than she described.”

“So she talked about me then?”

“In her own special Emma way.” Ruby tilts her head back toward their booth. “And in my own special Ruby way, I’m inviting you to eat dinner with us. It’s me, Emma, and this super wholesome woman named Mary Margaret who will take you home and bake you cookies while asking you about your childhood because she had a good one of those.”

Killian chuckles, cheeks still flushed from him thinking Ruby knew who he was earlier – he is a pompous, entitled ass obviously – and from being invited to their table. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“I insist that you do.”

He likes her, he decides. She’s stunning and funny with no filter, but she reminds him too much of a dirtier version of Anna. It’s a rather peculiar comparison, but it’s true. It’s also half the reason he agrees to switch tables, rising from his stool and walking toward the booth. The other half a reason is the blonde woman with her face pressed into her forearms against the table top.

She looks beyond thrilled for him to be joining them.

“Oh, Emma, you were right, he is handsome!”

Emma bangs her head into the table as who he presumes is Mary Margaret smiles at him from across the booth. Killian slides onto the seat and elbows Emma’s side before patting her shoulder. “It��s alright, darling. I told all my mates you were beautiful, so we’re even.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughs, grinning at her, and slowly, she peels herself off the table. “Just so you know, I’m only here because Marina recommended it.”

“Remind me to fire her in the morning.”

“So,” Mary Margaret interrupts, tucking her short hair behind her ear, “tell us about yourself, Killian. Where are you from? What do you do for work? How long are you planning on being here?”

“Good God, Marg,” Emma sighs, slumping down, “give the man some room to breathe.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy is what you are,” Emma corrects.

“Aren’t we all?” Killian shuffles in his seat, hoping they move on to another subject, but when Mary Margaret turns to him, he knows she isn’t one to forget. “So, how long are you staying?”

“I have the keys to the house I’m renting until the first of October, but I imagine I’ll leave sooner.”

“And why’s that?” she asks.

Killian shrugs as the man behind the bar drops off a glass of water at the table and tells Killian his food will be ready in ten minutes. “I’m afraid no matter how nice it is here, I don’t know many people. I miss the people I’m closest to. A man can only spend so much time alone.”

“Then why’d you book a house for so long?”

“I needed to get away.”

“Yeah, but – ”

“Marg,” Emma interrupts, placing her hand over her friend’s, “please. You don’t have to know everything about him. Not everyone wants to reveal their entire life to complete strangers.”

She’s right. He doesn’t. But for some inane reason, he doesn’t think he’d mind revealing most of his life to her.

He has obviously lost his damn mind.

But it’s nice to spend a night with other people, to be included in the conversation, and while Mary Margaret and Ruby are delightful, he finds Emma captures his attention, not that this surprises him.

What does surprise him, however, is how much friendlier she is in this environment. He knows it’s her friends and not him, and maybe the glass of wine she had with dinner, but it’s nice to see her laugh freely and blush when Ruby tells stories of Emma he cannot imagine knowing otherwise. He can’t imagine Emma ever scaling a building to break into an ex’s apartment to get her favorite sweater back, but then again, that seems exactly like something she would do if she wanted it badly enough.

He fancies her.

He has no business fancying her, none at all, but when he ends up driving all three women to their homes because Ruby and Mary Margaret had too much to drink and Emma can’t drive the stick shift in Ruby’s car, he accepts Emma’s invitation inside for a cup of coffee.

He also accepts her invitation upstairs into her bed.

To hell with the consequences and burning bridges. He’ll deal with those in the morning when he isn’t so enticed by the trail of freckles running down Emma’s bare stomach.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion​ @dramioneswan​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight

[byeoltoyuki]

Make It Right ⇾ JHS

↳Pairing : You x Hoseok

Genre : Fluff / Angst if you squint / fake dating if you squint

Words: +17k

Warnings : Oral (f), tying

Summary: Sometimes all you need is some pretending.

A/N: Surprise! I'm not dead (yet). I know I have my Jimin's story to work on, but sometimes my brain refuses to cooperate with me fml.

One day i swear i'll be on time. Happy Birthday again babe! @hopikoya

*

Going to a club one week before your exams was probably the worst idea ever. You knew it. Your boyfriend apparently knew it too but still insisted to go which resulted in you going too because come on, you didn’t want to be a party pooper (his words, not yours). You loathed the idea; you weren’t particularly fond of clubs to begin with, half of the time you went for the sake of your boyfriend and half of the time you would sip on your drink at the bar and watch him have fun with his friends, ignoring your existence while you were bored to death.

Just like tonight. Except tonight, there was something in the air, something bad and ominous. Your guts were telling you to go back home, forget about your boyfriend, have fun by yourself instead of staying at the club at two in the morning where half of the crowd was drunk if not completely wasted.

But did you listen to the little voice in your head? Of course not.

From your favorite (not so much) spot at the club, you sipped your second mojito while watching your boyfriend, Hyeonwu, having fun. From the way he was moving, you were certain he had drunk more than he could handle - you sighed at that, knowing beforehand that the night would be very long. You should have stayed home.

But you didn’t and for what? For a relationship that was doomed from the very beginning. Hyeonwu and you were different, too different even. He was outgoing, popular, arrogant from time to time (it stung to admit it to yourself).

Everything you weren’t.

You didn’t like clubbing, you didn’t like being the center of attention but because you liked him, because he chose you, you accepted to sacrifice everything you were for him.

Tonight was one of those nights, your heart was aching, your mind was restless and you couldn’t help but think that this relationship had to stop before you would get hurt. More than you already were.

Ironically enough, Hyeonwu was the one to give you a good reason for finally snapping from your role of the perfect, innocent and docile girlfriend. Instead of asking you to dance with him (you weren’t even sure he remembered he came at the club with you), he found himself another girl to dance with, a girl willing to be what you couldn’t: daring, provocative and would say yes to anything.

You would have accepted to put up with his behavior if only his hands didn’t roam around her body the way it would with you. If he didn’t start kissing her neck as if he wasn’t taken, as if you weren’t in this club too.

You couldn’t do it.

"Excuse me," You called for the bartender. "Can I have a glass of water please?"

He eyed you, annoyed with your request but pushed the glass of water towards you nevertheless.

You didn’t thank him for that considering how rude he was to you anyway, instead you started walking towards them while you still had the courage, while your blood was still boiling and you felt like punching him from stomping your heart.

Once you were close enough, you emptied your glass right at Hyeonwu, he was the one you were aiming, the one who had angered you but the girl got splashed anyway too. They both jumped, the girl shrieking loudly (even with the loud music you heard her) while Hyeonwu groaned and checked his clothes.

"The fuck." He was mad, even in his drunken state he was mad and his eyes found yours quite soon.

A nice boyfriend would have apologized right away; would have felt bad about what he did but Hyeonwu? No. The sight of you only made him angrier.

"What do you think you’re doing, woman?" He growled at you and took a dangerous step towards you.

"Me?" You scoffed at his words. And here you became the villain when really, you were the victim.

And then he took another dangerous step that should have scared you if you weren’t so angry yourself. "Yes, you, Y/N."

"Don’t you dare blaming me, babe." You swore to yourself it would be the only time you would accept to make a scene while being surrounded by strangers. The only time you would want to be the center of attention, because you wanted him to feel bad, to feel humiliated for what he had done.

He didn’t of course.

"Oh please. Always ruining the fun for others. Aren’t you tired?" He scoffed in return.

"Ruining the fun?" You repeated to yourself, words sounding foreign to you. How were you ruining the fun when he was being unfaithful? Certainly your relationship wasn’t what it used to be but still. How could he? By the time you wanted to snap back at him, he was back by the other girl’s side, checking on her.

"You got to be kidding me."

"Hyeonwu." The girl warned him about you getting dangerously closer to them.

In that moment, maybe you had underestimated Hyeonwu’s state. Maybe you had also underestimated your own state. And maybe, finally, you had completely misjudged the person who you used to date. The words died on your tongue as Hyeonwu raised his hand - you shut your eyes tightly, ready for the slap, for the wakeup call.

But it never came.

Surprised, heart roaring in your ears, you opened your eyes but not quite ready to see what was right before your eyes. Someone, in this mess, chose to stand up for you. Before Hyeonwu’s hand could reach your face, a man interfered. A man you couldn’t see except for his back, for his dark brown hair.

Your first thought was that you couldn’t believe Hyeonwu would go as far as try to hit you. Your second thought was about the crazy stranger who, without being asked, chose to stand up for you. It was dumb and dangerous and so not his business but for a short moment it made you feel safe.

“Who the hell are you?” Hyeonwu yanked his arm free from the stranger’s grip, annoyed and more than willing to fight.

But the stranger didn’t seem fazed or impressed despite all the muscles and for Hyeonwu being taller than him. “What kind of man are you? You were about to hit a woman, I couldn’t possibly stand aside and watch it.”

Despite your anger, despite your pain, his voice stirred something inside you; it was strangely familiar and brought a fuzzy memory to your mind. But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. There was no way, so you chose to shove back the memory and concentrate on your present.

“How chivalrous of you but I suggest you to mind your damn business instead of mingling with mine.” Hyeonwu took a step towards him but was quickly held back by the other girl who looked nervously at the two man. At least she didn’t want it to get messier.

“Please don’t.” She begged him.

You shook your head, whispering a ‘no’ and a ‘it can’t be’ as your eyes darted back and forth between Hyeonwu and the girl. And here you thought Hyeonwu was too drunk, thought he had picked a random girl. He didn’t. He so obviously didn’t but somehow, all this time you managed not to see what was right under your nose. Your anger vanished as fast as it came; defeated you had no more strength left to fight Hyeonwu, no more strength left to make him understand how cruel he was to you when all you ever did was try to please him.

Home. You wanted to go home. Except and sadly for you, you lived with him.

“Fine.” You heard Hyeonwu, “Whatever.”

He left. Without a word, without a single glance, making it look like you didn’t exist. You swallowed your tears, your pain, refusing to crumble in a damn club.

Once sure Hyeonwu wouldn’t try to go back on his word, your savior turned to look at you. If you weren’t feeling so down, so empty, you would have realized sooner that the stranger was more familiar than you thought. If you weren’t worrying about your future, you would have noticed how he opened his mouth to speak – you chose the same moment to turn your back and leave. You needed to escape for the sake of your sanity. Or what was left of it.

*

In your misery, you happened to be quite lucky. When the next day you got back to your shared flat, Hyeonwu was nowhere to be seen and for that you were thankful. You didn’t know whenever it was intentional on his behalf or if he had simply stayed somewhere else, either way it gave you enough time to gather all your most important belongings and leave this place.

It hurt. Your heart, your pride, but you told yourself it was for the best.

Mina welcomed you at her tiny place with opened arms. She didn’t ask for details, giving you time to adjust and sort your thoughts; she would listen when you needed it. She always did.

Mina’s flat was small but cozy, filled with plants of all sorts, with fluffy blankets on wooden chairs, on the couch, with candles all around the place. It was the dream of any witches in your opinion, but it felt like home and just like her.

As you came back with your suitcase, you were greeted with a soft meow, followed by Mina’s fluffy black and white cat that Mina chose to call Pie because she kept saying cutie pie (you had rolled your eyes at that).

“Hello there.” You kneeled to Pie’s level and rubbed its head.

“There you are!” Mina came out of the kitchen, wearing a cute pink apron. She beamed at you and showed you the way. “I freed three shelves for you.”

It was sweet and you were grateful to have such a good friend but you didn’t intend to stay. Not for long at least. Hopefully.

“I know that look.” She interrupted your trail of thoughts. “You don’t bother me, don’t worry. Take your time.”

You smiled.

*

By some odds, your big brother was back in the country which was a good thing because you hadn’t seen him for whole two years and living with him could be nice. Back when you used to live together, you were partners in crime, driving your parents crazy. So of course, when you received one morning his message telling he was back, you jumped on the opportunity and asked to meet him.

When you got to the café, it took you less than two seconds to spot your brother. How could you not when few females were openly flirting with him. That brought back some goods memories; you smiled and shook your head in feign despair. Some things just never change.

“I see your popularity is still no joke despite you being an old man now.”

Your voice made him forget all about the women around him. He jumped from his chair, too excited and bounced on you (attracting even more attention on both of you). You laughed at his eagerness as his arms circled tightly your waist – Jimin lifted you from the floor and spun you around laughing along with you.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Jimin put you back on the floor but his arms stayed around you. He was beaming, so happy, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. “Look at you.” His hand found your cheek, fingers stroking gently your skin which brought back flashes of memories of your younger days. “Not a kid anymore, are you?”

Your brother was being dramatic. “Oh come on. I didn’t change that much!” But maybe you did, in a way.

Jimin led you to a chair before taking place before you. “You did.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

“That too.” He smiled sheepishly at you. “And for your information, I’m not old.”

Such a familiar and warm smile – you had missed him a lot.

For a moment, you forgot all about why you were so eager to see him. For a moment, it was just you and your brother and you wanted to catch up with him. “How was it?” Your eyes shone brightly, curious and excited to hear his stories. “How was England?”

“Rainy. Cold.” He chuckled at that. Jimin put his elbows on the table and rested his head in the palm of his hand. “But it was interesting. I will definitely go back there.”

“And leave us again!”

“Oh you missed me that much, pumpkin?”

“Of course I did! Nobody annoys me as much as you do.”

“Not even your boyfriend? What was his name again? Hyeo-, I don’t remember.” Another time you would have rolled your eyes at him because Jimin did remember Hyeonwu’s name, he just didn’t like him that much. But then again, he never liked your boyfriends. This time, however, you didn’t roll your eyes, you didn’t sigh in despair. No, you flinched and clenched your fists under the table.

Jimin noticed the change in your mood instantly. He frowned, taken aback. “What is it, Y/N?” Jimin asked despite having an idea of what had happened while he was away. “Do I need to punch someone?”

For a short moment, you allowed yourself to smile as you imagined your adorable but idiot of brother trying to fight with Hyeonwu who was much taller and stronger than him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But it felt nice knowing that your brother still had your back.

“Oh but I’m very serious. “

This time you rolled your eyes. “You’re just looking for a fight.”

Jimin pointed at himself in fake disbelief. “Never!”

But you knew better. “I need a place to live.”

At first Jimin seemed confused and you quickly realized your mistake. Nobody, including your parents, were aware that you chose to live with your, well now ex-boyfriend for the past year. You gulped as you saw Jimin’s jaw twitch, eyes darkening with every passing seconds. To say that your big brother was not delighted would be the understatement of the century. But for once, instead of cowering in fear (because your brother could turn from a ball of fluff to a very angry and scary man), you huffed and chose to ignore his behavior. “Oh don’t judge me, will you? I already have enough on my plate.”

Jimin opened his mouth (probably to say something mean) but close it right away. He closed his eyes, counted to ten and then looked at you again. “Where are you staying now?”

“With Mina.”

Jimin hummed in response. “Good, good. I guess you want to move in with me then?”

He, of course, said yes.

*

Living with Jimin was nothing like you thought it would be. You expected him to set rules for you to make sure you wouldn’t disturb his life too much with your presence. You expected not to see much of him because your big brother was a busy man (and you were convinced it wasn’t only because of work). But none of that happened. No, living with Jimin felt like being back at home, minus parents’ presence of course.

Jimin did everything in his power to make you feel at ease. He let you redecorate the spare room, the kitchen, the living room, not caring whether the outcome would suit his taste or not as long as it meant you felt at home.

You had the best brother in the world.

"Hey pumpkin," Jimin called for you from his room, he was getting ready. "My friends are coming over. I hope you don’t mind."

You scoffed as you leaned against the door, rolling your eyes at him. No, really, why would he think it would bother you when he was being so nice. "And if it bothers me, are you going to take your little boys’ night to another place?"

Jimin froze for a short moment, pondering on your question. You worried for a minute that he took you seriously but he grinned and you relaxed. "I’d have to get rid of you actually. Maybe I’d lock you in your room."

"You don’t have a key."

"I actually do."

Now you were worried which didn’t go unnoticed by Jimin because he laughed, hard.

"I would have found a solution." Jimin finally said and got closer to you. He put his hands on your shoulders and gave it a squeeze. "This is your place too."

You shook your head in half disbelief, refusing to show him how his words made your heart swell with love and pride to have Jimin for your brother. "Ts, so annoying." You smiled nevertheless. "So, who’s coming?"

Jimin’s grin only widened. "You probably remember some of them! We’ve been friends since high school."

And remember them you did.

*

To say that you were mortified at the fact that the stranger from the other night stood in the middle of the living room, talking and smiling brightly at your brother, would be an understatement. Your heart leapt in your throat as one more realization finally dawned on you.

This man. This very handsome, with bright smile man, was no stranger at all. No, this man was no other than Jung Hoseok, one of Jimin’s best friend. But Hoseok wasn’t only Jimin’s friend. No, you remembered all too well how you had felt for years about him.

He was your crush. Your personal sunshine who loved teasing you whenever you were in the room. How you managed to not recognize him that night, you didn’t know and you tried not to think much about it either. For the sake of your broken heart.

The Hoseok from your memory and the Hoseok standing now, despite being the same person, felt extremely different. He was still of course as handsome, as shining but despite his huge smile, despite his laugh, there was something dark about him and you couldn’t tell whether it was a good or a bad thing.

Hoseok’s eyes found yours; something flashed through his eyes, maybe he recognized you as just Jimin’s sister or maybe he recognized you from that night, either way, your treacherous heart missed a beat and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

Jimin noticed his attention had shifted. One look at you and his eyes shined brighter than ever. "Guys! I think you all remember my cute little sister, Y/N?" Then he double checked you, "Though she’s not little anymore."

"I’m still cute though." You cut him before he could make fun of you. To that Jimin only chuckled.

"Y/N!"

Too stunned with Hoseok, you barely noticed that two other men were in the room and you happened to remember them too. Namjoon and Taehyung - you waved shyly at them.

It was strange to meet them again after such a long time. Despite being curious about them, about what they had become, your eyes were once again on Hoseok and to your utter surprise he was still watching you with a knowing smile. God. You came to realization that you had to avoid him and avoid being alone in the room with him, too scared of what could happen.

*

Through the night, you had found out many useful and not so useful information such as your brother was still a complete dork whenever he was surrounded by his friends, it was as if he hadn’t aged a day (which made you smile fondly at him and joke around). Then, you found that Namjoon became a scientist - not a surprise. The Namjoon you remembered always carried a bag with books too complicated to understand for average people (or ‘for poor mortals like us’ was what Jimin used to say).

Taehyung, and probably to his parents’ dismay, chose the life of an artist; he became a photographer and travelled the world. That didn’t surprise you that much either. You expected him to become a model, nobody could ignore a face like his, but apparently Taehyung enjoyed being the one to take photos.

"Aren’t you going to ask me what I became?" Hoseok asked from his chair, hand on his heart, he feigned being incredibly offended and hurt (apparently, he didn’t like being ignored, especially by you).

You chewed on your lip, weighting the risks; if you snapped at him, Jimin would know you had met Hoseok somewhere and you didn’t feel like explaining yourself but if you kept ignoring him - it would be risky too. So you put on a big, fake smile on your face and looked at him. "What about you, Hobi?"

A glint of something dark and dangerous lit in his eyes, only few seconds and it was gone. But you saw it. You shivered but refused to show any of it. There was no way you could still be crushing on him, you told yourself. But apparently your brain and your body didn’t quite agree on that.

Hoseok chuckled. "I’m delighted to hear my nickname. Nobody had called me ‘Hobi’ for a while."

Jimin cleared his throat but before he could say anything else, Taehyung stepped in. "I call you Hobi every day though."

Ha!

Hoseok shot Taehyung’s a nasty gaze that would have sent any normal person cowering in fear but Taehyung only blew a kiss before winking at you. Well, that was something.

Defeated, Hoseok ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, that you do. But you’re not a fine lady, Taehyung." Then he looked at him, up and down, "Unless you’re hiding something from us?"

Taehyung eyed him for a moment. "Do you want to see my dick to be sure I’m a man?"

That made all of them relax and laugh - you included.

"So?" You looked at Hoseok, smiling more sincerely at him. "What do you do, Hobi?"

He looked surprised but quickly regained his composure and smiled back. "I actually work with Jimin."

"Poor souls." Was your only comment which made Jimin slap your arm.

*

"You look better." Hoseok’s voice startled you and the cup slipped from your hands but fortunately for you he was fast to catch it before it could shatter. You cursed under your breath; cursing both Hoseok for taking you by surprise and yourself for being so jumpy because of him. "Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you."

You straightened your back with a huff; Hoseok looked too smug for your liking. "The only thing that scares me is your eyes." Which was half true. His eyes did something to you that you didn’t quite like.

"What about them?" But you refused to answer that; there was no way Hoseok wasn’t aware of what he was doing and you refused to play his little game. Which made you wonder, was he always like this?

"What about them, Y/N?" He repeated.

Hoseok took a step towards you and you step back and repeated till your back hit the table and you found yourself trapped between Hoseok and the table. He was playing a dangerous game and you shouldn’t let him but there was something so alluring - you couldn’t resist.

He had his arms at each side of you, hovering over you. This was definitely not the Hoseok you were used to.

You licked your lips nervously, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his very inviting lips. You had to be mad to even contemplate the idea of kissing him, it would be so easy. "When did you become so daring?"

Hoseok actually chuckled at that. "I always was. I just didn’t want to scare you back then; you were such a cute little girl."

"You’re just seven years older, I wasn’t a little girl back then." You were but the stubborn part of you refused to let him win and apparently Hoseok realized it too as he laughed.

"The last time I saw you, you were eighteen. Was it at your birthday party?" He got a hold on a strand of your hair, twisting it, curling around his finger, he was lost in his memories - he smiled and looked straight into your eyes. "Jimin got mad at you because you wore an incredibly revealing electric blue dress."

Your breath hitched in your throat. How could Hoseok remember something that had happened five years ago? Something you would have forgotten if not for Jimin’s scolding.

"Can’t blame him. If I was in his shoes, I would have thrown you over my shoulder and brought you back to your room to change." He brought the strand closer to his lips and you swore your heart missed a beat.

Fuck. You were still crushing on him.

"Now, since I’m not your brother, I can tell you that I enjoyed the view." Then, he leaned closer till his warm breath reached your ear. "And I wished I could do more than just watching from afar."

Shit.

But that was it. No matter how much Hoseok wanted to toy with you, there were limits (or more exactly, there was a Jimin) - he took a step back. "Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it; you look just as easy to tease as back then."

That was your wake up call. You jolted from your place and put as much space as you could between Hoseok and you. You looked at him with mixed feelings. A part of you enjoyed hearing those words, those confessions from him, on the other hand his behavior made your blood boil with anger. How dared he?

You stormed out of the room, deciding that there was no way you could deal with this Hoseok tonight. Or any other night.

Later, however, you found a tiny piece of paper along with a phone number and instead of throwing it in the bin, you hid it safely in your sketchbook.

*

"I’m glad to see you’re not doing your puppy eyes to Hoseok anymore." Jimin plumped on the bed beside you, disturbing your peaceful drawing moment. The mere mention of Hoseok made you tighten your grip on your pencil and by some miracle it didn’t break under your strength.

Jimin noticed it and cocked a brow at you. "Interesting." He nudged your leg with his feet to get your attention - you refused to acknowledge his presence if he wanted to talk about this annoying friend of his. "You used to follow me everywhere as long as Hoseok was around."

No, you wanted to protest but then, that would be a lie. You did follow Jimin as much as you could only to be able to see Hoseok (even if half of the time you couldn’t muster the courage to talk to him which only amused both of your brother and Hoseok).

"Back then I thought it was cute. Annoying too, but I couldn’t even get mad with you."

"Is it heading somewhere or?" You finally looked at him and you regretted it instantly. Jimin had a smirk plastered on his face which was bad omen for you. "Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Get out."

"Oh come on, pumpkin!" He nudged you again. "I won’t talk about embarrassing memories." He promised which was probably not his initial plan. "However, what was this all about with Hoseok earlier?"

Jimin was too observant, you used to know it but somehow it had escaped your mind.

You sighed in defeat, closed your sketchbook. "Nothing." That didn’t sound as convincing as you expected - you cleared your voice, awkwardly. "Maybe I was embarrassed with how I used to be around him."

"Hm." Jimin didn’t sound convinced but shrugged, choosing for once that he could live with it. "Fine." He jumped from your bed, "But just so you know, I don’t believe you."

You simply stuck your tongue out and let him leave.

Yes, it was good living with Jimin.

*

Mina chocked on her Frappuccino, not believing your words. “You’re kidding, right?” But seeing that you kept your face straight, Mina understood that it was not some kind of joke. “You’re not kidding.” She wiped her mouth with a tissue and then really looked at you. “Well shit.”

You snorted. ‘Well shit’ was almost your initial reaction too. Except it had changed. A little. Or not. The moment Hoseok had showed his true colors, you forgot all about your crush and just wanted to smash his pretty little head. That was a lie. You didn’t want to smash his head, you wanted something else but refused to admit it to yourself.

“Is it what people call fate?” Mina wondered out loud, ready to elaborate her theories (to your biggest dismay). “Not only your savior was, is a hot mess-“

“I never said he was hot! I only said I used to crush on him when I was younger.” You regretted your outburst the moment it left your mouth as Mina’s wicked grin only widened.

“Potato, potato.” Mina wiggled her finger at you. “And this same hot stranger is actually your brother’s best friend and the guy you used to crush on. This is fate.”

“This is bullshit.” You snapped back but Mina didn’t seem fazed with your attempt to protest and prove her wrong. Maybe you could try harder but sadly, you knew she was a lost cause and because you did believe it was a rather nice coincidence.

The mere thought of Hoseok made your blood roar in your ears as images from the last time with him flashed through your mind. It had been days and there must be something wrong with you because no matter how hard you tried you would think about him, about how close he got to you when you were trapped between his body and the table.

“What are you going to do about him?” Mina resumed sipping on her drink but she was watching you, gawking at you.

“Nothing.” What could you possibly do? Even if he was Jimin’s friend (which was already a big deal) and even if Hoseok seemed inclined to flirt shamelessly with you, you didn’t know him well enough and you were scared of who he was. Scared but intrigued. And maybe tempted.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

“Is it about Hyeonwu? It’s over. You need to move on.” And because Mina knew all too well, she raised her hand to stop you from snapping at her. “I know you loved him. And I’m not telling you to pursue that hotmess or even fall for him. I’m just saying that a little distraction can be very helpful. And from what you’re telling me, this dude seems to be into this kind of distraction.”

You thought about this option for a moment, slumping further in your seat. Mina was right, it could be helpful but it didn’t change the fact that Hoseok was Jimin’s best friend; it was too dangerous to consider. You shook your head in defeat but before you could share your mind, two men stepped inside the café.

Two all too familiar men.

Two incredibly annoying men too.

You bit on your lips hard before letting a groan out. “You got to be kidding me.”

Mina followed your gaze, curious at your sudden change of behavior – what she saw did not disappoint her. She easily recognized one of the two men; she had seen some old pictures of you and Jimin and she must admit that you both looked quite alike. The second man, however, she did not recognize but judging from your reaction she had a little guess.

“The blond one is your brother I suppose?” You nodded, half hearing her, your eyes were on them. “And the other one is…?”

“Hoseok.” You regretted whispering his name. It was as if, despite the chattering around you, despite the music, he still heard you – his eyes were on you. Fuck.

But maybe for once you were lucky. Hoseok only winked at you (which didn’t go unnoticed by Mina) and turned back to Jimin who was, surprisingly, oblivious to the little exchange.

Mina whistled before averting her eyes. "I must say, it’s one thing to see your brother in photos and find him cute - but damn girl, he’s hot as hell. Can I have his number?"

"Fuck off."

She laughed.

*

Another day, another party and another regret. Clearly, last time should have been enough for you for many reasons but when Mina begged you to go with her, how exactly were you supposed to say no? She promised to not stay long which you believed her; Mina at least had control over time she spent dancing and drinking and she would never leave you alone unless you asked her to. It was why you said yes.

The regret came once you were inside.

It was a birthday party of one of a guy from your class whose name you had already forgotten but he sure as hell was famous considering how crowded and noisy it was.

"Oh it’s going to be so much fun!" Mina almost squealed beside you. She flipped her hair and winked playfully at you. "Let’s grab a drink babe."

You had to admit that despite the crowd, despite the place being noisy, the music was good and you couldn’t possibly say no to free snacks (and drinks) and maybe Mina’s enthusiasm was slowly rubbing on you as you found yourself smiling.

That was until a very familiar voice echoed from somewhere near you. Mina froze on the spot, two drinks in her hand - so did you. Hyeonwu was at the party which you should have expected. He was a social butterfly, of course he would go to a big birthday party.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and counted till ten. Mina got to your side and handed you the drink (that was incredibly needed).

"Is killing still forbidden in this country?" Mina joked though she did look like she was about to murder someone in cold blood.

"Sadly." You patted her back. There was little you could do in this situation; you could be a winner and simply ignore the tightness in your chest, enjoy the night; or you could be a looser by going home and crying the whole night. You refused to give up so easily.

Sadly for you, it wasn’t over.

"What about Y/N?" You heard someone ask about you - this time you felt your heart leaping in your throat. Why did people still need to talk about you, about your relationship? You considered it rude.

"What about her?" Hyeonwu asked sounding particularly disinterested.

"Since I don’t see her with you, I guess the rumors are true - you broke up."

"Not like she mattered anyway."

Maybe you were going to kill him after all before Mina could even lay her hands on him.

"I’m going to kill him." She growled dangerously beside you.

"Don’t. I really don’t want to visit you in jell and bring you oranges."

"I would rather you bring me chocolate."

You both looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Hyeonwu was an ass and he could go to hell; you would not let yourself be weak, you would not let yourself shed any more tear. No.

"I think I need something stronger."

It seemed like a good idea at the moment.

You learnt much much later that it was, in fact, a very bad idea.

Awful idea.

Especially when the last thing you remembered was Mina telling you to slow down on alcohol.

*

God.

You should quit drinking, not like it was a habit of yours but surely you had outdone yourself considering how your head felt; heavy, splitting. In fact, you felt like you were dying.

Your whole body ached, moving in the bed was pure torture.

Bed.

You jolted in the bed and regretted it instantly as the room spun around you and you felt a wave of nausea. You clamped your hand over your mouth; god, you were a mess.

You pushed back the blanket covering your body only to see that you weren’t naked but you weren’t wearing your own clothes either which definitely wasn’t much better. No, you wore a black shirt that was way too big for you, reaching your mid thighs.

Another wave of nausea.

To say that despite you being hungover you panicked at the idea of being somewhere you didn’t know with someone you didn’t know would be an understatement. You took a deep breath, calming your crazy heart and trying to keep your wish to empty your stomach at bay. You forced yourself to replay the party in your head.

The music, the people you had met, Mina, even Hyeonwu and his words you could remember. But you leaving with someone? That was a big mystery. No matter how hard you tried to remember, to even catch a glimpse of a memory - it didn’t work. There was nothing you could do except being, for once, a big girl and go face the unknown in hope that whoever’s place it was, was a nice person.

But the reality that welcomed you once you stepped out of the safety of the room was so much better.

Or worse.

Really, it was all about perspective.

Hoseok was preparing a breakfast for both of you, music playing and he sang along; you thought he was unaware of your presence. Oh how wrong you were. "Sit."

I’m going to be sick. It was one thing believing you ended up so drunk you would leave with a stranger or maybe a fellow student of your college but it was a whole new level of panic to find yourself in Hoseok’s shirt and in his kitchen. ‘How’ and ‘why’ were on the tip of your tongue but Hoseok turned around, hands on his hips he looked like an angry parent instead of - your crush.

Helplessly you followed his order.

"Good girl." Was the only thing he said and then, he resumed his preparation.

How confusing. He didn’t try to mock you or to explain, it was as if all of it was perfectly normal. As if you were friends. As if you hadn’t done something stupid. God, you hoped, no, you prayed you hadn’t done something stupid.

You cleared your throat, quite awkwardly. "How bad was it?" A part of you was scared to know, but you had to know and start somewhere.

Hoseok ignored your question.

It bothered you to no end that he chose to keep his mouth shut when he could find so many reasons to either scold you or mock you. He did none of that. He busied himself with the breakfast and only when pancakes, Nutella, orange juice and coffee was on the table, he finally sat across from you.

“Eat.”

Your jaw clenched. “Are you going to order me around or are you going to answer my questions?”

Hoseok sighed. He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in the palm of his hand. “I don’t think you’re ready for answers to be honest, Y/N.”

It did something to you the way he said your name. It shouldn’t, really, but it did. You gulped, staring nervously back at him – he looked too damn smug (and handsome with all the sun on his face). “It’s that bad.”

“You have no idea.”

“Shit.” You slammed your head on the table, startling Hoseok with your sudden gesture; he was ready to jump from his place and to get to you but then you turned your face to look at him, miserable and ready to curse yourself and your life.

Hoseok chuckled and shook his head in defeat. Cooking had eased his mind and calmed his nerves. But seeing you genuinely upset with yourself was enough to unsettle him and make his anger vanish. “You were a mess.”

You blinked at his words; finally he was willing to make you remember (and if not, explain) what happened. “How bad?”

“Well. According to your friend you got into a fight.”

“A fight?! Oh my god, with who?”

Hoseok bit on his lips, trying hard not to laugh at you. “You punched your ex.”

You stood from your seat too fast and felt dizzy right away. With a blink of an eye, Hoseok was by your side, a hand on your back and steadying before you could collapse on the floor. “Easy tiger.”

“Sorry.” You sat back. “It can’t be. I’ve never hit anybody in my life.” Then you thought about a time when Jimin had intentionally told your parents about your supposed weekend with your friend which was a cover for your weekend with your boyfriend. It was the only time you truly got mad at Jimin and had punched him in the face. “Well, except for Jimin.”

“Shocking.” Hoseok feigned surprise. “He does deserve a beating from time to time.”

Despite your anxiety, you chuckled. “And what happened after I hit him?”

Hoseok’s whole face darkened for a second; it was so fast you could have imagined it. But you didn’t. “According to your friend, he tried to slap you. Again. Luckily for him, your friend got you out of his way before he could do so.”

It was a very odd thing to witness. Hoseok was clearly annoyed, no, angry with Hyeonwu, maybe because he didn’t like men who would raise their hand on women or maybe it was just because of you, either way it was odd but nice. “You’re angry.”

Hoseok didn’t deny it. “I am. But not only with this piece of shit. Last night I was angry with you too.”

“Why me?” You frowned, “Did I do something else?”

Hoseok considered telling you the truth. He eyed you from head to toes, eyes lingering a little longer than acceptable on your bare legs before shaking his head. He wouldn’t tell but his gaze was enough to tell you that you had done something stupid.

“Don’t tell me I jump on you.” You almost begged him.

Hoseok blinked before bursting into laughter. “I would have loved that.”

His response confused you. If you didn’t jump on him (which would have explained his shirt on you) then what was it? You glanced at your hands and then at Hoseok, scowling half angrily at him – he flicked gently your forehead in response. “Really, you don’t want to remember this part.”

Your eyes widened in realization; there could be only one other thing that could embarrass you. “Oh no. Please, tell me I didn’t throw up.”

Hoseok winced at the memory. “You did and then passed out in my bathroom.”

You buried your face in between your hands, wanting the floor to swallow you whole. You regretted bitterly your poor choices in life. First you got wasted, then you thought it would be cool to punch your ex (he completely deserved it). “Wait. How did you know I was at this party?”

“You messaged me.”

“I did what?”

Hoseok showed you his phone and the messages you exchanged in your drunken state. Bloody hell. Second reminder to yourself: quit drinking. You should have called for Jimin but instead you chose Hoseok (and here you thought you would never dare to send him a message). You told him how lonely you felt and that you wanted to leave the party. This was embarrassing, enough for you to hide for a while but you also couldn’t ignore the fact (and it warmed your heart more than it should) that instead of ignoring your texts, Hoseok came for you.

"You could have called Jimin." That was definitely not what you wanted to say. A ‘thank you’ would have been better but somehow you wanted to know why he came.

"He would have asked why you asked for me instead of him." Hoseok sighed, too aware that he was playing a dangerous game that could not end well. "I shouldn’t have left you my number. But you know what? A part of me is happy I did." Hoseok gently took your hand and started rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "Who knows what would have happened otherwise?"

Your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes darted back and forth between his face and his hand.

This Hoseok seemed so much more familiar compare to the one you had faced last time. He was sweet and gentle and of course a little tease.

"You know," Hoseok started, he watched you trying to figure him out, "If love doesn’t work for you maybe you should try something else."

*

To say that you didn’t think about the morning with Hoseok or his words would be a lie because you did. Quite often even. A part of you clung to the memory of his touches, of his words but another, and the more rational part of you told you to forget and to move on.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t forget when you saw Hoseok every now and then. Hoseok made it even harder; he would never miss a chance to tease you (whether it was about that day or another subject) when nobody was looking.

One word from you and you could have stopped it. But you didn’t. No. You could pretend you didn’t like all this attention but it would be another lie - you loved it.

You sighed as once more you were thinking about Hoseok. How troublesome.

It was getting late. You should have been home for a while now but because of the project you were working on, you had to stay later than usual. Jimin had promised to meet you after work with cookies which would have been perfect after such a long day - Jimin was late.

One glance at your phone - still no news from your brother which worried you. Did he somehow forget about you? That would be very unlike him but the alternative scared you.

A car stopped right by your side. You glanced at the car but quickly averted your eyes, it wasn’t Jimin’s.

The person inside the car however wasn’t done with you. Winding down the window - you heard a familiar voice calling for you. A voice that made your skin tingle and warm right away.

"Hobi?"

"Get in." He smiled brightly at you, "I’m your driver for tonight."

Oh. Oh boy.

It took you all self control not to show him how you felt about it, instead you hurried to get inside his car and tried to look casual. "Do I want to know why you’re here instead of Jimin?"

"Ouch. A lesser man would have been hurt with your words, princess." Hoseok, however, didn’t seem that hurt in your opinion - he winked playfully at you and started the car. "Jimin is stuck in the office so I offered to pick you up."

"How nice of you, oh my savior." You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.

Hoseok laughed and to your utter surprise patted your naked leg. It was such a simple gesture, probably with no intention behind, but your body reacted on it own, burning under his touch. You bit on your lips and tried to regain composure, but your mind seemed to concentrate only at the spot on your leg Hoseok had touched. Geez Y/N, calm the hell down!

"How come you were staying so late?"

You welcomed this distraction with a sigh of relief; if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment. "I’m working on my art project and I’m a little behind the schedule."

"You’re art major?" Hoseok was surprised for a short moment before memories flashed through his mind. "Right. Why am I even surprised." He chuckled to himself. "I remember you spending hours drawing or painting while we would be playing games in the background. I don’t know how you managed to concentrate with all the noise."

At least he admitted that they were the noisiest persons you had ever met. But truth to be told, it never bothered you. Yes they were loud and would try to distract you when you weren’t even trying to talk to them, but their energy, their pure friendship, the atmosphere around them was something that fueled your inspiration. "I never minded."

Hoseok glanced at you, one brow arched. "Really?"

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. "It helped me."

"Well, if you’re ever stuck, just call us. I’ll be more than glad to be noisy." He joked.

"Will do."

*

Asking Jimin about Hoseok without actually letting him know how you felt was tricky. Jimin knew you like the back of his hand which meant that whether you tried tricking him into believing that your questions were out of pure curiosity or not would end the same way: Jimin knowing your tiny crush on Hoseok was not as tiny as you thought.

You took the risk anyway.

While Jimin was drinking his coffee and reading newspaper, you sat in front of him and poured yourself some coffee too. "Hey Jimin," He only acknowledged your presence with a hum, waiting for whatever you wanted to say. "Are you planning to have a boys night soon?"

Jimin lowered the newspaper, checked your face before resuming his reading without giving you a proper answer which made you scowl at him. Was he in a bad mood? "Jimin-"

"Don’t say it." He interrupted you before you could try again, still without looking at you.

You blinked, confused. "Say what?"

"Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to ask."

You huffed and crossed you arms over your chest; you couldn’t believe he could possibly know what was on your mind. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." But you did.

Jimin slammed his newspaper on the table (and you winced at his reaction), his eyes dark and threatening were on you. Well, you had completely forgotten that your bother could get quite intimidating when he wanted to. You chose not to cower and just huff one more time in annoyance and maybe a tad of provocation.

"You aren’t asking when I’m going to see my friends. "Jimin pointed at you, "You’re asking when I’m going to invite Hoseok over so you could see him again."

Yeah, ok, Jimin really knew what he was talking about. You bit on your lips, contemplating whether you should be honest with him or tell him he was wrong. You couldn’t muster the courage to lie. "So? When is he coming?"

Jimin groaned. "Y/N."

"What? I’m just curious."

"No, you’re not." JImin’s jaw tensed and for a second you thought all hell would break loose. But to your biggest surprise, Jimin kept his temper in check and simply shook his head. "He’s not the right guy for you."

You scoffed in disbelief at his presumptions.. "Are you telling me this as my brother or as his friend?"

"What’s the difference? I’m telling you he’s not right for you."

"And of course you know who’s right for me?!" Getting angry and raising your voice at him was very unlike you; it took you by surprise and so it did to Jimin as his eyes widened slightly in shock.

Jimin inhaled and exhaled, trying to be the mature one and not to get angry. "I actually do."

You doubt that.

"You want to feel the butterflies. You want a prince, a fairy tale. You want someone who would be willing to sacrifice everything for you. I’m sorry but Hoseok isn’t this kind of man."

The urge to throw the rest of your coffee at him was very strong and so damn tempting. But that would be extremely childish of you and would only prove him he was right.

He was, but you weren’t ready to admit that just yet.

*

Jimin’s words had hit home. He was right about your view and expectations from a relationship and yet what Jimin also didn’t know was that your faith in love had shattered. It wasn’t like Hyeonwu was the love of your life and you expected to get married and have two kids with him. No. But the betrayal left a bitter taste in your mouth. So why not try something else? Something so out of your character? And who would be the best to show you the way than Hoseok?

"I know this look. You’re up to something." Mina nudged you in the stomach making you groan in both pain and annoyance. But Mina only wiggled her brows playfully at you. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

She didn’t buy it even for a second. "Nothing would be you not checking your phone every five minutes as if you’re waiting for someone, probably your very hot crush, to text you back."

You gave her the stink eye. Mina was too observant for her own good. You bit on your lips but chose not to tell her what was on your mind.

Mina huffed in annoyance as she realized that. "Fine. Don’t tell me."

But just like Mina had mentioned, you checked your phone hoping to see a message from Hoseok. You had sent him a message two hours ago, telling him you needed a lift which you didn’t but he didn’t need to know that. Till now, you still had no answer which shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. It was just a game, you promised yourself.

Mina grabbed your arm and forced you to halt. "You should probably stop checking your phone and look before you instead." A wicked smile that sent shivers down your spine spread on her plump lips. She pointed at something, at someone and when your eyes found that someone, your breath hitched in your throat and you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing.

Hoseok was leaning against his car, all in black, and looking too out of place in your opinion but so damn hot. The black turtleneck sweater and leather jacked looked all too good on him. He was a walking sin.

And apparently Mina agreed to your thoughts as she whistled and nudged you playfully. "I guess you won’t need a lift after all."

"See you tomorrow." Was the only thing you managed to say, eyes glued to a smiling Hoseok, heart roaring in your ears as you took a step towards him.

"Have fun!" Mina said too loudly for your liking. You hoped he didn’t hear it.

He did. Hoseok’s smile turned into a smirk, but at least he didn’t comment. He opened the door for you like a gentleman. "My lady."

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course he would say something like that.

*

To say that you were nervous would be the understatement of the century.

You drove in almost complete silence. Music played in the background and usually it would have helped you to relax but it didn’t. You kept glancing at Hoseok - if he noticed, he didn’t comment. How exactly were you supposed to bring the subject without making a fool of yourself?

"So," Hoseok cleared his throat to get your attention. "Are you planning to tell me what it’s really about?"

You snapped your head so fast at him, eyes widening. He knew you were up to something. Maybe he knew exactly what you were up to and this thought wasn’t very comforting.

You averted your eyes from his face and looked instead at your curled fist resting on your thighs. You were exactly where you wanted to be and you needed to be brave to tell him what you wanted.

You took a deep breath and looked at him. Confident. "Do you remember what you told me last time?" As you saw him frowning you quickly added, "If love doesn’t work for me I should try something else."

Hoseok’s grip on the wheel tightened. "I remember." Despite that he didn’t look at you or elaborate.

His lack of reaction (you expected him to laugh at you at least) only made you more nervous - you shoved it somewhere far and stayed as composed as possible. "Want to help me with it?"

Here. It was out.

Hoseok pulled over without a word or a single glance at you which quite frankly made you want to jump out of the car and forget everything about your plan. It was stupid, reckless. What were you even thinking?

As the car got to a halt, Hoseok turned to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes were dark and if you didn’t know better you would have thought they were hungry. Sadly, it couldn’t be true.

Hoseok licked his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your eyes and your lips, giving you a terrible impression that suddenly you were his prey. "Did you call me in hope I’d say yes?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. And yet your voice got stuck in your throat.

At your silence, Hoseok only chuckled and leaned closer so his hand could reach your warm face. Gently, he stroked your cheek. There were things he wished he could tell you, but he couldn’t. You weren’t ready.

"Did you think I would say yes to fuck you, Y/N?"

It was exactly what you hoped, exactly what you wanted. And yet, having Hoseok so close, muttering those words made you gulp, frozen on the spot. It was stupid. You were stupid.

What were you thinking, Y/N?!

Hoseok pulled back. "Thought so."

He took you home without a word.

You had fucked up.

*

Holidays meant more time for you. Meant more time to heal from your break up, more time to work on your project that didn’t go as planned, and sadly more time to think about your humiliation. You couldn’t forget what happened in the car, how stupid you were and how bad you had felt afterwards. Luckily for you, Jimin hadn’t invited Hoseok or any other of his friends which let you all the time to gloom.

In fact, Jimin was barely at home at all which in a way was great for you; you had more space for yourself and at least he wouldn’t know about your mood. But it didn’t mean he didn’t notice.

On the third day of your holidays, Jimin barged in your room, startling you. You were so engrossed in your painting that you hadn’t heard him at all.

"That’s enough." Jimin looked genuinely upset and tired.

You eyed him, a brow cocked at him. "What is enough?"

"You. Do you think because I have been so busy, I haven’t noticed your behavior?" Jimin pointed an accusing finger at you. "Just because you’re alone in there don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your pretty head."

Jimin approached you and put a bag at your feet.

"What is it?"

"My company is having a party and I need you to come with me."

That was ridiculous. Not because you didn’t like the idea of going to a party (though after your last experience, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea), but you going with Jimin didn’t make much sense. He could get any date he wanted, why would he bother to bring his sister instead? You shook your head in disbelief. "Jimin, you can ask any of your girl friends to come with you."

Jimin huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "I could, but my little sister is being a depressed, ugly monster right now. You need some fresh air."

You tried to hit him for the ‘ugly monster’ but Jimin was fast to dodge your attack, laughing at your attempt. "Get ready. We’re leaving in two hours."

"Would it be enough for you to get ready?" You joked, though it was half true. Jimin tended to spend more time than you to get ready.

He only stuck his tongue out in reply.

*

There was no denying, Jimin’s company sure as hell knew how to throw a party. You didn’t expect much when he asked you to come with him but you definitely blessed him for bringing you along. The venue was beautiful; from lights to the layout of the place, to the music in the background (and let’s not forget about the food and free alcohol). For a second, you forgot about Jimin and let go of his arm just so you could wander and have a better view of the place - Jimin only smiled at that and watched you from afar.

After three days of mopping around, it was good to see your eyes shining brightly and looking forward for something, even if it was for one night. Jimin hoped that by bringing you with him, it would make you realize that whatever was bothering you wasn’t worth it.

"I take it as you like the place." Jimin joined you and snatched two glasses of Champaign. "Here."

You being you gladly accepted. "I do. Are all your company’s parties so luxurious?" Then you glanced at the people around. They all looked classy and beautiful with their outfits and you were more than thankful that Jimin found a pretty hot dress for you - a red, long backless dress with a front split.

"No. This one is more formal but sometimes…It gets crazy." Judging by Jimin’s reaction, you decided that you didn’t want to know about the crazy parties, just because imagining your brother doing something reckless was too much no matter how close you were.

"Come on, sis. Lets the fun begin." He showed you his arm and you gladly accepted it.

*

Jimin was an amazing brother.

You, of course, already knew that, but tonight one more time he proved you just how good of a brother he was. Nothing obliged him to stay the most part of the night with you, nothing. But he did. He drank with you, stole some food with you when nobody was looking (though would it still be considered stealing when he belonged to the company). He joked with you, commented on people. He introduced you to his people, his crew and by the huge smiles on their face, you knew just how much Jimin was appreciated.

You wanted him to enjoy the night. "Jimin," you tugged his hand gently. "Go. Have fun." Which only made him frown. Of course he wouldn’t understand which only made you smile fondly at him. "I think you’ve spent more than enough time with me, you should go and enjoy yourself."

Jimin scoffed. "What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Oh please. Do you think I didn’t see how you were eying this girl by the window? I’m not blind." You pinched his arm making him yelp and take a step from you. "Go. I’ll be fine. I probably won’t stay for too long so don’t worry for me."

Despite your attempt at convincing him to leave you alone, Jimin hesitated.

"I’m going to get really mad if you don’t go to her." You warned him.

"No you won’t." But he smiled nevertheless. "Fine." He ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair and sighed in defeat. "Fine. But just so you know, I had fun tonight. It reminded me the good old days - I hadn’t realized just how much I missed those times."

You grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze - you completely agreed with him. Till tonight, you hadn’t realized just how much you missed spending some quality time with him. "Now go and you better not come back before morning!"

This time, Jimin rolled his eyes at you.

Proud of yourself, you snatched another glass of champaign. You wandered around the huge place without really minding people until, and sadly for you, you bumped into someone you didn’t expect to see tonight because your lovely brain had chosen to forget that Jung Hoseok was also working with Jimin.

You stumbled - Hoseok was fast to grab your arm and steady you.

Bloody hell.

Why.

How could you have forgotten that Hoseok too was working in this company and that obviously he would attend the party was beyond your comprehension. Why did you always forget about the most important things that could have avoided you some unwanted situation?

You had no words. You felt embarrassed and not only because you had bumped into him. No. The simple sight of him (looking absolutely devastating in his black suit) brought back the memory of the very humiliating night that you wished to forget.

"Sorry." You quickly apologized and while Hoseok was too stunned to see you, you ran away.

The moment you reached the stairs, you took your damn heels off. Your feet hurt and with you trying to get away from Hoseok as fast as possible - it hurt. You leaned against the wall for a short moment, taking a deep breath.

"Put those back on." Hoseok’s voice startled you and you almost hit your head in the process.

"Not your damn business." Shit. You wanted to smash your head against the wall, feeling utterly stupid for being suddenly so harsh and so not like you. Yes, you were frustrated. Yes, you were angry, but with yourself.

Hoseok, on the other hand, was stunned but only for a short moment. It wasn’t very often that he witnessed your sassy and angry side but he decided that he liked it. He had two options before him; he could either leave you to your fate and go back to the party (a party he wasn’t very fond of anyway) or he could stay with you. He chose the latter.

Without a warning, Hoseok lifted you from the ground - you yelped in surprise and fear but your arms instantly flew to his neck.

"The hell are you doing?!" You screamed at him.

"Since you’re being so disobedient, I’m bringing you home." Was his only answer.

You couldn’t accept that. You pinched his nape, hit his chest in hope he would let you go. He didn’t and he wasn’t bothered with your antics. Oh no, it amused him. All your attempts at being feisty and strong - he knew he had the upper hand.

"Jung Hoseok, you better put me down now or-"

"Or what?" He cut you before you could finish your threat. "You’re going to scream?"

That was your first option, yes, but you weren’t sure you wanted to attracted any attention on you. You hit him instead in the chest. Again.

Hoseok chuckled and his grip around you tightened. Before you could ask him anything, he took you by surprise by putting you on a car. His car. You blinked, confused, and observed him.

Hoseok didn’t say a word, he simply watched you, licking his lips as his eyes roamed through your body.

Good god. Your skin flushed under his gaze. You were in so much trouble.

"That was unnecessary." You said as you tried to slid from the car - Hoseok was faster. Before you could get back on your feet, he got closer to you. His hands were on your exposed thighs as he settled between your legs. Dear lord. Your heart leapt in your throat at the sudden proximity and the feel of his hands on your bare skin. Just like the last time, it burnt, so bad, so good.

"Hoseok?"

He didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, on the feel of your skin against the palm of his hands. He was supposed to be the reasonable one but the moment he spotted you at the parted wearing this sinful dress, all his resolution vanished - he wanted you. He pressed his head against your forehead, eyes never leaving your lips. It was pure madness. "Tell me to stop, Y/N."

"Wh-what?" You were genuinely confused.

His hands traveled through your body, slowly, gently, feather like touches that sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. He was toying with you and your feelings - you couldn’t think straight.

"Tell me to stop." His lips were impossibly close, all you had to do was to tilt your head and your lips would finally meet his. "You’re the only one who can stop me. Say no and I’ll stop and bring you home."

You gulped nervously and at the same time hopeful and excited with what he could do if you said yes instead. "And what happens if I don’t stop you?"

Hoseok groaned as he closed his eyes. He imagined many things, especially ever since you mentioned fucking him - he couldn’t stop thinking about it. "Jimin is going to kick my ass."

More confident, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer against you. You whispered against his lips, "I’m going to protect you then."

You sealed the promise with a kiss.

*

It was seven in the morning, you were a mess but a rather satisfied mess. Hoseok had dropped you after the almost sleepless night you had spent at his place. You expected him to regret having sex with you, heck, you expected to feel guilty about it too but none of it happened. Hoseok had woken you up with a gentle kiss on the lips, on your cheeks, on your shoulders - he didn’t particularly wanted to part with you but he knew better than to take risks with Jimin.

You pushed the door to Jimin’s place as quietly as you could, hoping deep inside you that Jimin had listened to your advice and spend the night somewhere else while you were supposed to be at home.

On your tiptoes you walked through the place, trying not to knock anything on your path - Jimin cleared his throat.

"Holy shit!" You jumped and slammed your hand over your chest. "You scared me!"

What Jimin was doing awake at this unholy hour (at least for a Saturday) was beyond you. He was at home and you were in trouble.

Jimin eyed you with a quirked brow, up and down, taking notes of your state. You wanted to ignore his glare and run to the safety of your room but sadly, your feet were rooted to the ground, staring back at him. "Hi?"

Jimin shook his head. "So. Whose body am I going to bury in the garden?"

"We don’t have a garden." You answered without thinking - Jimin rolled his eyes in response.

Yes, you were in trouble.

*

What was supposed to be a one time thing with Hoseok turned into something more. Every time he called, you said yes, swearing every single time it would be the last because you were terrified at how he made you feel. But you couldn’t get enough.

You bit on your lips while playing with your pencil. Instead of drawing, in class, you found yourself glancing at your still red wrists - memories flashed through your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together.

Flashback

You watched, completely bewitched, as Hoseok tied your hands to the bed with a red silk ribbons. With every step he took, Hoseok watched you carefully, making sure he wasn’t overstepping some boundaries, that you were hundred percent comfortable with whatever he was doing to you.

You were.

God, you were more than that judging by how wet you were and he hadn’t even touched you. Another time, another day you would have felt embarrassed about being so aroused but it was Hoseok and if there was one thing he made sure to teach you was that you should never be ashamed or embarrassed about yourself.

Never.

"Such a good girl for me." Hoseok praised you and once he was done with the knot, he pressed a gentle kiss to your wrists. Such a sweet and delicate gesture that sent shivers down your spine and to your core - you pressed your thighs together seeking any friction you could get.

Hoseok chuckled at your attempt but did nothing to ease your aching body, no, instead he pulled back and admired the view before him.

You were splayed in front of him, lips beautifully swollen with all the kissing, pupils blown. It was his favorite view; you being naked and so willing for him, he was getting harder with every look he took.

"So beautiful." His finger trailed along your calf, drawing circles.

"Hoseok." You pleaded, skin on fire. You wanted him to touch you, to feel him.

Hoseok only smiled in response and considered what he wanted to do with you. He crawled, parting your legs in the process. He kissed your calf, a warm and gentle press of the lips that got you to whine in both delight and slight despair. You were torn between the wish he could simply ravish you, or the wish he would take his sweet time with you, torturing your body, your senses - you bit on your lips.

"What should I do with you, baby girl?" Hoseok hummed as he hovered over you. His fingers trailed along your jaw before his thumb was rubbing your lips. He loved your mouth, those pretty lips that could drive him crazy. He would have loved to feel your mouth around his cock, to have you chock around him. Yes, he would love that very much but another time.

Anything, you wanted to say but your words got lost the moment his hands started roaming your body. They were everywhere. On your thighs, your stomach, your breast. Every touch drove you crazier and he knew it. Hoseok knew your body like the back of his hand and he sure as hell knew what to do to make you beg.

"Hoseok, please." You begged, not giving a damn as long as he gave you what you needed. "I need you." You lifted your hips to lean further in his touch but Hoseok pushed you back on the bed. So easily. "Please."

"Such an impatient little thing." He tsked but his smirk only widened.

Before you could whine, his lips claimed your mouth, demanding, wet, intoxicating and brief. You wanted to pull him back, to deepen the kiss but you couldn’t. You pulled at your restraints, the cloth only sank into your skin.

Hoseok’s lips traveled from your lips to your jaw, to your neck, leaving as many purple marks as possible (knowing all too well that you would complain later); your body was a white canvas and he sure as hell wanted to work on it.

His lips followed an invisible path, slowly, sometimes gentle sometimes harsher, you could never guess when he would worship a part of your body and when he would suddenly bite hard enough for you to cry out his name.

Hoseok covered every inch of your body with kisses and by the time he came face to face with your dripping pussy, you were a crying, bothered mess. His lips weren’t the only thing that drove you completely mad. No, the whole time he worked on you, his eyes never left yours and this simple sight made you almost come undone.

"Hoseok." You could feel the tears of frustration at the corner of your eyes; you were too wound up to be able to bear it any longer. You needed him, now.

Hoseok’s grin only widened before he kissed, eagerly, your clit - you threw your head back, letting out a loud moan and pulling again at your restraints. It was so annoying not being able to move freely; you wanted to grab Hoseok’s hair, pull his head closer to your heat and to feel more of him.

Hoseok feasted on you like a starved man, tongue and lips working magic between your legs. Your mind went completely blank, overwhelmed with all the tension in your body, all the fire and incredible pleasure that made you see stars.

"Fuck, Hoseok." You moaned his name over and over again.

Hoseok hummed in satisfaction and gave your clit a particularly harsh suck that made your toes curl. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you, baby girl." He glanced at you and the sight of Hoseok’s glistening lips with your juices made your walls clench around nothing.

Fuck.

"You taste so sweet." He licked his lips. "I should probably kidnap you more often and have my way with you."

Before you could suggest him that kidnapping you whenever he wanted (even if you loved the idea) was a bad idea unless you wanted to deal with a very angry Jimin, Hoseok finally gave you something to fill the emptiness inside you: he pushed a finger against your hole, then a second. Your walls welcomed him eagerly.

"Look at you." He hummed in approval as his fingers stretched you, making you push your hips to swallow more of him. "This pussy is so greedy."

"Hoseok." You cried out, "Please, please."

All he gave you was a gentle press of his lips against your thigh before going back to his work, fingers, tongue, overwhelming you till you couldn’t see or hear anything, till your body tensed before exploding.

But Hoseok didn’t stop. Not when you were pulling at your restraints, not when you were trying to get away from his tongue, your body being too sensitive after your first orgasm of the night.

He was going to be the death of you.

End flashback

*

You swore to whoever was willing to listen (and maybe to yourself too) that this art project would be the death of you. Usually, art wasn’t a problem; you loved painting, you loved drawing, it was your way to express yourself, to immortalize a moment in life, anything. But this project? You couldn’t concentrate on it. You tried, thousands of times but every time what came out of you wasn’t enough.

You came home exhausted, upset and wanted nothing more than a warm meal, a shower and the comfort of your bed. Those plans, however, vanished from your mind, the moment you spotted extra pairs of shoes at the entrance and judging by the numbers, you put two and two together.

A tiny smile spread on your lips as you walked on tiptoes, making sure to not make any noise just so you could check on them without them noticing. And what a sight! Three men completely sprawled out on the couch with fluffy blankets and cushions, wearing pajamas and of course with tons of snacks on the coffee table. You had to memorize this image - discretely you took your phone out and snapped a picture, smiling proudly to yourself. This was perfect blackmail material.

But then, and sadly for your brother, you noticed what exactly they were planning to watch on TV. You gasped loudly, making yourself known. "How dare you."

"Hi Y/N!" Taehyung waved cutely at you and you almost forgot all about your wrath - how were you supposed to stay mad with those pretty twinkling eyes and pretty smile? No really.

You shook your head and averted your eyes, stopping quickly at Hoseok. He wiggled his brows playfully at you causing a hot fire spread through your body - you rolled your eyes at him to make a point. This was not the right time or place to mess with you. When your eyes met Jimin’s, you gave him the stink eye.

"Hi sis."

"Don’t hi me you traitor!" You took a dangerous step towards them and you swore Hoseok tried to bite down a laugh (Jimin nudged him in the stomach for that). "I forgive Taehyung and Hoseok because they don’t know what Marvel means to me, but you," You pointed an accusing finger at him, "My own brother! How could you!"

Yes, you were absolutely dramatic and ready to flip a table.

"Oh come on, Y/N, we weren’t-" Jimin started. He was tempted to fight you, it was just so fun to see you so annoyed, but another part of him was genuinely worried of what you could do.

"We were planning to watch Dr. Strange." Taehyung threw chips in the air and caught it easily with his mouth, that almost distracted you if not for the mention of your favorite Marvel.

Jimin shrieked and grabbed Hoseok to shield himself from your wrath. "I’m sorry!!"

"You’re so dead." You warned him and you would have jumped on him to probably strangle him if not for a very smug Hoseok who was all too amused with your antics. You promised to yourself to deal with him later. Nobody was allowed to mock your love for Dr. Strange. Not even Hoseok. No matter how good his dick was.

"I’m going to take a quick shower and you better wait for me to start the movie or I swear to god you’re all dead." You warned them, eyeing every single one of them. Jimin hid fully behind Hoseok and cursed under his breath. Hoseok shook his head while Taehyung blinked completely unfazed with your outburst.

*

They listened.

Whether it was out of fear or because they really wanted you to join them for their Marvel’s night, they waited for you.

By the time you joined them in your pajamas, Taehyung was wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by pillows, sitting on the floor instead of the couch. He winked at you and patted the empty space beside Hoseok. Hoseok lifted the blanket that was covering him to let you in. For a second you contemplated the idea of sitting beside Jimin instead of Hoseok, it would be annoying yes (because you still felt like beating the crap out of your brother), while sitting beside Hoseok would be too tempting.

You sat, of course, beside Hoseok, your heart and wish to be beside him won over your brain. He covered both of you with the blanket and pressed his thigh lightly against yours. You closed your eyes, thought about Dr. Strange; you had to focus, on the movie, on the actor, on anything except for the warm hand that was suddenly on your thigh.

This was exactly what you had feared. Hoseok had no shame, was fearless and loved to tease you despite Jimin being just beside him, completely unaware of what was going on (luckily for you).

Hoseok was drawing slow and gentle circles on your skin making you shiver and sank deeper in the couch. It took you all self-control to not look at him (and possibly straddle his legs) and pretend that nothing was going on under the blanket- this was torture. Torture like Hoseok loved it, you did too of course.

Not once Hoseok looked your way, nothing on his face could have betrayed his intentions but you felt it. His fingers were gentle, stroking your skin but of course Hoseok didn’t stop; his hand slid higher and right between your legs, fingers teasing gently – you squeezed your thighs tightly, trapping his hand in between.

You can’t. But shit you wanted it so badly. Hoseok pinched your skin forcing you to open up for him while biting your lips in order to prevent any very unwelcomed sound.

But despite how bothered his simple touches left you, you chose to be the responsible one. You took a deep breath and grabbed Hoseok’s hand, giving it a strong squeeze you looked at him, frowning, conveying all your frustration and a warning.

Hoseok chuckled in response.

The little shit.

*

Having sex with Hoseok was great. No, fuck it. It was mind-blowing and you were pretty sure nobody else could ever make you feel as much as Hoseok did. It terrified you but you cherished those moments more than you were willing to admit to yourself.

But having sex with him was, funnily enough, not the only thing you enjoyed. Despite your little arrangement, Hoseok gave you more than you expected from a fuck buddy (except he wasn’t your buddy but rather Jimin’s). He spent times willingly with you, taking you to cute places and date coffees. He would help you to sneak from your place and drive you to places you wouldn’t have visited on your own. Hoseok was spontaneous and you loved it a lot about him.

But the thing you loved the most about what Hoseok gave you, was the hours you would spend laying lazily in bed talking. It was something you expected (if not required) from a boyfriend - it was intimate. But Hoseok gave you those moments anyway.

Just like tonight. You told Jimin you would spend the weekend with Mina, girls’ weekend because with college and all the projects you just didn’t have so much time together anymore. A big fat lie and you would have felt bad about it if not for the fact that being with Hoseok made you forget everything about your guilt.

Hoseok sat on the bed with his legs stretched so you could rest your head on his thighs. His hand was running through your hair, so naturally as if he had done it thousands of times (you wished he did).

"I was wondering," You started and turned your face so your cheek was pressed against his thigh. "Did you know it was me in the club? I mean-"

Hoseok didn’t let you finish your mumbling, a smile spread on his face. "I did. I was watching you from afar for a good part of the night." His fingers kept running through your hair - it felt so good you almost purred. "You looked miserable and I wanted to come and talk to you but I was a tiny bit worried you wouldn’t recognize me." Then, he winked at you, "You didn’t recognize me actually."

You jolted from your comfortable spot, eyes widened in surprise. "You’re kidding."

"Am not." Hoseok flicked your forehead and pushed you back. "How could I not recognize Jimin’s little sister? I used to tease you all the time."

At that you smiled. "You were awful."

"It’s because your reactions were always so endearing, I couldn’t help it."

You huffed in fake annoyance but the urge to smile was stronger.

Hoseok’s fingers moved from your hair to your forehead, then your nose (and he did not missed the chance to flick it playfully) and finally your lips. He parted them gently with his thumb – you let him in. He was completely hypnotized and you could only imagine what was going through his mind (something you would probably enjoy if he asked).

"I know what you’re thinking." You commented and bit lightly on Hoseok’s thumb.

Hoseok chuckled. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone is being insatiable."

All you did was plant a kiss on his thigh and feel him tense under your lips.

Too easy.

*

When you got back from the weekend at Hoseok’s place, you were positive that nothing and nobody could ruin it for you. You felt light, happy, relaxed - everything you had been missing out for the past months.

Jimin was sprawled on the couch with his laptop; his hair was a mess. Clearly someone was ruffling his hair too much in frustration which was such a Jimin’s thing to do. You smiled brightly at the sight, the urge to tease him was getting strong.

"Please tell me you’re not working on a Sunday night." You were half mocking him half scolding him.

Jimin, despite being a flirt and a social butterfly, had a bad tendency at bringing his work at home too. At first, it didn’t bother you as much because he found time to be with you (not like he was forced to) but somehow, for the past weeks, he had been working more and more which wasn’t very healthy in your opinion.

Jimin barely looked at you, whether it was because he was too concentrate or because there was something you couldn’t tell but you sensed something was off.

You hurried to put your bag in your room before going back to him and plopping on the couch beside him. "Hello?"

Jimin was so tempted to ignore you, he wanted to ignore you but the need to make sure he was just imagining things was too strong. He shut his screen and looked at you. "Such a noisy little sister."

"We have that in common then." You nudged him with your feet.

Jimin was fast to grab your feet, smirking wickedly. "Oh don’t start or I might tickle you to death."

"You wouldn’t dare!" You gasped despite knowing that he would do it without hesitation. Luckily for you, Jimin seemed to be in a rather merciful mood. He let go of your feet and grabbed instead a cushion that he pressed against his chest and rested his head on top of it.

"I have a funny story for you."

"Tell me."

"So I have a friend and he has a very cute and smart little sister."

"Are you talking about me?" You laughed and nudged him one more time. Jimin only smiled without trying to deny it which was your first hint that you were in trouble.

"Well you see, his little sister that he loves very very much, started going out a lot which is absolutely fine. Great even. But one day she lied and it bothered him."

You would be lying if you said his words didn’t affect you or made your palm sweaty. There was no way the story wasn’t about you, and the lie it had something to do with your weekend. Shit.

Jimin didn’t continue his story; he sat and scrutinizing your face - you wished he kept talking, it would make you less nervous.

"It’s Hoseok, isn’t it?"

Oh. Well, you were in trouble. Big, big trouble.

You let out a harsh breath; what were you supposed to say?

Jimin ruffled his hair before gently grabbing your calf and giving it a squeeze. "I should have known you wouldn’t listen."

"You aren’t angry?" Was the only question that actually mattered. You could deal with Jimin disagreeing with your choice of men or relationship, but you didn’t want him to be angry with you.

"I’m not. I know, shocking." He joked but looked more relaxed. "I can’t say I’m delighted but you’re a big girl and Hoseok is a smart man, I trust him enough not to hurt you."

"He won’t." Not willingly was what you wanted to add.

*

You

[10:05pm]: You might one to reconsider your friendship with Jimin.

Hobi

[10:07pm]: Ok??? Should I worry?

You

[10:07pm]: He promised not to burry you in our imaginary garden.

Hobi

[10:08pm]: Ok. I’m worried.

Hobi

[10:08pm]: What happened? What did I do?

You

[10:10pm]: Well maybe, Jimin knows about us?

Hobi

[10:11pm]: Oh. I’m moving to Alaska. Just in case, you know.

You

[10:11pm]: Tell me you have a tiny place in your suitcase for me?

Hobi

[10:12pm]: For you, always.

*

Your phone kept buzzing through your last class to the point that you had to mute it completely for the sake of your sanity. Some were messages from Jimin, some from Hoseok (which now that you thought about it should have worried you that those two decided to message you at the same time) - it didn’t matter you had to concentrate.

"When did you become so popular?" Mina asked you as you put your books back in the bag.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh do you think I didn’t hear your phone?"

She was only messing with you. You knew it but couldn’t stop yourself from wincing anyway. "Sorry about that."

"Oh come on! Don’t make that face! It’s not that bad." She nudged you with her hips to make you feel better. "Now, I’m just curious."

That seemed to do it work - you relaxed at her words and remembered that you were supposed to read the messages.

You could have started with Jimin’s messages, after all he was your brother and it could have been urgent (considering he was trying to get your attention, badly, for the past hour) but you of course chose Hoseok.

But when you opened the conversation, the sight of a very familiar bag was not what you had expected. "Oh my god."

Mina leaned to peak over your shoulder - she frowned and pointed at the picture Hoseok had sent. "That’s your travel bag."

It was. Just under the picture Hoseok had texted you about his plan.

"You need a distraction. So do I. P.S: Jimin almost killed me for that."

You couldn’t help but smile. Hoseok sure knew how to take you off guard.

*

Driving for hours with Hoseok was nothing like you had imagined. It was fun and relaxed; he would tell you stories about the place, about the road and you would tell him about some of your own experiences. Some other time you would sing together.

You felt happy. Too happy. But you didn’t let this realization bother you; this weekend was about you and your lack, lately, of inspiration. Hoseok thought that the best way to reconcile with your muse would be the nature - he brought you to his family house that stood near a forest and by a lake.

It was hard to believe that such a place existed in real world - for a short moment, as you walked slowly to the house, you felt like you were finally part of one of the fairy tales you used to read when you were little.

"This is beautiful." You thought out loud.

Hoseok didn’t comment; he agreed, obviously, since the wooden house was one of his favorite destination when he needed to get out of town and forget about his troubles. But now, the beauty of this place was nothing compared to what he felt by just watching you from aside. You looked happy; your face lightened, eyes shining brightly and with curiosity. You were being you, the girl he used to know and not the sad and frustrated girl he had met. This thought warmed his heart.

"You are." Hoseok whispered to himself.

*

"I knew I would find you here." Hoseok plopped on the ground beside you.

You only smiled warmly and kept drawing. You had found the perfect spot for drawing and apparently your muse agreed. Ever since you had spotted the lovely, old willow by the lake, you knew it was the right place and you had to get there as soon as possible.

Maybe too fast. "I’m sorry." You averted, quite unwillingly, your eyes from your sketchbook to look at Hoseok. You had left him do all the work while you went straight to the lake. A tiny part of you felt bad about it but one glance at him and he put you at ease.

Hoseok was smiling brightly. "Not a big deal." He gently took your hand only to interlace his fingers with yours. So intimate, so lovely, you were ready to melt on the spot. And so did your heart.

"I know about your struggles. You told me you couldn’t draw no matter how hard you tried, remember?" He looked at both of your hands, squeezing your fingers while watching them, contemplative.

Odd.

"This place, in my opinion, has some healing effect on people. I hoped it would help you." He glanced at your sketchbook and his smile only widened. "Apparently it did."

Knowing that Hoseok brought you here for the sole purpose of helping you to get back on good terms with your muse completely undid you. You wanted to cry, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to kiss him and all at the same time - Hoseok had this effect on you. He made you feel, so many things at once.

Unable to stop yourself, you put down your sketchbook and instead slowly reached for Hoseok. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you straddled his laps. Nor could you resist the urge to peck his lips - so you did. You pecked his lips. Once, twice. This simple gesture made both of you smile.

"Thank you." You said from the bottom of your heart. And not only for bringing you to this place. No, you wanted to thank him for making you forget of your failures, of your heartbreak.

Sadly for you and despite all Hoseok’s efforts, there was one heartbreak you couldn’t avoid.

Because now that you were in his arms, you couldn’t deny any longer how you felt, what you felt. Hoseok was no longer your crush. No.

You loved him.

And admitting it hurt.

But you wouldn’t let the pain ruin this magical moment that Hoseok had offered you. So instead of dwelling on your feelings, you chose to forget all about it and enjoy everything you could get with him. One last time.

*

You had been ignoring Hoseok.

It wasn’t your initial intention. Hell he gave you absolutely no reason to ignore but you just couldn’t face him after the marvelous weekend in his company. Not when your heart was squeezing and twisting in pain every time he looked at you with this bright smile, every time he touched you, kissed you. It drove you crazy.

You knew it would happen. Jimin knew it too. So when you got safely home and faced him, you couldn’t stop your tears. Jimin had only hugged you and kissed your temples.

*

"I don’t know whether I should be happy that you finally agreed to meet with me or be angry." Hoseok admitted as you took place across from him.

After one long and miserable week, you finally asked Hoseok to meet at a café. Maybe choosing a public place was your way to make sure you wouldn’t break down and just go back on your words - now that you were seeing him (he looked exhausted judging by the dark circles under his eyes) again, you knew it was the right choice.

"I-m"

"Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s not why I came." Hoseok cut you. He was angry and rightfully so but it only made things more difficult for you. "Why did you avoid me?"

You took a deep breath. "I was scared."

Hoseok blinked, confused. "Of what?" He pointed at himself, "Me?"

"No!" You hurried to answer almost jolting from your chair. "God no."

You hated yourself for sounding so weak and indecisive but confessing how you truly felt didn’t come out as naturally as you thought it would.

"I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ignore you but at the moment it seemed like the best option. I needed time for myself and space to think."

Hoseok considered your words. He had felt confused, angry, heartbroken but now that he heard your voice, he felt just extremely tired. "Why?"

"Because nothing had changed, Hobi." And because I love you. "You’re still you. The handsome man and I’m still this foolish little girl who’s completely infatuated with you. It was stupid of me seeking you to distract me when really all it did was to make me fall for you. Hard." Admitting your feelings to yourself was one thing, admitting it to Hoseok was another and much harder, and yet, it was also a relief.

"What you did for me for the past months, I’m so thankful. You made me feel like nobody else ever did. Hell, I didn’t think I could feel anything like that at all. I wanted to believe this deal between us would be enough for me." You stopped to inhale sharply, "I really wanted it to be enough."

"It was a mistake, Hoseok. But you know what?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "I don’t regret it."

"I love you. But for my own safety, I need us to stop before I get hurt."

*

When at two in the morning you heard Hoseok’s voice, your first thought was that you had finally lost your mind. There was no other explanation, right?

You didn’t.

As you got closer to your door, the voice that you thought belonged to Hoseok was getting clearer and louder. It wasn’t your imagination, Hoseok was really here talking with a very sleepy and clearly upset Jimin.

"Hoseok, it’s two in the freaking morning and I’m that close to kicking your ass." Jimin tried to sound threatening but the tired yawn that escaped his lips ruined it for him. He cursed under his breath and couldn’t stop himself before glancing nervously at your slightly opened door.

Did he know?

You kept yourself hidden in the darkness of your room but you listened, heart roaring in your ears, mind going crazy. Why was Hoseok here? In the middle of the night?

"I let her down." Were Hoseok’s first words.

Jimin cocked a brow. "No. She left you."

Hoseok ruffled his hair. "No. I didn’t mean break up." He groaned in despair. Maybe drinking before barging at his friend’s place was a very, very bad idea but he couldn’t wait. He had to let it out even if it was only to Jimin.

"I let her leave." It pained him to say it. "God, this is hard."

"Hoseok." Jimin inched forward. "Were you drinking?"

"What?" Hoseok asked confused. "No. I mean yes, but that’s not the point."

"Man-"

"No. Listen." Hoseok cut him before he could lose it. "You don’t understand. Jimin, I was so shaken with her confession, I couldn’t believe it."

Jimin halted and stared back, face completely blank, contemplating whether his friend was plain dumb or was just too drunk. "The hell? Come on, Hoseok. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice!"

Hoseok laughed humorlessly. "Well shit, Jimin, no I didn’t. Would I have known, I wouldn’t have let her pretend."

Now that took you both by surprise. You clasped your hand over your mouth to prevent any unwelcome sound to leave your lips. This discussion was slowly driving you mad.

"You wouldn’t?"

"I wanted her ever since I saw her in that blue dress." Hoseok admitted and despite his drunken state and all the anxiety, he smiled at the memory. "Don’t hit me please."

Jimin kept his mouth shut but only because he was thinking about you in your room. He knew you were awake. While Hoseok was too busy pouring out his heart, Jimin had heard your tiny, barely audible gasp. Good. At least, and he hoped, it would lead to both of you stopping being stupid and annoying.

"You guys are so annoying." Jimin finally said while rubbing his temples. It was two in the damn morning for god’s sake and he wasn’t even drunk to deal with those feelings. "And I hate you both."

Hoseok tilted his head then glanced nervously at the door to your room. "You’re not hitting me?"

"Don’t tempt me." Jimin warned him. "Though I wouldn’t be sure if I’d be hitting you because I saw Y/N crying or because you dared to wake me up."

*

"So." Jimin, once sure, was free of Hoseok’s love confession, came to your room, leaning against your door with crossed arms. "Are you going to pretend you didn’t hear his confession or?"

You pretended not hearing him, blanket tightly wrapped around you, you simply refused to face your brother. You were embarrassed and confused, and felt warm at the same time. Damn Hoseok and his words. All your efforts to not think about Hoseok were ruined.

Jimin shook his head. Yes, he definitely hated the two of you. "Maybe I was wrong." That got your attention. "Maybe, Hoseok is your prince."

"Oh shut up." You let out against your better judgement.

*

Despite Hoseok’s confession, for once in your life you didn’t act upon your feelings. No, you chose to wait. Not because you were scared of facing the truth (ok, maybe a little bit), but you needed time. Time to concentrate on what truly mattered on the moment which happened to be the deadline for your project.

Most of people around you, including your brother, your family and obviously Hoseok, believed that the project was only about college. Which wasn’t quite the truth. No. A part of the project was obviously meant for college but what you hid from your close one was that a little art gallery wanted to exhibit your work once you were ready.

"When I think you can’t get any more amazing, you prove me wrong, girl." Mina commented, excited as she bounced at you, not caring for the people around you. "Those paintings are excellent. I mean, I’ve seen some of them before but the additional one? They’re mind-blowing."

You hugged her back, tightly, thankful for your friend’s presence.

"I know I’m not supposed to pry but, is he coming?"

You bit on your lips, hesitating. "I don’t know." You were scared to think about it. "I hope so."

But your worries vanished as fast as they came - Hoseok stepped inside the exhibit along with Jimin, looking like a damn model. Of course he would look so good. Obviously, you weren’t the only one who noticed his presence (or maybe you were just too aware because you cared).

Hoseok, despite spotting you right away, didn’t come to you right away. No, his attention was completely captured by the first paintings and you couldn’t blame him. He, out of all people in this room, would recognize and appreciate most your work. Not only because it was your work, but because he would recognize and understand. And he did.

He took his time and you followed his steps, walking behind him without a word. You smiled at people from time to time, but your attention stayed on him and on his face, wanting to not miss any of his reaction, of his emotions.

"I guess I was right." Hoseok stopped at the last painting. It was the lake and the old willow and stars in the dark sky. He turned to look at you, eyes shining brightly. "It helped you. Healed you."

"It did." You admitted and took one more step towards him.

There was so much you wished you could say. So much you wanted to show him. But now that you stood before him, every words, every needs just vanished except one: the need to kiss him.

Hoseok watched you carefully, scrutinizing your face. "You were awake." It almost sounded like he was trying to reassure himself. "Of course you did."

"I did."

"Will you listen to my confession again, then?" Hoseok inhaled sharply as by the end of his question, you had grabbed his hand and thus taking him quite off guard. His eyes averted from your pretty face to your interlaced fingers. God, this touch - he had missed it.

"Well," A wicked smile spread on your lips as you took a final step towards him. You were close, almost feeling his body against yours. "Tell me more about me and blue dress." And as you kissed his jaw, you added, "And what you wanted to do to me from day one."

[starswayv]

date’s ending, night’s starting (johnny suh)

pairing johnny suh x reader

theme suggestive, a little crack? a little fluff? But it’s all suggestive, the end is a smut i cut before it happened really

word count 2.1k

author’s note so, I’m a sucker for teasing, so don’t come at me for the ending. also, i loved writing this at first but then i re-read it today and i’m hating it, sorry it is bad.

The rain poured so hard outside the building lobby you wondered how you phone survived it dried inside of your date’s leather jacket. Well, maybe because it’s leather, right?

“Ah, I'm so sorry cause the night’s ruined and we’re all soaked up.” Johnny utters, letting out a frustrated moan while you laugh.

“You can’t control the weather, stupid, it’s all fine. My hair, on the other side, it’s not, I must look horrible…”

“You still look gorgeous, don’t worry. We should head upstairs to dry out, come on.”

Johnny smiles over at you and grabs your hand to guide you both to the elevator doors, not paying attention to the water trait you left on the floor all the way from the entrance to his building to the elevator doors. Someone was going to have a lot of work keeping up with all the dripping people running inside looking for shelter from the enormous flood outside. Shame of you, rainy Seoul in august.

The doors open up in front of you, a gladly empty elevator, and Johnny still doesn't let go of his hand when you climb inside.

You met Johnny in one of those friend’s get together your college friends invited you too, and since he studied for a year or two in the same university before dropping out to pursue a career in music, he knew a lot of you veterans, so you got to know him a little better with every social or party they would throw. A couple of months in this i-know-you-but-not-that-well thingy you two were on, he finally asked you out for a casual date, and since you had a little crush on him, no reason to say no to that.

Even though it’s just your first date with him, the fact that you’ve known him for a couple of months due to your similar friends circle made the mentioned date all so smooth and fun, picnic in the park near his apartment, good talks and loud laughs. You’ve talked about everything, from your college course and hobbies to your family and funny drunk stories, and he told you about his time living overseas and all kinds of embarrassments he had lived in parties and friend’s get togethers. Halfway through the date you wondered why it took you both so long to go out together, just the two of you without any of your other friends together since you obviously hit it off so well for a great first date.

That’s it, until the sudden rain arrived and ruined the whole thing.

It was so sudden you didn't even have time to pack up the dinner back, just grabbing the backpacks with what you could gather around and running off back to his place.

"Ah, I’m sad now. I planned everything so well, this was supposed to be a perfect date..." Johnny breaks the silence, leaning against the elevator door to face you, waiting around for it to land on his floor.

You were hoping really hard that the pouring rain didn't make you look an absolute mess, and when glancing at yourself in the elevator mirror you let out a sigh of relief. Yes, your dress was completely soaked in water and shoes that once were white now were just brown and grey (for that you were trying really hard not to cry, you weren't going to admit it, white converses that stay white are a bit of kink to you), but the way your hair was still falling in little waves on your shoulders were kinda cute, and God bless you for using the good quality make-up today, so everything was kinda alright in your looks.

"C'mon, don't be sad, it was perfect. The picnic, the candles, everything was so adorable and I loved it."

"Yeah, but soaked from head to toes and probably waking up to a very bad cold wasn't on the plan for a perfect ending to this night, you know..."

It amazes you how Johnny can say everything with a gorgeous smile on his lips like being that gorgeous is the easiest thing to just be all the time. Even drowning in water from head to toes and cold as hell.

"I don't know about you, but a pretty hot guy with black t-shirt glued to his body is not that bad for me." You joke around, smirking at him and he smiles, bringing his hand to his hair to brush the soaking strands off his eyes, just proving your point. Johnny Suh soaking wet in rain water is definitely not a bad sight for the eyes.

You realized you were staring for a little bit too long than the normal and a little bit south of his face, so you decide to nonchalantly play a little with his previous line.

"But how were you hoping for it to be? The ending of the perfect date?"

"There’s really no more polite way to put this rather than, if it was up to me, it just wouldn't have an end."

Saved by the bell, he winks at you by the end of the phrase just when the elevator door cracked open, him grabbing you by the hand once again to lead you to his place.

Once inside the apartment, your body starts to shiver really hard due to the soaked clothes, and without even thinking about your actions, you strip the dress and sneakers off and Johnny does the same with his shirt and shoes too.

He tries to not look at you with anything but an innocent glare on his eyes, but the smirk you already had in your lips did no justice to how good you were looking, so he smiles along.

The whole “already kinda friends so there’s no big deal” kind of situation helped a little to ease the half-naked situation you were both in, so you were distracted thinking of where to put your dress when Johnny suddenly leaned into you, his tall figure ghosting over yours so close that if you took one step behind you were going to be pressed against the living room door and still be just inches far from him.

His stubborn hair falls back on his face, and Johnny’s hands touch your shoulder, slowly travelling their way to your hand, fingers leaving a trace of chills down your arm, fingers closing around the fabric of your dress in your hands, taking it to put over his shoulder.

"I’m going to get you some towels, go take a hot shower in the first bedroom in the hallway so you don’t get cold." Johnny said, and then disappeared somewhere past the kitchen door, leaving you breathless, partially dressed and completely amused. This is shaping to be a pretty great end of date, if you will.

As soon as the hot water came in contact with your body, the cold feeling started to ease and you relaxed. You had been inside of his bathroom before, only on a totally different occasion, so as you let the water wash over your body you decided to don't think much of how it was a first date, not a friend-stay-over, as you’d shower.

And keeping Johnny out of your mind in that way was working just fine until he knocked in the bathroom door, his voice coming out muffled behind the door.

"Hey, I swear I’m saying this in the most innocent and good-intentioned way I can, but do you mind if I come inside? Again, I swear to god I’m not trying anything, it’s just that I’m so cold here my lips are turning purple. I’m not exaggerating"

You let out a loud laugh that Johnny hears through the door, and the sound the door unlocking is heard too. If it wasn’t for your months being friends with each other he would never ask you something like this, but you already shared some type of intimacy, and it’s not like you weren’t going to see each other naked some time along the dates, so he thought it wasn’t a big of a deal, and so did you. Plus, he was really cold.

Johnny opens the door after a while so you have time to go back to the shower box and comes in, shivering a little less once his cold body gets in touch with the sauna you build in there, the bathroom so steamy you barely could see each other past the shower glass (unfortunately to you both).

"Wow, is it warm in here. I’m really sorry, I just asked because I was already sniffing because of the cold, and sniffing Johnny is not the sexiest Johnny, I guarantee you."

He couldn’t see you, but knew you were hiding you smile and repressing a little laugh.

"I highly doubt that, but it's okay, I don't mind you here."

You tried to say it nonchalantly, but as soon as you heard it you realized how Johnny might have heard it, and, well, the situation just didn’t present itself from the most innocent one ever, and neither did your statement.

But, oh well, the damage was already done, so why not play along with it and see where it goes?

You hear Johnny laughing low at your response and you do too, feeling the tension dissipates a little. You two just stay in silence now, you washing your hair calmly, and Johnny watching you thought the blurry glass, just admiring the silhouette of yours the steam allowed him to see.

He breathes in deeply, making you more aware of his presence, and turns to the door, opening it ready to leave.

“I'm a little more warm now, you can finish your shower, pretty."

You hear him almost going away from the bathroom, and the words spill out before you really think them through.

"Wait, where are you going?"

Johnny stops midway out of the bathroom, a little confused with your words, but not hiding the excitement from his face. Lucky him you couldn’t see him right now.

"Going to put on some dry clothes, can’t stay naked and cold like this forever, princess."

It was your cue, it’s now or never.

"Without showering? Get in here."

A moment of silence followed, and you wondered if it was the best idea, if you sounded silly or if Johnny just wasn’t interested and you embarrassed yourself.

Not wanting to face him if he ever decides to join you or not, you turn away from the shower glass door, back facing it instead while you let the hot water pour in your back. The sound of the shower door sliding open announces itself, and you smile widely facing the wall.

Johnny had already seen you half-naked just a couple of minutes ago, but the sight of your naked back with panties still on, water dropping off your body but the steam making it hard to see much of your figure, did something to him he wasn’t capable of putting into words. The way your body teased him just like that, staying still, not saying a word nor moving at all, made him want to tease you in every possible way too.

He slowly approaches you, making his way towards your body but never touching it, never too close, and you raise your head to look at him from the side of your eyes when he rests his hand on the wall in front of you, his toned arm going over your shoulders.

"Only if you promise not to steal the whole shower head for you."

His head comes closer to yours, lips ghosting over your ear, words coming out so low it's almost a howl.

You smile widely, thinking his words and finding an even better way for the teasing game he just started. Shaking your head, you straight up your body, making his entire body crash into yours. Ops, not your fault he was this close to you.

And, still smiling, you take a step ahead, getting out of the showerhead’s reach, coming closer to the wall. Spinning on your heels, you turn to face him, naked body leaning against the cold wall behind you, the temperature mix sending shivers down your spine, your entire body on display for him and only him to stare. You watch his eyes fall shut, smile getting lost in a loud whine, the hard composure getting dropped as soon as he catches sight of your body, neck, clavicles, breast, stomach, everything just for him.

Still not getting closer to him, keeping up with the game to see who would break the gap first, you measure your next words, knowing it was your winning card.

"You can have it all for you if you want to."

And with an almost animal groan, Johnny loses, stepping forward to the water and attaching his body to yours.

[writingandmore]

Hi!!! May I get a HP, Star Wars, Voltron, and Disney matchup?

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, muggleborn Ravenclaw (with Gryffindor tendencies), and my patronus spirit is Hummingbird. Biromantic Pansexual Genderfluid woman using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. Cherubic-like face, with short height (5'1") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has chic messy/wavy brunette medium hair that reaches to my shoulder, oriental skin, slightly upturned eyes, small lashes, chocolate brown irises, cute flat nose, heart shaped face, full cheeks, cupid's bow lips, a small beauty mark on the forehead, and naturally straight teeth with tiny gap in front (just imagine that it's a mixture of Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲---cause' my friend told me that I kinda look like them). My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam, I sometimes let my hair down or styled like Lara Croft reboot.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant, quiet, and timid at first making people thought I'm a demure, modest, and self-effacing that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind" (due to my protective mom, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis---like my happiness is too shallow, super talkative, eats a lot (yeah I can finish a huge slice of cake or a meal in one sitting), awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY CLUMSY (mostly gets bruises from hitting, bumping my head somewhere, walking into something on my way, and being careless to my belongings), secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, eager to share what I know (especially about Catholic Church---my past teacher joked that I'll become a saint because of it 🤣), oftenly speaks full of sarcasm with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no.1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself but can be awkward to strangers. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

The extent, I'm expressive, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, laid-back, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic that cries so easily (but will enlightened real quick by smallest things that makes me smile) filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone because they might get dissappointed from expectations---I simply can't stop proving myself too much because I'm a survivor of bullying. But I still managed to be stronger than ever after I stumbled, even it's a slow burn process. I can be blunt, intimidating, harsh, and a douchebag if I receive ends or I got interrupted while doing something. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, forgetful, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic youth, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams and what's important to me) and what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Rowdy and feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will call out on people that we loathe, will make fun of your stupidity (in a good way) before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic and cheeky (makes banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment, but gets annoyed if I received sappy or offensive one), Still generous and concerned person in a subtle and different way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. I'll include making corniest jokes/puns, sleeping, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also used to learn Italian language a bit.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, milk tea, singing at the karaoke, cartoons, iced coffee, memes, cute things, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, poetry, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes Catholic songs, kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, thunder and lightning, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. If I found out that someone hates or backstabbing or being rude to me, I won't hesitate to throw offensive criticisms, leaving them with a "I don't give a f" attitude. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity, worse scenarios in real life, and how terrible is my love life from unrequited feelings that I got, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family (it sucks that some people I knew assumed that the reason why I'm overly unaware that someone is interested in me in secret, is I have "high standards" looking for a partner, but the truth is I'm strict and I have a personal preferences...I know my worth and I don't want settle for less!) and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some, sounds too hypocritical, like as if you're a morally good person.

𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 + 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦

My love languages are quality time and gift giving, but I actually swoon over physical touch (especially cuddles and cute kisses) and words of affirmation when it comes to having a partner, though I get attracted so easily, matured but can be a goofy person who's nice, friendly, kind-hearted, loving, faithful, and excels in academics is my cup of tea. Whenever I have a real life crush (which is rare), I act the same but deep inside, my heart is about to explode and will eventually share to my trustful friends how I highly admire that person, however if they spilled the beans out, I'll obviously deny it and will cry if they like someone else, it will take some time for me to move on, now I don't care for them anymore.

Best Friends to Lovers is my ideal trope because I find it very cute since you already knew each other before dating (which happened to my 2nd cousin, she married her best friend!)---perfect balance for romance, laughters, comfort, and tears when it comes to sharing your vibes, being there through thick and thin, safe with embraces, and helping each other to grow.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗦

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, oratorical skills and I have potential in hosting...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, speaker, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader).

May sounds different but I'm passionate for helping people through my talents and sharing my story to inspire everyone. I may look selfish, but I have a different way on how I show that I actually care also I have a biased sentimental value

Currently a college freshman, learning how to cook. I have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

HP: Remus!

- Remus is also quiet and a bit reserved when he's not in a familiar situation, so your own first impression on him would be a good one, as you'd seem similar to his own personality. He's sweet and is able to start up a conversation if he notices the other person is having a hard time doing so, so hopefully he'd be able to bring out your more extroverted and friendly self after a while so he can be around the more open you. He wouldn't mind you being a bit awkward-he's very much the same way-honestly, the comradery that would come from that would be more positive than anything else. He loves sharing knowledge and learning about new things, so your eagerness to talk about what you know would work really well also! He does a lot better when he knows someone has his back too, so your extra supportive nature would endear him to you as well.

SW: Han!

- Your nicer and more helpful personality would balance out Han's more standoffish vibes when first meeting. You might get on his nerves a bit first, but you'd quickly grown on him and, in turn, make him a bit of a better person. Your ability to be blunt and a bit harsh would serve you well if you ever needed to stand your ground on an issue that two of you have, as he can be quite stubborn.

VLD: Lance!

- Lance can be a bit immature from time to time as well, especially when it comes to trying to be funny or cheering up those around him-he's also headstrong and typically firm in what he wants to do, so your own determined personality would attract him to you a lot as well. He often puts off things he needs to do if they make him anxious too, but if you both recognize that you share that problem, helping each other might be a good solution!

Disney: Flynn!

- Flynn is quite a sarcastic and teasing person, so your own humor would match well with his. He's also quite a hopeless romantic as well, even though he's certainly not one to admit that right off the bat. He enjoys singing, and as he gets closer to someone he feels more comfortable doing so in front of them, so a partner he's been with for a long time would get to see him be more and more open with it. That also applies to activities like dancing.

[callemreine]

It hurts a little bit too much

'It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!'

Au August

Day/Prompt: Day 2 - Acting

Ship: Prinxiety, brief platonic moxiety

Word count: 1780

Cw: swearing / yelling (I'm sorry) / self-deprecation / crying / La la Land spoilers? (some people haven't watched it)

A/N: This is solely based on La La Land but I changed a few things that may change the direction of the story than what was actually in the film and this is my first time writing something angsty so forgive me angst gods </3 Also, Roman wants to be a Broadway actor but signed as a pop band singer instead. Virgil is still like Mia but not as headstrong

@tsshipmonth2020

Virgil has been with Roman for quite a while now. Roman has recently signed a contract for a pop band with his old friend, Janus, despite their doubt about the guy. Virgil wasn’t exactly pleased with what he witnessed when he was invited to one of his partner’s concerts. With the single confused tear left on the venue floor, Virgil has been worried since then about what Roman has gotten himself into.

~*~*~

Virgil was returning home after his dinner out with his friend, Patton; the only person keeping him stable since Roman left for… Boston? Maybe Dallas? He stopped keeping track a while ago.

When he reached the porch of their apartment, he hears the faint instrumental of ‘Only Us’ playing inside. He continues inside to see his partner setting up the table, his back facing him. “Roman?” The man suddenly drops the pot he’s holding on the table and turns to him. Roman let out a sigh of relief before flashing a small endearing smile to Virgil. “Surprise?” The taller man says in a small breathy voice, almost a whisper. “I have to leave in the morning but, I just had to see you,” he continues.

Virgil freezes for a moment before rushing to Roman, dropping everything he’s carrying, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck to kiss him. Roman wraps his arms around Virgil’s waist to keep them steady.

~*~*~

“I’m so glad to be home,” The taller man says with a smile. “Stay,” Virgil replies with a hopeful look; only to be returned with the same look from the other.

The pair are now seated at the dining table across from each other, instrumental music playing in the background.

“How’s your play? Hope you’re not too nervous,” Roman breathes out as he notices the other’s mood shift as he mentions the play. “You know me. I’m nervous about everything,” Virgil jokes with a chuckle. “Plus, what if people show up? I’m gonna perform in front of them. They’ll think I’m terrible,”

“Fuck ‘em” They laugh a little before Roman continues, ”They should be lucky to see it. It’s gonna be incredible. YOU’RE gonna be incredible. I can’t wait.” Virgil looks down on his food with a sad smile.

“I have to leave early tomorrow,” As much as Roman thinks that the statement sounds wrong when it left his lips, he doesn’t want Virgil to worry. “Boise, right?” Virgil inquires still looking at his food. Roman hums in agreement and continues, “You should come,”

“Wish I could. I still have to rehearse cuz’, we’re not all gifted in acting like a certain prince-like man I know,” Virgil teases with a smile. Roman chuckles, “Well, if you wanted me to help you, you could’ve just said so, darling,”

“I guess it’ll have to wait until you’re done with the tour,” Virgil replies with a forced smile. Roman’s face falls. “When are you done?” Virgil continues. “Uhm. Well, we’re only touring so we can make the record. After we’re done, we’re gonna record then, we go back to tour that record…” He trails off.

Virgil processes this information and decides to just let his brain talk. His heart is too soft for this conversation but, it can’t continue hurting for months. Or years.

“Do you like it?” Roman was caught off guard with the question and was confused with what Virgil meant. “The music, the band, the tour, singing on stage. Do you like it?” Virgil clarifies.

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t know how it matters,” Roman doesn’t like where this is going. All this time. All this touring. He thought it was what Virgil wanted him to do. Roman looks Virgil in the eyes, “Do you like the music?”

“I do. I just didn’t think you did…” The pair fell in uncomfortable silence, letting Virgil’s last statement linger between them.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted me to do this. This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Roman is deep into confusion at this point. He’s been in this band for a while, he just wants to know why Virgil hasn’t anything before he signed on the dotted line that would seal his life.

Virgil sighed, “I just wanted to know where you’re theatre is gonna fit into all of this.” He said in such a small voice that, Roman wanted to just sweep Virgil off his feet to make everything better again. “There’s a reason why there are no theatres here because no one is like me. No one likes musicals here. Not even you,” Roman explained.

Virgil can’t take how pathetic Roman thinks of this entire situation. Yes, it’s Virgil that usually overthinks these things and, it’s not entirely impossible for Roman to as well but, this is just pure non-sense to Virgil. “I do like them now, because of you!” He blurted out with a slightly raised voice.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Wait for you to be successful only for me to build something no one likes? It- It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!” Roman exclaimed, determined for Virgil to understand his point of view, not bothering to look at the other.

“Since when did you care about being liked? Why do you care so much about being liked-”

“You’re not an actor! How would you know?!” Roman immediately regrets his statement, knowing he doesn’t mean it. To him, Virgil is the greatest actor he has ever seen and, nothing would ever change that. He glances at Virgil and, sees the destruction his statement has caused slowly unfolding.

“No. No- I- I didn’t mean that, Virgil. I’m sorry. I promise it’s not true-” he tried to reverse his mistake but, to Virgil, the destruction has always been always there, this was just what he needed for everything to fall apart.

“Maybe you just liked me because I made you feel like a better actor,” Virgil stated blandly in a matter-of-fact manner. Roman knew that he was never better than Virgil, as an actor or not. He was heartbroken to hear that his partner thinks that he was just being used. His statement earlier was just a slip-up but this… What Virgil’s feeling is all his fault.

“Are you kidding?” Roman can’t bear to lose someone that he loves so much. Tears well up in his eyes, tempting to let them fall.

“No,” Virgil calmly replied, keeping a stern face.

Both of them, heartbroken, stared at each other, not letting go of what’s left between them.

But before any of them could say anything, Roman’s phone, which he left in the kitchen, rang. His ringtone echoing through the apartment. Roman sighs at the sound but doesn’t stand up. However, Virgil does and eyes for the door. Roman stays frozen for a moment before going after Virgil.

“Virgil, wait-” before he could continue, Virgil had already slammed the door.

~*~*~

You guys can use your imagination to fill in what happens after the argument up to before the next part.

But, if you haven’t watched La La Land, basically, Virgil did the one-man play and Roman didn’t show up and only a few people show up then, he goes back home to his parents in a different state, leaving everything behind. I think that’s all you need to know??

~*~*~

It’s been a few weeks since Virgil came home to his parents. He was devastated to see his old stuff and how hopeful he was to become an actor. Yet, he can’t bring himself to take it all down.

Virgil had abandoned his phone and his laptop to the very back of his closet and sticks to using his mp3 in the meantime. He has been needing some time to rethink his life decisions before facing the real world again. Leaving Roman to pick up whatever he left in Los Angeles.

He was finally enjoying peace and quiet for the first time in a while, until…

HHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

~*~*~

“The fuck are you doing here?!” Virgil whisper-yelled as he walked towards the man, wondering what’s so important that Roman had to follow him all the way to another state.

“Thomas Sanders. The casting director. He was at your play-” Roman began. Just at the mention of the name, Virgil had become more troubled but hopeful at the same time.

“And he loved it so much, he wants you to audition for this HUGE-” Roman stated as he slammed his hand on his car for emphasis, startling Virgil a little. ”-huge movie that he’s got,” He continued with visible excitement.

Virgil shook his head with a little chuckle before running his hand over his mouth, “I- I can’t- I’m not going to that- That.. will kill me,” he continues to shake his head.

“WHAT?!” Roman exclaims, startling Virgil again. “What?! Shh shh! You have to be quiet cuz’ if my neighbors don’t call the police on you, I will,” He attempts to calm Roman down. “No. You have to make sense. You can’t stay here and be miserable for the rest of your life. You need to be reasonable here,” Roman persists.

“Because it’s just another goddamn audition!” Virgil explodes with all the hurt and anger he’s gathered through the years of auditioning for shows. “I’ve been to hundreds of auditions and it’s just the same thing over and over again! I’m sick of it! Yeah, sure, I get callbacks but, where does it end? Another fucking rejection! All of those countless hours of waiting for the phone to ring. Be- because maybe I’m not good enough,” Virgil pauses.

“I’ve been wanting this for years. And, now... Now that I don’t want it anymore. Now that I gave up on it. Another one fucking presents itself to what? Another rejection? I’m- I’m not giving myself another heartbreak, Roman. It hurts a little bit too much,” Virgil admits, already crying. It hurts Roman to see Virgil this way. He’s seen Virgil become so passionate about his play, he needs to let him see that this is not ‘just another audition,’ it’s the reward his hard work is all for. He needs to know.

“You’re a baby,” Roman bluntly states. “Maybe I am,” He couldn’t continue arguing anymore. “But, you said it’s time to grow up. And, I’m doing that so, why won’t you help me?” Virgil continues.

“You have an audition at 5:30. I’ll pick you up at 8,” as much as Roman wants Virgil to grab this chance, he can’t force him to if he doesn’t really want to. He loves him too much for that. At least he tried. “You’ll be out front or not. I don’t know,” Roman continues as he gets in his car and drives off, leaving Virgil standing in the middle of the road, staring at the library in front of him. The library that once helped him set his path to acting.

~*~*~

Perhaps Virgil was out front at 7:30 and got accepted in the audition.

Perhaps he wasn’t.

Told ya I'm not good at angst ;-;