#like I feel someone famous must have reblogged something

[markscherz]

Okay two things.

First of all, um, excuse me, but why did 2000 of you decide to follow me in the last week??? I hope you know the consequences of your actions (frogs)

And secondly, who exactly at tumblr dot com put a 'click for frogs' button at the top of tumblr, that turns into a playable keyboard of croaking frogs when you click it‽ I wish to send them a gift basket.

[shinysobi]

pretty u

summary: when joshua, your best friend gets engaged, you can't help but feel as though you're missing out on something important. jihoon, your other best friend, kindly offers to set you up with one of his many friends. chaos ensues, seungkwan is an observer who knows everything, and unfortunately, mingyu is a hapless victim.

pairing: woozi x fem!reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst

word count: 10k~ish

warnings: alcohol consumption, general warnings apply

a/n: this time we're bringing the trauma folks, im not sorry at all hehe >.< also this is dedicated to vaish and gigi, truly my biggest cheerleaders.

a/n 2: reblogs and comments are much appreciated! please tell me if you're liking this lmao

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

Chapter 2

Someone yells as soon as I enter the restaurant, and I almost turn back on my heels and walk out of there. The culture desk is huddled around a large table, and judging from the empty bottles, half of them were well on their way to drunkenness already. I can spot Seungkwan at the end of the table, being the newbie, he must have been plied with alcohol by the rest of us. His entire face is slowly going red, and if I hadn’t been consumed with hatred over Jihoon being a weirdo, I would feel sorry for him too. But, he’s Jihoon’s friend, and any friend of Jihoon is an enemy of mine.

“The Associate Editor is here!” someone shouts, and I look on, horrified, as my editor, the boring, staid old man who wears the same style of suits five days in a row, waves and giggles at me, holding up a new glass of soju, “my, I thought you would never arrive. We’re all having a party without you!”

“Yes, I can see that,” I accept the offered glass, “sorry, the interview went on for much longer than I expected it to be, and the bus was stuck in traffic for a long time.”

“Just say that you didn’t want to come hang out with us,” the Assistant Editor, a woman in her forties, giggles, “we missed you so much!”

My breath is almost knocked out by the way she hugs me right after that statement, “no, I can assure you I wanted to come here. If not nothing, then just to congratulate the maknae on joining.”

“Huh?” the Editor blinks around, “oh yes, there’s Seungkwan!”

“Haven’t you given him too much to drink?” I ask, standing up to pour Seungkwan another glass, “Seungkwan, have fun in this department, okay?”

Seungkwan, drunk as he is, only mumbles something unintelligible, by way of a reply. Still, he accepts the drink and knocks it back, while the person next to him, Haewon, smiles drunkenly at me, “sunbae,” she says, “won’t you give me a drink?”

Haewon, unfortunately, has the habit of getting cutesy when she drinks, so I wordlessly extend the bottle to pour her another one. The Editor and the Assistant Editor are boisterous, singing a drinking song off-key.

“Can I get another bottle of soju here?” I call, and the surly-looking part-timer slams a bottle. He doesn’t even offer me a smile. Jerk.

“Drink up, drink up,” the Editor smiles happily, addressing the whole table, “did you know, she’s the only one who Mr Hong does an interview with?”

“Really?” Seungkwan perks up at that, “isn’t he famous for not giving any interviews?”

“He is, but she’s the only person who can get an interview with him.”

“Whoa, sunbae,” Seungkwan is all starry-eyed, which means he is definitely drunk, “I’ve always heard praises about you from the hyungs, but it’s all true! You’re legit.” And to drive home the point of my legitimacy, he hugs me, planting a huge, wet kiss on my cheek, “you’re my inspiration, sunbae.”

“Seungkwan, maybe the inspiration is a bit too much,” I reply, pouring myself a tall glass, “but I’ll accept it either way.”

“Wait, wait,” the Editor is suddenly interested in whatever Seungkwan is saying, “who are these people you’re talking about?”

“Oh, the hyungs?” Seungkwan is talkative even when he is not drunk, but alcohol has made him into one of the most loose-lipped people I’ve ever seen, “Jihoon-hyung, and Joshua-hyung. They’ve been friends since university, you know. They still hang out together.”

“Really?” Haewon looks interested, “are any of them the person you had lunch with this afternoon?”

“You had lunch with Joshua-hyung?”

“No, it was Jihoon,” I correct Seungkwan even though I don’t really need to, but it’s the alcohol, “Joshua doesn’t like the same things that I do.”

“Oh, is he your boyfriend?” Haewon giggles, and I sputter, “was that why he walked you to the company door?”

“No, Haewon, he isn’t my boyfriend, please drink some water.”

“No, no, I’m interested,” it’s a testament to how jobless we all are at the culture desk, because the Editor suddenly turns to Seungkwan with barely hidden glee in his eyes, “Jihoon, that’s his name?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan, who normally is the most tight-lipped out of all my acquaintances, is surprisingly talkative when drunk, “yes, Lee Jihoon. He’s the closest with her, out of all his friends. They even hang out all the time.”

I pour out some soju in a shot glass, then rethink it, drinking the rest of the bottle in one go. If this dinner goes on for any moment longer, they’re going to start speculating on my dating life. And based on what I’ve seen from the diner owner this afternoon, they’re going to assume that Jihoon and I are dating.

“Ah, so he’s the man you used to skip company dinners for,” the Associate editor says, “bring him around sometime! We’d all have fun!”

I’d rather stick my head in a vat of boiling acid than bring Jihoon to any place even remotely associated with my work, so I just nod and smile. Seungkwan, however, perks right up at this, saying, “do you want to see a picture of them?”

Enthusiastic cheers follow, from everyone at the table. I drink another half-bottle of soju.

“There you go!” does Seungkwan have all these pictures at the ready, or was he planning to make my life hell before participating in this dinner? Because the photo he’s pulled up is from the final year of university, when Jihoon and I were working on both our senior theses, and we’d spend a fair amount of that time huddled in between the stacks at the library, or over at each other’s apartments. The picture Seungkwan is brandishing around is from one of those days, and I would die before I admitted it to Jihoon, but I had a printout of it stuck on my wall. It’s a simple picture: Jihoon and I have our arms around each other, wide smiles on our faces, something that comes only after successfully finishing a gruelling paper, or from consuming too many snacks. Our cheeks are touching, and my free hand is thrown up in a victory sign.

“Ah, so you guys dated,” Haewon nods sagely, “that’s not a picture one takes with their friend.”

“No, this is—this is a very friendly picture,” I sputter, drinking more alcohol in an effort to dull the embarrassment that’s running through my veins, “we’re just friends.”

“I’ve seen couples who have less skinship than this.” The Assistant Editor says, “you both look very cute, I must say.”

On and on it goes, until both my ears have gone red, and still they go on, fuelled entirely by Seungkwan, who’s apparently a savant when it comes to remembering embarrassing incidents from university. Seungkwan. I’m gripped by a desire to commit murder, and it plainly shows on my face, but he goes on, unfazed by the looks I’m giving him, “they used to be practically inseparable during their university days! You could never see her without Jihoon-hyung, and if she wasn’t around, he would be irritable and angry all the time.”

“He’s still irritable and angry,” I murmur, senses highly dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol I’ve consumed. What’s my limit? One? Two bottles? I’ve drunk far more than that. My vision is swimming in front of my eyes, and everyone else’s words are coming slowly to my ears, as though filtered through sand. Is this how it feels to hear underwater? “he’s never—he’s never once been nice to me, you know that?”

“Really? He always takes care of you, though.” Seungkwan isn’t one to back down from an argument when its beginning, “I’ve always seen hyung take such good care of you.”

“Well, he doesn’t anymore!” I say, waving for another bottle, “He’s a little shit nowadays, have I told you that?”

“No, you haven’t. you don’t talk a lot.”

“That’s true.”

The third bottle (or is this the fourth) goes down far easier than the rest, and before I know, I’m stumbling out of the restaurant with the others, bundling the Editor into his car and the Assistant Editor into a taxi.

“Do all of you have money to go back home?” I ask the rest of them, but they’re already making plans to go on to the next spot. My watch says its midnight, but for people younger than me, it must be easier.

“Sunbae, do you want me to call you a taxi?” Seungkwan asks, but he’s tottering on unsteady feet, and I can see the longing looks he’s throwing the group of people who’ve started to move on without him.

“Go on, Seungkwan, I’m going to be fine by myself.” I wave a hand across my face, “it takes me ten minutes to walk back home, I’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Seungkwan doesn’t need much convincing, and trots off to his colleagues. I sit there on the sidewalk for a long while, as the night sky swirls around me. I want to ask myself, why do I have to put myself through these situations? Why couldn’t I, like every other person, be normal about finding love and romance and relationships, and have a perfectly average life?

I dial the first number that comes on my screen, and a few moments later, Jihoon’s scratchy voice comes through, “you’re calling awfully late.”

“I’m bored.” I say, settling back onto the sidewalk, “Seungkwan and the others went for round two of the company dinner.”

“And they left you all alone?” Jihoon sounds irritated, “shit, he should have at least called you a cab.”

“I’m old enough to get home on my own, Lee Jihoon, and besides, I’m also sensible enough to not come in between the affairs of my juniors.”

“You’re slurring, I bet you can’t even stand up properly.” Jihoon says, “hey, give me your address.”

“I can stand up!” I protest, “why would I give you, my address?”

“So that, I can go pick you up.”

“Why are you suddenly doing this? It isn’t as though I’ve never gone home drunk from a dinner before.”

“Yes, but you’ve also never called me before, so, I’m going to pick you up.” I can hear other people talking in the background, “hey, wait there, I got the location from Seungkwan. I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Seriously, Jihoon, you don’t have to.”

“Well, thank goodness I don’t listen to you very much.”

And he’s gone. All at once, I feel terribly alone. Why didn’t I go along with Seungkwan and the others? Why did I have to be a good senior and leave the youngsters alone? All that I can do now, is to sit alone, and contemplate.

When I was in school, and studying for the college entrance exams, all I could think about was how to get into university. When I got into university, all I could think about was how to get a job. Now that I have a job, all I can think about are the banal, everyday details of my everyday life, what to eat for dinner, what clothes to wear, whether I’m getting a promotion or not.

“You look like a drowned cat.”

I look up. Jihoon is dressed for the studio, wearing a comfortable jacket over comfortable pants and plush slippers on his feet. Its evident he’s rushed over here from the company. I want to feel sorry for him, but all I can think about is how much he looks like a steamed dumpling, all cozied up in his studio clothes.

“I look nice.” I say feebly, looking at my clothes. I’m wearing a shirt and trousers, and a coat that I haphazardly threw on before leaving my home; he’s right.

“Get up.”

“No.”

Jihoon doesn’t waste any time, he leans down, forcing me to stand. “The car is right there,” he says, hauling me towards the direction of his new car, “if you vomit, I’m seriously going to kill you.”

“I don’t vomit after I drink. That’s on you.”

“That was once,” he sighs, as though he’s some long-suffering saint, “please wear your seatbelt. I’m not about to get a ticket because of you.”

“Hey, Jihoon?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we have a sleepover?”

He stares at me, halfway through fixing my seatbelt. Its funny, how pretty his features are. If I could extend my fingers just a little bit, I could touch him, feel exactly how many lashes he has, see if his skin is as smooth as it seems to be. My hands remain firmly at my sides. “What do you mean a sleepover?”

“I don’t want to bring you to my house,” I reply, settling into the seat, “it’s a mess.”

“Because you can’t keep a house.”

“No, I’m moving.”

“I thought you had time?”

“I’m being evicted, Jihoon,” I yawn, “Kim’s hiked the rent again.”

Jihoon sighs, before getting into the driver’s seat, “I’ll get you some of my clothes.”

“Hey, Jihoon,” I ask, as soon as the car begins to run, “why are we stuck?”

“Stuck?” he seems confused, “I thought I was the one who was stuck, not you.”

“I’m stuck too, just that I haven’t told anyone.”

“You’re not making any sense, you know.”

I sigh, “I’ve been running my entire life, you know. When I was younger, I’d constantly worry about what kind of university I would get into, what course I’d get to study. I was so busy with my studies that I didn’t notice that my school life was slipping past me.”

“When I came to university in Seoul, I thought I had achieved something, but everything I did, my sister had already done it before me; for my parents, I was just following the footsteps of my sister. In university, I thought so much about my grades and how to get a good job right out of university, that I forgot to enjoy the fleeting moments of my youth. Even now, even when I’m worrying about how to get ahead in life and how to get ahead in my workplace, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped for a single moment to think, am I doing this correctly? Is this how I want to live my life?”

“Did you waste your youth? Is that how you think about it?” Jihoon asks, “really, truly, is that how you think you spent your university life?”

“I worried about grades, I worried about how to pay my university fees, I worried about so many things. I just didn’t tell anyone.”

“Is that why you didn’t join the others?”

“I’m jealous.” I admit. Its easier now, when one has said the words that have been bothering them, “I’m jealous of their youth. No, I’m jealous of how carefree they are.”

“Everything I do, I think twice, thrice, and four times, before I settle on it, and even then, something always goes wrong.”

“What if you could do it all over again?” Jihoon asks, and I’ve never seen him this serious outside of the studio, “what if you could do it all over again. High school, university, meeting us. Would you have done it differently?”

I shake my head, “Its not that I’ve never thought about it, everyone has. But honestly? If I could do it all over again, I’d do the same. Perhaps a little more honestly, but I’d still be the same person I was in university. I’d still like to meet you and Joshua and the others, even if I can’t get as close to them as they want me to.”

“They’re very respectful of the face that you’re an introvert, just by the way.” Jihoon parks his car, “I think Jeonghan-hyung would commit some serious crimes if you asked him to.”

“He’d commit them either way. He likes the chaos.”

Jihoon’s apartment building is far larger than mine, and he holds my hand to stabilise me as we walk to the elevator. I’ve been here before, it’s a building populated entirely by old people who like to take walks at six in the morning, and young married couples who like to stroll with their children at night. His hand is warm, perhaps from the car.

The elevator is empty as we walk in, and Jihoon punches in the number for his floor, “do you need anything? A hangover cure?”

“I’m fine.”

His apartment is much bigger than mine, with a separate room for his recording equipment, and I’ve been here many times before. I know the couch has a  spot where the spring digs into your skin, I know the perfect spot from where the television hurts less on your eyes, I’ve spent hours in here divvying up the banchan his mother had sent from Busan, arguing with him about what movies we would watch. Everything is the same, and at the same time, different.

Jihoon is standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking in his refrigerator for something to eat. I make myself comfortable in one of the chairs, looking at him work. Jihoon looks strange in this light, a change that I can’t put my finger on. He’s dressed in a white shirt, and from here, he looks lonely. Lonely like someone who has lost all sense of their being, like someone who’s barely hanging on. Do I look the same, from behind? I want to ask him, how I look when I walk away.

“Would you really not change anything? If you went back?”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses, still with his back turned to me, then continues, “I guess we were all immature in our university days. If I could go back, I would change some things at least.”

“Not take that sociology class?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’d still take it; even though it gave you an irrational fear of surveyors, I’d still take it. for me, that sociology class was one of the brightest moments of my university life.”

He turns to me, and under the bright lights of the kitchen, he looks strange, as though he has been restraining himself from doing something, “would you have changed anything?”

“I’d still take the sociology class,” I admit, “I met you and Joshua in that class after all.”

“And?”

“And it’s one of the brightest moments of my youth,” I say, “that class, it was the brightest spot in my university life.”

“Because of me, or because of Joshua?”

I scoff, “that’s a weird question, Lee Jihoon.”

“Answer the question.”

“I can’t choose.”

Jihoon sighs, before holding out a glass of water. “Its lemon water, drink up,” he says, “you can’t drink honey water.”

“You remembered?”

“I remember everything about you, you idiot,” Jihoon points towards the bedroom, “you’re going to hurt your back if you sleep on the couch, so take the bed.”

The bedroom seems inviting. So’s the bed, if I’m being honest. White sheets with an embarrassingly high thread count, with Jihoon’s books all arranged neatly in a bookshelf. There are pictures too, of us, hung up on a corkboard, half of them from university when we were too out of it to remember anything.

“This one is my favourite,” I say, pointing to a polaroid shot of the two of us, in one of Seungkwan’s birthday parties, me with my arms around Jihoon and Jihoon pulling a face, as though the last thing he wanted to do was take a picture with me, “we look so cute.”

“You and your ideas about cuteness.” Jihoon scoffs, throwing a pile of clothes onto the bed, “get changed. Or don’t, I’m going to be washing these sheets anyway.”

“You didn’t tell me which one’s your favourite,” I say, taking off my shirt and putting on Jihoon’s, “where do you even buy these shirts from? They’re so comfortable.”

“What do you mean?” Jihoon, who had been walking out of the door into the living room, walks back, “What the fuck! Don’t change your clothes anywhere, you idiot?”

I frown, “I’m changing in front of you because I trust you enough to not take advantage of me, is that not obvious? And besides, don’t act as though we haven’t changed in front of each other before.”

“There were circumstances, not you stripping in the middle of the bedroom like this.”

“Excuses,” I say, slipping on a pair of his shorts. They’re at least two sizes too big for me, “you still didn’t tell me which picture is your favourite.”

“You’re going to get killed one day, mark my words,” Jihoon mutters, pointing to a picture on the corkboard, “there, that’s my favourite picture of us. Happy?”

I lean forward, observing the picture. It’s a printout of a picture taken on the Jihoon went to the military, his head hidden under a flat cap that I had gifted after watching Peaky Blinders, and although Jihoon had hated it, he wore it all the same. It’s a simple picture, him with a bored expression on his face, and me, beside him, putting on a smile for the world to see.

“This was on the day of your entrance ceremony, right?”

“Hmm. You were the first to come. The others almost couldn’t make it.”

I look at Jihoon out of the corner of my eye. He has a strange, wistful expression on his face. I’ve never seen this expression on his face. Jihoon seems smaller than he is, vulnerable. The military wasn’t a great experience for him, I know that, but perhaps talking about it is too much.

“Hey, do you have any other pictures from university around?” I ask, looking at the corkboard, “or have you put up some of our new pictures?”

“I was happy in there, you know.”

I look at him. Jihoon’s serious, “I mean, it was difficult, but I got through it. I had my friends, and I had you.”

“Pfft. I wasn’t even in the military.”

“You used to come visit me every month or something.”

“And I remember you used to get annoyed by me.”

“I lied.”

“What?” now its my turn to be surprised, because all I remember is Jihoon getting angry with me over jajangmyeon, “You used to get pissed off all the time!”

“I lied,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, “truth be told, those visits were one of the bright sports in my military service. You and I, fighting over food, like we were back in university again. It made me feel, ah, I can tolerate this. I can get over this.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Is this what they say ‘lost for words?’ Jihoon shakes his head, “hey, go to bed. Its late enough that you’ll need to take a leave of absence tomorrow. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Hey, Jihoon?” I call behind him.

“What now?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. I’m not as drunk as I was before, but I’m still drunk, right? Or maybe it’s the way Jihoon looks from behind, sad and lonely, someone struggling to hold onto his sanity, in a world that continually squeezes every last drop of humanity from us. Or maybe its both.

“Do you want to sleep here with me?”

Jihoon stares at me for a moment. “You’re still drunk.”

“I’m not! The couch is very uncomfortable, and I’d hate for you to sleep badly because of me.”

“Dude, I’m used to this.”

“Is it because ‘you’re a guy’? Jihoon, you have thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets. You’re clearly going to be more uncomfortable.”

Jihoon sighs, then climbs into the bed, “don’t try anything funny.”

I laugh, “shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“I don’t trust you.”

I laugh, before climbing into bed beside Jihoon. Its awkward, but that’s simply because we haven’t done this in so long. Jihoon is warm beside me, his body heat permeating the thin fabric of the bedsheets. This is why I should not make decisions when blind drunk.

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“Hm?” I turn my head to see Jihoon, his eyes closed, “you’re thinking about it too hard. Don’t think so much. This is fine. We’re friends. Friends can do this once in a while.”

I nod my head. We’re friends, right. Friends do these kind of things, friends come over to each other’s homes, friends comfort each other when drunk. Its what friends do.

“Hey, have I told you something?”

“I’m trying to sleep here,” Jihoon groans, “go on.”

“Have I ever told you that my dream was to be a writer?”

“Not really. It was?”

“Yes. When I was a child, I’d write stories all the time, and I’d read them out to my parents. They were really encouraging when I was younger, but as I grew older, I had other things to think about, and I suppose I lost that dream somewhere along the way.”

Jihoon says nothing, so I continue, “it makes me jealous sometimes, when I see people following their dreams. I keep thinking to myself, ah, if only I had more courage, if only I could stick to my dreams, I would have been able to fulfil them; and then I look at my parents, the people who have stuck beside me and supported me, and I think to myself, would I have been able to support them as well as I do now, if I had followed my dreams?”

“Even me?”

I pause, “Especially you.”

Jihoon sighs, and for five minutes, all I can hear is his breathing, steady and slow. Did he fall asleep? I want to ask him what he thinks, but before I can open my mouth, he begins, “You still have that dream, you know.”

I look at him. Jihoon’s eyes are closed, but he’s speaking, softly, as though he’s scared that if he raises his voice, all this would disappear, “you can take a break. Its okay to take a break. But your dream is your own. It’ll always be there for you.”

“And what if I decide to give up?”

“Then that’s okay too. Just because you gave up on it doesn’t mean it didn’t give you happiness for a time.”

I fall silent, because really, what else is there for me to say after this? In the dark room, the moonlight filters in through the curtains, and Jihoon is there, beside me, his presence solid as a rock. In between us, my dreams lie, scattered and broken, a space that neither of us can cross. We’d always be on opposite sides of the river, me and Jihoon, despite how close we are. I’ll always resent him for being brave enough to follow his dreams, and he’ll always fail to understand who I am. Its better this way. Better to be far apart and resentful than be close and drift apart anyway. I’ll take this emotional distance over a physical one.

—

I wake up in the morning to find Jihoon gone, and a cooked breakfast waiting for me on the table with an attached note: don’t think too much about it.

“He’s the one who needs to think less,” I mutter, settling down to finish the omurice he’s made, (the onions were raw and the egg was rubbery) but it has been a long time since I’ve had anyone make me a meal, and I finish the entire dish, washing up in return. It’s fine if he doesn’t want to see me, its fine if he doesn’t even want to talk to me after I said that I was jealous of him; its common nature to avoid the other person if they are jealous of you, or if they are envious of you. “Still, he could have said good morning.” I murmur, putting on my shoes.

 For all Jihoon’s posturing about how much he loves his private space and how much he hates the chaos the rest of the boys bring, he still lives in the same building as Mingyu, whose door I tiptoe past on the way to the elevator. Wait, why am I ashamed? I’ve spent a lot of time in Jihoon’s apartment, and he’s spent an equal amount of time in mine. Then why am I treating this as a walk of shame?

I press the button to the elevator, and Mingyu’s door opens. Oh shit, now he’s going to see me—wait, I thought we were going to be normal about this? Before I can hide in the stairs, Mingyu’s walking over to the elevator, dressed for the day, his face lighting up when he sees me, “hi, noona. Crashed at Jihoon-hyung’s house?”

“Ah. Ah, yes, yes, I did. I simply slept over. Nothing else.” I manage to say, stumbling through my words. Great, now he’s going to think Jihoon and I had sex.

Fortunately for me, Mingyu doesn’t seem like the sort of person to take things to heart. “I didn’t imply anything else,” he says equally brightly, showing no signs of being awkward, “Seungkwan told me you all got wasted on a Monday night. Do you want me to give you a lift?”

“Yeah, that would be really nice, thank you. Also, blame our editor and assistant editor,” I reply, “they seem to have no sense of how to host company dinners. At least this time I didn’t have to pay out of my own pocket.”

“You had to pay out of your own pocket?” Mingyu looks aghast, as though my loss of funds is a personal slight, “that would never fly in my company.”

“Yeah, that tracks. Minghao always hated large get-togethers.”

“No, he didn’t.”

I roll my eyes, “he didn’t hate them when it was you guys. He absolutely hated them when he was forced together with a group of people he didn’t like.”

“Oh, you’re talking about that. He’s much better now, I can assure you.” Mingyu says, as the elevator dings to a stop, “noona, did you get the new clothes from the autumn collection? I sent you the women’s collection. I didn’t know what size you were, so I asked Jihoon-hyung for help. Did they fit well?”

“Kim Mingyu, if you give me new clothes from every collection, then how the hell are you going to  make any profit?” I ask, and he just laughs, “you’ve been sending me all these clothes when I don’t even post on Instagram! Minghao would have your head if he knew about this.”

“That’s his idea,” Mingyu replies, walking ahead of me to the parking lot, “you spent so much on us during university, then when M.M launched, you wrote a good review of us too.”

“I’m going to be accused of biased reporting, you jerk, I only said the truth. And besides, I left the job at the fashion magazine.”

“Still, you helped us a lot. And besides,” he opens the door to his car for me, “step in.”

“And besides?” I ask, putting on the seatbelt.

“Besides,” Mingyu gets into the car, “I like you a lot, noona.”

I smack him on the back of his head.

—

The office is empty when I walk in, which means I get to have five minutes of peace before the Editor walks in and demands all the articles of the week laid out in front of him, because of course, who else would take on all the jobs of the culture desk if its not for me, the Associate editor, the one who’s supposed to be happy to be included? Every week, the culture desk does a special feature, and usually, the assistant editor is in charge of it, unless, they decided to tack it onto my ever-growing list of things that need to be done.

“Sunbae,” I swivel around my chair to find a haggard-looking Seungkwan, “you’re here already?”

“Yes, I am, Seungkwan,” I tease, “are you feeling better?”

“Ugh, my brain feels as though it’s about to leak out of my ears.” Seungkwan mutters, sliding into his desk, “and we have the weekly meeting too, unless the editor isn’t feeling well enough to come in.”

“He’s got an iron stomach,” I wave, “he once came in after being blackout drunk, this isn’t even a big deal.”

Seungkwan groans, then opens his mouth to say something, stopping abruptly at the sight of my clothes. “Sunbae,” he says, “did you borrow those clothes from Jihoon-hyung?”

“What? I’m wearing my own clothes—” I look down at my shirt. Sure enough, its Jihoon’s shirt, the one he made to give as presents to give out to famous people who visited his studio. I can’t even lie and say that it’s from a former boyfriend. Fuck. “Yes, I crashed at Jihoon’s place last night. Was too drunk to take a cab, and he let me stay over at his place.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Yes, yes it does. wait, why am I even explaining it to you? You were the one who ditched me to go for a second round at the karaoke bar.”

At the mention of the karaoke bar, Seungkwan presses two fingers to his temple, “don’t even start me on that. The people here drink so much, its sickening.”

“Who drinks a lot?” it’s the editor, with a pained smile on his face, “remind me never to host company dinners on Monday evenings.”

“I could have told you this before, sir, except you didn’t really listen to me.”

He shakes a finger, “then remind me to listen to you on matters of company dinners. God, my head hurts so much.”

Soon enough, people start filtering into the office; Haewon comes in with dark circles underneath her eyes that are barely hidden by makeup, the assistant editor walks in soon after that, nursing a bottle of hangover cure. The seven of us pile into the meeting room, where the editor looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here.

“The bosses have asked me to start a new column,” he says, after the larger part of the meeting is over, “just a general column, but new ideas will be appreciated.”

“A column on new books?” Haneul asks, “we could have a dedicated column on books.”

“We review every new book when it comes out, there’s no need to have a dedicated column for book releases.”

“Relationship advice?” Changmin raises his hand, “we could have readers send in their concerns, and one of us could write about them.”

“This isn’t Sex and The City, Changmin,” Haewon says, “stop trying to be Carrie Bradshaw.”

Changmin deflates, looking exactly like the stock photo of a blobfish, and Seungkwan decides to step in, “what if we did a comparative study of cultures across Korea? We could talk about provinces that aren’t really explored in media.”

An excellent idea, I think to myself, but too research-heavy for Seungkwan to do it himself. And sure enough, the editor shoots it down, saying, “we can’t spare two people going around Korea to find out about traditional villages. We don’t have the money, nor the manpower for it.”

Everyone sighs, and the editor looks at me, “any ideas?”

[Here we take a small break from our regular programming to tell readers that the following stunts were performed by a professional, under medical supervision, and must not be replicated in real-life situations.]

“What about—dreams?” I say, scrunching up my face and hoping the editor doesn’t notice my lack of preparation for this meeting, “what if, we had a weekly column where we talked about our dreams. Whether we have managed to achieve them, or whether we have only gone further away from it; like a confessional. One of us could write it, or we could have readers send in their entries. Like Hong Seung-Hee’s Suicide Diaries.”

The editor ponders over it for a minute, then looks to the assistant editor, who nods appreciatively. Great, I think, I’ve managed to save my ass. If there was anyone being reprimanded at this meeting it would not be me.

“You do it.” the editor says.

“Huh?”

“The column on dreams, you do it, since its your idea.” The assistant editor smiles encouragingly at me, “I think it’ll be something really good.”

“No, but,” I sputter, even as the rest of them shuffle out of the meeting room, “Editor! Why can’t you just take credit for my work like the rest of bosses?”

The editor looks at me, “why would you want me to do that?”

“I don’t know, it’s what others do!”

“Look,” the editor says, voice gentle, as though he’s speaking to a fragile toddler, which I can’t even blame him for, “if the workload is getting too much, you can always offload some of it onto us.”

“No, I can do it.”

Back at my desk, I groan, before almost smacking my head open on it. Seungkwan offers me a smile, before setting down a coffee. Bless that boy. I knew pulling something out of my ass would get me into trouble. If I hadn’t spoken up, they would still be considering Seungkwan’s idea of going around the countryside. At least that would mean a vacation on office time and office money, this just means I have to work twice as hard.

And why the fuck did I talk about dreams? I could have talked about esoteric theatrical performances, or trends in trot music, or even the different kinds of marinated crabs they sell around the company building (there are seven different restaurants that offer it), why, why, did I have to go and open my mouth to talk about dreams? Out of all the people here, I’m perhaps the least qualified to talk about my dreams, given how spectacularly I’ve managed to fail at following them, and the deadline is in three days.

“What are you thinking about, sunbae?” Haewon asks, depositing another can of coffee on my desk around lunchtime, “you’ve been working like a maniac all morning, aren’t you going to take lunch?”

“Can’t, Haewon, still have to put finishing edits on the three articles that are supposed to release this afternoon. Then I have to start working on the column, because I know its going to take me a long time to finish it.”

“Wow, you sure work hard,” Haewon grimaces, “well, if you need me to pick up something for you at the convenience store, make sure to text me.”

“Hey, Haewon,” I call after her retreating back, “where’s the article on the new movie?”

“Its in your inbox, I just sent it to you,” she calls out, “should I get you a lunch set?”

“Thanks!”

My eyes are itching. Perhaps from having stared at the computer screen for too long, but I take out my contacts in the washroom, instead of putting in lubricating drops. While on the toilet seat, I make a mental note of all the things I’m supposed to do, just in this week. Edit articles as they come by. Write a review of the play I went to. Write a new column, get it approved by the editor. Make amends with Jihoon. Look for a new apartment that doesn’t bleed me dry.

I moan as I press my hands to my temples, “there’s no way I can get this done in a week.”

My phone pings, and it is embarrassing how quickly I reach for it, hoping it to be a text from Jihoon. Its not. Instead, its Mingyu, texting me about my health.

Gyu: noona, you didn’t seem well in the morning. Should I get some medicine for your hangover?

I crack a smile. Having Kim Mingyu show up on the doorstep of my company would imply him being accosted by thirty people at least, and have his photo taken without his consent. It’s bad enough I took his car to come to the office this morning.

big dick (canon): no, Mingyu, please don’t put yourself in harm’s way by bringing me medicine.

Gyu: Minghao can do it too

Gyu: he hasn’t seen you in a while so he said he was missing you

Gyu: should I send him?

big dick (canon): no, I’m fine, Seungkwan brought me a hangover drink from the convenience store.

This is a lie, but I figure Seungkwan doesn’t really have anything to lose by featuring as the Good Samaritan in my story.

Gyu: tell me if there’s something I can do for you

Gyu: you know that we’re all there for you, right?

Ah, this cursed statement, ‘being there for you’. In my experience, people who say this, are rarely there for others. Everyone says it with such sincerity, but when it comes to the actual thing, they are rarely anywhere to be found.

big dick (canon): thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. Just a bit frazzled from all the apartment-hunting I’ve been doing over the weekends.

Gyu: no luck yet? I heard from Joshua-hyung that your lease was up

big dick (canon): he’s told all of you?

Gyu: no, just the guys

big dick (canon): so, everyone.

Gyu: well, unfortunately,  everyone’s aware. Sorry, noona.

big dick (canon): well, what else can I do about it.

Gyu: I can ask the other guys to not ask you about it

big dick (canon): no, no, if they can help, I’m going to be grateful

gyu: so, do you want me to help?

big dick (canon): yeah, what the fuck,  it's not as though I'm going to lose something by asking for help. 

Gyu: I'll ask my contacts if they have an affordable apartment around

big dick (canon): While this is a blow to my pride, I’d still be grateful if I can manage to get a good place that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg

gyu: on it, noona.

Back at my desk,  I trawl through the columns submitted by the reporters, adding edits to them to be published. One of the few perks of my job is the freedom I get while editing articles, because the editor and the assistant editor are both busy with administrative works to be bothered about the day-to-day works of the desk. To be fair, the new column should have been one of their duties, but now that it's my work,  I need to do my best.  Or at least,  not fuck up in a way that ends up with me being fired. 

Haewon, the absolute angel,  has brought a lunch set for me from the convenience store, with fried chicken and green salad. The chicken is rubbery, and the salad is stale, but to my groaning stomach,  it's all delicious. I pull up the word file sent by Seungkwan, and I'm not even two minutes into editing it,  when my phone pings again. I check it, hoping for a text from Mingyu, but instead, it's a text from Jihoon, who is apparently not ignoring me any longer. 

hoon: are you asking Mingyu of all people for help with your apartment search?

big dick (canon): he offered to help me, and I am not going to turn down help offered by anyone

hoon: you could have just asked me

big dick (canon): you left abruptly this morning,  so I thought you were ignoring me. Hence, I didn't want to bother you

hoon: get this concept clearly,  okay?

big dick (canon): what concept

hoon: you're my friend. Friends are allowed to help each other, even if the other person is a weirdo

hoon: how long do you have on the lease?

big dick (canon): not much,  but I can’t find an apartment that fits my needs. They are either out of the way, or too expensive, or just straight up bad

big dick (canon): I don’t want to spend an hour on my commute that’s going to eat into my free time

big dick (canon): and I don’t want to spend too much on a flat when I’m clearly going to be renting

big dick (canon): you know, usual demands

hoon: the flat next to mine is empty

big dick (canon): doesn’t someone live there?

hoon: you’re in luck, no one does

big dick (canon): keep feeling like there’s a catch that I’m missing

hoon: about that, well

hoon: the reason why its empty and people don’t get it is because an old lady died in there

hoon: so, you might be haunted by ghosts

big dick (canon): that’s an extremely stupid reasoning

big dick (canon): do you know the realtor

hoon: I don’t, since she’s new, but

hoon: I’ll call her and say that you want to see the apartment

big dick (canon): you’d do that omg thank u

hoon: in return

hoon: please cook for me

big dick (canon):KNEW THERE WAS A CATCH

hoon: I’m lazy and I don’t like to cook

hoon: too much prep too much clutter

hoon: I could use that time to make music instead

big dick (canon):ah yes, the great Woozi makes his appearance

big dick (canon): can I see the apartment this week

hoon: yeah, I’m done with this song, so I have a bit of free time before preparation for Soonyoung’s new album begins

big dick (canon): Hoshi is coming out with an album omg this is INSIDER SCOOP

hoon: are you for real? The company announced it in the beginning of the financial year

big dick (canon): right, I keep forgetting

big dick (canon): I totally remembered btw

hoon: I’ll pick you up at 5 if that’s okay

big dick (canon): yeah, that works

—

The realtor is a fifty-year old woman with an extravagant puff on her head, who glosses over the supposed ghosts living in the apartment and goes entirely too hard on trying to sell me the apartment. And she didn’t even need to, because I would have taken it anyway.  It’s less of an apartment meant for a singular person and more for newlyweds, with two rooms, a large enough living room, and on top of it all, a kitchen with plenty enough light for me to grow my own plants. The bedroom faces south, and there’s enough space in the living room for me to host my friends (two of them) when they come over. I can just tell Mr Kim I’m leaving the apartment tomorrow. He’s probably been itching to find another naïve university student to fleece.

“This is great,” I say, after the tour is over, “I’ll take it.”

“Great! This will be just perfect for the two of you.” The old woman titters, “I love selling newlywed houses!”

What?

I look at Jihoon, who seems just as surprised as I am, “uh, ma’am, we aren’t married.”

Now its her turn to look surprised, “what do you mean you’re not married? You guys look exactly like a married couple!”

“No, ma’am,” Jihoon says, “she’s my best friend. I’m only helping her get an apartment at a good price.”

“Ah yes, friends, is it?” there’s a twinkle in the old woman’s eye that I can’t quite place, “we’ll see about that, eh?”

“Uh, no, no one is seeing anything about it, because we aren’t dating, nor are we married.”

—

“There is only one perk to living in a hovel like a broke university student for six years after university, and that is the amount of money one saves in their bank account.” I say, taking a sip out of the shared kimchi jjigae pot, “I don’t even have to get a big loan out of the bank to pay for the deposit.”

“Are you that happy?” Jihoon asks, “you’ve been smiling non-stop since signing the agreement. You know, you could have seen more apartments, right?”

“No, this one is the best,” I say, “the kitchen has space for plants, there’s a veranda, the bedrooms are big, but not too big, you know? Just the perfect size.”

“The perfect size?”

“Yes, you know, the perfect size, not too small that it feels suffocating, not too big that it feels depressing. Just the right amount of cozy.”

“You’re crazy.” Jihoon says, “that’s some crazy-person logic right there.”

“I’m not!” I protest, but there’s no real spite in Jihoon’s words, and its almost as though he’s bickering with me to continue to keep things normal, or at least, as normal as they come.

“About the other night,” he begins, “you don’t have to feel envious of me that way.”

“I’m sorry about the other night. Admittedly, I was drunk.”

Jihoon stares at me. “Really? Are you going to pull the ‘I was so drunk I forgot’ trick? On me?”

“Uh, obviously, no.”

“So, you were.”

I grimace, and Jihoon sighs, “look, if you want to forget about this, you can, and I’ll pretend as though nothing happened that night, and you said nothing, we’ll move past it as we always do. but envy, jealousy, these are all important emotions, and I think you should at least try to talk to someone about it.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Not me, I mean an impartial party.”

“Like a therapist?” I narrow my eyes, “Are you calling me insane?”

“What? No! I’m not saying that you’re crazy, I’m just saying that you might need to talk to someone outside of me and Joshua once in a while.”

“I talk to Eunseo. And Seungkwan. And the people at the newsdesk.”

“None of these people are impartial listeners, and besides, you don’t even go out much!”

“I’m out with you right now!”

Jihoon sighs, “yeah, I get it, going to therapy sounds difficult. But I really think you need to—”

“And since when are you the arbiter of my needs and wants?” my voice comes out sharper than I intended, and Jihoon just stares at me with a mix of shock and awe and something I can’t quite explain, “you can come and sit here and tell me that you think I should go to therapy, but have you ever paused to take a moment to understand what I need? I don’t need someone to tell me what I need to do, I already know that! I just need someone to be there for me, even when I sound stupid and petty and foolish.”

“Do you always need to take things this far?”

“This far? Why is it always me taking things ‘this far’ with you, Jihoon? Why can’t you stop for a moment, and try to look at things from my perspective for once?” I pause for a moment, chest heaving, “this won’t do, I can’t bear to sit down and eat a meal with you right now.”

With this, I storm out of the restaurant, Jihoon running behind me, “hey, look, we can just talk it—”

“I don’t want to talk things out with you!” there are people staring at me, but I just cannot bring myself to care right now, “you’ve kept pushing the idea of me sleeping with people ever since you found out about my feelings. Have you ever stopped to ask if that’s something I really want?”

“Then tell me!” Jihoon’s yelling too, the two of us on a busy street in a late autumn evening, screaming at each other, “you never tell anyone anything! I’ve been friends with you for six years, and I still don’t know anything about you! What is it that you actually want? Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I’m scared!”

Jihoon stops, stunned. Terrified. There’s no other way to explain the expression on his face. I continue, “because I’m terrified that I’ll do something wrong. All my life, I’ve lived in the fear of doing something wrong, of letting people down. What happens when I take a step forward? Will it be the right decision? Will I do something wrong again? I’ve always thought that, and now, when you keep telling me to take a step, I’m terrified, Jihoon. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

There. Now I’ve said it. “I think we should stop talking to each other for a while, Jihoon,” I say, walking away from him, “with you, I’ll always think of the ‘what if’s’ and I’ll be stuck anyway, but this time, I’ll be terrified, and I’ll fail. I don’t want that for myself, and you deserve better than a friend who’s like me.”

—

What are dreams? Are they something that your inner child holds on to, in the hopes of a better future, or are they something that the adult of now, works toward? I’ve always thought about what dreams meant to me, and I’ve always come up short.

The psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud interpreted dreams as the manifestation of our subconscious mind, a look into our unfulfilled wishes. But this is the scientific interpretation. what does it actually mean, to be able to dream?

When I was younger, I dreamt of a happier existence. An existence where I was fulfilled, or better yet, my desires were fulfilled. I kept dreaming, and dreaming, and dreaming, until one day I woke up and felt myself in a foreign land where dreams held little meaning.

In truth, that is our reality. A foreign land where we are forced to give up on our childhood dreams, and become grown-up adults. The definition of a dream changes too, from the manifestation of our inner desires, to mere scientific fact, neurological phenomenon whereby we can ascertain the quality of our sleep. Is this what we are doomed to become? To go on with our lives from day to day, doomed to repeat the cycle until we die one day?

When I was young, I dreamt of being a writer. I wanted to weave worlds with my words, perfect the craft of storytelling until my words brought comfort to people. I wanted to be someone whose words could be someone’s comfort, someone’s pillar to lean on when distressed. But that was when I was a child. As I grew up, I realised, ah, this is the real world, a place where my words of comfort held no meaning for anyone. I struggled against it, because I could not accept my reality. I failed. The world was too big, too cruel for me to hold on to the foolish dreams of a five-year old, and I woke up to my reality. Now, my words bring no comfort to anyone, because they are no longer my own. My words don’t belong to me, and neither does my dream. It is something I’ve kept locked in a box, hidden amidst my childhood belongings.

I am an adult. I envy people, I get jealous of people, I hold petty grudges. It’s who I am. I envy people who have achieved their dream, I envy people who are working towards their dream, because it reminds me of a five-year old child, whose dreams I allowed the world to crush. And they didn’t deserve that. None of us do.

So, for all of you who are working towards your dreams, may they be fulfilled someday. And for those who have given up on our dreams. It will be okay. Even if we gave up on it, even if it is distant from us now, it doesn’t mean we weren’t happy once.

—

“That’s the last of it,” Joshua pants as he hauls up a flowerpot into my kitchen, “why do you have so many plants?”

“So that I can save on groceries.”

“Wow, noona, you’re really sensible,” Mingyu says, “should I keep a plant in my home as well?”

“You can barely keep a rock alive, Mingyu, and that’s me being nice.” Joshua mutters, laid out on the sofa, “this is not how I imagined my day off to be going.”

“I enjoyed today,” Mingyu jumps up form his seat on the floor, “do you want jajangmyeon?”

“I just ordered it,” I say, settling down in a chair, “wow, this is nice.”

The flat is piled high with furniture, but the majority of it had been done by movers the previous day. My landlord, who hated the sight of me, even patted me on the back and said he was sorry to see me go. Weird. But, now that I’m in my own room, with enough sunlight and air and a new place to start over again, I can feel myself growing happier. Is it something related to places? Can they really affect mental statuses? “I should host a housewarming party later on, when I’m all settled in?”

“Really?” Mingyu perks up at the idea of a party, “you’ll invite all the others too?”

“Yes, I’ll invite everyone.”

“Great!” he’s already on his phone, “Jeonghan-hyung will be so happy to see you again.”

“I haven’t seen him in months,” I muse, “god, I don’t think I’ve seen all thirteen of you together in months, now. Or has it been a year?”

“Probably a year,” Joshua groans, “the last time we met up was at Chan’s welcome back party. Ugh, my back is killing me.”

“Old man,” Mingyu laughs, “shouldn’t you be at home with your fiancée?”

“Eunseo asked me to help out since she couldn’t come.” Joshua clarifies, “she was the one who was asked initially.”

“Makes sense.” Mingyu nods sagely, then jumps up at the sound of the doorbell, “food’s here!”

This is how it should be. Life. Surrounded by friends, surrounded by people who make you laugh. If this is how I can live here, then I’ll be happy, I think. But happiness is a difficult construct, and an ephemeral state of being for me, always slipping out of my grasp.

“Noona, where is Jihoon—” Mingyu gets a swift kick to the ass for that sentence from Joshua, and my smile dies away on my face.

True, no one has commented on it, not at the office, nor between friends, but I can practically feel Seungkwan’s curiosity burning every time I take lunch by myself, or I go out to meet people out of office, and come back alone. I haven’t been attending Sunday morning brunch with Joshua and Jihoon either, and both Joshua and Eunseo have kept quiet about it, but sooner or later, someone would have to speak up. Its unusual, having Jihoon away from me, without his voice being a constant presence in my life. Now, even with him living next door to me, I can’t reach out. The metaphorical rift has now become real.

“He’s busy,” I say, trying to change the subject, “I think he’s busy with Hoshi’s new project.”

That gets Mingyu’s attention, and he starts talking about how his and Minghao’s company is the one who’s dressing Soonyoung for his comeback, and how Soonyoung keeps wanting custom tiger-print stuff, until I can comfortably lean back and just laugh along at his words, trying not to think too much about Jihoon.

Later that night, as I’m climbing into bed, exhausted, the doorbell rings again. I’m dressed in pyjamas, with a pair of fluffy slippers on my feet, and the sound of the bell makes me wary. Who could it be, at—eleven at night? All of a sudden, I’m gripped with all the things I’ve heard on true crime podcasts, about the perils of single women living alone.

Wait, you’re thinking too much. It’s probably Mingyu, dropping something off. Right, that’s it. it could be Mingyu.

I open the door a little, “Mingyu, could you come back in the morning? I’m tired—”

“Do I look like Mingyu to you?”

In my shock, the door swings wide open. Its Jihoon, dressed like he’s come home running from work, the tip of his nose pink. He’s dressed casually again, in a white jacket over a black t-shirt. In comparison, I look and feel horribly underdressed.

“Look,” Jihoon begins, “am I too late?”

“For?”

“Is there nothing I can do to repair this friendship? Am I too late?” he grabs my hands, “I’m sorry, I’ll apologise a thousand times if you want. I stayed away from you because you wanted me to, but I can’t. I can’t give you up as a friend. I need you in my life.”

“Jihoon,” I open my mouth to say something, but my heart starts beating erratically. Is this normal? I look at Jihoon again, wide-eyed, evidence of tears on his cheeks, and I can’t do anything but nod my head.

Fuck. I’m screwed.

[euphorianyx]

Bet Beat Keep [pt2]

Pairing : Jungkook & Reader (MC) Genre : Smut / Romance / Thrilling / Dark Summary : Jeon Jungkook is a legendary boxer, currently the best around the city. Even the illegal cage fights he takes place become famous… And your rich boyfriend decides to bet on his next game. JungKook must win no matter what because you are on the line. Will Jungkook win for himself, or will another game begin? ⟪A/N: Do not copy or publish my work on other platforms without my permission. All Rights Reserved. Every and each like & reblog are highly appreciated.⟫

“Find her… !”

Panic got the best of me. Before I realized, my fingers tightly grabbed the beautiful stranger’s arm.

"Jaehwan must not find me here. He will cause trouble."

I tried to explain. Scanning the room with his eyes, Jungkook pulled me toward the chair. I hesitated to walked in, desperation still all over me. His voice was gentle yet stern.

"Just sit down and follow my lead."

He did not even speak loudly, but still got the effect to make me obey him.

With no other option, I did so. A tired sigh left his mouth while he went to open the door. Jungkook walked out and greeted the small crowd in suits. Jaehwan eyed Jungkook up to down. He gestured his man to search the room.

"I guess you are looking for her. Miss was not feeling fine."

Only in his shorts with his muscles exposed, this man was alone with his woman. Gritting his teeth, Jaehwan took a step toward Jung Kook.

“Seems like you have a death wish.”

Keeping his composure, Jung Kook looked him dead in the eyes.

“What for? I just helped her. I think you should calm down.”

Jaehwan let out a creepy smile and pulled out his gun yet stopped himself with a displeased groan.

"Thought so… You would not kill me while I am the one that will win her for you."

Jaehwan propped the barrel against Jungkook's chest.

"You bought yourself some time for the fight but count those breaths."

Jungkook mirrored the same smile.

“Do not worry. I will put on a good show.”

After that, Jaehwan walked in. I could tell he was furious. Seeing the gun is being placed to its place on his back, my stress doubled. To be honest, I was worried about the boxer more than myself. My eyes peeked at the half open door, and I was glad to see he was fine. Taking it differently, Jaehwan did not yell at me at all.

“Are you alright?”

It was simply what Jaehwan asked. Trying not to give anything away, I nodded.

“Yes, I am better now. Just felt a bit dizzy.”

Jaehwan held his hand out for me. I took his hand, then followed his lead out of the room. My eyes lingered on the boxer as I pleaded for him to win.

After what just happened, Jung Kook mentally cursed himself. He made an enemy out of someone who was in power. He tried to focus again before he walked out to the ring. Chanting his small mantra inside his head, Jungkook walked out with a fake smile.

The referee did not take much time to start the brutal fight. Bets kept rising as both charged at each other to get the upper hand. At some point he saw fit, Jungkook stopped the uneven fight. Shocked by his unexpected behavior, the middle-aged referee came closer to Jungkook to warn him.

"Son, you better have a good reason for this."

With a crooked yet confident smile, Jungkook raised his hands while shouting.

"Do you want to see something interesting?"

A moment of astonishment left its place to curiosity, with elites cheering for him.

"Let's take off the gloves, shall we?"

His buff opponent became visibly timid. Eyes landed on the rich man who bet on him. Annoyed to his core, the man had no option but nod. After the gloves were gone, the knuckleduster in his hand was out for everyone to see. Flashing a smile to the distressed man, Jungkook yelled again.

"Guess I need one of that."

The wild crowd agreed right away. A knuckleduster was brought by the show-girl. In revealing clothes, she climbed to the ring and presented it to Jungkook as if it was a crown.

The fight began again, and the surface was covered in blood soon. Jungkook ducked down to avoid a hit aimed at his face. He punched the man in front him with all his force three times back to back. Finally body giving up, the opponent was on the floor unconscious.

Once Jungkook was declared as the winner, Jaehwan sent his men to get him. Surrounding Jungkook, they avoided speaking to him. Tilting his head, Jungkook mocked them with a half smile.

"If I wanted to fight, you would have no chance."

Two men that were holding his arms let Jungkook go. He followed them recollectedly. The way lead to a private room. Jaehwan sat there like he owned the place.

Waiting for the boxer to arrive, I was already stressed out for the shit Jaehwan could pull. I had to think of a way for him to stay alive. Then the beautiful man appeared on the door. The blood dried on his pretty face, with a few bruises already showing. However, he seemed to have no remorse as he sat across the table. Jaehwan broke the silence with that disgusting smug smile on his face.

"You fulfilled your duty gracefully. I acknowledge that."

Jungkook's tongue poked his cheek because he knew things would not be this smooth. He could see the dangerous shine on Jaehwan's eyes.

"You were way too involved with her for my liking, and you even crossed me after that."

Even though I tried to seem collected outside, I was a mess inside. With the rush I felt, words left my mouth before I could filter them.

"If he did not win, I would be in the hands of another man now."

And they left a distaste right away.

"I believe he deserves some appreciation?"

I finished, sounding colder than I expected. Clearly not expecting that outburst, Jaehwan locked his eyes to you.

"I see where you come from, sweetie. However, I am not sure if he saved you for me or … himself."

Jungkook let out a broken chuckle. Being the topic, it was funny how he never got included in the conversation. The woman he literally risked his life for was also the reason he was in trouble. He was about to cut the conversation but was stopped by the soft voice.

"He just helped me Jaehwan, nothing happened."

I emphasized the words, hoping he would at least consider. Jaehwan paused, but he was still thinking about what might have happened while he was not there.

"Almost fifteen minutes... Enough for a lot to happen."

Tired of control freak behavior and his distrust, it took all my strength to not roll my eyes at him.

Across the table, Jungkook rested his body back to a more comfortable position.

"If I have done anything with her, you would have heard her screams across the hallway."

Eyes twice their size in shock, I was stunned for a brief second. Definitely, it was a wrong time to brag about his ... fucking skills.

"Not helping."

I mouthed the words, hoping he could read my lips.

Jungkook noticed your warning, but that would not stop him from speaking his mind.

"Thinking so puts her in a delicate position as well."

Jaehwan was about to throw a fist but when he realized he was against a boxer he clenched his jaw.

Jaehwan's face was getting red out of anger, so I had to figure something out. An idea popped in my head. Even though it was crazy, I decided to try.

"Everything aside, we could make him useful."

I tried to divert the situation to a more reasonable course. When I saw Jaehwan's fake wide smile, I almost regretted my decision.

"How?"

That simple question was dangerously sharp. Felt like walking on thin ice, I tried not to shake.

"That bozo will not let the bet go, and your men are incapable of watching me all day."

Eyes twice their size, Jungkook was dumbfounded after hearing the crazy suggestion.

"Hold up… If I got what you mean, no thanks. I will pass."

My eyes found his big eyes rather quickly. I tried to shut him down. Somehow he understood, but I could see he was rather displeased.

Annoyed to his core, Jungkook stopped talking. He had no idea what he was dragged into, though he knew he did not like it.

After the debate Jaehwan had in mind, he decided the suggestion made sense. Moreover, he could watch closely and easier this way. Jaehwan got up and put his hand on the muscular shoulder of the half naked boxer.

"Her safety is your responsibility now. Consider this a forgiveness and do not get other ideas."

Without waiting for a response, Jaehwan turned around to leave. Before I got up to follow him, I asked the boxer his name.

"Jeon Jungkook..."

He answered rather coldly.

"I will order them to prepare proper suits for you, and you will stay at the curtilage."

I explained, hence the only response from Jungkook was a deep sigh. Hearing the conversation, Jaehwan walked back to get me. He grabbed my arm rather roughly while dragging me out of the room. Right next to the door frame, he pushed me against the wall.

"Do not play games, baby, or you both will face the consequences."

I tore my gaze away from him.

"I am aware."

Hearing the rather broken voice, Jungkook felt something inside him shift. The panic before and now the despair... What kind of man Jaehwan was evident. He walked out to check, but the hallway was already empty.

[starglitterz]

serendipity. (vii)

─── chapter 7 ! ~ my bff thinks she’s sherlock holmes (…what?)

summary; when you, a waitress at the local coffee shop, are paired up with the new recruit scaramouche, you’re pretty sure both of you are going to get fired within a week. he’s just quit being a social media influencer and after being forced to work here to make ends meet, he’s ready to let everyone there know how much he hates it. the worst part? you can’t shake the feeling that you know him from somewhere. but as he slowly warms up to you, scaramouche realises that having a fresh start isn’t that bad after all, and perhaps the two of you meeting like this was pure serendipity.

a/n; hiii it's me again ! i'm so back >:) hope you missed serendipity bc i definitely did hehehe,,, also for further context on some details mentioned in this chapter, you should totally read cynosure 👀 (shameless self-promo LOL) anyways i hope u enjoy this chapter !!

warning(s); a lot of swearing, scuffed pics ��

previous.┃masterlist.┃next.

please reblog w comments ! it helps a lot :)

private messages #1 !

phone call !

incoming call from kokomi at 1.30 p.m.

kokomi: hi, y/n! it's your lunch break now, right?

y/n: yep! i'm surprised you remember.

kokomi: hey! i just visited you the other day, my memory isn't that bad!!

y/n: yeah, yeah, whatever you say. anyways, what did you want to tell me? it sounded important.

kokomi: well… you know how we met childe and signora the other day, right?

y/n: yeah, i could barely believe they knew scara. i mean, this is the same guy who complains about the stray cats making a mess outside the cafe but still leaves leftovers for them. i wouldn't have expected him to have such famous friends.

kokomi: me too. and i actually wanted to talk to you about that.

y/n: why, what is it?

kokomi: i was curious about how scaramouche knew them, so i asked gorou to do a little digging.

y/n: what? kokomi, why would you do that?

kokomi: this guy shows up out of nowhere and ayaka hires him, and it turns out he has friends in such high places? it's suspicious!

y/n: what the fuck, kokomi? what's gotten into you? this is my colleague we're talking about. he's literally just some random guy ayaka hired, why do his friends matter? it's not like they're bad people!

kokomi: they might not be, but he is.

y/n: and what's that supposed to mean?

kokomi: check the link i just sent you.

y/n: fuck off, kokomi. i'm not dealing with this today. what's wrong with you?

kokomi: y/n, please just click it. i really think you need to see this.

you click on the link kokomi sent you - it's a youtube video titled 'the rise & fall of scaramouche'. you watch it in silence with kokomi still on the phone.

kokomi: you see? he was a drama youtuber and he got clout off of ruining other people's lives - he even got fired from genshin impact! when genshin threatened a lawsuit, he agreed to settle privately by deleting all his accounts. genshin must have paid to scrub all the traces of him they could from the internet too. i knew there was something fishy about him!

y/n: honestly, fuck you, kokomi.

kokomi: what?! why me?!

y/n: because who cares what his past was like? yeah, maybe he used to be a shitty person, and yeah he's still a pain in my ass, but he's changing. scara hasn't done anything bad since he started working here, i don't know why you're so against him.

kokomi: i just don't want you to get hurt, y/n. we all know you're still looking for that mystery guy from when you were younger, and this is the first time you've liked someone without mentioning that. i'm worried he's taking advantage of you.

y/n: get a grip, kokomi. i'm a grown adult, and you're not my mother. i can make my own choices and deal with the consequences.

kokomi: well forgive me for being worried about my FRIEND.

y/n: just… leave me alone. goodbye, kokomi.

call cut from y/n's end at 2.17 p.m.

private messages #2 !

twitter !

i'm curious, what do u guys think abt what kokomi did? are you on her side or y/n's side? i've personally experienced a lot of friends getting defensive whenever you point out anything wrong with their rs/bf so i guess this is partially inspired by that LOL

© starglitterz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[oolhan]

Too Many Beds (Part 3)

wow, okay so I had been inactive for awhile (by inactive, I mean just scrolling through and reblogging all sort of everlark stuff). But surprise! We're now on part 3 of this reversed-trope au. Another surprise: I'm adding another chapter because I couldn't wait too long to share the first part of part 3. You can read part 1 and part 2. Without further ado, first scene of part 3:

Travel journals that have to-do lists prior to the travel itself tends to be on the idealistic side, like cruising for 7 days in a Mediterranean island or bumping into a famous celebrity. Katniss knows this for sure, so when she made a bucket list to check off for their European trip, she notes the most mundane things she wants to do. Realistic things that can easily be checked off.

Wishing longevity in front of Sagrada Familia (With Peeta)

See a street flamenco dance (With Peeta)

Collect post cards and stamps (Send to Prim’s apt)

She wrote the list with Peeta two days before they depart for Madrid, and looking at her journal now, she’s pissed off how every to-do had ‘with Peeta’ beside it. She’s also pissed off at how she can’t enjoy tasting an authentic Italian pizza in front of her because written on her journal is: True Italian pizza with Peeta.

And she’s barely eating it with Peeta.

He’s sat at the right end of the long table conversing with Madge across him while she’s beside Johanna on the left end, not obviously far from him.

Finnick and Annie decided to have a small dinner party at a fancier restaurant near the bridge where they were engaged and though Katniss can barely keep it together, she knows she must appear happy and excited and tries very hard not to give away a signature scowl. After almost ruining Peeta’s moment in capturing the proposal photo, she decided not to talk to him for the night and tag along with the others.

She glued herself to Johanna to signal him she doesn’t want to talk about it. For now.

So Peeta talks with Madge.

The pizza is really good, actually. It’s worth the price and all, yet it feels sand on her tongue as she thinks about the loaded question he shot her with before Finnick knelt on one knee.

Is it really about them sleeping? Is that why she feels miserable since yesterday? But they just slept together again last night, so…

She thinks it is the sleeping, but she can never admit that.

But why can’t she just admit it?

She lets an exasperated sigh and downs her beer even though she prefers champagne right now, or maybe something with vodka. She just doesn’t like to upset the accommodating old local waiter who insists on serving the pizza with beer.

“Okay brainless, after dinner you really have to spit it out,” Jo whispers beside her after calling for another beer.

“Spit what out?”

“I heard you arguing with Peeta a while ago and you suddenly made me your favorite person in the world to cling to. I bet Gale’s ass cheeks it’s something to do with Madge,” Jo’s smirk is taunting, and Katniss starts to cringe at how someone actually overheard them.

Not like they’re yelling.

“Well, we sorta bet. I bet 20 it’s something about you two sleeping,” Gale interrupts, leaning over Johanna’s shoulder and swinging a glass.

“You’re ridiculous. I don’t want to talk about this right now,” She thanks the waiter and quickly downs her second bottle for the night. She really wants something stronger than shitty Italian beer. She’s in Italy for god’s sake, why isn’t she devouring wine right now?

“Okay, just tell me if it’s Frenchie or cuddling,”

“you’re both sick.” Katniss spat.

They suddenly turned their heads as Finnick clears his throat and gather everyone’s attention. He was at the head of the table, left hand clinging to Annie’s.

“So, uh,” he turns to Annie for confirmation. “So, you whole lot luck out, I guess. We-uhm, wow, okay I’ll leave it to Annie.” He chuckles nervously.

Annie laughs, “Well, since most of our best friends are present here at this very table, Finnick and I decided to have an intimate wedding in Greece.”

There are surprise gasps and girly shrieks. Congratulations and questions thrown. Despite Katniss’ mood, she smiles at her friends’ sudden news.

“Since we’re in this trip together and Greece is our next stop, then why not make it official in front of you guys?” Finnick’s smile will tear his face in half.

“Yes, and gramma Mags also lives in Lindos right now, so we’re sending her a message to prepare,” Annie confirms, nodding to Finnick and the rest of the group.

Delly and Madge can’t contain their excitement and babble on about wedding matters of what to wear and what colors match the Greek Isles and what food to eat.

“Oh! Oh! Let’s go shopping for dresses before we leave,”

“Cinna has a designer friend here in Venice, I think—”

“Ladies! I think we should all toast first before diving into details,” Johanna stands up, beer in hand ready for toasting.

“To Finnick and Annie, may you always pleasure yourselves quietly through all your nights, because I’m one more Annie’s moan away from putting a gun in my mouth,” Johanna teases and gets exasperated sighs from everybody. Katniss tried not to snort.

“Jesus, Jo,” Finnick chuckles through.

“She’s not allowed to toast at our wedding,” Annie playfully spats.

Gale stands helping Jo out. “What she meant to say was, to Finnick and Annie, whose knots are tied even before time began and lives crossed. We all knew this day would come, so just be in love forever and,” Gale can’t help it and glances at Katniss, whom he knows every scowl by heart. He knows what’s been going on.  “Here’s to a lifetime of open hearts and honest confessions! Cheers!”

Katniss gulps from the implication and glares at them both.

“Hear, hear,” says Thom, the sound of clinking glasses resonates merrily through the table.

“To honest confessions,” she hears Peeta repeats at the end of his table which made her slide her eyes to him, only to find he’s staring right through her.

She pulls her eyes away from the tension and downs her beer.

Still shitty.

anddd read the rest of it here on ao3. See you for part 4😉

[deliciousangelfestival]

Good Guy, Bad Guy - Lloyd Hansen Series

Part 5

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Rich!Female Reader

Summary: Y/N got what she wanted. The status of CEO is in her hand. But the sudden confession from Lloyd made her think twice about the divorce. Did she make the right decision?

Words Count: 4,050

A/N: This chapter timeline is set after Lloyd confessed to the reader. This chapter will be focused on Y/N learning her feelings. 

Hope you guys enjoyed it. Comment and Reblog from you meant so much to me. Thank you so much. 💓🥹

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (Extra Story)

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

A fool in love. 

If someone called him that last year, he would laugh because, to him, love is a joke. 

Lloyd Hansen a sociopath and the most dangerous man; he is the type of man who eliminates everyone in his way. He never let any task or mission affect his feelings. 

But now, he looks clueless, thinking about which plan to get you back. 

After everything both of you've been through.

You tossed him after the contract expired. No one ever plays with him like this. He waited three months, thinking you regretted it and will call him back. But no, nothing, Nada!

At first, Lloyd thinks you’re not his type, but he likes it each time you catch him off guard with your crazy ideas; he likes it when you become annoyed every time he provokes you. 

And your love for money is also up to his taste. 

Right now, he looks out of place at Carmichael offices. Carmichael knew his long-time friend was a chatterbox. But something felt wrong because this sociopath was silent the whole time. "What's wrong,Lloyd? Is this about your ex-wife?"

Lloyd clicked his tongue and then punched the table "Wife. I never signed the damn paper."

“Hahaha.” That laughing voice already made Lloyd's ears itchy. Her presence already makes his mood get worse. 

Susan's sudden appearance worsened Lloyd's mood because of what she would say. "Y/N already found your replacement."

'Ouch!’ her words just added more salt to his wound. 

"What do you mean b**ch?"

Susan gave him a middle finger. "Let me just say he's so much better than you. Wow, he still related to the royal family."

Lloyd snatched the phone from her hand. When he saw the photo of you hugging another man, his mind had already planned 100 ways to get rid of that person. He opened the photo comment and found the name of the person hugging you. 

"Where did you get these?!!"

Susan grabbed her phone because she knew he would have smashed her phone into the wall. "It's trending on social media. Your ex-wife became famous after the divorce."

The truth is, she followed your fans' account.

That's one of the biggest secrets she won't tell him.

Susan is one of your biggest fans. She applauds anyone who could tame Lloyd. And her favourite part is you made him in a dilemma. 

It's her turn to laugh at his misery. 

He gave her a side-eye. "She's still my wife." 

Lloyd grabs a keyboard and use CIA database. Carmichael doesn't even want to know how Lloyd knew his passwords. With facial recognition favourite, he could find out who it was. 

Earl Thomas Kimberley. Thomas is a top photographer, travelling worldwide, famous in design, and shooting in a country with a refugee crisis that can move everyone's heart. 

After his step-brother humiliated the family name, Thomas became the CEO of the family business in a shipping company. They owned 500 vessels, including travelling ships, car carriers, gas and oil tankers, submarines, and cruise ships. 

A successful man with a bright future. 

Compared to him, Thomas came from a prestigious family, just like you. 

A light hum resounded in the silent room. Lloyd looked at the computer with an expressionless face. 

“Something is off.”

“What?”

“Nobody has a perfect life. He must have a deep secret.” He grabbed his phone to give an order to his team.

Carmichael patted his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

Lloyd told his IT team to dig deeper into Thomas. His habit of buying stuff online, his friends, his female friends, and even his porn history. 

But after a few hours, they found nothing terrible about Thomas.

It made Lloyd anxious.

Looking out the window, where the sky is blue, Lloyd wishes it could calm his insecurity.

What if you like him? A good guy like Thomas. 

Eight hours ago before the photo.

The sky is grey, and the strong wind gives the plane turbulence. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

You were in the private jet on the way to England. Your former professor invited you to give a speech. Of course, you agree. 

Even if you must defeat your fears, plane travel still brings goosebumps.

Your hands gripped the armrest tightly when the plane got turbulence. 

“You should listen to music for distraction.” Jimmy was sitting in front of you, worried, looking pale, and he could see the sweat on your forehead even though the inside temperature was cold. 

Jimmy sighed heavily; there's nothing he can do with your stubbornness. He knew you needed Lloyd but didn't know why you let him go. 

It was Lloyd's job to make you at ease every time you travel by plane. 

Before Jimmy, one of the people who disagree with your choice of a husband even though it's a contract, of all the men in the world, you choose Lloyd. 

But now, he became the parent who was sad because his favourite son-in-law had left the house. 

Even though Lloyd could be selfish and childish most of the time, at least when you were in trouble, he knew exactly what to do. 

“If I listen to music, I will forget my speech.”

“Were you able to sleep last night?”

“Only for a few hours." You try to find a comfortable position to close your eyes, not looking at the window. 

You usually get at least 6 hours of sleep when Lloyd is beside you. Since you moved back to your childhood home, the bed feels strange. And nobody helps to calm down your nightmares. 

When you moved out from the house shared with Lloyd, you said this would be a new start.

You finally became the official CEO and could live alone without any worries. 

But something unexpected happened. 

‘My dear wife, I love you more.’

Lloyd's confession caught you off guard, and his words echoed in your mind, making you unable to sleep. 

You’ve been pushing the divorce and moving out, mainly because you started to feel comfortable with him. It was supposed to be fake marriage, but you made a mistake with a sexual relationship with Lloyd. 

‘Kill your emotion. You need to be a ruthless f*ck to rebuild L/N & Co.’

That’s your grandfather's last word to you before he died. You promised not to get f**ked by feelings and to prioritise the company. 

You know your weaknesses. Good at business but stupid in romance. 

But since you spend time with Lloyd.  You kept thinking about him. And it's suffocating because of your ego; you held back from calling him.

That's why you said yes when your professor invited you to be the speaker. Remembering the youthful memories you had back in college was nice. If you go back, you could put behind all your trauma and ex-husband.

At the Debating Chamber.

In front of hundreds of people, you were relaxed while giving a speech and answering all the questions because your former professors and classmates were present to help you. 

It felt like you went back to being a teenager again. There's no family drama because of your grandfather's will. You just focus on your study—simple time. 

After the speech was done, you immediately rained with questions. Even with Jimmy beside you, he can't just push them away. 

Until a blinded camera flash made anyone close to you feel uncomfortable. Somehow it worked to make people move away from you. 

But the photographer keeps taking pictures of you. "Excuse me,sir, could you turn off the flash?"

The person behind the camera laughed. "I'll stop if you give me 100 dollars." 

His voice sounded familiar. When the camera is put down, you finally get a closer look. You knew who it was. 

Thomas Kimberley, your former classmate. It's been years since the last time you met. From everyone in your class, you are much closer to Thomas. 

Probably because he also has the same family drama. He's the second son of Kimberley's family, but his mother is a mistress. He doesn't get along with his stepmother and step-sibling. 

How did you know his drama? His stepbrother announced it inside the class to humiliate Thomas since he failed to become an Oxford student. 

But you didn't graduate together. Last semester Thomas suddenly left and followed his dream to be a photographer. You heard this is his way to rebel against his father. 

It turned out fine; he got what he wanted, travelled worldwide, and became a famous photographer. His appearance also changed. 

Back then, he only wore a cardigan with a dull colour and jeans. But now his appearance has turned him into a good-looking man, especially when he wears black suits and thin gold frame glasses.

"Thomas. You jerk." You gave him a playful punch to his shoulder before you gave him a side hug. 

You didn’t know some students took a shot the moment you gave a friendly hug to Thomas and sent it to social media. 

Thomas laughed, “When they told me, you were coming, I thought you would buy this place.” 

He linked his arm with you. “Ah, that’s our friend, let's meet them.” His act caught you off guard because Lloyd was the only man who could be this close to you.

And there it is; you thought you could forget him, but everything reminded you of Lloyd. You let this slide for once because you don’t want to ruin the reunion. 

It was supposed to be a quick hangout at the pub. But one of your friends got this idea to visit another pub then another pub. You've never been this carefree and hungover. Looking at your friends singing at the karaoke and being happy. You suddenly have a thought. 

After graduating, you couldn't hang out with them since your grandfather dragged you back to the States. 

You were having a second thought. If you stay back then, do you still have a chance to have a normal life?

You stop daydreaming when someone hands you a glass of water. 

"Thank you."

"When was the last time you drank after you became the CEO?"

You sip the water while thinking about the moment you get the position; you become more ambitious and almost sleep daily in your office. "Hmm, never."

You put down the glass and rested your head on your palm while looking at him "Thomas, are you happy after you achieved your dream?"

"Wow, wisdom time because of the alcohol." He chuckled and then was silent for a while. "To be honest, I'm not 100% happy. Because it ruined my marriage."

Your eyes widened when you heard his confession. You didn't know he got married. "You? Married? Divorce?"

Thomas nodded; he stared at the wall of liquors. "She doesn’t like my job."

"Because you always travelled around?" You put your hand in front of your lips. That was a slip of the tongue. You were too honest because of the alcohol. "I'm sorry."

Thomas doesn't feel offended. "That's right." He put down his drinking glass and turned towards you. "It's my turn to ask a question. I want to know how the famous ice queen finally fell in love."

You gulped. You will not tell Thomas how you met Lloyd when he was supposed to kill you. You waved your hand and acted shy. "He helped me deal with my family. That's why I…" 

You were silent when you wanted to say the following words. Your mind suddenly recalled everything that happened between you and Lloyd. Both of you have been through heaven and hell together. 

"...love him." Your voice became softer; maybe only you could hear it. Is it because of the alcohol that made you say those words or because of something else?

You suddenly stand up from your seat, making people beside you almost jump. "I… I think I should go."

Thomas looks at his wristwatch. "You're right. It's already late." He stood up to grab his coat and yours. "My driver will drive us both."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing ,Y/N compare how often you drag me every time I get hungover." 

You hummed, remembering he always got drunk whenever he fought with his step-brother. 

While in the car on the way to your hotel, Thomas saw you looking at your phone screen, not doing anything; he asked, "Is your husband still awake waiting for you?"

You shook your head. "No. He didn't come with me."

"What a pity. I want to meet him."

You wonder if you heard it wrong. He sounded sulking. Did your friend want to meet Lloyd?

You waved goodbye to Thomas when the car arrived at the hotel. 

When you enter the building, Thomas' smile disappears from his face. He took out his phone to make a call. "Cancel it. We chose plan B."

The next day you woke up; you weren’t that drunk. You picked up your phone to check on your schedule. There’s nothing. You remembered last night you told your secretary you want a day off.  

It was a sunny day. 

You decided to take a walk from your hotel to clear your head. 

You don’t have any plans. When you saw the nearest coffee shop, that became your first destination. 

The coffee shop has a lovely aesthetic and is not too crowded. After you order a coffee, pick a seat at the corner near the window that faces the street. 

While you enjoy your drinks and cakes, other customers keep coming; you notice the queue line getting longer. 

When you look up, a man has his hands full. One hand holding a laptop bag and one hand holding a baby. His kid was uncomfortable with his arms, making him unable to make an order. 

“Kendal, please hold on a second.” He tried to calm his baby.

“Professor Watson.” You greet him. He's one of the professors you adore because of his intelligence and wisdom. 

He turned his head and saw you. Both of you met yesterday but didn’t have the chance to talk.

"Y/N. Haii…" He struggled to hold his daughter. You can't bear looking at your favourite professor looking like a mess.

"Let me hold her."

"Thank you, but I don't think,-" His daughter already stretched her short arms towards you. That was unexpected. 

"Both of us will be sitting there."

After a few minutes, Professor Watson joins your table with his coffee and cake. 

"Thank you for your help."

"No problem. What happened? You look… lost?" Every time you see him, he always looks like a perfect scholar. It's pretty difficult to approach him. Even though he seems scary, he will help his students. 

After ten years, his style has become easygoing, and he is more welcome. He never smiled at his students. It's been ten years, and now you see the smile stay on his face.

"Haha, today is my day off. But my wife suddenly got called to the hospital. I thought it would be a good idea to bring my daughter to the coffee shop while I make new material for my book." 

Wow, his personality completely changed. Before, he never shared his personal life. But now he still tells you about his wife working as a doctor and his son joining the football team even though you didn’t ask. 

He seemed happy after he got married. If you get married, will your personality change too?

“You’ve changed, Professor. Back then, if we asked about your day, you would say ‘Nothing besides crying myself to sleep.”

“That’s true.” He laughed. “I used to be pessimistic about life, especially marriage.”

Kendall, the cute baby, is still sitting on your lap. She is fascinated with shiny things on your head, which as your hairclip. 

"Wa, is?" Her chubby finger pointed to your hair. 

"Ooh, this is a hairclip."

"Hai,- cip,-" Kendall keep mumbling, ‘Hai,- cip,’ for a long time. You are weak to her cuteness. You take off your hairclip and let her play with it. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, she’s on the stage where she likes to play with sparkly things.”

“It’s okay.” You don’t mind if she breaks it. Anything to make her comfortable on your lap. The scent of a baby tickled your nose when you put her into your arms. Your maternal instinct suddenly kicked in. 

“You’ve changed too Y/N.”

“Back then, we only talked about your assignment, but I could see that you carry an enormous burden. Right now, I can see that you have become more confident and brave.”

He pointed to your finger that was wrapped with a diamond ring. “Was it because of your partner who is the biggest support?”

After you heard his question, you remembered everything Lloyd had done to help you, guard you, and get your position right now. He didn’t ask questions when you asked him to do complex tasks. He just says yes and provides a great result.

Like today, you can enjoy your walk without worrying anyone could hurt you. 

Even though you have to pay billions, with his help, you gain your freedom. 

If that means excellent support, the answer is “Yes, yes, he is.”

You forgot about the time until Kendall made a fuss since it was her time to nap.

That means it's time to go back. You still carry Kendal in your arms until both of you arrive at Professor Watson's car. 

On her baby seat, Kendal is still holding your hairpin, her father tries to open her palm, but she's persistent. 

"It's alright Professor she can have it." You brushed her fluffy cheeks. 

"Haha, you'll be a great mother, Y/N. Say, thank you to Aunty Y/N, sunshine."

Your body cringes when you hear the nickname. Damn Lloyd, for keep calling you that name.

He said while tightening his seat belt. "Let's meet again on your next visit."

After the car left, you went back to the hotel through the park. While walking, you sighed heavily. Your plan to travel so you could forget Lloyd failed. Because it seems like life doesn’t want you to move on from him. 

“Did you enjoy your coffee sunshine?”

Your footsteps halted when you heard his voice. 

He is sitting on the bench wearing a polo shirt, beige pants, brown loafers, and his favourite aviators. 

"Lloyd?!!"

Lloyd followed you back to the hotel. When he entered your room, he jumped to the couch and rested his feet on the table. 

He didn't talk on the way here; it's out of his character. If you look closely, he seemed to be sulking. After staying together for a year, you knew he would act like a child. 

"Lloyd, are you alright?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "How can I be alright when I found my wife is getting close to her best friend?"

You were taken aback; did he just accuse you of Thomas? 

"There's nothing between me and Thomas." You don't have romantic feelings towards Thomas even though he's a good guy. 

There's a memory about Thomas that you buried. 

Lloyd clicked his tongue. You are still clueless and dense with the opposite gender. From the photo, he could read Thomas' expressions towards you. 

Lloyd took away his aviator and threw them on the table. He smiled softly, strode forward and stood in front of you. 

You remained frozen, wondering what he was going to do. The next moment Lloyd stroked your cheek with his index finger and pulled you into his arms. 

"Let's go to bed." He rested his head on your shoulder.

'Huh?' 

Lloyd pats your back gently. "I'm tired. I haven't slept for 7 hours because I'm worried about you."

Without breaking the silence, you agreed with his request. 

Inside the bedroom, you were nervous when you lay beside him. While you are anxious, the man beside you has closed his eyes.

You tried to twist out of his arms, but it was no use. 

Lloyd brought your head to his chest. He held you tight as if to keep you from escaping. 

"I missed my wife so much I thought I would die.”

You gently patted his back as if you knew what he was thinking. He buried his nose into your hair and took a deep breath. 

"While I'm gone can you sleep?"

You sighed heavily. "No. Living alone made me more depressed."

He chuckled, "Stop pushing me away then."

You pinched his arms even though you knew it didn't affect him. Instead, he giggled more. But he was right; the answer for your insomnia is him.

But something has been bugging you for these couple of months. You break the silence by asking the big question. 

“Do you think there’s something else after this?”

There was silence, but you felt Lloyd loosen his grip. "Like what?"

You gulped. "You know, like building a family?"

"..."

"Forgot what I said." You pulled your blanket and turned your body to the other side. But Lloyd's strong arm turns your position back to face him. 

Lloyd didn't expect that question out of your mouth. 

'Family.' Of course, that idea had crossed his mind. But the desire is getting stronger because of what he saw today. 

He had arrived when you went to the coffee shop. From the car, he saw you talking with an older man; he didn't open the car door when he saw you holding a baby in your arms.

The image of you inside the house holding the baby. Their tiny hands touch your cheeks. And then you greet him with 'Good morning.'

He decided not to join your conversation and stay in the car. Looking at you holding the baby gave him a feeling of joy. 

"Do you remember my confession?"

"Yeah."

You met his scorching gaze, and he smiled.

"The confession means I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sleep with you, have sex with you."

You remained frozen but still looking at Lloyd's gleamed eyes.

"It also means I want to get you pregnant, build a family with you."

Your heart began to race wildly inside your chest. Hearing his confession once again sounds completely different now. 

Because you want to have the same goal as him. 

It was dark inside the room, but Lloyd could feel your heartbeat.

"Tell me what I want to hear Y/N."

"I love you too Lloyd. I'll give you my everything."

Lloyd pulled you into his arms again, almost squeezing you. He finally found the answer. 

The next morning. 

The sounds of the alarm make both of you wake up together. 

You grab your phone and see the notification that tells you the schedule for today. When you wanted to leave the bed, your waist suddenly got held. 

"Don't go." Lloyd grumbled on your back while his eyes were still closed. 

"I'm meeting the PM today. I can't miss it." Your finger tickled behind his ears. That's the sensitive part of his body. The technique makes you free from his hold. You immediately ran to the bathroom. 

Lloyd growled while his hand ran through his face. He hates it when the quality time with you gets disrupted. 

'RING.' He silently cursed; another interruption kept coming. He picked up his phone, turned out it was from Carmichael.

"Lloyd."

"Yeah?"

"I know you have plans to get rid of Thomas. But I suggest you don't."

"Give me one reason."

"Hermes."

Lloyd's breath hitched when he heard that name. Before he met you, he'd been searching for this weapon dealer called Hermes. 

"The agency has been looking for this person for a long time. When you were looking for Thomas' flight schedule it's the same with Hermes everytime he made a deal and the description also matched."

So the agency finally got the answer. Thomas Kimberley is Hermes. He is hiding in plain sight using his famous status. No one would think a charities photographer was also a dangerous weapon dealer.

"You were right. He's not a good guy. But,-"

"What?"

"He seems pretty close with your wife."

Lloyd clenched his fist. “Don’t say anything that makes me want to kill you.”

Carmichael was silent for a while until he said “Be friends with him and make Hermes the agency's asset.”

A/N: Wow, Carmichael is heartless towards his friend, does he? What will Lloyd go to do? Is he going to help his friend or not?

Wait for the next chapter. 

If you want to be tagged in the series, you can tell me from the comment. 💓💓💓

And if you have any questions or want to send any prompts and drabble, you could send them to my inbox. I'll be happy to answer.

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,-

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

Taglist:

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[deepdisireslonging]

I Got Your Crazy

A new Hydra threat has the Reader undercover, and Steve under the arm of an inebriated socialite. When the case comes to an end, the Reader immediately sets to remind and reclaim their man.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings/Promises: jealousy, language, SMUT, oral (male receiving), creampie, implied further smut, fluff

Word Count: 1950

Note: Another song-fic for this end of the summer SongFic Playlist! Let me know if you enjoy it in your comments and reblogs. These fics should go though the beginning of September, so keep an eye out. Happy reading!

 “Crazy Possessive” by Kaci Battaglia

The venue could hold at least three hundred deep-pocketed people. But you thought there were at least four hundred. Under the guise of a fundraiser for the devastation of another small town in need, Tony had set this night up as a way to find the target. His name was unknown. Luckily, a picture from another event was enough for you to be able to identify him in a large crowd. Then, acting as both bait and lure, you’d become his next victim for losing a few million into his Hydra-Fund and the team would snatch him up. 

Easy. Clear cut and minutes from being complete. 

But instead of talking up the man in question across the bar, all you could focus on was the sugar-sweet voice that kept slurring into your boyfriend’s earpiece. 

“You used to have a dance team back in the day, right, Captain Rogers? Baby, I could give you a private dance every night.”

In your hand, the glass of something pseudo-alcoholic crackled under the threat of breaking. The only thing that kept you smiling at the target was that Steve was upholding an admirable front.

“You’re… cute. But I’m at least fifty years older than you. All creaky joints and no fun. You’d have better luck with the line of wealthy bachelors over there.”

The target slid up to your side. “What’cha drinking? Looks like you’re almost down to the dregs.”

Flashing your brilliant cover smile, you turned to lean against the bar. “It wasn’t good enough for a second. What would you recommend?”

As he called the barkeep for something, you tensed. 

The broad crooned in Steve’s ear. “C’mon. Let’s get lost. Must get lonely for you in all these fancy dinners and nobody on your arm.”

“I’m in a relationship.”

“They’re not here.”

“Here you are.” The target pressed a glass into your hand. You knew it was already laced with a drug that would make you pliant and suggestive. Suggestive enough to wire millions to someone you didn’t know.

Still, you smiled. “Thank you. What’s in it?”

Fate parted the sea of donors and you got a clear view of Steve’s sticker. Dripping with diamonds her father probably bought her, the woman was lovely. But she really needed to place her hands on another man, or you were going to lay your hands on her. 

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Your target matched your pose against the bar and watched the mismatched pair. He watched you take a sip of the spiked drink, unaware that you already had the antidote in your system. “He could have anyone in the world, but look at how he’s pushing her away. How sad to see such an asset wasted.”

“Hmm. If you were so famous, and had everyone in the world at your fingertips, what would you do?”

He trailed a finger up your arm. It took every cell of your being not to shiver away. “I’d take advantage of what I want.” Gingerly, he tilted your head to face him. “I have a feeling you want him. Don’t you? You’ve been hyper aware of his presence all night. Maybe he needs someone to open the door for him.” His thumb slid across your bottom lip. “Do you want to help him out?”

“Maybe,” you managed to mumble. Maybe this could work out for both of you in ways he wouldn’t imagine.

At his nod, you strutted across the floor and took the woman’ wrist. Low enough for your voice not to travel you hissed, “touch my man again and I’ll fuck you up.” Then you placed yourself as a wedge. Wrapping your arms around him, you slid your fingers into Steve’s hair. He knew the situation, but this level of directness had not been in the plan. Even less so when you pulled him down for a deep kiss. The woman’s irritated huff behind you barely registered. You felt Steve’s hand twitch between your side and the table he was at. More than anything, you wanted him to reciprocate, but that would blow the whole thing. 

You ended it. As people applauded, you shot him a wink and sauntered off with a wobble in your step. Like clockwork the target was at your elbow ready to support you and lead you away. On the stage, Tony used the kiss to gather everyone’s attention and started the bidding. The target led you out into the hallway. His phone was already out, anticipating the spike to wear off soon. 

Once his fingerprint unlocked the screen and you could see the bank account pulled up, you called it. Agents rushed in from both sides and apprehended the target and his phone. He was silenced with a drug of Shield’s design and led away. Steve joined you in the hallway. 

“That went well.” He hummed in surprise against the wall where you pinned him and kissed him again. 

“I was about ready to break that woman’s arm.”

Steve breathed a laugh. “Jealous? You know you had nothing to worry about, right?”

“One of these days I’m going to convince Fury to let our relationship out in the open, and then I can be crazy possessive in public instead of between missions.” You whined when he dragged your arms away from around his neck. 

With a kiss to your forehead, he hushed you with “one day. But for now… since the mission is complete. How about we get outta here and-“

“Yes.” 

He probably had your rooms in mind, but you couldn’t wait that long. Instead, you dragged him through the first unlocked door you could find. All you cared about was that it was private. You pinned Steve to the wall beside the door, sucking on the sweet spot under his ear while he tried to fumble with the lock. It had barely clicked into place when you sank to your knees. You were desperate. Needy. And all Steve could do was watch as you unzipped his suit pants to mouth at the growing bulge under the last layer of fabric. He groaned as you pulled his cock out into the open, thankful of the release in pressure.

“I’ve been hard for you since that surprise kiss.” He hissed as you licked up the underside to the head.

Humming, you said, “I wasn’t even started yet then.”

You were oblivious to how quick he had to slap his hand over his mouth to contain his shout when you first closed your mouth around him. He held back from thrusting. Barely. As you worked, his hand clawed at the wall instead of reaching for your hair. You knew him so well, knew how to move and when to swallow, that he didn’t need to guide you. Every so often, you would flick your thumb over the twitching of his balls. The smallest of touches stole his breath. When you stopped for a breath and looked up, he was already sweating and hazy-eyed. His chest heaved, and the glow in his gaze for you bordered on the edge between feral and falling apart.  

Slowly, you crawled up his body, dragging your nails over his suit where you’d usually scrape his muscles. Steve met you for the deep kiss, hugging you close. Matching you passion, he began to walk you back towards the closest flat surface.

The room hadn’t registered as someone’s office until he swept an arm across the desk. In the cleared spot, he spun you, pressing your stomach into the wood and pressing himself against the curve of your ass.

“You thought you had it bad?” Steve’s shaking hands fought with the fabric covering your body to move it out of the way. “She was bad enough. Made my skin crawl because her touch wasn’t yours. But, watching that creep prey on you. Touch you. Having to hear him whisper in your ear.” He finally managed to uncover your underwear, and then removed that too. As his fingers rubbed through your slick, he leaned down to press cheek to yours. “You’re mine. I’m yours. And there’s nothing anybody can do about it. Not that they’ll know, but I’m going to fuck you into next week.”

“Come on; do it.” You arched, twisting your hips and grinding against his hand. “Take me. Fill me up like only you can.”

As he did, thrusting inch after inch of his cock into your heat, you clawed at the desktop. Stars danced under your eyelids, fading into dark ecstasy when he was fully seated. He waited. Your breath left quickly fading puffs of vapor on the hardwood. Already you could feel him throbbing.

“Steve-“

He panted a laugh. “Just a minute. If I move now, I’ll blow. You’re too much for me.”

Gently, he took your wrist, twisting it back towards him. He kissed over your knuckles. Then, folding your arm to lay over the small of your back, he used it as leverage to begin pulling out of you. He took it slow. Toying with your desperation. And simply watching your body take his cock in and out. The wet sound of your bodies colliding filled the room. It grew louder as he began to fuck you in earnest. You were sure that the colliding of his skin of yours would be audible from the hallway.

If that wasn’t loud enough, Steve didn’t hold back on his moans and grunts anymore. No that you could either. Your gasps increased in pitch until they were seconds away from the ability to shatter crystal. That was when Steve reached around for your clit. Coating his fingers in the wetness of you mixed with his pre, he dragged it up to your clit, circling and rubbing until you saw stars.

With a shout, your body quaked and fell apart with release. Steve silenced his shout by falling over your body and muffling it between your shoulder blades. While you both fought to catch your breath, he thrust lazily. Pushing your mutual release deeper into your body. When the grip of your walls began to overstimulate, Steve tried to pull away. But you reach back, pulling his hip forward.

You mumbled, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Steve guided you up by your throat so you could see the room. “We have to be. Got a mess to clean up, and a paperwork to sign.” He tugged on your earlobe with his teeth so you’d open your eyes. Everything that had probably been on the desk when you entered was on the floor in disarray. Wouldn’t take long to clean up, but whoever came to work would be confused when things were moved around.

With a groan, you stepped back and rightened your clothes. Like you thought, it didn’t take long. But you complained the whole time. You chuckled with a thought. “I wonder how we would have explain the mess.” You sighed as Steve stepped close, and nuzzled his nose into your hair. “I could never be a PR person. There’s too much stupid in the world.”

He chuckled. Pitching his voice high, he quoted, “I could give you a private dance every night.”

“Case and point.” The memory of that woman all over Steve made your blood boil all over again. You twisted in his hold and began to undo his buttons. But he caught your hands.

“Nu-uh. We just cleaned up.”

“So, we can mess it up again?” You bit your lip, reaching for his shirt again.

Steve caught your wrists and pinned them behind your back. “No. Then we’re going home. And I’m going to erase both of our trysts from our mind by fucking you into next week. Sound good?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

***

Masterlist

Other Steve Fics:

Scruff (Smut)

To Love the Night (Vampire!Steve AU, Smut)

Insatiable (Smut, Fluff, Ficlet)

[lavendertales]

Sweet lies: Chapter 4

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: you’re dead set on talking to Frankie at the upcoming dinner, but when he arrives with his fiancé, things get a bit messy.

word count: 4.7k

A/N: this is ANGSTY (but I will make it up to y’all from next chapter onwards 🤭)

Comments & reblogs are forever appreciated 💕

gif: @uuuhshiny​ 

series masterlist | AO3 

Your first two weeks on the new job could easily be deemed as successful.

You got the hang of it pretty quickly, making yourself right at home in that big office that you were given, getting to read and write exciting stories that, you hoped, would make a difference to the world. Sure you indulged into the occasional less-than-important topics, such as celebrities and whatnot, but it was only human nature after all.

And you knew a lot about being the talk of the people already, without even being famous.

You knew your friends were talking about you when you were there and when you weren’t. It was the kind of thing that was inevitable, almost impossible not to do. After all, it was a huge deal to have you back into their lives, seeing you at least once a week again instead of once per year, if lucky. And now, with things being ice cold between you and Frankie, rumors and conversations about you two were even a must for the others.

You haven’t asked for any information about Frankie—and you think he’s not asking about you. If he is, he shouldn’t. His sole focus should be his upcoming nuptials, not someone he used to go to high school with.

But unfortunately, you cannot seem to turn off your damn brain, or rather the part where all of your memories are contained. Feels like opening the box of Pandora, afraid of what might spill out against your will.

What you dread the most, however, is the moment that you will get invited to the wedding. Because you know that moment will come. It’s just a matter of when. You just need to control your emotions instead of allowing them to control you and politely decline with a decent excuse that won’t make you look like a bitch.

But then, another thought crosses randomly through your mind: maybe you won’t get invited at all.

That, of course, would be the ideal case. Never having to witness the man you’ve unconsciously given your heart to express eternal love to someone else is the best you can hope for under these circumstances. But, with everyone else being there, family, close friends and all, not even receiving an invitation also seems cruel. Like you were never that important to him.

After all, nothing ever happened between the two of you. All of your friends claimed that there was “definitely something there”, and yet, neither had voiced any potential interest. You were only good friends, waiting, yearning, begging for the other to say something, do something that would end all of that inner turmoil.

Nothing ever happened. Hence why you remain convinced, to this day, that it was a classic case of unrequited love. Just you and your silly little unrequited feelings, still craving, still waiting, even after all those years.

You wonder if it will ever stop.

You wonder if this is the reason why you haven’t actually gotten yourself involved more seriously with anyone else.

You wonder if, even on your deathbed someday, your mind will still wander to Frankie.

It’s too much. It has been so for most of your twenties, and now that you are back home, back to the place where it all began, maybe it’s a chance to get some closure instead. Nothing more, nothing less. Just closure.

“Hey, are you free this Thursday?” Santi’s voice coos through the other end of the line.

“As far as I know, yes. Why, what’s going on Thursday?”

“Just another dinner with the gang.”

“Okay. Count me in.”

“Uh—by the way—“

You sigh, slightly annoyed with the way everyone is walking on eggshells around you. You can’t stand this being the standard in your friendship.

“I do realize this means Frankie is coming, Santiago,” you almost scold him. “And that’s fine.”

“Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“And I appreciate it, but I don’t want you or anyone else walking around on eggshells around me with this whole Frankie situation. I want us to be normal again, okay?”

“Okay.”

There’s a pause. “Do you think we can do normal?” he asks out of the blue.

“I sure hope so. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this, in doubt and watching what I say or what I do.”

“A lot would be fixed if you and Fish would just talk.”

Another pause, which you use to gather your composure. He is not wrong, and you’ve come to the same conclusion. It might be uncomfortable, but you need some sort of finalization.

“You’re right,” you tell him. “And that’s exactly what I want to do.”

You could practically hear Santiago frown over the phone. “Really?”

“Yes. For my sanity and for the sake of the group, Frankie and I have to sort out this mess and address the elephant in the room. We’ve waited long enough. It’s time.”

Over on the other line, Santiago gulps, half impressed with your determination and half fearing the way you sound so definitive, so dead set on that idea.

“Let me guess, you’re gonna do this on Thursday?” he checks.

“Not in front of everyone. But yes, I will want to talk to him.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“You just said—“

“I know what I said, but I meant… is it a good idea to do this over dinner, with plenty of people around? It’s a very private conversation to be had, probably emotional as hell, and you might not feel so good afterwards.”

You ponder over Santiago’s words, appreciating his care nonetheless. He’s been very supportive of you over the years, and even after Frankie ghosted you completely, Santiago made sure to let you know—and his best friend as well—that the whole thing was a dumb idea and that he had your back.

Seems it’s no different now.

He knows damn well the hurt you’ve gone through, and how much you cared about Frankie. And again, he isn’t wrong. Having the big conversation over at dinner with friends, in a crowded restaurant, might not be beneficial.

“Fine, so maybe it’s not the brightest idea,” you concede. “But I’ll let him know that I do want to have the conversation and that we should meet over the weekend or something and finally clear the air.”

Santiago doesn’t reply. He’s not sure there is anything he could tell you to make you feel any better, so he resorts to simply listening to you.

“I’m sure that will go over well,” he jokes.

“You said it yourself, we gotta do normal. I gotta at least try to get closure. End it, one way or the other.”

Santiago takes a deep breath in, and you mimic the gesture, your thoughts racing as much as your heart.

“Thursday, seven p.m.,” he tells you with finality. “Antonio’s.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll swing by, pick you up.”

“Thanks.”

Considering he was Frankie’s best friend in the whole wide world, Santiago sure was spending a lot of his free time with you and making sure you were okay. You never gave it a second thought, and certainly not after Rose had confessed she still liked him.

Which reminds you…

“Is it okay if I invite Rose too?” you ask. “You remember her.”

Santiago’s breaths come in glitches, and you can hear it too. You suppress a giggle, curious as to how he’ll play this one out.

“Of course I remember her,” he replies a little too enthusiastically. “We’ve kept in touch over the years. Not as much as we did in high school, but you get it.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“No reason.”

“Anyway, bring her along. It’ll be great. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“I’m sure she’ll be excited to see you too.”

You smile as you hang up the phone, relishing into the one thing that makes you feel good about the upcoming dinner.

But come Thursday, and you’re dreading the dinner. The sentiment of déjà vu won’t leave you; the only exception is that this time, you know Frankie will be there, and you do intend to talk to him, even if it’s momentary.

Nervous as you are, you do your best to make sure you look great. You’re wearing a black shirt with a sweetheart neckline, and a pair of dress pants. Your makeup is in place, and so is your jewelry. Nothing too fancy, yet not too comfortable. You certainly don’t want to stand out.

“Wow!” Santiago exclaims when you open the door, his eyes radiant, beaming with admiration.

“My eyes are up here, Garcia.”

“I wasn’t—“

“I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Santiago chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sooo where’s Rose? Is she meeting us at the restaurant?”

“Unfortunately she can’t come. She has a big presentation due Monday, so her weekend is pretty much booked.”

When you look him over, you see the disappointed look on his face and you can’t help but smile surprised.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” you say.

“I’m not disappointed. I mean, I can see her whenever I want, I got her number.”

“Really? So then, why don’t you ask her out?”

Santiago falters, the smug smile on his face slowly vanishing, whereas yours grows wider.

“Because… I don’t want to,” he finishes.

“Is that so? You don’t want to ask a gorgeous woman out?”

“Hey, I’m not asking you out right now. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, let’s just go to dinner.”

All you think about during the car ride is the speech you’re gonna give to Frankie. You must choose your words carefully, so that you won’t endanger his engagement or have your intentions be misinterpreted.

“You okay?” Santiago asks as he’s making a sharp turn to the left.

“Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“You’re always in your head.”

“Force of habit.”

You both chuckle, the atmosphere becoming a little less tense.

“Figured out what you’re gonna say to Frankie?”

You huff. “I’m just gonna say, ‘hey, I think we should probably address everything. Can we meet this weekend, talk through it and just end things one way or the other?’ and that’s that.”

“That’s good, straight to the point.”

“Yep.”

“You know, Fish is my best friend. We’ve been there for each there since we were in middle school, and I love him like my own brother. But I think letting you go was the stupidest decision of his life. Pendejo.”

You flash a faint smile, oddly touched by Santiago’s confession.

“You do?” you ask.

“Absolutely. Told him that for years and years. He’s never fought me on it, though. Never really told me why he made that choice, but I made sure to give him some hell once in a while so he knows he was a dick. I think he knows.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He caresses your arm for a brief second, and then the next he’s helping you out of the car and opens the door for you to walk into the restaurant. The Millers are already there, and so are Mia and Emily. You and Santiago hug everyone briefly, and then he pulls the chair for you, right under the girls’ studious eyes.

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on with you two?” Emily teases.

“Let me answer this before you pull out your plethora of rejection, lady. Nothing’s going on,” Santiago quickly clears out the air, much to everyone’s amusement.

You laugh, checking the menu. It can’t be more than ten seconds later when Will’s eyes shoot to the entrance and then he leans in towards you. “Heads up, Morales at six o’clock.”

Because you’re seated with your back against the entrance, you turn swiftly, only to be met with Frankie’s figure entering the restaurant. He’s dressed sharply, not in his usual comfortable attire; he has dress pants on and a white shirt, and you have to admit, it is awfully distracting.

You take a deep breath in, trying to soothe your nerves. Santiago side-eyes you and nods, thus encouraging you to go on about your plan.

And you do exactly that: you stand up, walking towards the entrance and fully unaware of the fact that you are holding your breath. You don’t mean to do that, not even one bit, but it comes involuntarily. Like that would somehow conceal or prevent your nervousness from slipping.

Frankie’s face seems to lighten, displaying utter surprise when he sees you walking in his direction. He sees the determination on your face, albeit some anxiety in the mix, and he braces himself.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi. You look—“

You put your hand up, almost touching his face. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“Sorry.”

God, why do you still desperately want to hear the end of that sentence? Why the hell do you feel the urge to tell him how handsome and dashing he looks?

You know better than that. You have more common sense than that.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think… we should talk about… everything,” you tell him, your voice seeping with nerves.

“Okay, sure. But listen—“

“Not now, obviously.”

“Obviously, yeah, but—“

“Maybe this weekend?”

Frankie opens his mouth to say something, for something to leave his mouth as a warning of some sort, yet, by the time you realize what he’s about to say, you see it with your own eyes.

“Took forever to check in those coats, I’m sorry, babe. Oh, hi!”

You stare at the woman, taking in her features. She’s about Frankie’s height, her hair brown with hints of caramel in it, her eyes emerald green and fairly big, and a very fit body. You don’t need an introduction; even though she’s a stranger at this very second, you feel like you’ve known her for a while.

“Hi!” you reply with a flustered smile on your face, hoping your surprise wasn’t noticed.

“I’m Andrea, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Andrea. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You too. You look even more amazing than what the guys described.”

Your smile widens, more in discomfort rather than in flattery. You watch her press a light kiss on Frankie’s cheek, and he looks at you in an apologetic way.

“Did I hear someone say something about weekend plans?” Andrea asks.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” you reply. “I was just…”

Then it hits you. You can’t make any plans for the weekend, and certainly not with Frankie.

“I forgot it’s the 14th,” you seemly apologize. “My bad.”

“Oh, I think the guys have something planned for Valentine’s Day, don’t they?”

She’s asking Frankie. He turns to look at her and smile a little, nodding along. You notice he avoids looking at you altogether, but then again, you think this is for the best.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Benny is the first one to exclaim—and potentially distract— and to stand up to hug Andrea. The others follow his example, leaving you and Frankie alone.

“So. That’s Andrea,” you awkwardly say.

“Yeah.”

“She seems incredible.”

“She is.”

The regret on his face after saying that is unmistakable, but all it does is confuse you. But even so, you don’t address it. You don’t think you’d want to know either way. You’re not sure you could handle it.

“So… how about this weekend? Us, talking?” he asks.

You scoff. “It’s Valentine’s Day. We can’t make any plans.”

“Are you guys joining us or what?” Benny shouts at you two.

With robotic motions, you get to the table, Santiago on your right and Frankie—and Andrea, respectively—on your left. You’ve never felt more constricted, in more need of air. The urge becomes unbearable, your clothes almost strangling you.

But you breathe through. You take deep breaths in and out, subtly, while Santiago’s keen eyes are watching you.

“Everyone in then?” Benny asks, and you’re quick to realize you missed about half the conversation.

“In for what?” you ask.

“We’re throwing sort of a party for Valentine’s this weekend,” Will explains, his voice soothing. “A get together, so we can all celebrate. All friends welcome.”

“You could bring Rose by too if you want,” Santiago tells you.

You frown at his not-at-all subtlety, making a face at him.

“What? He just said ‘all friends welcome’,” he continues defensively. “Rose is a friend, isn’t she?”

“Maybe more to some of us.”

“Best save your energy and desire to drink for Saturday night,” Will warns.

“Guys, I’m gonna sit this one out,” Andrea announces. “I’m headed for a medical conference this weekend, won’t be back till Sunday late.”

“That’s too bad,” Mia says.

“That’s right, you’re a doctor,” you remember.

Andrea flashes a smile down your way, her cheeks slightly reddened. Damn, that’s attractive even to you, and there is no denying that.

“Dermatologist,” she explains.

“Hey, that’s still medical school.”

She giggles, the adorable sound pleasantly tickling your ears. “What about you, what are you doing back here?”

“Editor. I get to judge and write, so two for two.”

Everyone at the table laughs, including Andrea.

“You’re so funny. And so cool,” she tells you.

Dang it. That’s hard to hate.

“So are you, I mean… hello, doctor?” you actually laugh.

“I smell a friendship forming here,” Benny giggles to Emily.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Will whispers to them. “Now quit your high school giggles.”

“I’m not gonna let you talk to my girlfriend like that, big bro.”

“I was talking to you, you bonehead.”

Emily chuckles, caressing his arm in reconciliation.

“Alright, so Saturday, five p.m., our place,” Will concludes.

“I hope you guys have a great time,” Andrea pouts, leaning a little onto Frankie’s figure.

The more you talk to Andrea, the more you listen to her life story, the fonder you’re growing of her. She is indeed remarkable: studied medicine at Johns Hopkins, bartending to pay her college debt, often worked at a shelter for homeless people during the holiday season and was generally bubbly and fun. On top of that, she was very beautiful, and she and Frankie did make a great pair.

He looked happy. Whenever he returned Andrea’s gaze, he just looked so comfortable and happy, and you loved that sight so much, you saw no point in even having that conversation with him anymore.

The sudden callout of your name snaps you back with your feet on the ground. You look around the table, seeing Mia addressing you.

“Are you coming tomorrow or not?” she repeats.

You realize you didn’t give any answer, and for some reason that startles you—especially with everyone’s glare on you.

“Uh—I don’t think I should, I mean… it’s Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers. The official holiday of sex and romance.”

“Don’t think this is some sort of orgy, cause it’s not,” Benny says.

“Well now they might,” Emily shushes him sweetly.

“We said all friends are welcome,” Will reminds you. “It’s not about couples. It’s about being together with the ones we care about.”

“Oh, rub it in, why won’t you!”

Everyone laughs at Andrea’s joke, including you.

“I do promise to make it up to you when I get back though,” she coos over to Frankie, but unfortunately, you hear it too, and it makes your stomach squeeze itself to the size of a peanut.

“I don’t expect anything less,” he replies just as cheekily.

“Oh, by the way!”

Andrea peeks from behind Frankie, calling out your name.

“Almost forgot. Since you’re such an integral part of this group’s life and because they all care about you so much, we’d love it if you’d come to our wedding. It’s on 10th of June.”

There you have it. The moment you have both been anticipating and dreading.

And now that you hear it, it causes your heart to sink into the hole that your stomach left when it squeezed itself shut. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Frankie’s not even looking at you. Being literally in between you and Andrea, hearing the exchange between you two, it’s a little overwhelming, and unlike you, he’s not afraid to show it.

Even if Andrea doesn’t know half of the truth.

And neither do you.

“Oh, thank you… so much for the invitation,” you finally reply with a massive knot in your throat. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Andrea smiles.

“I just—well, I can’t make it. I’ve been planning a month long trip in June, and—“

“Oh no. I mean, that sounds amazing, but that’s too bad.”

“Yeah. Thank you so much for inviting me. But I just can’t be there.”

Your eyes pierce right through Frankie as you offer your reply, but Andrea notices nothing of the sort. It’s only then that Frankie gazes back at you, his eyes filled with unspoken regret and all the apologies of the world, each of them contained within those two brown, soft orbs.

Afterwards, you don’t even remark the concerned glares that the group exchanges between themselves. You barely hear any of the talk. You smile politely through most of it, downing your drink as if the liquid would offer some sort of salvation from the waves of sadness that overcome you.

Deep down, you know that invitation came from Andrea and not from Frankie. You’re both glad and sad, and even more so when you look around at the table, seeing Will and Mia, Benny and Emily, Andrea and Frankie and you and Santiago, together and yet apart. The concoction of emotions eats at you from inside out, ready to spit out the remains of your power at any given moment, even though you fight with every muscle in your body to keep a friendly face and not reveal any of that.

That is, until you turn to your side to see Andrea and Frankie nose to nose, whispering sweet nothings to each other in utter bliss. It’s in that moment that you feel happiness and pain marching together as one, both sharp in your chest.

“Okay guys, we don’t want to have all the fun tonight,” you excuse yourself, standing up. “So I guess I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Yay, you’re coming!” Emily exclaims.

“A party’s a party, right?”

“Can’t you stay a bit longer?”

Frankie’s question leaves you truly dumbfounded. More so because it brings back painful memories of the last night you’ve spent together in person.

“It’s getting late,” you said at the time, barely making any effort in removing yourself from near his broad frame, sitting next to each other on that bench. “I should get going.”

“Oh, come on, it’s only ten.”

“I have a full weekend ahead of me, you know that.”

“I do. But you also know that I like spending time with you.”

“I do.”

“So you realize I’d do anything to keep you here just a little while longer.”

“It’s not easy for me either, Francisco.”

“Can’t you just… can’t you stay a bit longer?”

“I really should go, I—“

“I just want…”

“What? c’mon, just tell me. What do you want, Francisco?”

You never found out the answer. Eventually, Frankie only smiled at you and hugged you so tight you could’ve sworn you became one and the same, wished you a good night, and that was the last time you’ve seen him.

You’ve kept in touch afterwards, writing and calling, but never facetiming. And a few months down the road, he was completely gone.

“I really should get going,” you finally found the strength to reply, almost choking. “I gotta get to the office a little earlier tomorrow anyway.”

“It was so great meeting you,” Andrea smiles and hugs you. “And I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Frankie locks eyes with Santiago, and the latter’s eyes are adamant, nearly cruel in the wrong lighting.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Santiago offers.

“That’s fine, I’ll take a cab.”

You don’t know what else to do to get out of there faster, so you almost sprint towards the coat room and outside into the cold again.

When the crisp air hits your face, you close your eyes and nearly combust. It all feels too much at the same time, way too many sensations running rampant through your body. All you can possibly want now is to get home, jump in your bed and read something with a glass of wine in hand. Alone, unjudged.

But then, you feel a shadow behind you. A light grab of your wrist spins you around, and you nearly gasp.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks.

It’s so silly that it’s almost laughable. Borderline pathetic.

You don’t know where the reaction comes from, but it’s catatonic. Suddenly you start to laugh, hot tears invading your eyes and threatening to run down your reddened cheeks at any given point.

“Am I okay?” you mock his words. “Do you even understand what this is like for me? Do you even have a shred of understanding as to how this might feel for me?”

Frankie coos your name so gently, it acts like a trigger for your tears to break free from your eyes, slowly pouring down your face.

“I came back here, to my so-called hometown, after all the hard work, all the studies and everything else in between… and I have never felt more like an outsider. In my own home, with my own chosen family. I’m a stranger here, I’m… it’s like I was never here!”

Frankie listens to you, heart aching in his chest, blood boiling in his veins, not daring interrupt you.

“And you just—just sitting there, just talking to you hurts, Francisco,” you continue. “It hurts thinking of us, of how we were and what we might’ve had, the things we’ve shared, the things we’ve said and didn’t say… it’s too fucking much.”

“So… what? This is it? You’re gonna disappear again?”

Maybe his question carries no ill intention, but it still stings you.

“I did not disappear,” you clarify on an angered tone. “I left for my studies, for a better life. Do not dare throw that against me.”

“I’m not—throwing it against you. It’s just—I know it’s too much. Seeing you again, like this—“

You frown. “Like what? I’m still me.”

He falters, his heart skipping several beats that might’ve otherwise killed him. But looking at you so hurt, in so much pain, it keeps him alive. It keeps him alive to know he has wronged you, and to know that he has to make it up to you somehow.

“You’re—“he begins, searching for his words. “I mean, leaving the country definitely worked in your best interest. You’re… gorgeous.”

You close your eyes again, anger rising within. “Don’t. Don’t do that, don’t be all nice and cheesy. Stop it. Please.”

There is finality in your voice, your throated plea a heartbreaking reminder to Frankie that all you’ve been through is on him. The guilt that kept him up at night, will continue to do so.

“We’re gonna have to see each other since we share friends, but… you and I both know things aren’t the way they used to be. And they never will be again.”

Frankie nods continuously, arriving at the same realization as you. “Okay,” he agrees. “So we put on a polite, fake smile and… that’s it.”

“That is it. That’s the bare minimum. I got nothing else to offer. You made sure of that.”

Later in the evening, when you’re barely paying attention to the pages of your book and the wine has long settled in your veins, you wonder how the hell people can go from strangers to friends, hoping for more, then back to strangers.

Like all the love they felt was never there to begin with.

previous | next

[no-passaran]

Hi! Don't feel obligated to answer, but I've been learning catalan & I'd love to read some novels originally written in catalan, but i'm having a bit of a hard time finding ones that aren't 'classics'. Any recs? (I usually like literary stuff, like, authors irritatingly showing their skill, i eat that shit up, but anything contemporary or psychological or fantasy or anything will absolutely do :,) )

Oop sorry, I hadn't seen the message until now.

You won't have difficulty about this because Catalan literature is very lively and there's lots of great books coming out very often. Catalan literature has been praised around the world for having such vitality and quality, considering that it's a relatively small language community.

Personally the first recommendation that came to mind is Manuel de Pedrolo but idk if you're considering that a classic? He's relatively recent but many 20th century authors have become classics. His Mecanoscrit del segon origen is definitely considered a classic even though it's only from 1974, but I don't think the other ones are usually. Anyway, I really like his sci-fi short stories book Trajecte final, and my dad has spent years obsessed with his theatre play Homes i no. Talking about theatre scrips, I have a really soft spot for La cançó de les balances by Josep Maria Carandell ❤️.

I'm not usually one to read many short stories books but I also recommend Albert Sánchez Piñol's Homenatge als caiguts (stories of about 2 pages long and usually funny, very entertaining to read).

For a completely different vibe of short stories, I also thought El Cafè de la Granota by Jesús Moncada was excellent, the characterization and events feel like hearing your grandparents telling stories of when they were young. I still haven't read his most famous novel Camí de sirga though, honestly I don't know what I'm waiting for lol.

Canto jo i la muntanya balla by Irene Solà has also been very popular in the past few years and she definitely shows off her literary prose. I found it very lovely and I recommend it for when you want something more experimental. It's a book where each chapter is narrated by someone or something different (a shepherd, the rain, a witch who was killed centuries ago, a deer, a dog...) and it's very well written, it has also won some international awards.

And listen for some reason I still haven't read them myself (I plan to change that soon) but the best contemporary author is probably Jaume Cabré. I've only heard the highest praise for his Les veus del Pamano, and other of his books like Jo confesso. I'm planning to finally read Les veus del Pamano this summer and I'm very excited for it.

Another one I've heard lots of praise for and which I'm excited to read (hopefully soon) is Les històries naturals by Joan Perucho. I wasn't going to include books I haven't read besides Cabré (because, let's face it, with a question like this one must include Jaume Cabré) but since you asked for literary fantasy I think you might like it. It's about a knight/botanist who looks for one of Jaume I's knights who is a vampire.

Others that I've had recommended but haven't had time to read yet: Junil a la terra dels bàrbars by Joan Lluís-Lluís, Nicolau by Antoni Veciana, Guilleries by Ferran Garcia, and lots of people have loved Eva Baltasar's Permagel, Boulder and Mamut though it doesn't seem like my style they seem interesting.

I don't know if any of my followers wants to share some more in the comments/reblogs, but I'd be interested to hear them too 👀

[once-upon-a-time-the-end]

last reblog:

This is honestly a huge rant of mine to basically anyone that knows me. There are very few shows these days that I feel inclined to watch in part because everything is so damn short, often to its own detriment. Remember Wednesday??? I honestly can't even remember what happened in that series. They crammed so much into such few episodes that nothing got the development and breathing room that it deserved. Meanwhile, I re-watch episodes of Buffy and am like 'oh I love this episode!' 'this is the episode when [thing] happens!'

American television really got the 20+ season down in the best way and then we decided to throw it all away for some godforsaken reason (probably bc wall street, greedy investors, no one wanting to pay writers, and fucking tech companies but goddamn). And then they think 'well gee everyone just want to rewatch episodes of the office so that must mean that we should just reboot all the old stuff that people loved'. Totally missing the point that actually good storytelling goes a long way toward something becoming as rewatchable and valuable as Friends, X-Files, Star Trek, etc are now. No, people just want Nostalgia amiright??????

I mean, literally, do you know that studios these days use algorithm bullshit to determine whether a project gets the funding? They want some Name person usually to be attached (someone famous enough) that the Algorithm has determined is 'bankable'. That's why you get useless sales tactics like 'from the executive producers of [film you liked]!!' That's not a real metric for whether something is actually good. Same shit with the whole Reboot garbage. The people who have the money and are making decisions literally do not do it based on quality of the project or quality of storytelling; these people have absolutely no ability to judge that (deliberately illiterate fucks they are). The American film/TV industry is literally being jerked around by who's basically a better used car salesman and algorithms. It's a miracle that there's anything at all that is actually good these days.

Now don't get me wrong, I do like limited, short series. But typically the best ones are LIMITED, as in, not trying to be multi-season series. Good examples are series like Haunting of Hill House and Midnight Mass. They tell a short story but make it richer and fuller than a film. Like a real structured multi-chapter novel but as television.

My personal opinion is that anything shorter than 16 episodes should be a limited series. Multi-season series should have a standard of 20+ episodes. I would say some exceptions; I always thought Breaking Bad did half-seasons really well, but it's also not a show that I, personally, would rewatch (though my dad does). A lot of the ones that I love re-watching have more individualized episodes that make up a longer story arc. We did that structure so well. That's why you can be excited to re-watch individual episodes of older shows, because each one had, more or less, contained plots even if they connected to the overarching story.

Both of these types should coexist!!! I would actually love to see more limited series!!! I've said it before, but we should totally import the south korean 16 episode limited series format—they really have an excellent formula for limited series. But can we also bring back the 20+ episode season shows???? I'm starving out here in the desert!!!

[1d-oneliner-fest]

1D One Liner Fic Fest

You get one line. The rest is up to you.

Coming May 1st!

Find all the info below!

What is this fest about?

Everyone who wants to write for the fest picks a line from the prompt list and builds a fic around it!

Prompt Submission Rules

Lines can be about almost anything. They can be funny, serious, sad, deep, sexy, or whatever you want! However, the mod reserves the right to refuse lines that may be too triggering for people.

Lines can be part of the narrative, such as, Louis and Harry couldn’t stop staring at each other across the room, or it could be dialogue, such as, “Why on earth would you say something like that?”

NSFW lines are allowed. There will be a separate section in the prompt list for these lines, so people who do not want to read them will not have to look at them.

You can include specific character names in the prompts if you want to, but writers have permission to change them if they really want to use that line with different characters. Feel free to write [Person A], [Person B], [Name], etc.

Only original lines are allowed; in other words, something you came up with yourself. This means…

- No song lyrics

- No quotes from famous people

- No quotes from TV shows, movies, books, TikToks, etc

- No quotes from other fics

Obviously phrases that are somewhat generic may not be original. Something like, “I miss you so much it hurts,” has probably been written somewhere before, but it’s not specific enough to be “from” anything, so it’s okay to use. That being said, generic lines are okay, but more specific might be more fun!

Lines can be up to two sentences, but they must occur one right after the other.

Fic Rules

The only real rule is that you have to include your given line somewhere in your fic.

Can I edit the line I chose? Try not to if you can help it. Adding, removing, or changing a word is fine, but the point is to use the line as it is! If you want to message the mod with your proposed change, you can!

The line I picked has two sentences; can I split them up? Again try not to. A short sentence in between is okay if you really need to, but the prompt submitter put them together for a reason!

What if the line I picked is in past tense, but I write in present tense? By all means, change the line to fit the tense you prefer to write in!

The line I want mentions Harry, but I want to write about Zouis. Can I change the name? It would be nice to keep the line with the original name, but you can change them if you really want to.

Can I sign up with my own prompt? No. The point is to use a line someone else came up with; the rest of the lines in the fic are yours!

Can I sign up to write multiple fics? Go for it! But please wait until your first prompt has been confirmed.

Fics can include any pairing or even no pairing as long as it features at least one of the five One Direction boys.

Fics will not be moderated, so please tag appropriately! There is no minimum or maximum word count, so have fun!

Fics must be completed upon submission.

Schedule

May 1st - Prompt submissions open

May 14th - Prompt submissions close

May 15th - Author signups open (will remain open until due date)

November 4th - Fics due

November 6th - Fic posting begins

Posting schedule to come at a later date!

Other Info

You must be 18 or older at the time of signup to join this fest.

Feel free to ask for an extension or to change your prompt if needed!

Betas are encouraged but not required.

This fest is not anonymous so feel free to share snippets and tag @1d-oneliner-fest

Communication about the fest will happen via Tumblr, so please keep an eye on your messages! If you need to contact the mod, you can message this Tumblr account or @larry-hiatus

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out!

Reblog this post if you can! I appreciate it!

[faceglitchsworld]

It's the 15th of July, which means...

Happy birthday Jaehyun! 🥳

Please have a look at the collage I made 😌

Yeah, you got it, I have a bias towards long hair Jaehyun. If he has The Floof, even better.

Finding pics for him has been D I F F I C U L T I hope you'll love the result despite this 😭

And now it's time for the letter for him

Dear Jaehyun,

I don't like to start this letter with the sadness but I sincerely miss you. I know that you kept in touch with us through the letters and your Insta stories, telling us that you're doing ok and that you even made some new friends at the training camp.

I remember when you told us how you became friends with a pro gamer and how you even complained that your new friend was much more famous than you. Must admit, I snorted. Only Kim Jaehyun would have been able to make a friends with a pro gamer and acting shocked in the exact moment he would have discovered that he's more famous. But don't worry, I'll try to make N.Flying much more famous here in my country by using the "being annoying", technique here. I might fail, but at least I tried 😌

But despite all these little moments you shared with us, I feel that something is empty. It looks like that I endured much more easily Dongsung and Hun's enlistments but yours...it seems that I have a fresh wound that it didn't heal completely.

Maybe I also know why.

I'll sound a little corny here, I know, but I remember how the first N.Flying gifs I reblogged here were yours. I was trying to recognise every member at the time and you immediately caught my attention. I was...fascinated by you, I guess? Your big smile, your funny attitude, how youthful you are, all of these qualities immediately caught me.

I always associated N.Flying's funny and chaotic side with you. If someone will ask me which is the funniest member I'll immediately say "It's the drummer, Jaehyun!" and I would immediately send your compilations, whether it's about you or just what you do in 2Idiots.

I also love how much direct and energetic you are. I remember when I watched the little videos from the DWUW tour and how loudly you cheered N.Fias at the end of each concert. And I love how you immediately express your opinions without almost any filter. It's something that probably I'll never be able to do and it's one of your best qualities of yours. I'll always appreciate that.

And also how can I forget about your little princess Deokbae. It's been a while since I saw a pic with her, I hope she's ok. That adorable shiba inu is part of the N.Flying family too.

Well, it seems there are many things that I missed about you and the fact that I need to wait almost two years before seeing them again maybe makes my heart ache a little. I missed you Jaehyun, really, but I'll wait for your return. It will be a little difficult for me, but I'll make sure to remember you and and waiting patiently for you.

My birthday wish for you is that you'll be able to succede on your current work. You promised us that you'll be the ACE of this work and I'm rooting for your success. Fighting!

Hope this day will be bright and that you'll celebrate it with your colleagues. If you'll celebrate with the members, even better.

Happy birthday, big smile Jaehyun

[sweetbillwriting]

The Key To His Heart

Teaser

Characters: This story is about an AU Bill Skarsgård where a life changing event happend to him 2013 and then one more 2019. These events changed many things in his life.

Setting: L.A. in AU 2024.

Notes: This is a experiment to a new story. Bill's life in this story is really different from his real life because of the events that have happend in his life. This is just for fun and nothing to read in too much in to. Please like or reblog if you want to see more of this story.🤍 As usual have @b-afterhours helped me with the language🤍

💖

Bill couldn't see anyone around him even if he heard a lot of people. A lamp stood just in front of him and created a black hole sun in his eyes. He blinked to try to make it go away but it just made it dance in front of his vision. 

"Ready?" Said the female interviewer in front of him. Bill blinked a bit more so that he could see her sitting on the chair next to the lamp. On the other side of the chair stood a camera. 

"Ready," said Bill with obvious nerves in his voice. 

"Here we are with Bill Skarsgård, famous for his many thriller novels but now will be seen differently to many others when he receives our help in meeting the woman of his dreams. Bill has been really private before but will now invite us into his life, his house and see a glimpse of his life as a single father to two girls. Why do you want to do this?" 

Bill smiled nervously and dragged his hands over his dark gray slacks. 

"Well… I've been alone for quite a long time and I've never been so good at dating so this sounded interesting. To let some girls, women, see my life and see if they would fit in." 

"You're known for being very private to many, especially womens disappointment. Will you be able to handle having twelve women and a film crew in your home?" The interviewer asked with a lurking voice. Bill breathed out with a smile. 

"I don't know. I guess, it's just a month and my daughter's will not be home and I live quite large." 

When Bill spoke, pictures of his old but newly renovated manor started to roll for the viewer. It was obvious for everyone there was someone with money that lived there, a taste for minimalism and with young girls in the home. You could spot a pink backpack, a stuffed unicorn and a glitter cardigan if you looked closely. 

"You do live quite large. You are a really successful author, starting your career in Sweden and then moved here to work closely with Hollywood. What kind of woman do you think would fit into your life?" 

"I don't really care what they work with. The most important thing is that she gets along with my girls and we have stuff in common. She must also accept that my schedule isn't like the ordinary dads." 

The interviewer didn't take a break, she just continued on to the next subject. 

"Just because you have been so private we don't really know you so I thought I would ask you some quick questions, okay?" 

Bill fixed his hair and smiled. 

"Sure." 

"Age?" 

"34."

"Height?" 

"6'3-6'4, something like that." 

The interviewer gave him admiring look. 

"I think many women will like that. What do you spend too much money on?" 

Bill thought and stuck out the tip of his tongue. 

"Ehh… Food. Like expensive food, restaurants. Wine. My wine seller is stuffed." 

"I think you give some great answers, Bill. Say a hot celebrity." 

Bill laughed and rubbed his eye. His white button up started to feel quite tight. 

"Ehh… Maybe Ana De Armas? But I don't know… I think she is beautiful," he doubted. He didn't want the women who moved in to think he just liked one type. 

"You would probably have a chance if she was single. You're a handsome man, Bill. What do you do to take care of your appearance and body?" 

Bill looked down at the ground with an embarrassed smile. He didn't really like to talk about such things but he knew he must be sexy. It was TV. 

"I try to run every morning and work out three times a week… I have a special facial procedure made by Filorga that I do every morning and night." 

The female interviewer smiled again, clearly liking his answer. Bill smiled uncomfortably and thought once again; why do I do this shit?

"What would a perfect date look like?" 

Bill looked down on his hands. He didn't even remember the last date he had been on. Had he even dated? 

"To be honest I don't really know. I guess I can learn that through this." 

The interviewer looked pleased with his answer, like she wanted to coo at him. He was used to women being that way with him. He has gotten away with being really uninvested many times yet still got them to spread their legs for him. He knew that the interviewer probably was the same because she had looked at his height like he was a superhuman and the ring she had on her right hand was suddenly missing.

"How do you wish that date to end?" She said flirtatiously and dragged her long nails from her knee up to the hem of her skirt in a seductive way. Either she wanted the flirting to be a part of the entertainment or her legs wouldn't be shown in the camera angle either way Bill laughed embarrassed and rubbed his forehead with his long fingers. He hoped he could dodge the question but the interviewer continued to look at him with doe eyes. 

"It depends on the date I guess," he said finally and shrugged his shoulders. 

She snarled her mouth but let him get away with that answer. 

"So, the woman in your life, what kind of commitment will they get from you? What do you want for the future?" 

Bill liked his lips and looked down on his cognac brown dressing shoes. 

"Emm… I want a life partner. To do everything with. To explore with. And I want a female role model for my girls. I can also see more kids in my future." He looked up and smiled with a hint of a blush, like it was a bit embarrassing to actually talk about what he wanted. He knew he wasn't the classic bachelor but his friends that had fooled him into this said that it wasn't what they wanted anyway. They wanted something different. A more reserved man with boyish tendencies would make the female viewers wild, they would think he was mysterious and hard to put a finger on. It would be perfect, his friend believed. 

"Marriage?" Said the interviewer with a teasing smile. 

Bill doubted a moment but nodded. 

"Yeah of course. But it's not a must." 

×

[gummybugg]

37 Question Character Ask

Hi, I made a list of interesting character questions for anyone to use! I tried to make it super interactive, meaning that you can call over your character to help with some of the prompts. Some questions prompt you to write a little scene (how exciting)!

Feel free to ask or reblog!

If you can, I would love to be tagged in any asks because I really enjoy learning more about other's characters!

1. Gah! There’s a bug on the floor! How does your character react? Bonus question for characters in a relationship: who is the bug-handler in the relationship?

2. Which one of your characters is the least likely to be trusted with money? Why? Who would you trust with your credit card?

3. Pick one (1) song to represent your character! The song can be symbolic or something they would listen to.

4. Describe your character’s handwriting! Is it neat or messy? How do they dot their i’s? Do they doodle in the margins of papers?

5. Time for a toast! What would your character prefer to put on their toast? There are so many options!

6. What weapon would your character choose in combat? It can be a real weapon or something fictional! If it’s fictional, tell us more!

7. Who is the most and least likely to cheat in a game? How good are they at lying?

8. Does your character have any defining features such as scars, acne, facial/limb difference(s), etc? Optional: Is there a story surrounding the feature(s) or were they born this way?

9. What quote (from a famous person, movie, book, etc.) can you hear your character saying?

10. What does your character’s home look like? Are they on the messier side? Do they collect things? Does it feel like a home?

11. What color pallette would you assign your character?

12. How did your character come to be? Were they inspired by someone or something? Did it just suddenly hit you one day? Bonus: What is their purpose in the story?

13. What are the origins of your character's name? What vibes were you hoping their name gave off? What do they think of their name? Bonus: is there any significance to their name in-story?

14. If your character had a blog, what would one find on it? Bonus: call your character over to explain their blog for us!

15. What are the last 3 photos in your character's phone? If they do not have one, you're going to have to play pretend for us. Bonus: call your character over to explain these photos!

16. Surprise, one of your characters (A) has character B's phone! Would A look through it without character B knowing? (This is an integrity question, tweak it however you'd like.)

17. What is your character's favorite smell? What scent brings back a certain memory? Bonus: Is there a scent that brings back bad memories?

18. Surprise: your character has been convicted of a crime! What did they do and why? Bonus: call your character over to tell us their side of the story!

19. What shoes does your character typically like to wear? They say that you can tell a lot about someone based off the type of shoe they wear. (Get your mind out of the gutter, shoo!)

20. What Element of Harmony (Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, Loyalty, or Magic) would you assign your character? Bonus: what is your character’s favorite My Little Pony? Can be from any generation.

21. Your character is stuck on a deserted island! What 3 things must they bring? Bonus: describe the first 3 weeks your character is stuck on the island (if they are still alive by then).

22. A genie has appeared! What 3 wishes would your character ask it? No asking for more wishes; that's cheating!

23. Murder mystery AU! Who would be the killer, the killed, the detective, and the one who has no idea what’s going on? Bonus: write us a little scene. A little sneak-peek, if you will. :')

24. What trope(s) or cliché(s) does your character fall in?

25. If your character could interact with a fictional character outside of their story, who would it be and why? How would they interact? Would they get along? Bonus: Add dialogue! Make this a scene!

26. If you met your character in real life, how would you interact? What would they think of you and vice-versa? Bonus: Add dialogue! Make this a scene!

27. If your character got to meet a clone of themself, how would they get along? Bonus: Add dialogue! Make this a scene!

28. What is your character's love language? This can be platonic or romantic. Bonus: add a scene in which your character displays their form of affection! (you better tag me in this one, or I'm suing!)

29. Does your character have any hobbies or special interests? Tell us more about them! Bonus: call your character over here to info dump it themself! (I am begging you to tag me)

30. Does your character have a job? What is it like? Do they enjoy it? Do they have any interesting coworkers? Bonus: call your character over here to rant!

31. Time to go for a spin! Who is the last character you would choose to drive you someplace?

32. You open [the browser of your choice]. What was the last thing(s) your character looked up? Bonus: call your character over to explain themself!

33. Time to go grocery shopping! Which character would be most likely to follow the shopping list exactly as written? Who is the one riding the cart down the aisles? Who is the one on the intercom asking for their lost child to come to the front of the store? Who is the “lost child” in question? (Wow, that one was fun to write!)

34. Has your character ever stolen something? Why? Did they ever get caught? Bonus: How did they steal it/get away with it?

35. What is the most petty thing your character has ever done? I want all the details! Bonus: call your character over to justify their pettiness!

36. How stubborn is your character? What would it take for them to finally give in? Bonus: do they hold any grudges against anyone?

37. What is your character's deepest, darkest secret? Why is it so important? What lengths would they go to prevent others from finding out about it? Bonus: What would happen if the secret got out?

[shedidntevenswear]

I am too scared to reblog your reblog bc I got told I have no moral backbone for saying he’s the one we should be talking about not her … but you’re literally Right. It wasn’t even a problem for him or anyone else for years and now it’s her problem and something she has to answer for and be accountable for and be forgiven for. i get why people would be disappointed and upset with her but i dont know why everyone goes to “SHES a horrible person” instead of “something is Wrong with this whole situation”

oh no absolutely i think we, in the taylor swift fandom, should be talking about taylor swift too in all this because like....you are what you love ya know and its really hurtful to so many of her own fans for her to condone his kind of behavior by being publicly linked. so i think its something we should not just throw our hands up and say "oh well" about, but you're totally right that it is whack that general public and main stream media are just now deciding to care about the very public, very recent comments of a very famous musician through the lens of "why is this taylor swifts fault actually".

mostly i just want to know why no one (meaning generally, not within this fandom because for real i have paid less than 0 attention to him or his band before this) seems to have cared before now, and i just feel really, really bad for marginalized people in the 1975 fan base who have been subjected to this kind of crap from someone whose bills they pay and art they support and love. like how must they feel, and how must their experience within a fandom where the main guy condones and promotes this kind of prejudice surely trickles down to how fans treat each other?

[willel]

Why is twitter so toxic? I think you wrote something about it some time ago, that on tumblr, for instance, there’s no immediate incentive to write a hit post and then to come up with the most outrageous claims that create "engagement"? Or because it’s not really about direct conversation made of short messages when everyone wants to "win" the argument, but favors calm analysis instead. Anyway, I just can’t go there anymore right now, too much hate and stupidity, I’m glad there’s still blogs like you and a few others to enjoy some ST escapism.

Twitter's short form context was pretty great when it came out years ago. "Tweets" were generally someone putting random thoughts out in the aether or a quick notification or an alert to check out news on this site or that site. I feel like it wasn't meant for what it is today, for people to be interacting with each other in a meaningful way. Like, what are you gonna talk about in 100 characters or less? That's why you'll sometimes see old tweets of celebrities floating around of the most random nonsensical statements with no context. That's what twitter was as its core.

Now combine that with people starting to use twitter for more than just random thoughts that popped into peoples head. It started to be used for political activism (which isn't necessarily a bad thing) and fandom activities.

We all know how bad politics fandom can get on long form sites like tumblr and reddit. Imagine how much worse it is when you cut away all context and nuance to fit in a tweet.

Imo, it set twitter on a downward spiral. Doesn't matter how much they increase the character limit, the culture now is tweet fast. React fast. Argue fast. If you lose, resort to other means. Anything to win. Anything to get your tweets more attention that the other person.

It's like a game. I'm sure that plays into the desire to be "famous" that a lot of social media enjoyers crave.

I'm not saying tumblr is much better, but I feel the culture here is more like "take your time" or "time doesn't matter, old stuff is good". Tumblr does have an issue with people not reblogging content, causing good posts and content to go unnoticed given there is no real algorithm here, which is sad. But for the most part, ain't nobody here trying to get famous. Everything is talking and creating stuff for the sake of it.

Most of the time even the people arguing here are arguing about stuff that happens off site or they stay in their corners and tag correctly. (if you don't tag correctly and start fights on purpose, I immediately assume you must be from twitter)

People who have been here on my blog for a while are probably thinking "Tch, what do you know about fandom conflict?" and let me tell you, in my youth I participated in a ship war. It was just one,but still. I didn't resort to name calling or doxing people though, that's for sure. I wrote essays and essays in response to people, defended my ship, made stuff for my ship (which I still do), the whole shebang. It was all here on tumblr and deviantart. I do have a twitter for that fandom but I don't use it for any drama. I can say the drama on twitter is MUCH WORSE than anything I experienced on tumblr.

That is the ST fandom on twitter in a nutshell. No one can mind their own business. They're constantly spying on each other, posting using common search terms of the people they don't like and then acting surprised when the people they don't like respond to them. It's all like a game. Every blue moon when I go there to see if there's WillEl things, inevitably I will see shippers using it to fight against each other or crap on Will or El.

Once a week it's the same suspects saying the same things over and over again. Finding something pointless to be mad about. Sending angry anon messages. Never actually sitting down to enjoy the ships/relationships they claim to be a fandom of. Cannot mind their business and always have something negative to say. Denying what is literally in the show because they personally don't like it. Literally the worst kind of people to have in your fandom. (I associate that kind of behavior with like.... Riverdale drama or something. Sorry if you're a Riverdale fan. Lol)

In conclusion, yeah. I think twitter is that way because the short form context has breed a culture of "win or lose". Mixed with a little bit of celebrity idolization and a desperate desire for people to interact with you even if it's negative.