#love me some fucked up weird sweet voice systems

[connorhedgehog]

sweet voice systems that use actual colour meanings are awesome, but i love ones that are super fucked up.. it fits the whole thing so well

i love basing them entirely on rhymes or spinning a wheel and picking a random colour just for the hell of it. envy is copper like a penny? sure! anger is green? fuck yeah!

[ssentimentals]

f1 pairings as famous love tropes: alex albon x logan sargeant

there was only one bed!AU

'and honey, don't you know that you and i were meant to be? sooner or later, in any universe, it's you and me'

'how are you dealing with this?'

oh, what a great question. alex glances around, checking if someone is out there. 'peachy, georgie. just peachy.'

'yeah? not freaking out?' george asks in a tone that implies he knows the answer already.

'of course not,' alex huffs. 'why would i be freaking out? yes, hotel is overbooked and apparently i don't have a room anymore because of some system lag, but my good friend logan kindly offered me to stay with him. what is there to freak out about?'

and if alex doesn't add a tiny detail about his raging crush on said good friend then it's only because george knows. and because george is a very caring individual, he asks the question alex fears the most: 'is there only one bed?'

usually alex is the one who makes fun of george and his love for dramatics, but he's not doing any better now. alex knows that he's making a big deal out of nothing - it's okay for mates to share one bed when circumstances call for it. and even when they don't - it's also fine. everything is fine, but alex can't convince his stupid heart that everything is strictly platonic so if not to count this fact then he's good. he tells george as much and receives a surpisingly serious: 'alex, just go to another hotel, really. if this is too much for you, please don't- do you want me to check availability of hotels nearby? send me the address.'

it's very sweet. george's care wraps around him like a blanket and alex breathes out, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. he takes few more deep breaths before replying: 'no, i- it's really nothing and i'm just freaking out for not reason. and it'd look weird if after agreeing i just leave to another hotel. besides, i slept in the same bed with you million times and it should be the same, right?'

'have you ever had a crush the size of great china's wall on me, albono?' george teases. 'anything you want to confess?'

'idiot. i'm fine,' alex repeats, chuckling. 'but thanks for the offer, mate. appreciate it.'

'of course.' george sighs, yawning. it's around two am in england and time difference really sucks because it's only nine pm in thailand but alex is already barely standing upright. 'you'll be fine, mate. maybe you'll even get lucky, who knows?'

alex highly doubts this prospect but doesn't voice it out loud. instead he says his goodbyes and goes back to the reception desk, where logan is signing some papers. alex has to pause because it's really unfair how good logan looks after seven hours flight and alex does not think so of his own bias: every single girl in the lobby agrees with him, eyeing his american friend up like he's some candy. well, alex supposes he is but-

'all done!' logan announces and looks up, sending brilliant smile alex's way. 'i've got the keys, let's go? or you wanna grab something from the bar first?'

'no, fuck, i'm absolutely knackered, let's go.'

it's not a spacious suite. which is not to say that it's bad, but the bed is certainly not a king size one and bathroom doesn't look like it'll fit two grown men brushing their teeth together there. alex hovers unsurely, not feeling very comfortable with taking not his space, but logan washes away his worries with: 'hey, this is your room too, okay? you're not intruding, i promise.'

and it's so earnest and sincere that alex lets himself unpack more confidently, even going as far as be the one to shower first. (which is the choice he made because he wanted to shower first, not because the thought of being in the shower that smells like logan's favorite citrusy shampoo is unbearing for him). he changes into his pj and takes left side of the bed, trying to figure out how both of them can fit here without touching. (and it's not like touching is bad per se, logan is okay with physical contact but touching is bad for alex's heart, which still refuses to see this all as a purely platonic thing).

'we are like two fifty years old men, going to bed at ten pm,' logan says, coming out of the bathroom. his citrusy scent carries on with him, invades the room and alex grips the sheets pathetically in response. god, where is the book on getting over unrequited crush on a friend? that'd be a great night time reading. 'but i think we can use jetlag as an excuse.'

alex tries not to stare. it's not like he's never seen logan's naked upper body but right now he kind of has nowhere to go and his eyes find toned muscles on their own. logan is stupidly fit. he looks like fashion magazine slapped him on the face, like he can do modeling as a solid job. he has shiny smile, sparkling eyes and unfortunately for alex, extremely kind and likable personality. alex thinks he was doomed from the start, to be honest.

'are you a blanket hogger? i think they have another one,' logan muses out loud, drying his hair with a towel in haphazard motions that send water drops flying everywhere. 'air-con on or off?'

'on.' alex replies, twisting uncomfortably and forcing himself to lay still. 'what about you?'

'hm?' logan turns and pauses, staring at alex on the bed. his eyes widen a little and alex is not sure but it looks like he's blushing even in the poor lightning. it takes few awkward seconds for logan to unfreeze and he stumbles away from his suitcase, almost tripping in the process. 'i'm fine! yeah, i'm fine with everything!'

alex blinks. he's not sure whether to comment on logan's high-pitched voice at the end or not; his friend steps closer and his face is as red as a tomato, so alex mercifully decides to say nothing. something twists in his gut, something akin to hope and it's dangerous, he can't afford it; even a silver of hope will make his heart grow bigger and if alex can't fit it in his chest already, what he'll do then?

'i can go,' alex blurts out suddenly. he catches logan's surprised inhale and adds: 'it's really no bother, i can just go to another hotel-'

'you're not comfortable?' logan interrupts, voice small and hesitant. when alex turns to look at him, his whole expression screams of a kicked puppy and that tugs at alex's heartstrings horrifically. 'with me?'

how does alex voice out his feelings? that he is afraid of how too comfortable he is with this whole ordeal? how this feels too domestic, which does unspeakable things to his heart and he's too damn young to have a heartstroke. how can he politely tell logan that he has to protect his heart from breaking and therefore the most logical solution is for him to leave? how can he tell him that when logan looks at him with those big grey-green eyes, clutching at the towel in his hands with the most miserable expression ever? answer is he can't and alex has never been logical when it comes to logan, so what he ends up saying is: 'of course i'm comfortable with you, mate.'

logan breathes out then, tension sips away from his posture and his bright smile is on: 'ah, you're still worried about like intruding and such? i told you to forget it, alex. i'm all good!'

that you are, alex thinks miserably, watching logan practically skip to the other side of the bed. you are very good. and usually it's never silent with logan, they share banter easily, conversations flows naturally but right now alex can't seem to focus on anything because logan apparently sleeps only with boxers on. american dream climbs into the bed with him and it becomes painfully clear how this is not a king size - fuck, not even a queen size - but is just a bit wider version of a simple single bed. alex is pretty sure if he or logan were on a bigger side then it would've been impossible to fit; now they fit just barely, arms and legs touching due to zero space. alex is hyperaware of logan's hairless leg pressing up to his - he has to will himself not to flinch at the contact.

'wanna watch something?' logan asks, evidently being the only normal one out of them two now. 'or you gonna sleep?'

tiredness practically weighs alex down, but logan is next to him, smelling good and looking happy for having alex with him and he clearly has some videos he wants to show, so alex indulges him with a nod. logan perks up at this - puppy, he's like a puppy - and shuffles close, closer, until his head is pillowed comfortably on alex's shoulder and his hair is right up alex's nose. 'so okay, i have few videos i wanted to show you.'

alex's arm is in the way. it's very obvious and yet alex hesitates, unsure if he can do what he desperately wants to - free his arm and wrap it around logan, pull him even closer until their joined body heat won't make him start sweating. it's for comfort, alex repeats like a mantra in his mind, when he moves his arm as casually as possible. logan is all on board with this, he instantly lifts up his head to give alex more room and shimmies closer with a contented sigh like he waited for this and- what alex can do with this information? how can he not read too much into this? logan presses play and giggles at the very start, saying something that alex doesn't catch. alex, in fact, doesn't catch anything what's happening, too focused on logan, who has no idea of turmoil happening in his friend's mind. george always says that alex can get too into his head but he thinks he has valid reasons to, especially now. logan's wet hair, logan's warm body, logan's scent, logan's laugh - he can't be blamed for what he does next, he'll blame it on tiredness and jetlag if anyone asks. alex leans in and places small kiss on logan's wet head as his hand moves from where it was wrapped around logan's shoulder to much, much lower, until it wraps comfortably around logan's middle, fingers touching the hem of his boxers. logan freezes at first - stops midsentence, doesn't move for few seconds. alex holds his breath, wondering if this is it, if he crossed the line; apology is on his lips, when logan suddenly shits and practically melts into him. he starts talking again and does unthinkable - grabs alex's waist and pulls it closer, silently asking alex to wrap his arm around him tighter. this is - crazy. alex can't hear anything apart from loud beating of his heart, he can't fucking breathe, when logan starts playing with his fingers, all while explaining some video to him.

'logan,' he calls out, voice raspy and tense.

'hm?' logan doesn't look up at first but when alex doesn't say anything, he raises his head a little, turning to the side to see alex's face better. 'yes?'

say something. alex just stares for a while. really drinks in logan's handsome features that he learned to love over the time they know each other. stares and stares and maybe he's delirious with want and his desire for it to be real, but he thinks he sees his own feelings reflected back at him in logan's stormy eyes. alex lets go of logan's hand and moves lower in a bold move, squeezing his hip. run away, he thinks, run away or i won't stop. logan, apparently, also has his logical mind turned off when it comes to alex, because he doesn't move. no, what he does is angle his hips just slightly so in an inviting manner and oh. oh.

'logan,' alex whispers and this name sounds like a prayer from his mouth. with other hand he reaches out to take a gentle hold of his chin. 'do not indulge me if that's now what you want.'

logan leans into the touch like a kitten, watching alex with a mix of awe and excitement. he pushes his leg in between, gets even closer to alex and stretches his neck uncomfortably all to grin at him widely: 'why don't you ask me, hm?'

alex swallows. 'that's not a game for me,' he says because he needs to say it, he needs to look out after his own heart.

logan's grin fades, gets replaced with a serious frown. 'i'm not playing.'

and- can alex dream? can he have this? can he be bold and selfish and just take-

'ask me,' logan asks, no, demands. 'because if you ask me then i'll be able to tell everything.'

'what you'd tell?' alex asks, getting lost in his eyes.

logan smiles softly, taking his own hand to gently cup side of alex's face, caressing his cheekbone. 'i'd tell you that i liked you from the second you smiled at me. i'd tell you that being your friend is the biggest honor, but i'd also add that just being your friend would've never been enough. i'd tell how happy you make me, how proud of you i am, how i want you around, always.' logan leans in, brushing their noses together. 'i'd tell how much i want you.'

'how much?' alex speaks into his mouth, not breathing.

'so much, alex,' logan shivers, plastering himself all over thai guy. 'you have no idea.'

alex's hand moves, cupping his neck. 'i think i do, actually.'

the kiss is everything. it's slow and deep, it's exploring each other's mouths with tongues like devouring one another is a good option, it's exhilirating and murderous. alex thinks he won't ever be able to kiss anyone else again. he leans back, pushes their foreheads together and smiles at the way logan's pale hands try to touch him everywhere they can reach. 'i was going crazy,' he whispers, making logan stop. 'with how much i want you. how much i want to be more than friends.'

logan giggles, blushes adorably and hides his face in alex's neck. 'we are idiots. we could've been doing this for- wait, how long have you been pining for me?'

'long enough,' alex mutters, not even correcting the 'pining' thing. it's true, anyways. 'how long you have been pining for me?'

'oh no mister, that's not how it works!' logan laughs and gets on top of him easily. 'you don't get to turn this around!'

alex grabs a hold of his hips and looks at him with a smile. he's not even ashamed of the fact that he basically is pulling out full on heart eyes on logan because logan looks exactly the same way at him and it's - amazing. brilliant. perfect. logan is perfect.

'i did get lucky in the end, huh,' alex mutters to himself, thinking about call with george.

'what?' logan asks, leaning down. he finds alex's lips and yeah, alex can get used to this so, so easily.

'nothing, babe,' he says, smiling at logan's blush at the petname. 'nothing.'

a/n: if you think that this looks unfinished then it's because i can't stop and will get carried away writing it, so i had to pull a stop somewhere. hopefully this was good, let me know! - nini

my other formula 1 works are here

my seventeen works are here

[jolieblack]

Jolie's thoughts on

The Retired Colourman (Sherlock & Co. podcast)

This case, in ACD's original version, is the opposite of a favourite of mine. It's somewhat pedestrian, doesn’t have particularly memorable characters, doesn’t have particularly memorable deductions, and the only memorable dialogue or interaction is Holmes famously enumerating all the ways Watson should have used his charm to get the local ladies hot and bothered. Oh boy, that just changed a lot!

Lilian Barker - In ACD canon, Barker is Sherlock Holmes's "friend and rival", the other gifted and clever private investigator that just randomly pops up out of nowhere, never mentioned before and never mentioned again after… Weird, just weird. I prefer this Barker who finally gets a personality and a narrative function (other than being a painfully transparent red herring)!

Loved Sherlock going ballistic when she turns out not to have called the police, though. And how he keeps hating her even when she provides some useful evidence. (Thank you for not letting her actually solve the case though. I was worried there for a moment.)

Another plus: The deduction that the bad guy has a prosthetic leg goes absolutely nowhere in ACD canon but suddenly it becomes an important point!

Interesting dynamic between Sherlock and Inspector MacKinnon, too. Either Sherlock has realised that the police are not always idiots or MacKinnon is a very special person, in which case I want to know more about him and how he knows and why he trusts Sherlock. And how he managed to sell Sherlock & Co. to his superiors as a "third party investigation unit"!

Details I liked:

Did it take anyone else an age to realise that Amber Lee = Amberley? I‘m so slow.

John nattering away about low emission zones for a reason.

"The plot is thickening like a thick, evil… soup."

The chess metaphors! In ACD, the chess aspect just goes nowhere, except to serve as an explanation why the miserly, unsociable bad guy sometimes has a visitor at all. Great use of it here!

Sherlock "strangling" Mr Lee when he makes fun of John's injury, and then it turns out a pretty nifty move to secure evidence. (Or was it? Interesting question, hen or egg? I guess we'll be in sweet unknowing agony about this forever.)

Mariana = Mari? Sweet but uncomfortable at the same time, for obvious reasons.

I do love the confirmation that Mariana co-owns the business and is not just an employee, though.

"Don’t say juices, it’s a family show." - "You just said fuck."

John taking his frustrations out on the wall with a sledgehammer.

And then oh boy again for how dark this whole case is. Even Sherlock actually being really considerate and protecting Mariana from trauma took a pretty creepy form. Honestly, the way he said, "Follow the thought. Don‘t run away from it. It’s natural to be scared when you know what you'll find at the end of it.", I honestly expected for a moment that he was talking her into looking at the bodies, just from the tone.

I also can’t help feeling that that moment in the attic would have belonged to John, not to Mariana. I mean, yeah, she did deserve to reap the fruit of her earlier clever deductions about the water pipe system, and Watson is absent from the final resolution in ACD’s story, too… But I‘m not sure I can ever get over the fact that John did not hear Sherlock say "check mate" in that voice.

Reality check: The police are incompetent if they missed both the walled-off extension/basement and the walled-off part of the attic after a week of searching, and if they even considered taking the bad guy to court without having done that first.

Also reality check: Like with The Cardboard Box, straight up cruel and unimaginative domestic murder hits too close to home for me to be ideal entertainment, but then Joel Emory absolutely gets points for realism. What Sherlock and Mariana find at the end of the case - two human bodies having decomposed in water for a week - is straight out of ACD canon. The podcast version just calls the horror by its name, instead of elegantly glossing over it, and gets kudos from me for that.

Check out this amazing art for the episode by @abstractfrog (Sherlock and Mariana), and @subtlehysteria 's fantastic John with a sledge hammer!

[fandomworld9728]

Okay, so, I dont know your rules for asks but scrolling thought I wanna assume this is okay? If Its not i'm so sorry.

This might be weird but i'm craving more applestatic (Lucifer x Vox) but I dont have a specific scenerio? I have come up with Lucifer finding Vox like the day after Vox and Alastors fight (meaning Vox still has his blocky head)? Lucifer also isn't as "innocent" you could say, he is cunning and manipulative and not as much as a shut in.

Its the day after Vox and Alastor fought and Vox is in an alleyway and on the verge of tears and wondering what hes going to do now, like hes on the verge of just permently shutting off.

Lucifer just decided it was an amazing day for a walk when he hears sniffiling from an alley way so he walks in, he finds a shocking find of a sinner with a TV for a head? He seems pretty sad and Lucifer needs some company (Lilith disappeared a few years ago and Charlie and out and about).. so why not take him in?

Lucifer finds this new sinner so interesting and really wont let him leave the castle or out of his sight, Lucifer is like asking questions and swears up and down to never let this pathetic wet cat of a man go and Vox is just dreading the day Lucifer gets bored and kicks him out.

Literally, everyday, when Lucifers back is turned, Vox is like "Please dont toy with my feelings like the last one.."

(Lucifer also "spoils" Vox, one of the many gifts was Vark because a land shark was found, Vox loves sharks, Lucifer thought it was a good idea. I also headcannon Vox as trans so do with that as you must)

Please do what you want with this I've never been able to share this and I really really wanted to.. I wanna know your thoughts on this and if you have anything to add?

(Thank you so much for the ask! I don't have any set rules for asks so this is perfect ^-^ actually this is great because of the details I have to work with. I love the premise so much. Thank you so much for letting me be the one to work with this. Honestly, I might want to turn this into a full-blown fic. I hope I did your idea justice.)

What the fuck? How did things go so wrong? Everything was great! How could he? He had trusted him, poured his heart out to him, and he just-!

Vox’s inner turmoil was cut short as he felt a jolt of electricity run through him, glitching out his system and causing his body to convulse. Great.  At some point acid rain had begun to fall. He needed to get out of it before it caused permanent damage to his hardware.

Oh, what was the point? His very reason for living in this afterlife had rejected him. Laughed in his face and mocked him. Left him behind. And he was just so tired.

Maybe he should go pick a fight with Carmilla, so she’d put him out of his misery.

“What a sad display we have here.”

It took what little energy the TV demon had left to lift his head and see who had approached him. He couldn’t properly see them through blurry vision. But what he could see was beautiful.

Then… his world went dark. The last thing he remembered was a pair of arms and a smooth and sweet voice.

“You poor, pathetic thing. I’ll take good care of you.”

~

It had been a week since Vox had woken up in the palace. He couldn’t make heads or tails of his new situation. Lucifer, the King of Hell, had personally taken care of him. He even fixed up his hardware. Invited- no, insisted that he stay there at the palace with him. 

What had Vox done to earn the favor of the king? He was sure, but whatever it was, he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. Especially with how much Lucifer was spoiling him. Making sure he was properly fed, and not just amazing and high-quality fancy food. But also, his favorite meals from when he had been alive.

Then he replaced the Sinner’s clothes with a whole new wardrobe that they picked out together. And then there were the gifts. Things that Lucifer would see from different Rings he thought that Vox would like or things that he’d make for him.

He always appreciated them but kept trying to tell him that he didn’t have to constantly give him things. Though… it was nice…

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a gift. Even before his death. And Lucifer seemed so happy whenever Vox accepted whatever he got him… Well there were worse things than someone over gifting. Especially in Hell.

“Vox, Vox, Vox!”

Seeing the goof of a king run into the room, he set down his book to give him his full attention. “Yes, your majesty?”

“No~ We talked about this. Call me Lucifer.”

“R-Right. Apologies. I'm still getting used to having the privilege. I mean, you’re my king.”

That mischievous smile that was so unfairly sexy on him stretched across his beautiful face as he climbed into Vox’s lap. Arms slipping around his neck and clawed fingers lightly scratched at the back of his neck had the Sinner like putty in his hands.

“That’s right. Your king. So enjoy being able to be this close. Maybe closer if you’re a good boy.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

“W-W-What was it that you uh… n-needed your ma- Lucifer?”

“Right!” Jumping up from his lap, letting Vox catch his breath and calm his heart, Lucifer pulling him along to a different room.

He always appreciated them but kept trying to tell him that he didn’t have to constantly give him things. Though… it was nice…

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a gift. Even before his death. And Lucifer seemed so happy whenever Vox accepted whatever he got him… Well there were worse things than someone over gifting. Especially in Hell.

“Vox, Vox, Vox!”

Seeing the goof of a king run into the room, he set down his book to give him his full attention. “Yes, your majesty?”

“No~ We talked about this. Call me Lucifer.”

“R-Right. Apologies. I'm still getting used to having the privilege. I mean, you’re my king.”

That mischievous smile that was so unfairly sexy on him stretched across his beautiful face as he climbed into Vox’s lap. Arms slipping around his neck and clawed fingers lightly scratched at the back of his neck had the Sinner like putty in his hands.

“That’s right. Your king. So, enjoy being able to be this close. Maybe closer if you’re a good boy.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

“W-W-What was it that you uh… n-needed your ma- Lucifer?”

“Right!” Jumping up from his lap, letting Vox catch his breath and calm his heart, Lucifer pulling him along to a different room.

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Showing you would be better. Ta da!”

Stepping into his own bedroom, Vox was shocked at what he saw. All the walls, except for the one with windows looking out into the gardens outside, had been turned into a giant tank and swimming inside were sharks. Glowing, dangerous looking, amazing sharks.

“That’s not all. There’s a ladder so you can go to the open part of the tank to pet them. And I found a special little guy during one of my outings. Call him by whistling.”

What? There was more? Whistling as Lucifer instructed, Vox was surprised as a big shark came bounding towards him as if it were a dog. How? How did a shark have four legs?! How was it able to survive out of the water?!

~

“Was Vox your name back when you were alive?”

“Oh. No. It was a nickname given to me by an… old friend…” Every night while eating dinner, Lucifer always asked him about himself. It was kind of nice to have someone take an interest in him like this.

"Is this the same old friend who left you not only broken and alone, but also heartbroken?”

Something about the dangerous tone and the way his eyes glowed sent a shiver down Vox’s spine. Was this man as much of a goofball as he acted? Or was it all just a front? Vox couldn’t wait to find out.

“Yes it is. But that doesn’t matter now. I mean I wouldn’t have met you if that hadn't happened.”

And the king was back to happy. Wow. Could he really affect Lucifer’s mood that easily? Does this mean he won’t be abandoned again? Lucifer wouldn’t toy with him and then break his heart. Right…?

“Tell me more about yourself. What made you want to be a news anchor- … Vox? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t breathe. Oh no. He forgot to take a break from his bindings earlier when Lucifer had been out. He was going to pass out, and then Lucifer would find out. He’d find out, freak out and leave him.

“Vox!”

~

Vox had found himself meeting the Sin of Sloth, Belphegor herself, after a long lecture from Lucifer. He couldn’t believe it. He was worried instead of freaked out or repulsed.

“Vox. I’m a Fallen Angel. We don’t have a set gender. We can change it whenever we want. And I’d rather you be safe and feel comfortable in your body instead of risking your life to hide parts you don’t like.”

Lucifer was… he didn’t have words to describe his wonderful king. Screw Alastor. Who needed that old timey prick? Not him. He had Lucifer and his sharks. That's all he needed.

~

Bonus:

“Lucifer. What were you thinking? Taking in a random Sinner like this. I thought you hated them.”

Since they were alone, Lucifer could finally drop his mask and truly be himself. Thank fuck. It was tiring acting like a happy idiot. Hopefully Vox would completely trust him soon and he could slowly accustom him to his actual personality.

“Dear Belphegor, my lovely sister… I do hate Sinners. But this one was just so helpless and pathetic. I couldn’t help myself. Abandoned and heartbroken… he would never leave me like my ex-wife. He’s too codependent for that.”

“So that’s your game. Are you that desperate for someone to love you? Or are you just bored and lonely?”

A dark smile stretched across his face. “I suppose it’s a little of both. But I’ve grown fond of this man. I’m thinking about making him my consort. Hell needs a new Queen after all. Hopefully Charlie will approve of her new stepfather.”

[silent-raven13]

The Punks meet Sunflowers! 2

(Part 1)

Three Miles stood in front of the punks, Miles 1016 chuckles: Come on, boys. Your mouths are hanging a bit too low.

Gwen looks at the three Miles variant: Oh wow, you're a girl. -seeing one Miles being a woman.

Miles variant giggles: Yup, well... I'm actually trans. trangirlie! I'm still working on a name for myself, so I still go by Miles. -She smiles at the group- I'm Miles Morales from Earth 1015! -She had on a Magenta and black Spider-woman suit, wearing long braids with pink tips at the end, and have big doe like honey eyes.-

The other variant said: I'm Miles from Earth 43! I'm a transman! -The other Miles stood being the same height as Miles 42, with green eyes and thick box braids hair. His Spider-man suit is more edgy with black and blue with cargo pants, thick shoes, and black sweater over his spider-man suit.-

Gwen gawks: Wow! You guys look freakin' cool! -She saw Miles 43 wearing some space lookin' shoes-

Miles 42: I was checking those shoes out too! They look mad dope!

Miles 43 smirks: These are my anti-gravity kicks! Makes me float in the air -He jumps showing off his kicks- I made them from a special metal called Vibranium.

The group: Whoa, that's so cool!

Miles 1016 looks over at the third Miles: Hey, man. You been quiet. That's pretty weird of you.

Hobie 138b notice the third Miles, who is dressed in all black, with piercings and had a tattoo of sunflowers showing on his neck: Darling, is that a Punk Miles? -The other Punks looks over noticing the other Miles-

Miles variant scowls: Excuse you, man. I don't like labels! I am, ME!

Miles 1016: Technically.... he hates labels. So you don-

Punk Miles: I'm Miles Morales from Earth 1019, I fucking hate the system, the government fucking fascist assholes. I believe in Black Lives Matter, Gay Rights, Fuck the pigs and Free Congo, Free Palestine, Free Yemen, Free all the oppressed countries from greedy hungry pencil dicks white men!

Hobie 138b being awestruck until his boyfriend nudge him in the rib getting jealous: Hobie!

Hobie 138b: Huh, what? No, it's just... -he looks at his Sunflower- Sunflower, please get a tongue piercing.

Miles 1016: Pfft!

Hobie 138e already looming over at Punk Miles: You know, I bashed a DICK-tator's head once... -his voice deep-

Miles 1019 smirks being interested in him: You did? Mmm, I actually blow up the NYPD!

The Punks seem to spread to their Miles, being already interested in them. Hobie 138c flock to Miles 43 and Hobie 138d went with Miles 1015. Gwen saw how bashful the Punks acted around their Miles, which is cute and funny. Seeing cool tough punkers being all shy, casually trying to flirt while their Miles are so sweet, and naive.

Hobie 138d to Miles 1015: So in your world... what do you do for fun?

Miles 1015 smiles brightly at him: I take care of my baby brother! I go skate with my best friend... um... hmmm, I really really love Pickles! I know a bit weird but it's been my favorite snack to eat while reading manga! -She saw the way he nodded, then he got close to him trying to meet his eye- What about you?

Hobie 138d blushes: Me! Oh, you know, starting Mayhem, breaking shit, fighting off CEOS and their unethical practices!

Miles 1015: Ohh sounds fun!

Miles 42 rolled his eyes: Oh brother...

Gwen laughs: This is so fun to watch.

Miles 43 talking with Hobie 138c: Hahaha, yeah. I beat up a few bad cops recently. They really hate me being around.

Hobie 138c: Really? Need help from an expert. I'm always free. I'll take you out in my world. I know a great place that sells the best fish n' chips!

Miles 43 chuckles: I would like that!

Hobie 138b look at his Miles: Darling, did you just hook them up.

Miles 1016 smiles at him: Maybe... I thought The Punks would like their own Sunflower. Besides, I see the way you always held back, my poor baby. -He got his boyfriends face to make him lean over so he can kiss him on the cheek!-

Miles 42 grunts: Gross.

Gwen: Awe, that's cute. You gotta admit, Miles.

Miles 42: Say where's Mariana?

The Hobies left their head up: Who?

A Spider-woman in pastel blue and pink: Hey guys, sorry I'm late and- Whoa so many Spider-punk! -She took off her mask revealing to be woman but with Miles' features. Her long hair tied into two thick long braids-

Miles 1016: This is Mariana! She's the female version of me or I'm the male version of her...

Mariana giggles: Right! Variants is so confusing, because who's is who in the multiverses! -She saw how Spider Punks were close to their Miles- Looks like I missed the match making. Shame, I thought I was gonna get a Spider Punk -she jokes-

Miles 42: I know a Ganke that's single!

Miles 1016: You really want a variant of us dating a Ganke huh?

Miles 1015: Well there was a few Miles that were... you know multi-verses. It never ends!

Mariana nodded: Oh for sure! -then turns to Miles 42- I'm fine just teasing. I'm not into dating.

Miles 43: There's another cute punker walking around.

Hobie 138b: As long as he stay away from my Sunflower. -he pulls Miles close to him-

Miles 1016: Bae, chill. I'm not going anywhere.

Mariana giggles: So this is your famous bf! He loves you too much! -She turns to Gwen- I've seen the male variant of you. Are you a flirt like him?

Gwen: Oh nonono. I'm not.

Miles 42: Wait, Mariana? -Looking at Miles 1015- Why not names yourself that?

Miles 1015: Me as Mariana? Hmmm... I was thinking of Mila.

Miles 43: Mila? -He did not like that name-

Miles 1019: Ew, sounds too fanfic to me. It's like okay we get it, your boy name is Miles and girl went to Mila!

Miles 1015: When you put it like that... it is fucking weird. huh?

Hobie 138d hugs protectively at his Miles: Shh, darling. Don't listen to them! They are just jealous at your beautiful name!

Miles 1015 giggles: Thanks, Hobie! Maybe Marina? Still thinking about it.

Mariana: Marina is a cute name.

Miles 1016: What about Star? You mention you wanted something with piz-zazzs!

Miles 43: My birth name was Mariana and changed it to Miles, because my dad would've name me, Miles.

Miles 1015: I want a name that's me! Star would be cute but sounds a bit too common too. -She sighs- I'll wait and see.

Hobie 138e: Patience is a skill. Name whatever your comfortable with.

Mariana nodded: Yeah! It will come.

Gwen asked Miles 1016: So are they all like you? Like doing their own thing?

Miles 1016: Umm, not really. 43 and 1019 lost their dad from being shot by a dirty cop. Mariana's and Miles 1015's parents are alive but they lost their friend. I think Mari's was Ganke and 1015 was her Peter Parker... I think.

Gwen: Oh wow.

Miles 42: Mariana' and Miles 1015 have younger sibling too.

Miles 1016: Yeah, it's crazy how multi-verses work. -They watch the Miles and Hobies interacting. Mariana happily taking with them being so bright and bubbly. Then Miles 1016 felt a tap on his shoulder, he looks over to find Punk Miguel!- Oh hey, Miguel!

Punk Miguel, from Earth 970 and younger version of Miguel 2099. He's much nicer and mostly speak Spanish, since he grew and live in Mexico. In his world, Mexico won the American-Spanish War, so states like California didn't exist, but remain part of Mexico. USA Is a small country that leader was taken over by Mexico: Compa, qué le parece esa morra? -His Auburn red eyes on Mariana- Hmm?

Hobie 138b looks at the lad: Oi, I'm watching you.

Miles 1016 said: That's Mariana. Go talk to her.

Miguel 970 shyly didn't want to speak to her by himself: Amigo, please... help me? -having a thick Mexican accent-

Miles 1016 chuckles: Alright. -He turns to Mariana- Hey, Mari. I want you to meet someone.

Mariana head to them after excusing herself with the her variants and the Punks: What's up? -then noticed a tall big guy in front of her- Oh wow, man! You are huge! I feel so small! -she's six foot, too.-

Miguel 970 blushes being shy. Miles chuckles: He wants to meet you but he's shy.

Mariana: Oh I don't bite, unless you want me too! -she jokes and saw Miguel 970 with sharp fangs- Ohh, but I bet you bite! -She got a good look at him, dark hair, piercings and red eyes with fangs! He's like a sexy vampire!-

Miguel 970: I... I don't speak.... English too good...

Mariana: Oh, puedo hablar español! Yo soy Mariana! -she stuck her hand out.

Miguel 970's eyes lit up: Hola, Mariana! Soy Miguel. Es un placer conocerte.

Mariana giggles: So proper.

Miles 1016 laughs too: Yeah, give a Punk a Miles and they suddenly become a gentlemen. -He saw all the other Punks being super nice and well-mannered with his other variants.-

Miles 42 was eyeing Miguel 970: He's low-key fine. Why not him?

Hobie 138b: Oi, back off, mate. Sunflower is mine. I'll never let him go.

Miles 42: Ugh, fine. Whatever, man.

Gwen: I love match making. Too bad, Pav isn't here. He would've fangirl and be doing a whole love show.

Miles 1016: He really did miss out, huh? -His eyes one Miguel 970 happily talking with Mariana-

Hobie 138b: Ain't it a bit weird for a Miguel to date a version of you?

Miles: Not really. She's her own person... just because their a variant of me, doesn't mean they are me, you know?

Hobie: And that's why I love you, Sunflower. -He picks up his partner to kiss him-

Miles: I love you, too, baby!

[nochi-quinn]

candela obscura chapter 1 episode 1: 🎶who you gonna call🎶

I'M HERE I'm just gonna stop playing totk on thursdays (lie)

background!!

matt!!

matt's scandalous naked wrists

oh the spotlight

oh auggie's art is good

the unintroduced characters being in shadow is nice

I need anjali in period dress forever

I'd vote for him

maybe even….president…..

ashley's face sjdflks

"I just GOT HERE"

don't keep ice atronachs in your furnace

the art camera panning around a desk instead of just the fade-in

"tol hat"

"as I expected" rude

laura noticing the light on her and perking up

murder hand MURDER HAND

voice!

art!

that is the correct response

donald :(

not the swamp gas

"who are you >:["

auggie (ashley?): mark me down as scared AND horny

robbie and laura already gossiping

"candela's recruiting fetuses now?"

void stuff

auggie is surrounded by posh weird women and is utterly unable to enjoy it

"we ain't found SHIT"

howard's kind of a bitch

she said the thing

"imagination!"

force hands

CHARLIE

"I don't think that was charcoal"

familiar (derogatory)

"well let's go home" mood

the more arlo talks the more I love her voice

"auggie's education goes far beyond book smarts" I love charlie

"did you need some help pulling that stick out of your ass?" I also love auggie

auggie is reminding of my kid when we ask her one clarifying question too many

I don't mean this in any kind of negative way, it's a totally valid frustration

"trauma bonding" sdkfjsl

calling panic attacks brain marks from now on

deeply enjoying auggie vs howard

not a chair

"we need a distraction. I'll go :D"

I love matt's Dumb Guard voice

"I'd love to help but I'm off flirting"

"I'm not very good at seeing things that are here"

"this is wood" dlkfjsl

Ghost Donald

"are you okay" auggie.

"you're so warm" that's. not great.

charlie

"it's FINE 👿"

"ROLL THEM BONES"

"I know who you are charlotte" lmao rip

fuckin leila

donald no. have you tried consent.

laura picking apart no matter what game system they're in

tiny magic messenger pigeons

Abodeless Individuals

ghost hand GHOST HAND

fable npc voice

"you're a bit older than I remember" "yeah, that's what happens"

oh bless her

mala: the circle learns about poor people

I was about to say "r.j. maccready vibes" and then I Remembered

roll for vibes

I like charlie as a bridge between the classes, as it were

"what's so funny?" "usually doctors are useful"

"rikers over it"

"sorry about the laughing at you" (lie)

howard has a death note

unecessary parkour

that one bit from arcane

can't wait for this ride at critical role land

"the children" howard

"help him, doctor!" AUGGIE

I'm a DOCTOR but not THAT kind of doctor I have a DOCTORATE but you can't HELP people with a DOCTORATE you just SIT THERE and you're USELESS

I may have seen treasure planet one too many times

this music is a+

charlie I don't know what you expected

mala: you're not his real mom

"I don't like the way you said 'great'"

oh ow

miroku

is this going to be the equivalent of trying to drive stick

"NO my sweet student"

not the final destination

fuck! all fails

vax get back in your own game

"you did it to yourself!"

mala: Matt: good rp. suffer more

"did it work?" "no! :D"

arlo and howard are A Pair of Characters

any time ashley does that half-lean shrug question thing

The Food Of Our Woes

hungry hungry ghosties

"you're bleeding out of your head"

not the chetney noises

oh shit

rip auggie

everybody keeps forgetting they can roll again

"SPOILER ALERT"

"leave it up to fate - no that's stupid"

robbie's so into this sdlkfjnls

old as balls

eddie? whomst?

"the gilded rainbow" gay as shit

"we were part of an industrial accident" swamp gas

:(

"I crashed a truck into a building! it didn't work!"

"there's a reason he's a professor" it's bc he's a bitch

"don't set it on fire"

"your club tried to kill me, not sure if want"

in a few hours the sun will rise

gay

ah the true fantasy setting - free rent

"I slathered a nice man up" hate it

acted bizzare

they got a good grade at ttrpg

oh I love arlo

of course it's doc cochran

I heard the "mmmmakinmway" in my head

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Drabble in which ten meets Peter Vincent and Lucian? Sorry if it’s already been done

I don't think I've ever had Ten meet Peter in a fic nor all three of them together!

Let's see how this goes.

Warning: alien vampires, technically (I know there are vampires in the DW universe, but I don't know enough about those ones to care about doing research for a drabble, so you get a plasmavore!)

On with the fic!

--

"You're certain you've never seen a vampire like this before?" Peter asked, following after Lucian through one of the more abandoned places in Vegas. Well, it wasn't really abandoned, more like it was often avoided due to the dangerous activities that happened here.

"I am limited on the kinds I've dealt with, you're meant to be the expert, yes?" Lucian replied, glancing over his shoulder.

"Well, yeah, I mean, I'm one of the best in the world, obviously, but I've never seen a vampire drink through a weird little hole in the neck, and a singular hole at that." Peter frowned, avoiding stepping in a puddle of indeterminate liquid. "Maybe I finally found my vampire that sucks blood like a butterfly sucks up whatever shit it is that they drink!"

Lucian made a questioning sound and Peter continued. "You know! Those long things on their faces! The tubes? A pro... probus... somethin' or whatever, anyway! Long, sucky face tube!"

"Your knowledge of vampires is... strange." Lucian came to a stop, sniffing the air. "I smell its trail getting stronger here, along with blood."

"Shit, you think it found someone already?"

"Possibly." He sniffed again. "And... something else. Sweet and metallic? Huh. Probably best not to know, come on."

Peter nodded, grabbing for the stakes hidden under his coat, following Lucian into an old building. He swore, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something big and blue, but when he looked, there was nothing there.

Must've been a trick of the light or something.

The door was opened and there sounded like a struggle of sorts coming from upstairs of what might have once been a home. It stunk like something had rolled over and died a while ago, and Peter quickly recognized that this place was used for a whole number of things. He really didn't want to know what was on the couch that had to be from over fifty years ago.

Lucian put a finger to his lips and carefully walked up the small flight of stairs, Peter staying close behind. The closer to the landing they got, the clearer the talking upstairs was.

"-you're only making yourself sick being here! Especially in a neighborhood like this! Which, wow, rude to say, but really, could you have not chosen a better lo- whoa! Watch the face!" Something had shattered as someone spoke.

Huh, his voice sounded like he was from London. British victim or vampire?

"But if I went into a better place, I'd be noticed easier! People don't question the deaths around here! And I can't help myself, I love how these humans just fuck themselves up with things in their systems, give it a kick!" That must be the vampire, so British victim then.

"And it's killing you! Come with me, I can get you the help you need and maybe I won't report this to the Shadow Proclamation, this is a protected planet and you know it!"

Peter raised an eyebrow, planet? What the fuck? And what's a Shadow Proclamation, sounds like some sorta underground agency. Was this guy a hunter?

"And that adds to the fun!" There was a shout and a loud thump, followed by the shouts of two people fighting.

Lucian moved first, kicking open a door and Peter quickly followed. There was a man pinning down another one on the ground, weirdly holding a metal straw in his fist. The man under him was grabbing his wrist, trying to keep him from stabbing him with the straw.

"Hold on, we've got you!" Peter shouted, catching the vampire off-guard, making him turn to look at Lucian and Peter, the former punching his fist into the back of the vampire. There was a metal sound, followed by a nasty fleshy sound.

The vampire squealed in pain before Lucian removed his fist, retracting his arm blade. With a swaying shuffle, the vampire toppled over, dead.

The victim gasped and sat up, attention on the vampire, before he turned to look at Peter and Lucian. "What did you do that for!? You didn't have to kill him!"

Lucian was stunned and Peter frowned. "He was trying to kill you, ya idiot! You needed help!"

"I was fine! Not the first time I've fought off a plasmavore!" The man pouted, dusting off his brown duster. "Well. I didn't really fight it, more like I let it drain me to get alien blood into its system, which allowed the Judoon to take things into their own hands. Which, I feel, might have been a bit of overkill on their part to, but you can't really argue with the methods of police space rhinos."

Peter blinked. "The fuck? You got a concussion or somethin'?"

"Oh? No, I'm good, might have a sore back, landed on it pretty hard, but I'm fine in the noggin." The man got to his feet, letting out a huff of air as he looked at the body, then at them. "Oh, right, introductions. Thanks for helping, I'm the Doctor!"

He held out his hand, his smile bright and toothy, it was weird how honest it was. Peter looked at the hand, giving it a shake. "Uh, yeah, Peter Vincent."

"Peter Vincent? No way! The vampire hunter and the stage performer!" The man, the... Doctor, apparently, was grinning even brighter than before. "Ooh, I wanted to see your show! Actually, I wanted to have a word with you, your research is supposed to be some of the best! Got a bit distracted by the plasmavore, but hey, story of my life. Set off to do one thing, suddenly I'm off doing something else."

"Holy fuck, you've got a gob on you." Peter said, he couldn't help the weird chuckle that came from him.

"I'm known for that." The Doctor winked. "Soooo, who is your friend here? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Wolfy!"

Peter frowned and turned to Lucian, who was still looking right at the Doctor, confused. He didn't even seem to notice that the Doctor called him wolfy. "Lucian?"

Lucian blinked and looked at Peter, then back at the Doctor. "I'm sorry, are you not seeing this?"

"Seeing what?" The Doctor and Peter both asked at the same time.

"That... that you two look identical."

Peter looked at the Doctor, who looked back at him. "Yeah... nah, not seein' it. What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Not the first time I've seen my face on someone else. Trust me, I've got some beef with Casanova and he's got my face too, so it makes it weird. Can't hate this face, it's a good face." The Doctor said, gesturing at himself.

"I mean, yeah, you are a handsome guy, but I'm not seein' whatever it is you're seein', Lucian." Peter snorted. "Unless if this is true and you're down for beddin' me and a more yammery version of me."

Lucian made a face. "Is sex always on your mind?"

"Not always, but it's often there." Peter smirked. "So, you said you wanted to talk to me, Doctor? I'm free this evenin', the huntin' job is now taken care of, so... my place or yours?"

The Doctor tilted his head. "Better your place, hard to explain my own."

--

Peter is gonna flirt with a man who shares his face, to the shock of no one.

Why does the Doctor want to talk to him? I dunno, vampire reasons.

[eviltiddyproductions]

Vincenzo : Episode 2

On the list of media with the most unserious ways to use Italian should be Vincenzo 🤣 and my little chef si si si 👍

Not the little girl pinky promise as one dangles from the window ?!!!

His upper body strength goes crazy

My man Vince has 0 eye bags and I need the skin care and concealer rn

Zero personal boundaries always makes me yell kiss regardless of situation like why are your noses that close !!! Kiss 💋

lmao cutie

my dancing queen is a lawyer! slay

help why is this man talking like a villain already😂😂😂 the pauses he’s taking and the tone is funny

show me a perfect garden and I’ll dig up dirt 🥕 tell ‘em sister!

Okay that took a very dark turn suddenly I have to side eye sister

honestly I don’t see anyone leaving the gold lol. human 101 people just refuse to part with gold for some reason

they killed everybody ??? 😭

the dramatic ass screaming and ( Italian ?) loud violins in the background always sends me

no one knocks in this show 💀

he looks very good in this lighting but do not trust him dad lawyer! don’t want to see you heart broken 😔

‘sorry sunbae’ 😂

I ADORE how dramatic she is. she’s just like me fr 😭

Vincenzo Quasano. Quaso. 🥐🥐🥐

She is so pretty 😭

the restaurant owner is giving real sass 😂

the tteokbokki on his suit 😭

dancing lawyer queenie is terrifying but yeah! fight your terrible co workers

a hockey puck to the stomach, I would’ve actually died instantly

this is actually insane. I will fight this CEO with my bare hands 😭 he’s going to break his back

someone protect lawyer dad and his daughter m

I know he’s making the worst food but I really do love the chef. Look at his mittens !!! it’s another little chef puppet

how is my man running a kitchen like that 😭

strong arming someone is bad but when you threaten someone’s family and kidnap them, maybe don’t squirm with a firm shoulder hold 😍

lmao the good lawyer dad getting happy sends 😭

the firm owner’s voice is so good. like he’s so full of excitement lmaooo.

honestly she gave a pretty solid first talk, I will steal it. ‘Small wins eventually lead to great victories, let’s not work too hard if we’re not being appreciated’ solid 👍

the zombie dancing 🧟‍♂️

they give zero fucks in this building I love them 😂

the 4 bottle of makegeolli, he isn’t making it out I fear

that’s her son 😔 at least he gets to hear it from someone else. always feel weird in these plot lines tbh because even if it is one character or just one side of the story him and his mom have probably felt a lot of pain throughout these 30 odd years. and after all that time you have to make the choice of letting go and moving forward

idk if Vince is being serious rn or playing him like does he actually feel bad about the condition of the people in the building?

this is actually so real because so many people get stuck in the system simply because they do not have the resources to challenge their verdict or bail themselves out.

the good dads get to teach you how to drink I guess. In Itaewon class it was the Saeroyi’s dad and here it’s our sweet Hong Yuchan

lmaooo her bowl cut and blonde hair I love Chayoung

Not the [ominous music] tag as he looks at her pictures omg ???

Junwoo just rat them out babes !!! this is not okay. go supply this information to her dad <3

She’s so real for screaming at him. Parents will sometimes ignore your phone at the worst time lmaooo

The way he’s staring at her, this better not be we were in love or passing in love as kids lmaooo 😭✋ that trope just always finds a way into all my shows

my dramatic ass sister will be dramatic with her hands in her pockets I love her !!!

lmaooo no one will let him eat here 🤣 he has not been able to compete one meal

oh my god dad lawyer stay alive

my girl might get fired but her priorities are straight !!!

the chef with his pizza getting a slo mo shot is so precious. look at his pizzas! he could never mess that up 🍕❤️

lmaooo they’re having a slo mo stare moment and there’s just a big inflated Italian man in between them 😭

me praying that he likes her before she likes him 🙏

the theme music, an unserious show

in the last moments of the episode is when it always hits you HOW much has happened

18 more to go

[bitch-spectrum]

I have a story about Unus Annus and how it literally saved my life.

TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Kidnapping, Underage Drinking

My 16th birthday was that October. My sweet 16 as all the tv shows and movies depicted. I was so excited. 16 was huge and I was FINALLY 16! I was hoping, praying, that my sweet 16 would be the birthday where my birthdays would finally be good! Up to this point I hadn't had a good one. They always ended in tears. I don't celebrate my birthday anymore and my 16th was the last straw.

I hadn't heard a word from my now fiancé all day. No good morning. No good night the previous night. Just radio silence after he said he was going to a movie with his family. I was sad. Did I do something wrong? It was my 16th birthday! Why was he ignoring me?

My mother comes into my bedroom, takes me into the back yard, pours me a glass of wine and breaks the news to me.

He had been kidnapped the previous night.

I drank myself to sleep that night. I drank the entire bottle and didnt wake up until nearly 5pm the next day. And went back to sleep a few hours later.

The rest of my fall break was spent with me not leaving my bed. Just sleeping, staring at the walls, trying not to kill myself.

I dreamt of him every night. Some nights I dreamt of reuniting, some nights I could only dream of the torture he must have been enduring. I knew who had done it PERSONALLY. I knew exactly where he was but the police did NOTHING! The police were called. CPS was called. But nothing was done. The people I KNEW were abusing and torturing my fiance were walking free and they STILL ARE because THE JUSTICE SYSTEM DOES NOT CARE!

And it felt like no one else cared either. Nobody knew how to comfort me. "Call CPS." I did. "Call the police." I did. "Get in touch with the FBI." I tried. "Well maybe just let him go."

How could I do that? We started dating at age TWELVE! Middle school sweet hearts. How could I let that go? Someone who loved me at my cringest. Someone who loved me at my worst. Someone I loved in all the same respects. Let that go? Genuinely how could I? No one could ever understand the kind of bond; the kind of strength it takes to still love the same person 10 years later.

When school started it was all a blur. My grades slipped, I was failing classes. It was a nightmare. My teachers could tell something happened, but no one ever bothered to ask me what was REALLY wrong.

By November I'd wake up, dissociate in school, come home and go to bed at 4pm. I wasnt eating. I wasnt showering. I wasnt okay. I was heavily self medicating.

One day I couldnt fall asleep after school and decided to watch youtube for a few hours. Markiplier of course. At the time he was promoting the channel Unus Annus in every video. I found it so annoying.

"Stop talking about the stupid channel. Its so pointless if its all just going to be gone in a year. Who fucking cares! Just shut up!"

I was angry, sad, scared, hurt. Obviously I never left hate comments because I'm a well adjusted member of society. I just skipped over it.

Well, one day I decided to say fuck it and just go watch some of the videos. "What's even so great about it anyway!?"

There weren't many videos uploaded on the channel yet. An amount I could binge in a few hours.

And something weird happened. For the first time in a while, when the only thing I could really emote was sobbing violently, I started smiling. One of the videos even got me to laugh. Not chuckle, or blowing out of my nose. But laughing, with my voice.

It felt so good. I hadnt smiled in a little over a month. I didnt have the energy to. I didnt even have the energy to cry sometimes. id just pass out. But there I was, lying in my bed and laughing.

I subscribed and even turned on pop up notifications.

And the videos came daily. Every day after school I'd come home and have something to do. Itd keep me awake through dinner so id at least eat once a day. Unus Annus made me smile at the very least. Everything could go wrong in a day but then UA would be there to be something right. To be the highlight of my day if nothing else.

UA wasnt a friend or a therapist. It didnt try to fix my problems or offer me solution. But it did give me energy. It did give me a drive. I wasnt thinking about the end. I didnt care about the end. I couldnt give enough energy to think about the end. I just focused, day by day. Thats all i could do. On days I woke up thinking about if I should kill myself, memento mori, it's not my time yet. I still have time.

The theme of UA was that it was only going to last a year. Just one year. It was something they would say a lot. One year. One year. One year and I didnt even think about it.

But something about that always stuck out to me. One year. It came to me in dreams. English and Latin. One Year. Unus Annus. The repetition of the phrase in my life just really spoke to me on a level I couldnt understand. Why did I take so much comfort in the phrase? I never understood that.

Well, one day during the earlier parts of the school year during Covid, I finished my work for the day. I waited for the next episode to come out. I watched it and I felt the urge to check my email. I never check my email. Literally.

Sitting in my inbox, there was an email from him. From my lover. It was short, just an update. An update I knew was written with a (metaphoric) gun to his head. But an update, nonetheless. I emailed back. No response. A week or so later it became a habit to email. We emailed so frequently we decided to just talk on a google doc.

They couldnt have hangouts or a phone or anything like that. But he had gmail. So, google docs worked for us just fine.

Come October he was mostly out of the situation. He had a phone and was in contact with the outside world again and was no longer being held hostage. We would text daily but still no social medias yet, and rightfully so.

It had been a year, and it was coming to an end. Just one year. Just one year like I had been promised.

And when it came time for UA to end, my bf and I had regular stable contact and he was about ready to remake his discord and FB accounts.

Unus Annus kept me alive, kept me going, during one of the hardest years of my life. I felt like the entire time they were holding my hands, promising me it'd only be one year. One year was all I had to get through and I was strong enough to get through it. Don't think about it now because there's nothing you can do. Look at this instead. Think about this. No no no! You're getting distracted and suicidal again! BOOM PEE SAUNA!! Gotcha! See you're okay.

I was so close to ending it when I had no idea if my bf had been killed or sold off to another state or what. If he was gone for good I didn't feel like my life was worth living anymore.

But I was promised one year, and one year was all I had to endure. I even had the time to re-adjust to the situation, of being back in contact with him before the channel was deleted. Like they were making sure I was on my feet before letting go.

Obviously, they don't know me. I know this. But it felt like a crutch to me. A crutch I desperately needed. A crutch I would have died without. They made a bigger promise than they know and they still kept it.

Mark and Ethan mean a lot to me, I'd tell them if I ever got to meet them that they did in fact save my life. That Unus Annus was something I clung to when I wasn't sure if I was going to live to see tomorrow.

One year was all I had. One year was all I needed.

IK Some people are going to call this story fake or that I'm exaggerating parts but I'm not. This is what the real world is truly like, and it's fucked up. I know what happened and whether or not a stranger on the internet believes me is irrelevant.

Thank you Unus Annus. Thank you for everything.

I miss unus annus. Rb if you agree (and feel welcome to put your favorite unus annus video/memory/etc)

I’ll go first: watching The Truth of Unus Annus for the first time and realizing “ohhhhh this is what it’s all been building up to. This is the video I expected from the first video. This is. This is it. This is the end. This is going to be what I miss when it’s over”

[hannahsmusings]

Renee

*I roll my eyes good naturedly, shaking my head and letting out a soft laugh* I am known to be a bit bossy but that’s only because I’m the boss. *it was easy to talk to Charles, I should’ve known it would be considering it was easy to talk to him last night too, I was just glad that we could put it all behind us and start fresh* *I stand by the bench as he reaches for his clothes and another towel, still pointedly keeping my eyes off his body, firmly keeping them on his face and no where lower* *although that didn’t really help, his face was just as pretty as the rest of his damn body, his soft eyes and deep dimples and sweet smile were all absolute panty droppers, anyone with eyes would fall in love with this man, wishing there was some ugly part of him that I could focus on in times like this but alas there were absolutely none* Yeah, that sounds good. I think Carlos came here looking for you, but I’ll text his manager to tell him to head back over to the track. Will you be long getting ready or should I just wait in the lobby? *I was not about to invite myself to his room, that crossing that line that we just drew in the sand, maybe in a few weeks I’d be able to enter his room and it wouldn’t feel weird, but for now I needed to stay in open air spaces with him where there were plenty of people watching our every move* 

___________________________________

*laughs a little at your words, grinning as I was glad we’d made it to the banter stage already, everything feeling much more relaxed between us which I was pleased about, it being nearly a nearly perfect platonic interaction if I could ignore the aching attraction that I was attempting to bury, you truly being the epitome of my type and as soon as disregarded that, the better* Exactly. So, therefore I’ll be calling you boss. Or, la patronne. *grins, liking the french version better and deciding that’ll be nickname I stick with, chuckling a little to myself as I wrap the other towel around my shoulders, standing straight again and shaking my head a little* Nah I’m not gonna bother going back to my room, they’ve got a shower and changing room here so I’ll just use those. You can wait here or in the lobby, whatever suits. *shrugs, realising as I said it that the idea of you stood here waiting whilst I was behind a door naked and changing made my stomach twist with all these cheesy fantasies, having the epiphany that I’d got all worked up over you last night and I’d not done anything about it, figuring if I got you out of my system then it would get you out of my head and we’d be able to further this platonic working relationship* *a plan forms in my mind of a solo night in with my hand and a fuck ton of visions of you in that red dress, knowing that image would haunt me for a long time, quickly pushing it aside as otherwise I’d have to sort myself out right here* *blinks out of my thoughts and focuses back on you, letting my gaze run over you quickly and my insides tensing a little that even in business attire you were fucking gorgeous, sighing and shaking my head subtly* I’ll be a few minutes. *murmurs, voice a little huskier than before as I head towards the changing rooms, going inside and immediately stripping off to shower, groaning to myself as I was already sporting a semi, giving it a gentle squeeze in the hopes it would go down as my mind races with all these confusing thoughts and feelings*

[tommyspeakycap]

Shelby!Sister getting poisoned whilst at dinner with the whole family?

changed it up a bit; reader is roofied at one of Tommy’s fancy ball type parties and there’s one particular gentleman around to help her out.

Good Team

Tommy had, since you were merely a little girl, endeavoured to introduce you emphatically as (y/n) Shelby, with your surname stated soaked in ferocity and warning. You are a Shelby. You are his little sister. He makes sure people know this. He makes sure they’re aware. He sees it as a pre-warning, the kind that lets them know that you are very very important to him without actually saying those words. He sees it very much as a pre-warning for grievous bodily harm had any trouble befell you at another persons discretion. It was made incredibly clear from the moment you were born that you were so far from off limits to the enemies that it didn’t even need to be spoken.

However, it was a relatively occasional occurrence that this message was not accurately conveyed no matter how clear your elder brother was about the matter.

You were usually so cautious and so careful, but you were in your brothers own ballroom with his own supplied champagne and you had very few worries of such a simple business gathering for Christmas. You were adorning an extortionate dress that Tommy had made for you with a beautiful fur shoulder wrap, cheeks dusted with a champagne blush and a gorgeous smile as you mingle with rich business people and rich couples who were born into money. They were amazing at times to ogle at, coming from such a poor background. It was hard enough to adjust to your new life flaunting pretty dressed and walking around with a purpose and a job that had significant purpose.

But it would be safe to say you weren’t so worried around these people. You should’ve known better.

You keep blinking, squeezing your eyes shut to try and find vision again that wasn’t restricted by blurriness. The heels on your feet didn’t aid you much in the way of keeping your balance as you stumble into a long hall. You don’t remember where you last saw Tommy and you can’t remember where the glass you were holding had gone. You don’t know much, but you know you have to find one of your brothers.

Heavy footsteps behind you send a rush of hazed adrenaline through your veins, forcing your legs to move you faster, your arms scratching off paintings lining the walls as you attempt to use the wall as a stabiliser.

“Someone’s ‘ad a bit much, eh?”

Your eyelids flicker as you try to keep them open against the light that makes you feel like your head is exploding. “No, no I- there’s someone trying to get me!” You hiss in a slurred whisper with arms that flail somewhat aimlessly as you attempt to point out the person behind you. The man with his his on your biceps steadying you leans around to get a good look behind you. “Mhm, there me no one there love.” He says, confused. You can only vaguely make out who the person is that holds you up and it’s someone you know your brother only invited so as to attempt to talk him into taking on more Blinders for distillery protection.

Alfie Solomons wasn’t entirely the most trustworthy person that surrounded your family. Him and Tommy had a bit of a tendency to betray each other, no matter how expected it always was. The London gangster probably wasn’t the best person for you to bump into and definitely not the most reliable, but he was who you had ended up with and although it could have been him that drugged you, it didn’t seem incredibly likely. He told Tommy and Grace when greeting people at the front door; “No need for the fucking niceties eh Tommy? I’m here for the free booze mate yeah?” and walked on through with a pat on your brothers back.

Despite the fact you didn’t have much trust in him, you really holed that he wouldn’t pass you off as being overly drunk and leave you alone. You feel dreadfully unwell. Alfie looks down the hall, then back at you and with a sigh, he slips his strong arm around your waist and pulls you into his side for your stability. “I think you’re right, Shelby.” Alfie mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for even you to hear. “Something‘s just not right.” He turns to you, using his arm that wasn’t wrapped around you to lift up your eyelid. Beyond the terror in your eyes in huge pupils. “You’ve been drugged,” he states, his voice still low. “Better find those brothers of yours.”

That brings you some form of relief, but the terror still remains. It’s a scary situation, to know what you want to do with your limbs and know exactly what you want to say, but to be unable to speak or walk or even hold up your head. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing and you were drenched in sweat. It’s a shock you didn’t recognise you had been drugged before hearing Alfie say it.

His arm is tight around the waistline of your expensive ballgown, keeping you steady against him as he walked as quickly as he could manage while supporting your weight. He only vaguely knew the way around Tommy’s huge country house, but he did know where the man’s office was, and he’d likely have a maid in waiting there who Alfie could send to fetch him once he got you there. As you both rounded the corner into the corridor that would take you to Tommy’s office, there a man dressed like a waiter standing seemingly waiting for you. “Mister Shelby sent me to collect his sister when he heard she was overly inebriated.” The man spoke. Alfie furrowed his eyebrows tightly, but nodded and walked you closer to him. You want to protest, but your mind still won’t coordinate with your body and the most you can do is grumble. “She’s a bit hard to deal with,” Alfie admits, “So a tip you should really know for the future?“ He pauses, moving as though he’s going to pass you over to the arms of the other man. Alfie leans in until he’s only a few inches away and whispers a warning “I fucking hate liars,” before sharply drawing back his head only to but it forward forcefully into the man’s face.

He stumbles back and Alfie takes that opportunity to grab the front of his suit jacket and throw him behind the two of you with a kick to his ribs a few times for good measure. He wraps his arm back around your waist and continues on down the hall as if nothing had ever happened. “Could tell by his-fuck!”

A yelp leaves you as your legs tangled when you attempt to bare your own weight and instead clatter to the floor with a thud. Alfie grunts and you fight to open your heavy eyelids to see that a man had dove out at him from a doorway along the long hall and there were now two of them and two of you, except they were both conscious and had full control of their own bodies, whereas it fell upon Alfie to fight for both of you. The Londoner truly does not know why he has put himself in this situation for anyone, never mind for a Shelby he had only met a handful of times. But every time he had met you, you were incredibly sweet and kind to him. He knows that they’ll stop attacking him if he allows them to take you and do as they please with you, but something in him prevents him from doing that. There’s a part of him that encourages him to spit the blood from his mouth and stand in front of where you lay in and out of consciousness on the fell, ready to fight for you like he had something to lose if he couldn’t protect you. Tommy would never know Alfie was there with you if he walked away now, but something in him wants to be there. Wants to fight for you.

And so fight he does, throwing punch after punch, trying to take on two at once. Alfie managed to take the blonde assailant out of the game by cracking the wall with his blonde head of hair, leaving him out cold and potentially dying on the floor. When he does that though, his moment of glory is short lived before the other appears behind him with an arm tightly around his throat. Alfie squirms and grunts, kicks and scratches attempting to get him off, but the attacker holds on despite the blows. Alfie thinks he may well have to accept his fate.

Then he clocks you again on the floor, except this time your hands and trailing up your leg, hiking up your dress and he is utterly confused at your behaviour, thinking that it must be the drugs acting weird in your system. That is, until your dress reaches your upper thigh and the London gangster feels what he thinks may be butterflies when he spots the holster and gun that had been well hidden by your long ballgown. He would laugh, grin even if he wasn’t being strangled nearly to death. He watched with blurry vision as you try to steady your hands enough to point the gun at the attacker that was too bury trying to hold Alfie Solomons down to notice your movements. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut as you move your finger over the trigger and he hopes to God your heads are steady enough to shoot the right person.

The bang goes off and very suddenly he can breathe again. He notes that’s a good sign. He scrambles away quickly, turning around to press his foot onto the bullet wound in the shoulder of his attacker. “I will come back for you.” He growls in warning, pressing his foot harder to elicit a scream before he nods and turns back to where you stand. He wipes the blood off the bottom of his shoe on the carpet before he steps forward to swoop your gun off the floor to slip it back into your thigh holster, and then he helps you back up. Except this time, he opts to sweep you off your feet and into his arms bridal style.

“Good shot.” He notes. You breath a chuckle with hooded eyes in response, but can’t manage anything else. If you hadn’t been severely drugged, Alfie might’ve kissed you.

He makes it to Tommy’s office with ease, ordering the maid to get your brother immediately. Alfie lays you down on the soft couch in the office, placing you carefully on on your side for safety in case you’re sick. He uses the not blood tinted side of his handkerchief to wire some blood splatter and sweat from your face gently, and offers a gentle smile. “We make a good team, Solomons.” You hum with words slurred and jumped, but he understand what you said nonetheless. “That we do, Shelby.” He rumbles back in response.

The moment is as any moment of yours often is, interrupted by your elder brothers storming in. Immediately, Alfie is ripped from your side by Arthur slamming the him roughly against the wall with a loud clatter and bang. John goes to stand by Arthur’s side, and Tommy takes a knee beside you. The patriarch places his cool hand against your forehead before dipping down to place his ear just above your lips. “She’s breathing.” He concludes, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He sneers through gritted teeth as he takes steps towards Alfie.

“And why the fuck and you covered in blood.” Alfie sighs heavily, rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils at the proximity of the three Shelby brothers. “Funny story, you see Tommy.” He grumbles discontentedly, “Seems as though someone tried after your sister right under your fucking nose, mate. Drugged her drink, removed her from the crowd. I found her wandering the halls all fuckin’ disoriented yeah. Now I don’t like a man who targets a woman, much less has to fuckin’ drug her to achieve it.” Alfie shrugs. Tommy narrows his eyes, but something in him believes what the Camden Town Gangster is saying. Alfie doesn’t have much in the way of necessity for taking you and it wouldn’t make sense for him to have the opportunity to but instead to bring you here. Right to them. “Doesn’t explain the fucking blood.” Arthur hisses, slamming his back against the wall again.

Alfie holds up his hands. “You’re little sister isn’t such a damsel as you make her out to be, Thomas. She has a fantastic shot. Some cunts-“ Alfie’s words drop with pure venom as the reminder of the man nearly strangling him to death reenters his mind, “Came after her. On that note, you’ll need a carpet cleaner and some body bags just along that hall. Don’t let the missus see that mess.”

Tommy paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving Alfie’s even when he speaks. “John, check that corridor.” He orders, making his younger brother grunt in annoyance but do as told nonetheless. “Arthur,” He grumbles, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Take our sister upstairs and get Polly.” Arthur is hesitant. Tommy might believe the words that Alfie speaks, but Arthur despises him and the only thing he hates more than Alfie is the thought of Alfie’s hands on you without any of them being there to help you, protect you. He knows that he and a Tommy are asking themselves the same question. How could something like this happen to you right beneath their noses. How had someone managed to get to when they were so close, literally right in the same room in an event organised by them. Arthur couldn’t answer the question, but could probably have killed Alfie in his rage at that moment. “Arthur,” Tommy repeats more firmly, “Go.”

This time, he listens. But that’s not without a warning glare at Alfie, who simply offers a smirk in response. “And you,” Tommy says finally, turning his attention to Alfie, “Fuck off.”

Alfie chuckles, but begins to walk past Tommy to leave the office when the smaller man grabs his arm in a vice like grip that makes the tips of his fingers tingle with the strength of it. Alfie feigns the urge to fight back in reaction to the pain. Tommy leans in close to his ear with a low snarl, “You don’t just help people. I don’t care what the reason was eh, but don’t you ever go near my sister again.”

Then he lets go and Alfie simply shakes off his arm and walks away. He hasn’t listened to Tommy Shelby any time in the past, and it appears as though today will be no different.

[angstama]

cigarettes | rindou.h

pairing:  rindou haitani x reader , mitsuya takashi x reader

genre: angst, fluff, romance

warnings: alcohol, smoking, cursing, suggestive, rejection!

✧. "hey, wanna smoke cigarettes together with me till the day we die?"

this is the alternate ending to mardy bum! where reader chooses executive rindou haitani instead of our dear mitsuya takashi :-)

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : cigarettes and feelings - the haunt

"for the love of god rin, you're so fucking slow!"

you gently tugged your cream coloured cardigan against your skin, pulling it close to shield you from the cooling air in the open as you excitedly roamed the streets of prague.

you were currently on the Europe leg of tour for your latest art series exhibition and finally had the day off to explore the little capital city with your lover and hopefully check off some of your bucket lists if rindou could only increase his pace just a little bit more.

you watched rindou roll his eyes, tapping the excess ash on his cigarette before stuffing his other hand into his pocket. "but you love it when i go slow and steady." he muses, a smug grin etched to the corner of his lips. your eyes widened, quickly looking around to see if anyone heard the suggestive comment that your boyfriend had made before shooting him a glare, "i swear rin, if you keep saying shit like this in public, i'll literally never let you fuck me again." you deadpanned.

rindou doesn't say anything but only slowly made his way towards where you've stopped to wait for him, eyes never leaving yours once. you raised your brows when he leans in to your ear, "i'd love to see you try darling." he whispers, voice husky from the lingering warm air of nicotine in his throat which only sent you squealing on the inside.

"whatever." you huffed, walking away to which rindou hastily grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. "cigarettes doesn't keep hands warm you know?" he says, intertwining your hands together before pulling you with him to visit the places you had in mind.

"man, i could sure do this everyday." you stretched your arms above your head and bending your body sideways before turning to face rindou and stealing the lighted cigarette in between his lips to place in yours. you allowed your lungs to inhale the ever so addictive nicotine into your system, mind slightly clouded which made the spectacular view of the cathedral in front of you even much more beautiful than it already was.

you were in awe. you've always wanted to come here and you remembered ever wanting to visit this very cathedral with your first love, mitsuya takashi. yet here you are right now with someone else who isn't him. someone else who held your hair back when you threw up from the excessive drinking in hopes to get rid of the aching feeling in your heart. someone else who would let you paint their body like a canvas when you were bored. someone else who would go on to make you forget that you've ever loved mitusya takashi.

the two of you sat in silence, both basking in the breathtaking view of the cathedral. it was peaceful and everything was perfect. the way the colours of red and orange skies blended together as the sun begins to set, the way your beloved cigarettes tasted almost sweet this very evening and the way rindou's warm hand was intertwined in yours, you never want this moment to end.

"hey," rindou whispered softly as you pried your gaze away from the view and to your man. "wanna smoke cigarettes together with me till the day we die?"

3 y e a r s a g o

you carefully lowered the needle on your spinning vinyl, gently swaying to the tune as you started to prep yourself for your very own art exhibition that would be showcasing tonight.

it had been almost three months since you had last seen mitsuya takashi and during these three months, you had resorted to throwing yourself into paintings after paintings while rindou had stayed by your side, supporting you through every step of the way wether you’re high or not and you were absolutely grateful for that.

your heard that mitsuya takashi had gone on to continue excelling in the fashion industry and you were genuinely happy for him. though a part of you still wished that you were the one who helped him make it through.

“how do i look today tiger?” you gently rubbed your cat’s tummy, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you hear him meow a response as you unclipped the claw clip that held your hair together, letting your hair down on your shoulders.

your doorbell suddenly rang, catching you off guard. you weren’t expecting any visitors today you were sure of it. “rindou? is that you?” you called out, opening the doors only to be met with a pair of familiar lavender orbs staring back at you.

it was mitsuya takashi.

your breath hitched upon seeing the familiar face that you missed oh so very much. “ta-takashi? why are you here?” you stammered nervously when mitsuya leaned in closely towards you, causing you to stumble back slightly. “yours. i’ll always be yours if you want me to be.” mitsuya breathed. crashing his lips onto yours before you could say anything.

rindou.

your eyes widened when rindou's face flashes at the back of your head which caused you to roughly pushed mitsuya away. "wh-what?" you stumbled back. oh how you've waited so long for the day that mitsuya would declare himself to be yours. you've dreamt of the day that mitsuya would finally kiss you with those pretty soft lips that often utter words of affirmation to you so why did you think of another man when he kisses you?

"you've got to be kidding me right?" your lips trembled, staring wide eyed at mitsuya who reached out to your arms. "i'm not y/n. i love you y/n. i've always did and i'm sorry it took this long for me to say it to you." he looked at you with pleading eyes.

this isn't right. it can't be.

"you're fucking kidding me takashi?" you laughed hysterically when you felt your legs give up, the cold tiles hitting your bare legs. "you can't do this takashi. you can't!" you ran your fingers through your hair frustratedly.

why does he always have the right to hurt you like this?

"you can't just disappear for months and then come knocking on my door saying that you love me! that's so fucking unfair!" mitsuya lowered his gaze, he knew he had messed up and was now paying for all the times he had broken your heart.

you loved mitsuya takashi you were sure of it, but you remembered that mitsuya takashi only loved you when you were sober while rindou haitani had willingly accompanied you through your highs and lows without you even begging for it. and so, you had unconsciously decided that you wanted rindou to stay in your life.

perhaps maybe it was your fight or flight instincts. no, scratch that, you have to look for rindou. you wanted to tell him that mitsuya takashi isn't that great of a kisser than you had imagined.

"i- i have to go." you stammered, anxiously getting up and dashing out of your apartment and leaving mitsuya behind. you have to see rindou.

and so, after running out of your own place with half your make up done and getting on a cab, you finally arrived at the haitani's penthouse. you knew this place at the back of your head, often spending your weekends spinning and dancing with rindou.

you impatiently knocked on the door when the electronic door finally unlocked, revealing the man you've been dying to see for almost half an hour who's now looking at you, mouth slightly gaped.

"darling? thought i said i'll pick you up at your place?"

you wiped the sweat of your forehead with your knuckles, letting out a small exhale before taking rindou's hand in yours and grabbing his neck to pull him towards you which allowed you to finally crash your lips into his.

it wasn't your first time kissing rindou. but kissing him now felt right and it completely knocked the air out of your lungs when you could taste the lingering taste of strawberries and cigarettes on his lips and you loved it. "what's going on darling?" rindou asks when you pull away to look at him with the biggest grin on your face. "i realised i only wanna smoke cigarettes with you." you breathed.

it was a weird analogy. but rindou knows. rindou knew that it was your way of saying the words of "i love you". smoking was more than just an addiction to you, it was your only constant since you were sixteen and you'd never give that up despite the health consequences for you were perfectly okay with dying earlier.

rindou only pulls you into his chest, a hand resting on your head when you hear him mumble, voice muffled. "i'd gladly smoke with you everyday."

you felt the bustling street of prague slowly fade away in the background, leaving just the two of you and the enormous cathedral standing tall in front of you.

"w-what?" you stared at him, eyes wide and searching for any hint of joke or literally whatever that prompts an attempt to prank you in his eyes only to finally realise that he wasn't joking when he remained unfazed. "now?" you gasped.

rindou nods, "yeah. why not?" he squeezes your hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "unless you don't want to marry me?" he joked, raising a brow.

your brain finally fully processed what he had just said. rindou haitani wants to marry you. he wants to be yours till your last breath.

you shook your head frantically, "fuck rin- no! of course i want to marry you!"

"okay, then let's get married now." rindou stood up, dragging you along with him towards the cathedral that you love so very much where the two of you exchanged your vows that very day.

taglist: @theresapancakes <3

[meetmymouth]

out in the heartland : harry styles

summary: it’s harry’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him word count: 6k warnings: daddy kink, pegging, anal fingering & rimming

“Love, can you get us more crisps,” Harry calls from where he’s seated on the floor, a Playstation console in hand.

It’s another lockdown Monday where they turn Mitch and Sarah’s spacious living room into a gaming room slash studio– according to Mitch, bowls of crisps, cheese platters, wine glasses and other snacks decorating every surface as they play anything and everything from FIFA to Fortnite until their brains are too foggy and they can’t move their fingers properly due to alcohol in their systems.

Sarah and Mitch were kind enough to let them both quarantine at theirs for a while, and it’d been so much fun, spending time with Mitch and Sarah, cooking together, watching films and going on walks, and overall having a great time with their friends. As much as it was just another Monday in lockdown, it was a special one with today being Harry’s 27th. They’ve already cut his cake, one she’d made herself -and Sarah helping with the piping– decorated with maraschino cherries and sprinkles, and they’ve been spending the night drinking posh wine and screaming at each other while Harry and Mitch played FIFA.

With two bowls filled with more crisps, she makes her way back to the living room with a smile on her face as Mitch and Harry keep going on and on about the game, and Sarah teasing them both, asking whether they’d get a divorce soon since they’ve been arguing back and forth like an old, married couple.

They pause the game as Mitch says her name, “did you see the card Jeff sent Harry for his birthday?” He’s smirking as he takes another sip of his wine, and Harry throws a piece of cheese at him, earning a glare from the long-haired man.

“Not yet, what is it?”

“Jeff being a dickhead as per. He sent me a card, it’s between my book, there,” he gestures at his book on the sofa with his head.

She grabs the thick book, turns the pages until she finds the card with ease, and she feels her heart drop for some reason, eyebrows furrowing and palms starting to sweat as she turns to Harry. He’s watching her with a grin on his face, the others already laughing at what’s in front of the card as she takes it in her hands to inspect the shiny birthday card.

“’Happy pegging birthday’” she reads out loud with a monotonous voice. “Uh… okay. That’s– very funny.”

“He’s just being stupid,” Harry laughs, running a finger thorugh his hair. He sits up, mouth full of crisps, and extends his hand for her to hold. “Come here, let me feed you cheese.”

“Okay… uh, nice card.”

“I mean, I love you, Sarah, but–” Mitch starts, mouth full, and Sarah cuts him off with a glare.

“Do not finish that sentence,” she points the wine glass at him as the sounds of cackling follow behind.

They all laugh… except her.

It’s funny. It is. And she loves them, loves laughing with them. But now, with the card Harry labelled as ‘stupid’ in hand and a fancy, pink box with Harry’s name on it waiting for them, waiting for him upstairs, on the bed they’d been sharing since the beginning of lockdown, she can’t help but feel stupid, too.

Was that a bold move? Was she being too brave, or… stupid? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but let a pang of shame and sadness engulf her for a moment, before Harry’s silky voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She accepts the hand extended and sits next to him on the floor, card now forgotten on the sofa, and she tries to occupy both her mind and hands with Sarah’s fluffy cat, giving his little head tiny pets as Harry rubs her back as if it would get rid of the tension she was feeling.  

“You okay,” he brings his mouth close to her gear and whispers, then presses the gentlest, softest kiss on her ear. “D’you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, H.”

It’s not until 2AM that everyone decides to go up to their rooms, not even batting an eye at the mess they made as they make their way upstairs with promises to clean everything in the morning. Now that she knows the box is there, on the bed where Harry can easily detect as soon as they open the door, her stomach begins growling but not because she’s hungry, but because she’s feeling anxious, and ashamed.

She has to do something.

“Hey, um…” she begins, stopping them both in front of the guest room they’d been occupying. “Could you– could you bring me water, I forgot to take my meds today.”

“Baby…” Harry says, hand going up to her cheeks to stroke there for a moment. “I thought you had an alarm… I filled your water bottle this morning and put it on the bedside table, come on.”

“No– Harry…”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am, I just want fresh water.”

“Are you– are you serious?”

“Yes,” it comes out as a question rather than an answer and she bites her bottom lip, feeling uneasy under Harry’s curious gaze.

“You’re being kinda weird.”

“I’m not being weird!”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me?” He says with eyebrows furrowed and hand on his hip. “In the bedroom, in particular?”

“Don’t be silly.”

And as soon as he turns away, she knows she’s done for. It’s too late. She’s fucked. Everything’s fucked, she thinks, and he will hate her. Will never want to see her face again and probably ask her to leave as soon as possible since he won’t be able to look at her ever again without being reminded of her disgusting “gift”.

He goes in, of course he does, and she can’t help but close her eyes for a few moments before she joins him, hands sweaty and heart beating like there’s no tomorrow. She finds him near the bed, eyes focused on the box sitting in the middle of the bed, and she looks up when he does, finding him giving her a bright, heart-clenching smile as the dimple gets wider.

“Well, what’s this then, bab?”

His socked-feet makes a comforting noise on the carpeted floor, and he stops when he reaches where she’s standing, hands immediately finding her hips to bring them closer.

“Harry, please don’t open it,” it’s pathetic, she thinks, how desperate and anxious she sounds. Though, she can’t help but close her eyes when Harry’s hand finds the back of her neck as he strokes there with his thumb. “Don’t open it. It’s just silly. It’s a joke.”

“Baby, breathe. What are you even talking about, hm? Why are you– oh my god, darling, you look like you’re having a panic attack. You’re sweating, are you…” he squeezes her flesh gently, then guides her to the bed. “Hey, look at me– look. I’m not going to open it unless you want me to. Do you really not know me? I would never do anything you don’t want me to. Who do you take me for, hm?” It’s so gentle, his voice, it’s like honey is dripping down his mouth and she can’t help but watch the way his pink lips move. “Baby. Look at me. I love you. You’re so special to me, you’re my whole world. I won’t open it– I won’t, I promise. C’mere, babs.”

“I love you too,” she sniffs once, twice, then rubs her eyes.

“Wanna go to sleep... hm? Come on, bab, let’s go to sleep.”

Nights chase each other away, Tuesday kisses Wednesday and Thursday is spent with laughter and too much smoke and Friday finally arrives and it’s like a breath of fresh air, but she also thinks it’s due to the open windows and fresh flowers in the spacious kitchen. The box, containing the cursed gift of hers is forgotten, placed under their bed besides their suitcases, and everything feels normal. Almost too normal. So, she does what most people would do: look for ‘trouble’.

When Harry’s in the shower, she gets the box out and sits on the bed as she thinks about what to do with it. But, apparently, the stillness of the room was too good to be true as Harry emerges from the ensuite, hair still dripping-wet as he adjusts the robe, eyes immediately finding what she’s got in front of her, and the box that is now open, and a black leather piece hanging from the not-so-tall box.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he’s testing the waters, she knows. His eyebrows are furrowed, only slightly, and mouth slightly parted. “What are you doing, darling?”

It’s not a threat, nor asked with the intention of intimidating her. Alas, she feels threatened.

“I…”

“What is it?”

She sighs, feeling the cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally gives up. “See for yourself,” the box is thrust into his hands, and she leaves the room, leaving behind a confused, semi-naked man and a very expensive looking strap-on.

It’s not another fifteen minutes until Harry comes downstairs dressed in only a pair of joggers, and finds her on the sofa as she chews on her thumb –a bad habit really– while reading one of Harry’s books. He walks up to her with a tiny smile on his face, and curls into her side, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he breathes in the sweet smell and the now all too familiar fabric softener.

He waits for her to speak first, not wanting to upset her further, but all she does is sit there, and pretend to read until Harry lets out a sigh, and presses a brief, gentle kiss to her jaw.

“Can we talk?” He says, hands now resting on her thigh as his thumb strokes the skin there.

She sighs too, and fidgets under his gaze. “Not really.”

“Why not, though? We’ve been together for years. Why are you so scared of me, hm? Have I ever done something to make you feel like you can’t be honest with me?”

“No, it’s just embarrassing to me, Harry. And… seeing that card. And you calling it… stupid. I just feel like an idiot, please stop.”

Harry sighs, his breath hitting the side of her face. “Look at me. Look–” he reaches and touches her jaw. “I love you. I’m madly in love with you. The kind that keeps me up at night. The kind that makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I’m so gone, baby, so fucking gone for you. You got me. I can’t leave, now, I’d never want to,” he presses his forehead to the side of her jaw, the damp skin feeling cold against her flesh. “Jeff on the other hand… can we not talk about him when I have these– these images in my head. Of you. Wearing that.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to feel bad but too bad, I feel like shite and am so fucking embarassed, you don’t get it.”

“I do, I fucking do and I’m trying to tell you how much I’d love it if you fucked me in the ass. Now, you either come upstairs and finish what you started, or–”

They’re both startled when Mitch enters the living room and drops the book in his hand.

He looks up at them, clearly not phased, and they both notice the AirPods in his ears as he kneels down and grabs his book, giving them one last look before disappearing outside to join Sarah in the garden. Harry though, he lets out a chuckle and turns to her, dimple tugging at his cheek, and extends his arm to caress her cheek.

“Come upstairs, baby.”

He says it easily, words rolling off his tongue, just like that, and she does. Of course she does because what else was she to do? She lets him take her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he guides them up the stairs. Once inside the room, the door is closed, locked, and Harry takes the time to walk towards the window to close the curtain, and she can’t help but stare at his long, beautiful fingers over the soft cotton. Other than the thick, silver band on his middle finger, his fingers are ring-free, and despite adoring his soft, pretty fingers with his equally pretty rings, there’s just something so soft, cosy and familiar about Harry without rings.

He catches her staring because, of course he does. He sees her. Every movement of her eyes, trembling lips, shaky fingers, scrunch of her nose; he sees it all. And now, he walks towards her, a big grin tugging at his lips as he stops right in front of her, both of them aware of the box sitting on the bed but neither of them say anything as they hold each other’s gaze.

And just like that, she feels like she can finally breathe properly when she’s being pulled into his chest, hands finding their place on each side of her head as he starts peppering kisses to her face, first her forehead, then nose, and at last, his plump lips find their way to the place they know by heart, her lips.

It’s not rushed, not at all, Harry thinks they have all the time in the world so he takes his time with her. He knows it’s impossible, foolish even, but he swears he can see the marks his tiny but lustful kisses are leaving behind when he briefly opens his eyes. They’re everywhere on her beautiful face, from her lips to the corner of her mouth, chin, the side of her jaw.

“How do you want me,” he mumbles and it’s an uttered promise, somehow submissive though not completely, but also one that is full of love, trust.

She freezes for a moment, hands still on his neck, holding each other’s gaze and she watches as Harry walks to the bed, and he grabs the box. The shape of the object in his hands feels unfamiliar to the eye, the dazzling, hot pink dildo at the front makes them both swallow in anticipation and she knows Harry is clueless about what his next move should be.

It certainly wasn’t their first time trying out things in the bedroom. They were both ‘kinky’, as some would call it, they liked rough sex, the kind that left bruises and marks behind, but never anything like this. Sure, she did give him a rim job a few times, his darker, puckered hole made her mouth water and she wanted nothing more than to get on her knees and kiss and lick the flesh until Harry was a mess, coming in long spurts. He loved having his ass licked, he loved sitting on her face, with his big cock stuffing her warm, tiny mouth as he forced her to take everything in, moving his ass back and forth across her mouth as she tried to lick every inch of the bitter flesh, wanting to please him, make him fall apart above her.

But, despite Harry letting her lick his ass could be considered as a vulnerability or submission to some, she was always his submissive. She loved it; they both loved it. She also knew today wasn’t the day she would give up on that submission. No, today was all about Harry, and what he wanted, how he wanted it, and it was about her giving it to him. So she gives him a tiny smile, hands reaching to grab the strap-on from his hands, and he watches with great intent, pupils dilated and mouth parted.

She swallows, and looks up at him with apprehension. “I want you to use me,” she lets out, a shaky breath following behind. “I want you to… I want you to do whatever you want with me. I know this,” her gaze falls to the pink dildo surrounded by black leather of the harness. “It’s something we haven’t done before, at least… fully–”

Harry giggles, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “Fully.”

“Shh. I’m just saying that… we haven’t done this before but I still want you to be in charge, at least… at least–”

“You want me to be the Daddy, hm? You still want Daddy to tell you what to do, how to fuck him? Y’gonna be my little fuck toy? Is that what you want, darling?”

“Yes,” her breath hitches at her throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You’re so good to Daddy, darling. Always spoiling me, always looking after me, taking care of Daddy… how’d I get so lucky?”

“Daddy deserves it,” she looks up, waiting for his command to get naked and she can see it in his eyes, the hesitant gaze as if he wants to make sure she’s okay still even though he’s the one who’s about to get fucked.

“Go on then,” he mutters, hands going to his own joggers as he lets them pool around his ankles. He reaches up, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “Get naked for Daddy and put it on.”

And she does, oh, she does.

It doesn’t take long, considering she only has a ratty t-shirt on and a pair of joggers, and nothing underneath. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, her forgoing underwear, but they both can’t help but hold each other’s gaze a minute longer. She notices the fiery look in his eyes, pupils now looking like a pair of black buttons as his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth.

She lets her eyes wander, gaze travelling from each puffy nipple that are now beginning to harden, to the hair on his chest, then the hair that’s following his happy trail, all the way down to his cock. She feels her heart clench in lust at the sight of his hard cock, slightly curved with a vein following underneath, and she just wants to get down on her knees and put it in her mouth. She remembers him asking her whether to shave or not a couple of weeks ago, and the thick pubic hair surrounding his perfect cock makes her mouth water, feeling content that she’d told him not to touch any razors.

She looks up at him again, to see the expression on his face and he smiles, hand reaching for her.

“Come.”

She walks towards him, the strap-on in hand, and a tiny whimper leaves her mouth when her hand finds her boob, long fingers trapping her pebbled nipple between them as he twists the darker nub, once, twice, and he lets it go only to slap it, causing her to gasp as she quickly tries to suppress the noise with her palm pressing against her mouth. It stings, but doesn’t hurt. Not at all. In fact, it frustrates her despite the tingling, stinging feeling between her legs. She needs more. She wants more.

“Get this on and get on your knees,” he mutters, hand now on her neck as he squeezes briefly, watching as she gets the strap-on on and tightens the straps. “You’re gonna get Daddy’s cock nice and wet before you can fuck his ass. Understand?”

She pairs her quiet ‘yes’ with a nod, mind too hazy to actually look into Harry’s eyes as her shaky fingers fiddle with the harness. The clasps make a clicking sound, very satisfying to their ears, and she swallows, getting on her knees in front of him. Clean, soapy smell of his skin chafes the tip of her nose very gently and Harry begins playing with her hair, hands stroking the side of her face before one finds the back of her neck, bringing her towards his hard cock.

“Take it in your mouth,” his thumb presses hard on her bottom lip, as if to remind her who’s in control despite the foreign object she’s been supporting.

Her gaze wanders, taking in his thick, leaking cock, and with one hand steady on his meaty thigh, she brings the other to his balls, humming when she feels them tight already. The wrinkly skin of it is soft and not at all unfamiliar to her. So, she leans in to press a flat tongue against his balls, not missing the way Harry’s thighs jerk in response, and she then takes them into her mouth. She hums at the feeling in her mouth as she alternates between sucking and licking them and Harry lets out a quivering sigh above her, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of her mouth around him.

He lets out a his when her teeth grazes over the area lightly. “Fuck, babe. You like my balls?”

Of course, there’s no time to respond, nor the possibility of her forming coherent words since he’s literally balls deep in her mouth, so she proceeds to hum around him, a few hairs there tickling her nose and lips as she sucks. With a pop, she lets them go and darts out her tongue again, travelling the warm, wet muscle from underneath his cock, to the tip. It’s a deep, pink colour, shiny and smooth, so she can’t help but wrap her mouth around the tip, earning a quick jolt of his hips from Harry as the action takes him by surprise.

She looks up, and sucks the tip as if it’s an ice lolly, and the salty taste of his pre-cum fills the insides of her mouth, fingernails pressing harder into his meaty thighs, and she wishes she could see the mark her nails left behind on his tiger tattoo.

Series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s leave his mouth as he guides her head down his cock, and as always, she obeys while taking him deeper and deeper, her warm saliva coating his thickness and she moans around his warm cock as she brings her hands to his ass. While still sucking, she squeezes there, fingernails digging into the perfect skin of his ass and he lets out a hiss first, then pulls her hair harshly before pressing her face down his cock, a shaky moan following as she takes him deeper, her throat welcoming the warmth and thickness of his cock like it always does.

“You’re such a cock slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t keep that mouth away from Daddy,” he pulls her away from his cock, hands immediately going to her mouth to smear the pre-cum and spit all over her mouth and chin. "You wanted to treat Daddy for his birthday, hm?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Always spoiling me, making me feel so, so fucking good,” he squeezes one of her boobs, twisting the nipple between his fingers before his gaze falls to the strap-on and the dildo secured tightly to the harness. He gets on his knees. “Make me suck that cock.”

The words, they just sound so hot, so filthy coming out of his mouth, making her weak in the knees as she swallows, and she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing there once before it travels to the back of his head. She feels in control, having him on his knees, at her command even though he’s still somehow in charge, and it drives her crazy, having this gorgeous man all to herself. 

She watches him as Harry’s curious gaze takes the pink dildo in. She knew it wasn’t his first time sucking a cock, despite the one now in his face being silicone. So when he goes in easily with her hands pulling him closer, she can’t help but whine at the expression on his face, eyes glittering and plump lips parted as he takes the cock into his mouth.

He coats the pink silicone with his saliva, eyes shut as if he’s trying to concentrate on an important task, pink lips looking like they belong there, around a cock. They look so sinful, yet so perfect as he bobs his head up and down, talking the cock further into his mouth and she tries to guide him but she knows he doesn’t need it. He knows what he’s doing.

“You look so hot,” she manages to let out, words coming out as a hum, low and quiet, and he opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering at the whispered compliment. “You look so good, Harry.”

He takes it out of his mouth briefly, a string of saliva making a bridge between his bottom lip and the dildo, and she reaches there, smearing it all over his bottom lip just like he did to her earlier as she loved seeing him dirty.

His pink tongue darts out and he wraps his lips around the finger on his bottom lip. “Gonna get me wet now?” He hums around her finger and she feels her pussy clench around nothing.

“Get on the bed.”

As Harry gets on all fours, ass in the air, her eyes wander to their lube on the nightstand. Ignoring the heat in her stomach, she sits on her knees behind Harry and touches his ass, fingers caressing the soft skin, touching the tiny mole there before she leans forward and presses a kiss there. It’s a peck, a sweet kiss that turns into more as her mouth opens, tongue flat against the warm skin as she sucks the flesh, causing him to let out a happy grunt.

He whispers her name, the excitement making her nipples tighten once again, but she moves her lips towards the crack, not wanting to stop.

“That’s it,” Harry groans, “Get Daddy wet before you put that cock in him.”

It’s a godly sight. Him on all fours, at her mercy, it was exquisite, intense, dirty. But she wanted to get him dirtier. With her hand parting one cheek, she bites her lip, noticing his rim, puckered and surrounded by little hairs, and all of a sudden, she can’t wait to get her mouth on him, to see the hairs get darker with her spit as he squirms under her touch.

She gets closer, a grin appearing on her face when he lets out quiet whines and whimpers, and she exhales a sigh into Harry’s milky flesh. Her tongue, hungry and hot, darts out to lick his rim briefly, just to get him wet before she uses her fingers. His cock, now a deeper shade of pink, hard and thick, is peeking between his legs, moving left and right from time to time whenever Harry or she moves, and she can’t help but reach there.

Harry sucks in a breath as her warm hand meets his hard cock, and she lets out a moan when she feels the thickness of it in her palm. It’s hot, so fucking hot, and the smooth skin of his cock is still damp, so she brings her thumb to his tip and smears the leaking pre-cum all over it, then drags her finger down to his balls and squeezes once.

His perfect mouth lets out a pained whimper when she lets go and focuses on the beautiful rim in front of her. She leans forward, both hands now parting his cheeks, and spits on his rim before flattening her tongue and lapping across Harry’s puckered hole. It’s not sweet, far from it actually, but the salty, bitter taste makes her even wetter as she keeps licking and sucking around his hole, satisfied when she hears him whimper and moan. Once it’s wet and the hairs around his rim get darker, she pulls away and licks a finger into her mouth, then grabs the lube from the bedside table and places it somewhere by Harry’s feet.

It’s fire, when she presses her middle finger into his hole, and Harry lets out a groan, her finger sliding in with ease with the help of her spit. “So tight,” she mumbles when Harry pushes his ass backwards only a little bit to match the tiny movements of her finger.

“Move faster,” Harry says, voice low. “Add another one.”

The lube is now in her hand as she brings it to where her finger is, takes it out, and allows a generous amount to coat the puckered area where her finger has been. Harry groans at the feeling, hole clenching around nothing, and she rubs the area with the same finger she’s been using, and presses it in before taking it out. This time, her middle finger is joined by her index as she fucks into his ass slowly, taking her sweet time while admiring the way he’s been taking her fingers. The skin makes wet noises, and she knows if they weren’t so worked up, they would have a giggle about it, just like they often do whenever one of them makes a questionable noise while having sex.

This time, though, the sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of his ass makes her go crazy, and she knows Harry feels the same when he lets out a loud grunt, pushing his ass back in sharp movements, in hopes of getting her to fuck him harder and deeper.

It goes on like that for a while, and they stop when he’s opened up enough, Harry’s rim now looking sore and pink. Once the dildo at her front is lubed up generously, she taps his ass once, making him turn his head back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in question and mouth still parted due to the tingling feeling at the tip of his cock.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, gaze lowering. “Fuck Daddy’s ass. I’m ready,” his voice, hoarse and low, rings in her ears as she lifts the dildo up to his ass, his now-pink hole.

One hand holding the pink dildo from the base and the other resting on Harry’s back, she starts pushing it in, whines and hisses leaving his throat as soon as he feels the silicone tip. She watches as the tip digs into his ass, slowly and with effort despite all the lube, and she can’t help but bring her other hand to her boobs, squeezing once before she places it back on Harry’s ass. He’s a mess, sweat dripping down his back, and she knows he’s trying to keep quiet as neither of them would want to get caught by the other couple despite having the door locked.

“Fuck,” he grunts, head lowering.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he whimpers, ass trying to clench around the dildo but it fails due to how big it is. “Keep going, I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

She holds him by his love handles, fingernails digging into his milky, smooth skin as she moves her hips, the dildo now halfway in. With Harry moaning, she takes her time to admire how fucking hot he looks underneath her, with his ass filled with the pink dildo, and she sighs, continuing to fuck into his ass with the shiny dildo. It’s incredible how well he’s taking it, taking her, his puckered hole now a sore-pink, wet, and she feels like crying, not knowing how to handle what’s going on. She loves him. She loves him so fucking much, and she knows he does, too. She feels overwhelmed with love and hunger as she speeds up her hips, the dildo now fully inside him as she fucks his ass.

He gasps and jolts when the dildo presses right up to his prostate. “Fuckin’ hell. Please keep going, fuck Daddy hard. Fuck me, baby– god, I’m gonna cum soon. Keep going, keep fucking me,” he rasps.

“You’re taking it so well. You look so fucking good.”

“Oh fuck– it feels so good. Fuck me harder, come on, fuck me.”

Feeling brave, she presses her fingernails into his ass cheek, then lifts her hand, a loud smack landing on his left cheek and Harry hisses, fingers curling into the sheets as he lets out whimper after whimper. She watches as the dildo disappears into Harry’s ass, the pink mark on his ass becoming redder and angrier by the second and she decides to press her front against his back, laying down on him as she fucks into him deeper, nipples getting ridiculously hard as soon as they make contact with Harry’s sweaty back.

She finds it easier to fuck him in this position, and she likes that they’re much closer now, mouths searching for each other as he reaches behind and grabs her ass, squeezing hard as she keeps thrusting hard and deep. With kisses placed against his sweaty neck, Harry tries to turn his head to where hers is, and they meet in a rushed, teeth-clashing kiss, Harry’s tongue darting out to lick into her mouth, but missing in the end, and licking the corner of her mouth instead as she lets out a whine, hand searching for his cock that’s now trapped between his body and the sheets.

He helps her, lifts up his lower body and she starts moving her hand up and down on his hard cock, head resting on the crook of his neck as her hips move lazily. He’s so hard, and she knows he’s close by the sounds he’s making, his hips jerking forward from time to time as little ‘uh’s leave his mouth, and she wants to help him. She wants him to cum so bad. She wants to be the one making him cum so fucking hard.

“Are you gonna cum,” she whispers into his neck. “Please, baby. Cum for me. Show me how much you liked getting fucked.”

“God,” with cock still in her palm, he tries thrusting his hips forward to meet the strokes of her hand. “Please– I’m g’na cum so fuckin’ hard. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking good to me. Oh my god, baby, it hurts.”

“Yeah? It hurts?” She squeezes the base of his cock, then touches his balls briefly before continuing her strokes. “You’re taking it so well. Come on, Daddy. I need you to cum.”

“God, I’m– oh fuck. I’m gonna… Make me cum. Come on, make Daddy cum.” 

She squeezes his cock once again, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. When he lets out a choked breath, she knows he’s coming. It’s hot, sticky, and so fucking dirty, the cum coating her palm, creating more lubrication as she keeps stroking him lazily, dildo still filling up his ass, and with a groan, Harry reaches behind to smack her ass.

They stay like that for a while, with her still inside him as he tries to catch his breath, and she proceeds to match their breaths to the clock on the wall, feeling completely spent but still frustrated since the pool of wetness between her folds seems to be intensifying every passing moment.

After a while, Harry clears his throat. “Are you a dream?” It’s soft, only a whisper, and sickeningly sweet.

“Hm?”

“You’re a dream. You’re unbelievable– I love love love you,” he sighs, voice breaking. It takes him a few seconds to complete his sentence.

“No, thank you. I hope… I hope you liked it?”

“Fucking loved it. What about you?”

“I did. You did so good,” she touches his sweaty hair. “But,” she starts, legs starting to feel sore. “I’m still so fucking wet.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, sweet girl–” Harry reaches behind and strokes her hip. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Yes, please.”

The strap-on now on the floor, Harry takes his time to admire her soft features, the sweat on her forehead and messy strands of hair sticking to her face. She rubs her eyes, and lets out a yawn, but her other hand reaches blindly for Harry, and he smiles, the gesture leaving his chest, his heart heavy and hot and full of love. He lets her hold on to him as she keeps rubbing her eyes, then he links their fingers as she opens her eyes to find him staring.

She gives him a lazy smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“All right, Shakespeare… mhm, come here,” she pulls him closer by his love handles. “I love you. Happy birthday. Again.”

“I love you so much. How is it possible to want you this much, hm?” He mumbles against her sweaty neck, not caring about the bitter taste of her skin. He watches as her smile widens, eyes tired and sleepy. “There’s a halo in your mouth.”

pls reblog if you enjoyed it! it only takes a second but it helps me tons <3 inbox is always open for your feedback!!!!! <3 lu

[taechaos]

Silent Treatment

from Textbook Love drabble series

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Why did you reject him? He’s consumed by his thoughts and theories of your behavior because you didn’t say a single word to him. If your actions were anything to go by, which apparently speak louder than words, you didn’t even want him to touch you.

warnings: slight angst, drugs, arguing, dubcon, cunnilingus, mild degredation

word count: 4.2k

tags: @mwitsmejk @1-in-abillion @kooookie

a/n: the request (contains some spoilers). i'm gonna take a very short break from this couple to write other requests!! hope u enjoy 💗

The shift in the Spring weather is unpredictable. One moment it’s chilly, and the other sunny. Humans can only adapt so much, and it causes an outbreak of common colds. Most people recover easily, handy medicine soothing their sore throats, syrups suppressing coughs, and nose sprays ridding the blockage. You, on the other hand, are not that lucky. With a weak immune system, you’re very careful to not get sick, but there must have been a slip-up because you’ve somehow lost your voice after catching a cold.

You sniffle and cough, but you can’t speak. It’s advised to not exert your vocal cords in cases like these, and that is just so unfortunate for you. The last thing you’d ever want to do is spread your sickness to Jungkook, and that meant not getting too close to him; it meant no kissing. 

A very large white placard is spread out in front of you on the wooden table, and you’re plastering printed images of a specific global issue on it. You’re sitting on a bench with two of your friends as they chatter mindlessly while you work. Jungkook has a project about climate change due in a few days, and it’s supposed to be very important for his final grade. You’ve already written him a script for his presentation along with a stick prop to point at specific pictures. It’s fun, glittery and he’s going to love it. 

“Hey,” Minnie, your friend, calls for you, “we’re going to get some coffee from Starbucks. Want us to get you green tea?”

Soyeon laughs when your eyes light up; it’s your favorite beverage, and it’s supposed to help with your sore throat. They leave with a smile after you give them a hyper nod and you’re alone as you adjust your woolen scarf around your neck. You need to heal as fast as you can so you’re no longer missing your beloved’s affection.

Jungkook has been feeling more inclined to approach you without reason lately, but that doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. Getting teased by his friend, specifically Taehyung, about having a sissy crush on a girl like yourself angered him to no end. A hit always got him to shut up, but not for long. He’s walking your way today because there’s no one around to judge him for talking to you. 

You’re tearing a double-sided tape when he sits on your table, carefully avoiding your materials. Your breath hitches as his eyes gloss over your work in progress. “Working hard, I see,” he comments with disinterest. He doesn’t say anything about your efforts, but he’s impressed. The corner of his lip tugs upwards before he leans in for a kiss. You have enough self-control and concern for his well-being over your desires to lean back before your lips make contact. His face is close to yours as he pauses and slightly frowns before trying again. He receives the same results and finally pulls back. 

“You did well,” he frowns at you and speaks as if you’re a child, “I’m praising you.” Your eyes are darting back and forth awkwardly and you don’t know what to do other than sit in silence. You put your hands on his knees as a resort and his frown deepens as he watches you. “I can take a hint, you know. You don’t have to fucking ignore me.” He roughly shoves your hands and stands up before storming off with a scoff. You’re torn between following him and being responsible over your belongings. You can’t let his grades go to waste because of a small misunderstanding, so you decide to text him instead. There’s always a possibility someone might steal his project. Or maybe after he’s cooled off? You delay the message, but somewhere in your heart, you’re satisfied by his reaction because it’s clear that he wanted to kiss you.

Heavy footsteps clomp against the sidewalk before Jungkook slumps on the seat next to Taehyung. It’s an isolated area for smoking students at the back of the campus, and his friend group is no exception to this role. They’re taking drags of cigarettes individually as Jungkook glares at his boots. They’re chunky and a bold black, and his dark outfit paints him as the big bad wolf. It fits, because he’s ready to attack when he’s filled with so much resentment. Why did you reject him? He’s consumed by his thoughts and theories of your behavior because you didn’t say a single word to him. If your actions were anything to go by, which apparently speak louder than words, you didn’t even want him to touch you. It doesn’t make sense, but you also grimaced at him, but then why were you doing his homework? He’s feeling frustrated, and upset all the same.

“Someone’s troubled,” Seokjin points out with a mouthful of smoke. “Kookie?”

Said boy only grunts in response.

“Did the lousy girl finally see you for who you really are and leave you?” Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to mock him with a pout. “Tragic.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tae,” Jungkook spits and sends him a death glare, fire flaming in his fierce eyes. “Go actually talk to a girl or something, and leave me alone. I can’t take your shit right now.”

The low blow doesn’t affect Taehyung in the slightest as he holds up his hands in defence with comically wide eyes. “Relax, tiger.”

“Moving on from Tae’s inability to talk to girls in broad daylight, what’s up with you Kook?” Namjoon butts in, earning a fake cough from the receiving end of the insult.

He pauses for a moment before babbling, “I hate those bitches. My mother for one, couldn’t stand wearing clothes whenever she saw a dude. Moving on from guy to guy, unless they’re a fucking asshole. What do they want? Why are they never fucking satisfied?!”

A moment of silence passes among the huddled friends before Yoongi breaks it with a joke, “Who’s the lucky girl?” It doesn’t land as Jungkook deeply sighs in response. “Did she cheat on you?” he tries again.

“No,” he murmurs.

“Then…?”

“She… I don’t fucking know, she gave me the silent treatment. She leaned away from me too,” he shakes his head with a quiet groan, “it just doesn’t add up. I got mad and left.”

“No way that could’ve ended up badly,” Taehyung chuckles but purses his lips when he’s sent another dirty look.  “How long was the interaction anyway?” 

“Like 30 seconds.”

“Are you coming out tonight?” Yoongi asks and puts out the burning tip of his stick. “Could help you feel better.”

“And we’ve got molly,” Namjoon adds.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

Alcohol’s effect on a person differs in moods, and Jungkook is usually a horny drunk. Being a sad drunk is a first for him tonight, but he’s just so confused. It made his heart drop when you outwardly refused his advances and anxiety blossomed in his chest, which he has no idea how to deal with. It kicked in fight or flight instincts, and he just… hated the idea of you not loving him, even if it’s momentary. He can’t bear staying in a situation that makes him feel so insecure, and that feeling is supposed to be left in his childhood. You just about brought out the worst in him without doing anything. 

You didn’t do anything.

It’s 10PM and he’s waiting on your usual good night text that he never responds to. It’s so pathetic, and he hates himself for being so used to your affection that it worries him when he’s deprived of it. He’s never doubted your love for him, but his insecurities are churning his gut. It’s an overflow of all of his pent-up emotions, and he can’t handle it.

“Here,” Taehyung pops in out of nowhere, clutching a pill in his hand. There’s a bottle of water in the other as he holds them out for Jungkook to take. “Stop moping and get laid.”

“I’d say the same to you, but you’d probably start crying during sex,” he mumbles and uncaps the bottle before throwing in the pill and washing it down with the water. “Thanks.”

“See that girl over there?” he ignores him and steps behind his miserable friend to point at the owner of the sultry gaze directed at Jungkook from the bar. “She wants to fuck you. Or maybe me, but I’m passing her onto you.”

“How kind of you,” he sarcastically replies.

“Uh-uh, so you’re gonna be in ecstasy in about 10 minutes. Don’t fuck this up.” He slaps his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. It’s a lonesome party because not a lot of people are allowed in when drugs are involved. Causing a ruckus, receiving a noise complaint and then getting arrested is out of the question. 

He isn’t interested in sex with a stranger - not today at least -, but he hopes for it to change as he waits to approach her. Maybe drugs will rile him up enough to have fun with someone else and rid his mind of you. It’s an annoying itch on his brain, so he rests his head against the couch to comfort himself with the soft fabric. He’s sleepy from the beer he drank earlier, and he doesn’t know how time goes by so fast when he closes his eyes.

A few minutes must have passed, because he’s starting to feel dizzy in his seat. A smile carves on his face as his mind grows slightly fogged, and he opens his eyes to find the girl quietly chatting with a friend. When she glances at him, he beckons her to come over. She mouths a “be right back” to her friend before strutting in his direction.

“Hey,” she smiles down at him before sitting on the couch. She’s aristocratic, chic and pretty. “Sorry if I weirded you out earlier.” Her voice is sweet like honey, and her words flow out of her tongue so naturally. A dream girl, really, and Jungkook is starting to get horny.

“I don’t mind,” he reassures with a subtle seductive tone, “what’s a girl like you doing with this crowd? You look too innocent.” He wraps a finger around a strand of her hair and twirls it. It feels strange.

“My friend sent me here, told me to watch over someone,” she lowly speaks. “I’m Soyeon.”

“Nice to meet you, Soyeon,” he breathes before crashing her lips with his. His hand reaches down to grip her thigh, tongue poking out to swipe the sticky gloss. It’s flavored, and it tastes of strawberry. When she kisses him back so slowly, innocently, it turns him on so much. His pants feel tight around his crotch as he runs another hand through her soft hair. Compared to him, she’s passionate whereas he’s sloppy. He’s starting to get dizzier, and it feels so fucking good, but he hates it.

There is not a single reason for him to not enjoy this, not when his mood is lifting so high. The hand on her thigh lands on her cleavage instead and she’s so submissive and shy, but something’s off. He groans into her mouth before biting her lip, ripping a whine out of her. Why does she sound so sexy and annoying?  

He pulls away from her before sighing in irritation. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks worriedly.

“No, just, fuck.” He starts laughing before rubbing his palms on his eyes, “I really want to fuck, but I just can’t.”

“We can just chat,” she softly suggests. “What’s your name?”

“Jungkook.”

He removes his hands from his face when she goes silent. Her eyes are wide and she’s gaping at him… guiltily? “Crap,” she hisses quietly, “I was supposed to make sure you were okay. My roommate is like, super in love with you and asked me to come here.”

He says your name in a question, wondering if it’s you. When she nods, he asks for your dorm instantly.

“She’s in room 124… Why?”

When he stands up, there’s a sway in his posture but he recovers quickly. There’s an involuntary grin on his face as he thanks her ignorantly. He’s out of the villa in a rush, and he has the overwhelming urge to just run. The campus is a bit far away from the house, but he doesn’t care as his footfalls echo in the dark streets. He has so much energy to waste, and with his current stamina, he’s confident he’ll find you before dawn. It’s stupid but it’s fun, and he doesn’t care for catching his breath as the corner stores pass by him in a blur. 

Throughout the two hours of his reckless jog, where he mixed up directions multiple times, his mind is starting to clear up little by little. He’s happy because of what Soyeon told him, and he feels relieved upon seeing the familiar college building. He’s not allowed in dorms at this time, but he’s done this too many times to get caught. Except he was drunk in those instances, and being on MDMA was different. Sneaking past security was tough because he couldn’t bring himself to tiptoe without making so much noise. When they glanced at him, he thought it to be the only choice to just run past them. He’s in the elevator by the time they catch on, and the numbers look wonky in his eyes but he presses the button for the right floor. 

He’s shifting his weight repeatedly in an attempt to contain his excitement; he wants to see you so bad. The moment he hears the ding of the elevator, he’s running past the halls and stops upon seeing 124. He has to squint, but he knows this is your dorm. 

You wake up with a silent gasp when there’s a pound on the door. You clutch your sheets in fear until someone starts to sing your name. “Jungkook?” you mouth to yourself. You stand up and look through the peephole and there’s a man on the other side who’s bouncing on his feet impatiently.

“Open up,” he sings loudly. You’re worried when you swing the door open and yank him inside so he doesn’t wake up any other students. You try to talk but only a wheeze comes out, so you switch on the light to see him instead. The brightness hurts your eyes as you close them for a few seconds. “Well, well, well, look who we have here…”

He starts to circle around you slowly and stumbles behind you. “Sending people to spy on me after rejecting me like that.” His words are slightly slurred and you turn around to face him with a pout. You point at your throat to give him a hint, but his eyes don’t waver from your pleading ones. “What are your intentions, huh?” he weakly pushes you, “Sending me mixed signals. Who- who do you think you are?”

You hold his hands and place them on your neck, trying to communicate with him by mouthing, “I’m sick,” but he only chuckles. He seems sickeningly joyous, but he’s not over his anger. “Still not going to talk to me? What did I even do?”

You deeply inhale from your nose because he’s not paying attention to you. You’re frustrated with yourself until he yells, “WHY WON’T YOU TALK TO ME?” The surge of serotonin, his state of euphoria is crashing down on him the more you ignore him. He had believed the drug would only make him happy, but it intensified his sadness and anxiety just as much when he saw you. It helped him forget you in a social circle, but you confused him so much after he was reassured for so long - coupled with your silence, he’s raging.

“Why are you ignoring me?! What did I do that was so bad that you can’t bear talking to me anymore? You told me you loved me, please,” he chokes and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “I-I’ll make it up to you, I’m so sad right now. Just say something…”

You’re watching him in shock and a hint of fear from his fluctuating mood. You want to cry at how pitiful he looks, but instead you aim to grab a piece of paper from your bedside table. He misreads your actions and pushes you against the wall. “Stop this. Stop!” He has your arms pinned and he’s trying so hard to intimidate you so you give in. A dry sob leaves you because he's going mad, but then he has a sudden epiphany. “Maybe you’ll love me again if I fuck you hard enough and engrave it in your brain that you’re mine. Yes, yes!”

He starts unbuckling his belt and you immediately try to stop him; he’ll get sick! He shoves you again and pulls down his jeans before mashing his mouth against yours. All of your efforts have gone to waste when his tongue forces its way down your throat. There’s no point to denying him now, so you hesitantly kiss him back. You’re so guilty, and he’s so careless as he roughly pushes his hand down your white cotton shorts. You’re wearing a navy blue sweater to match so you don’t get cold in the night, but the shorts are meant to prevent a fever. What’s the point now, then? He hasn’t even read your texts that you only remembered to send before sleeping. He missed a whole paragraph of your explanation and confronted you so angrily.

“I’m going to fuck you all night,” he growls against your lips, “then you’ll remember how much you love me.” Your moans are quiet and hitched as he presses down on your clit through your panties. His other hand is on his cock as he strokes it eagerly, ready to get inside you. “I missed you so fucking much in one day,” he whispers in a croak. Hearing it makes you feel even warmer inside as you nudge his hand to urge him to enter you. “You missed me too, huh?” he takes notice of your neediness. “Shouldn’t have fucking brought it upon yourself then.”

He removes his hand from your shorts and taps your thighs before demanding, “Jump.” You bite your lip in consideration until he taps them harder and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist. Your shorts are relatively short, resembling loose boxers, so when your back is pressed against the wall he only pushes them and your underwear to the side before thrusting into you. A scream gets caught in your throat, and you forget all about your aches as he roughly fucks into you without caring for protection or lube. It stings only slightly, but the pleasure in feeling so full of him outweighs the pain.

Jungkook is moaning and groaning as he bruises your thighs in his hold. Your panting is all he can catch, and though the feeling of you is an amplified sensation because of the drug coursing in his system, he wants to hear you chant his name as well. “Still quiet?” he tuts and carries you to your narrow bed and you cling onto his shoulder while trying to catch your breath after the sudden attack. “Your cunt is throbbing though,” he says as he pulls out of you and drops you on the bed. He manhandles you by flipping you on your stomach and holds up your ass. He finally takes off your bottom clothing, but he’s slightly dizzy as he yanks them off your ankles. He spreads your thighs apart and you’re on your knees with your head against the mattress. “I wonder why that is,” he says before slapping your pussy, making you whimper quietly. “So wet, yet you don’t even make a sound. Some whore you are.” You purse your lips and muster a whine, but it’s interrupted when he pistons his cock inside you without warning. Your sounds are hoarse as he pounds into you from the back, hands kneading your ass to the shape of his hands. He gives it a spank as he moans loudly; the new position makes it feel so much more intense, and Jungkook loves it. His ears finally get to hear your pathetic mewls as he thrusts so deeply inside you that your vision blurs with tears and your eyes roll to the back of your skull. You feel like a doll that can’t speak or move, and he’s evidently enjoying it going by his rushed pace. You’re challenging him with your silence, and he loves proving himself.

All of a sudden however, he stops moving. You look behind you with a pout and he quirks a brow at you. You grit your teeth because you know he's waiting for you to tell him to continue, or rather daring you to do something. A sudden surge of confidence overcomes you and you gently slam your hips against his, fucking yourself on his cock with your eyes screwed shut.

“Yes, baby,” he strains, “show me that you're still my good girl.” At his encouragement, you meet his thrusts faster and you're seeing stars at how amazing it feels. You want to be his good girl so bad, and you arch your back to savour the pleasure. “Your pussy is mine, all mine,” he affirms to himself and stills your hips to turn you around without removing his length. His fingers are digging into your flesh and your tits bounce under the fabric as he rams into you restlessly. Your mouth is open in a silent scream and he can barely make out your pupils, the whites of your eyes stirring his climax at how attractive you look under the poor lighting. “I love you so fucking much,” he cries, “say it back, baby.”

You try to, but you can only dryly cough. “You fucking bitch,” he hisses at your defiance and pulls out of you to pump his length. He’s close to his release, and he pushes up your sweater to see your hard nipples that make him salivate. He crawls to slide his cock between the valley of your breasts and it hurts when he harshly pushes them together. “Stick out your tongue,” he commands in a whisper, and you do so while panting like a dog. Every time he thrusts upwards, the tip of his head grazes your tongue and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s massaging your tits as he stutters between whines, and eventually his load spurts out to land on your chest and cheek with a particularly loud groan. His cum surges down his shaft as he rides out his high with the last slow thrusts. 

“Oh fuck,” he sighs airily and collapses next to you in the tiny space available. You clumsily turn on your side to give him more room and he pecks your swollen lips. He zips his pants back up and you’re still naked from the waist down. You’re staring at each other adoringly in the romantic, fragile atmosphere; another first.

“I love you,” you croak finally. It’s quieter than a whisper, and it makes you cringe at how hideous you sound; it’s painful as well.

His face lights up once he registers your words before noticing the tone. “What happened to your voice?”

“Sick.” You can’t bring yourself to say anything more as you snuggle into his side and he instinctively wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Shit,” he murmurs, “why didn’t you tell me that sooner, idiot?”

You slap a hand on his front pocket where his phone is, and he hastily takes it out to see a bunch of notifications from you. “You sent it at night, you’re still the idiot.” You giggle and roll your eyes. “A promise is a promise, though,” he purrs before cupping your bare heat. “I did say I would fuck you all night.” You widen your eyes when his head lowers down to face your sopping wet cunt, and he slowly licks up a stripe over your soaked folds, making you shudder and grip his hair. He’s leaving kitty licks all over your sensitivity, the tip of his tongue lightly brushing against your clit every now and then. Your hips lift involuntarily, and he finally takes your clit in his mouth and sucks on it loudly. He slurps your arousal before spitting it back on your hood, and you can only squeak in response. Your hazed mind only tells you that you want more, and he doesn’t fail to provide.

Two fingers enter your clenching hole, and he’s scissoring your walls as he messily eats you out. The pleasure from earlier returns all too soon and you know you won’t be able to last long. His lids are hooded when you glance down at him and the way he’s looking at you makes it even harder to resist your orgasm. The knot in your stomach picks back up right before unraveling and your moan is raspy as you start twitching under his relentless mouth. He grows gentle and leaves kisses all over your vulva until your body falls limp on the sheets.

After another round of penetrative sex, the two of you fall asleep from exhaustion in your bed. It’s a first for the both of you, and Jungkook decides in his drunken mind that tonight won’t be the last. It feels so intimate when he cuddles you, and you won’t ever forget his love confession.

The next morning is not so pleasant however, as Jungkook wakes up with a loud sneeze and in his now nasal voice says, “God fucking damn it.”

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[yuzukult]

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan​ , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”