#or a pair of shoes i always thought would fit someone more adult than me

[carmenlire]

think I'm going to make a goal for 2023 to buy an outfit or at least some article of clothing that I really like but don't think it works for me. something that my idealized me would wear but that the me now is too worried they'd look ridiculous or too conspicuous. idk

[pedropascallme]

Your Toki writing is fantastic! You should write him more! Maybe a smut one shot where he's married and desperate to get his wife pregnant? 👀

Honeymooning

Pairing: Toki Wartooth x f!Reader

Summary: "Toki wanted kids. He wanted them bad."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, slightly dom!Toki (you're welcome), creampie. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Eeeee thank you for the love <3 I love writing Toki content. This prompt had me...excited. To say the least. I thought I'd be able to make this a drabble but it is, in fact, almost 2K words. I'm not sorry!!

You had always pictured a small, intimate wedding ceremony; delicate floral arrangements and lace, a pianist to play you down the aisle, a handful of your closest friends to help you prepare for the event of a lifetime. It was your dream to get married, to find the person you were destined to be with and have a lavish but appropriate ceremony to honor the love you had found in each other.

Any semblance of traditionalist thought you had put into your dream wedding went out the window when Toki proposed to you. Immediately, the two of you decided to go all out. While there were some things at the wedding recognizable from your childhood fantasies—your loved ones there to support you, your dress lacy and with a long train, the flowers just the color you had wanted—it was something entirely new, and much more fitting for who you were now as an adult. There had been something kind of funny about seeing the rest of the band act so dapper; they promised to behave for a whole 24 hours to ensure that the wedding went off without a hitch. Nathan had even worn his glasses in order to watch the vows closely from his spot at Toki’s side, and Skwisgaar didn’t throw in any veiled insults in his best man speech. And the whole time, Toki was squeezing your hand, eyes glued to you in admiration and disbelief that he finally had everything he wanted.

Almost everything.

Having had a more than tumultuous childhood and a lack of parental support, Toki had often considered what he would’ve done had he been in his parents’ shoes. The answer was never one laced with vengeance, rather he dreamt of caring for someone small and providing for them in the way he had always dreamed to be looked after. Toki wanted kids. He wanted them bad.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t known this; there had been conversations between the two of you for God only knows how long about what you wanted your future together to be like, and it always included starting a family. You knew financially you would be fine, but both of you felt it would be best to wait until you were married to really start trying.

And your honeymoon did take place after you were married.

Toki all but threw you onto the sprawling mattress. Maybe after having traveled the world so much with the entirety of Dethklok, Italy wasn’t so much a destination vacation as it was a week away in a familiar location, but you couldn’t deny the beauty that surrounded you—especially the beauty that was your now-husband as you watched him lift up and discard his shirt, tossing it into a corner and revealing his toned torso. You picked yourself up from off your back, crawling forward on the mattress to splay your hands over his stomach.

“This what you were thinking about during our vows?” You kissed down past his belly button and over his thin happy trail.

“Maybes,” he sighed, “but only halfs as much as I thoughts abouts how much I loves you.” You stopped just above the button of his pants to give him a kiss before leaning back to undo his fly. He pulled your hands away and grappled with you until you both fell back on the mattress in a heap of giggles.

“I’m trying to be sexy!”

“You can’ts gives a blow jobs now! It ams our first times as a married couples!” He buried his face into your neck, giving you small kisses that slowly turned more sensual as he began to suck on your skin. His hand made its way past the waistband of your panties—the rest of your clothes long forgotten somewhere near the front door—and he toyed with your clit. “Wants to loves you like this,” he whispered into your neck between opened mouth kisses, “wants to makes you feels good. Puts a baby in you.” You gasped at the combination of his words and the way he felt rubbing against your needy, swollen bud.

“Mhm,” you moaned, arching your back to allow two of his fingers to enter you smoothly, “want—wanna see how pretty I lo-ok, full of your cum?” Your question came out breathy, not at all in the teasing tone you had intended, but you couldn’t care less as Toki’s fingers eased in and out of you.

“Yeah,” Toki moaned, and you moved your hand to squeeze the hard length growing in his jeans. He tilted his head back at the sudden attention he was receiving before his mouth dropped open at your ministrations. “Wants you dripping.” You gave him another squeeze before you felt your legs shaking, thighs clenching together around his hand as his fingers ruthlessly played with the spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Mouth open, you intended to thank him, but there was no time before he attached his lips to yours and started peeling off the remainder of your clothing. He looked at you, curled up on the bed below him as he stripped off his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock and moving to cover you in kisses once more.

“How do you wants it?” He teased, his cock brushing over you. “How do you wants me to fills you up?”

“However you want.” You were giddy in anticipation, opening your legs to him before he had even decided how he wanted to fuck you. He took it as an opportunity, settling himself between your legs and letting his cock rest just above where you needed him. You felt his precum staining your stomach and it made you feel a lightheaded rush of excitement and arousal.

“My wife,” he took himself in his hand, rubbing his tip against your dripping hole, “so prettys.” He pushed into you all the way, the entirety of his cock stretching you out delightfully and making you scream out for him. “Feels good?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a mocking observation at the way your face contorted with each long, hard thrust.

You gave a string of gibberish in response, moaning each time you felt him slip out just enough to feel close to empty before he rammed back into you. “Fuck, Toki, fu-ck!” You were on the precipice of another orgasm, but he pulled out of you and turned you over, giving your ass a sharp smack as you moaned in disappointment and need.

“Be patients,” he spanked you again, sliding his cock over the curve of your ass, “you’ll gets whats you wants.”

“Need it, Toki!” You felt pathetic, lifting your ass up and wiggling in an attempt to sway him to fill you up again. “Need it…” It was a good thing Toki liked seeing you pathetic; your begging was cut short by his hands spreading you open for him as he pushed himself back into you, drawing a moan from you both before he began an unrelenting pace. He pulled your hair into a messy, makeshift ponytail, pulling you up closer to him and making your back curve to give him more leverage to fill your greedy cunt. “There!” You were close to tears, the overwhelming pleasure your husband provided coursing through your veins, “R-ight there, Toki! Please!” You collapsed onto your arms and face as the force of his thrusts became almost too much to handle; you felt your body move forward with every snap of his hips and you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Rights there?” He teased, giving you a particularly deep thrust and keeping himself sheathed inside of you while you squirmed underneath him, helpless and loving it. You responded with a muffled “yes,” before he began to move again, slower now but just as deep. “Whats do you wants?” He was trying to ward off his own climax by slowing himself down and goading you into begging for more.

“Wan-want to…” You felt your eyes roll back when he began to rub your clit slowly in time with his thrusts.

“Whats?” He demanded.

“Wa-need you to-please Toki, I need it.” The tears you had been attempting to hold back now spilled over your eyes and onto the sheets below you.

“Speak clearlys.” If you hadn’t been so distracted, maybe you would’ve pointed out the irony of his sentence, but you were too far gone and did as instructed.

With all your focus, you mustered the proper words to get what you were so desperate for: “Please To-ki, want you to cum in me,” he pushed himself in further and you cried out, burying your face into the blanket you were clutching. “Please! Please, fill me up—fuck!—fill my pussy up so deep. Wanna have your—have your fucking kids.” You choked on your words as he sped up, throwing you back onto his cock as he brought you both toward your highs.

“Fills you up so goods.” You heard him groaning. He pulled you back by your hair and wrapped an arm around your waist. Now gripping you tightly against him, he used his other hand to grab your face, kissing you and whispering to you. “Gonna takes it? Gonna say thanks yous?”

“Yes! Please, yes!” You repeated the same two words over and over, and with a long, deep thrust into you, you felt yourself go limp in Toki’s arms. Had it not been for his grip around you, you surely would have fallen flat onto the mattress. Toki continued to fuck you through your orgasm as it tore through you; you felt heavy and light simultaneously, seeing black and white shine through both eyes while you chanted his name. At last, panting and sweaty, you uttered a weak, “please, Toki,” and he gave you what you both craved. You felt his hips stutter against your ass as he came, painting your insides with his cum. You felt warm and tired, but now with a regained pleasure coursing through you. Eyes closed, you felt yourself move and realized Toki had maneuvered you to lie down, still buried inside you. You could feel the stickiness leaking out around his cock and onto your thighs, and his chest heaving into your back.

Slowly, you eased him out of your now sensitive, sticky hole and turned to face him. He was smiling wide, tongue between his teeth. He kissed you passionately, deeply, before his hand wandered down to your pussy and began pushing what had leaked out of you back inside. You gasped, grabbing at his forearm while he playful nipped at you. Pulling his fingers out of you, he stuck them in his mouth to suck off any remnants and then curled up around you, kissing your shoulders, face, neck, and anywhere else he could reach in the position you found yourselves in.

“I loves you.” Toki whispered, kissing your forehead. “My wife, pretty ladys, I loves you. So perfects. Going to be a greats moms.” He kissed the top of your ear, then your cheek, and then finally he gave you a kiss on the lips.

“Do you think it worked?” You smiled, soaking in the adoration of his words.

“Maybes,” he pushed his hair out of his face, propping himself up next to you on his elbow, “but maybes we should try one more times. Or two.”

You pulled him back down again.

[memphisfaith]

Hearts of Lust: Chapter 4

Pairing Kim Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Collage!AU, Smut

Word Count: 1.2K

Warning: Cursing, mentions of smut, smut, consumption of alcohol, mentions of violence, violence, crack personality disorders, Chaotic energy.

Summary: College is any young adult's prime years, at least that's what Lee (y/n) and Kim Namjoon thought. The two are infamous for two reasons, by two very different crowds. Among the professors they are picture perfect students with perfect scores, attendance, and image. However, among the student body they're the very essence of lust with amazing bodies, sex appeal, and skill. The two, although strikingly similar, butt heads quite a bit with competitions of everything from grades to who can get a person to drop their pants the fastest. With the two of them ready to conquer the school year it's all a matter of Go Big or Go Home.

Yoongi dropped me off in front of my house and told me he would be back in an hour and a half to take me to the party. It was more than enough time for me, So as soon as I got home I shower and shave everything that needed to be shaved whether I would be showing it or not.

When I got out I put on some underwear and a robe before putting my hair into rollers. I didn't want to put on my clothes before I did my makeup but I didn't want to put on my makeup before doing my hair. 

Once my hair was set I walked to my nice large closet to find an outfit for tonight. Knowing how private parties usually go I can only assume that I wouldn't need anything fancy. If we play truth or dare, which we always do, someone's going to make a pass at me whether I dress for it or not.  

With that in mind I chose a pair of nice fitting jeans that made my ass look fuller than it already is and a loose blue tank top that had a cut-out design in the back and sides. The black strappy bra I'm wearing will only look better. I dig through my shoes and settle on a pair of old fading high-top converse.

With my outfit picked out I move back to the bathroom to do my makeup. I'm going to settle with a natural look. I won't have to work to get some tonight but I should still add a pretty lipstick and make some effort so I don't look sloppy or lazy. 

I start with a few dabs on foundation, then put on some neutral tone eyeshadow, but add some dramatic eyeliner for some flair. I pick through my lip-gloss and lipstick, but pick out a pretty sheen gloss that smells like lillies.

As soon as my makeup is done I carefully put on my clothes and shoes. I then relax until I get a text from Yoongi that he's on his way. I then start to pull out the curlers to reveal pretty lush curls. Just as I part and tidy them up I can hear Yoongi banging on the door.

I roll my eyes and grab my phone before shutting off the lights on my way down to the door. I open the door to see Yoongi dressed casually as well. A pair of nice jeans and a black graphic T-shirt. He wore a snapback as well as a dark flannel that's tied around his waist. 

"Are you ready darling?" He smirks as he looks over at my outfit, "You know it Suga." I grin. I turn and lock the door before Yoongi walks me to the car. He opens the door for me and shuts it once I'm in. I always appreciated his gentlemanly manners, although he never uses them in appropriate situations.

I turn on the radio as we drive down the road but he pulls to a stop in front of Jimin's house. "J-hope and V are already at Namjoon's, Jimin and Kookie asked for a ride." Yoongi comments. I nod and look down the pathway of Jimin's house to see him jogging down bag in hand.

I should have known to pack clothes. I glance in the back seat and see Yoongi also has a bag packed. It finally struck me that every private party we've ever had has been at everyone's house except Jin and Namjoon's.

Sure we've had normal parties at Namjoon's and Jin's but that's more like a sleep where you crash, wear the same clothes, wake up in weird places kind of party while our private parties are more like sleepovers for adults.

Everyone who's hosted one has clothes stashed away for all the other people. The closet in my makeshift studio room is nothing but the guy's clothes, yes even Namjoon has a stash of clothes at my house. In the spare bathroom under the sink there are seven different toothbrushes. I'm so used to having these kinds of parties at a place that has my clothes stashed away somewhere that I didn't realize I would need to pack a bag at this one.

I look over at Yoongi with a sigh, "I forgot to pack a bag, could I steal your shirt for tonight?" I ask. Yoongi sighs at my forgetfulness, "How can someone so smart be so stupid?" He groans. "Don't worry princess you can borrow mine." Jimin grins as he steps into the car, "Thanks" I chirp grinning ear to ear.

When Jimin settles into the car Yoongi takes off to go pick up Jungkook and as soon as we pull up he comes running down the driveway. "KOOKIE!" I squeal as I hold my arms out for a hug, "NOONA!" He cheers in return. He threw half his body through my open window to give me a hug.

"YAH! GET OUT SO YOU DON'T BREAK MY WINDOW!" Yoongi screeches at him as he swats at his head. Jungkook yelps and quickly pulls away and out the window but not before he hits his head on the roof of the car. 

Jimin laughs at the boy's misfortune as the said boy throws his bag at him before he climbs into the car. Jungkook leanes over the seat and hugs me as he plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. "How was your first day Kookie?" I ask with a light giggle. The boy shrugs as he buckles up so Yoongi can start driving.

"It was okay, it was kinda boring. When we went over what all we would be learning it's all stuff you taught me over the summer. And Namjoon Hyung got me a pair of shoes from America so everyone was asking me about them. The girls there also told me how nice my hair looks styled like you taught me Noona." He rambles. I smile and listen to him nodding every now and then.

I'm not surprised Namjoon bought Jungkook a pair of shoes from America. Namjoon tends to buy Jungkook things the same way Yoongi buys me things, but they don't have the same relationship Yoongi and I have. Namjoon just likes to spoil Jungkook in a way you would spoil your child. I don't blame him, I would spoil Jungkook if I had that kind of money. Instead I just spoil him with attention and care. 

Yoongi pulls up the giant house that belongs to Namjoon and Jin. We all climb out and I knock on the door. Namjoon is the one to open it with a smirk, "RM" I greet mockingly, "Vixen" he replies in the same tone.

He lets us all in and I marvel at the place. I've never seen it outside a thrashed party setting. "I've never been here outside of our trashed party setting." I comment out loud. Namjoon laughs, "I hope not, at least not without me being the one to show you." He replies smoothly. I sent him a scoffish laugh.

"So are you guys ready for another year of awkward conversations and unmet familial expectations?" I sigh as I plop down on the first couch I see. "No, but I brought Tequila so I will be." I hear Hoseok answer, I turn to face him as he walks in to see he does in fact have a bottle of Tequila. 

"He really is your soulmate." I mutter over to Yoongi only to receive a hard smack to the thigh. "If you want me to moan you're going to have to try harder." I continue to tease, "Shut your whore mouth." He sneers as a deep blush flushes his cheeks.

<---- Prev // Masterlist // Next ---->

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[floraltypes]

Old Beginning Pt. 2

pairings - aaron hotchner x reader, jethro gibbs x reader

chapters - one 

summary - the news of a dinner party arrises, but there are some little challenges before the actually night

wc - 3k

an - sorry this took awhile, my summer is over and my writing schedule will be a little wonky now. i’m taking a break from answering requests, so I apologize if I haven’t answered yours, but i eventually will

Penelope and you both looked back at Aaron, taken back by his repeating of the word ‘boyfriend’. You didn’t plan on telling people so soon, considering he was your boss from your old line of work.

“I want to know everything about him, you have to invite him!” Penelope quickly went back into her loud chatting, attracting other faces at her comment. “I also may have mentioned to some of the team that you do have a boyfriend, it just slipped! You know I can’t keep secrets!”

“It’s okay, Pene,” You smiled softly. “I can’t invite him though, you know, since I’m not the one holding the dinner event.”

“You can invite your partner, everyone else can as well, considering it is a catch up,” Dave walked over, a cup of coffee in his own hand as he used the other to scratch at his stubble. “I’ll even invite the woman I’ve been seeing. Feel free to all bring a plus one, I have enough room and everyone deserves a taste of my Italian dishes, will change their lives.”

“Thank you, Rossi, but I simply can’t. It’s so soon, and he’s such a busy man,” You laughed, waving your hand. “It was a kind gesture though.”

“L/n, don’t tell us you’re embarrassed to show your new boyfriend to us?” Derek walked back over, poking your shoulder. “Penelope told all of us down here, just wanted to wait and see when you would tell us.”

“I’m not embarrassed, that’s absurd. He’s truly busy.”

“Invite him, I’ll make sure Will comes and hire a babysitter for Henry, so that we can truly have a adult night,” JJ chuckled. “Everyone is bringing a date, so it would be odd if you didn’t.”

“Actually, I don’t have a partner at the moment due to how invested I am in my studies and the factors of that many young woman my age only focus on the factor of conventional attractiveness rather then the complexity of brains and deep-”

“Don’t worry, Spencer, if you don’t have a date, then I’ll just bring two,” Emily joked. “You don’t need a date, I’m not bringing one either, but Y/n is for sure.”

“I’ll be like the tw-”

“You are dating someone, we aren’t, so you’ll bring that someone. Come on, L/n,” Emily continued on, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. “I’ll walk you out,” She turned back to wink at her coworkers, leading you to the elevator and soon the parking lot.

“Aaron,” Rossi looked towards his friend, a man who had his glare fixated on your exiting figure. “Will you bring Beth, the more the merrier.”

“Yeah, I suppose I will,” He answered, retrieving his cellphone from his pocket, pulling up her contact picture, thumb hovering over the call button. “Let’s finish up this work, so we call all get home.” He shoved it back in his pocket, commanding everyone else while moving back up the stairs to his office.

Meanwhile, you were outside of your car, looking at Emily still was right by your side.

“Bring your boyfriend,” She commented, watching as you fished for your keys and unlocked your car. “I want to meet him, I haven’t really talked to you in a long time.”

“We’re both so busy. Him as well.”

“Seriously, Y/n, I’m not gonna ease up on you. I’ve noticed the new tint in your eye, new considering the last time it was severely dulled. It’s amazing to see your real smile again, you closer to your old self despite the past losses. He really has helped you, so I want to meet the man who helped my dear friend so much.”

You contemplated her kind words, getting down to the point that everyone probably was happy to see you again, yourself physically and mentally.

“I’ll call him, see if he can come. Can’t promise anything, his work is very important to him, so if it needs him he’s there.”

Emily smiled widely, leaning over to kiss your cheek before you moved to open the front door and start your car.

“Great, I’m actually bringing someone. Poor Spencer might be the only one.”

“Aaron is as well?”

“Hotch, yeah,” She laughed. “Meet her at some track meet he had, Jack really likes her.”

“That’s good, I’ll see you soon then,” You smiled, shutting the door as Emily watched you back out, waving a small goodbye.

Leaving the facility, while at a stop light, you found your flip phone, finding the contact of Jethro and quickly dialing the number.

“Gibbs,” He answered.

“Hey, are you on a case?”

“No, are you driving?”

“Yes, safely. What are you doing? Building a boat,” You chuckled, imagining him in the basement with the tool and sweaty shirt.

“Yeah. Did you meet up with your old team today?”

“Mhm, all surprised to see me today. It was humorous in a sense. But, Rossi invited me and everyone to a dinner, telling us to bring a partner.”

“Who are you planning on bringing?”

“You.”

“So, we’re being more public with our relationship?”

“Just with the old team, my old team, they don’t have contact with anyone apart of NCIS, or at least not personal only professional.”

“I thought you were going to come and see me, instead of making me drive,” You could almost sense his smile on the other line, a mocking one.

Gibbs would obviously accept the offer, the man truly holding a strong affection for you, a soft spot personally for you, so he would agree to drive the hour or two.

But just because he would, it doesn’t mean he didn’t have to mess around a bit, act like he wouldn’t.

“I know, but then you can see my new apartment. And after this weekend, who knows when we’ll be able to see each other again. Both of our jobs involved sporadic cases that start and end at no specific time, hard to plan around. And, everyone is pressuring me to meet you.”

“I’m already popular, huh?”

“I suppose,” You huffed, rubbing your temple, exhaustion starting to take over you, wanting to get some rest, a calming bath to combat earlier feelings that seemed as if they were creeping up once again.

“I’ll come, don’t worry. Get home safe, call me when you have the address and date.”

“Okay, bye.” You hung up, tossing the phone onto the empty seat as you continued to drive, playing the music from the CD already inserted in your car.

Time leading up to the dinner seemed to fly by, especially considering that it wasn’t much time and you weren’t having to work. You decided to take the free time to get fully settled in, figure out your nerves, make a phone call to your therapist, and even read. Trying to get prepared for all the days that are to come.

Your hair was now being changed from its normal du to a new one, fancier in a sense. Applying a nice coat of makeup, new lip color, trying a new pallet and the old eyelash curler that hasn’t been used in a while, you finished ‘upgrading’ your face. A outfit was simple, considering you didn’t have many fancy ones, so with not much to choose, it was a quick decision.

Sliding that on and fixing the straps to be a bit tighter, messing with the bra to fit correctly, and pulling it down a bit, you grabbed your go to purse, shoving needed materials a into it as you moved to the kitchen.

Within the kitchen, there was a certain door within the wall of the pantry with a password. Quickly typing in the combination the door swung open, choosing between a small but handy knife, you put in the pocket of your bag.

You weren’t too worried about dangers at the dinner, but with years of catching/fighting murders, specific people after you, and even very powerful assassins, you carried certain weapons for safety.

Hearing the sturdy knock of someone’s knuckles on your front door, you rushed to shut the the secret door in the pantry, heading to your front door where someone was waiting.

A quick peak through the hole, your eyes widened in surprise and opened the door, allowing the man to walk in.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, till uh, later tonight,” You mentioned, looking him up and down to see him more dressed up. “Are you not able to attend anymore?”

“No, I’m still going,” Hotch denied, sliding off his shoes and following you to the couch. “I just wanted to chat before than, a chance for just the two of us.”

“Is something wrong?” You walked over to your teapot, filling it with water, and placing it on your stove, heating up the water. “This is very unexpected.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just want to talk to you, see the apartment, hear what’s new with you.”

“Things,” You shrugged. “Obviously I’ve had a new job experience, similar in ways and also not. Grew closer with a new group of teammates, people, lost a few. Yeah, lost a few,” You repeated, remembering Jenny Shepard, even Kate, both amazing women, who did amazing things.

“That’s always hard, I guess my most recent loss was Haley,” Aaron hummed, soon the kettle making a high pitched noise, you rushing to take it off and grab some tea bags.

“She was also a amazing woman. Wonderful mother, cared so much for that little boy.”

“She really was.”

“Did you come to chat about her, it’s been a while since we had. Last time we really talked was five months after she passed, after the funeral.”

“It really has been that long?” Aaron questioned, taking the tea that you time handed him. “But it’s not the reason I came. I should have made more of a effort to keep in touch, after your transfer, after your loss.”

“You stayed with me for three months, allowing to lose some time with your son so you could change my dirty sheets and pick up all my snotty tissues,” You laughed, sitting down across from him with your own cup. “You had to get back to your family, make up for loss time.”

“You still helped me with my divorce during that time, and I still saw Jack,” He reminded you.

“I could’ve moved in with my father, but you allowed me not to do that.”

“Your father is a good man, but might not be the best to live with,” He laughed, a deep chuckle, something you didn’t see much. “You look nice.”

“Now you just notice,” You chuckle, taking another sip. “Thank you, you look nice as well. I was actually just going to call Jethro and tell him to meet me there, a bit of a drive and he isn’t happy about having to find a new team,” You spoke freely, feeling comfortable with the old friend, one you used to spill everything to years ago, him ranting to you too.

“Jethro? He has his own team? Sounds like a boss of some type.”

“Uh, technically. It’s complicated. I need to get going, to make it to the dinner on time and, finish, um, cleaning up my room before leaving.”

“I could take you there.”

“No thanks, I’ll see you there, bye.” You helped guide him to the door, a curt wave before he exited and shut it, locking it in a rush and moving back to the dining room table to clean the mugs.

You didn’t want to tell him all that, always insecure due to Gibbs being the prior boss of you and how people looked at that. Rumors were always spread about your and Aaron’s relationship, mostly about it being romantic.

Joining the team, you two easily hit it off due to your personalities. Always being filled with determination and stubbornness, refusing to give up till everything was done and right, even with files. Eventually you joined together, talked, spent most days with each other due to cases, and truly gained a very close friendship.

When rumors were getting around, glares were thrown your way, comments, left out by members who weren’t your immediate teams. People thought you were the cause of Haley and Aaron’s divorce, somehow word got around quickly, drama always does.

It was frustrating, already dealing with many different things at home, and even being in a relationship, it put so much unneeded stress and anxiety onto you.

So, getting into a relationship with Gibbs was a very reluctant thing on your part, he expressed his feelings first, but it was hard to accept them, despite the nerves he faced to do it.

Locking up the apartment, having all of your items with you, you made your way out the door and too your car, starting the drive to David’s house.

Upon arriving, you could hear light chatter in the home, lights on, and soothing music playing in the background. It sounded like everyone was having their fun, you couldn’t make out all the shadows of everyone indoors, just waiting outside for Jethro to arrive.

“Y/n?” You turned around at the sound of his voice, keys jingling in his hands as he walked up to you with a sly smile, shoving them in his pockets to place his arms around your waist. “What’s wrong, love?” Be snaked them around, a kiss to your somewhat clothed shoulder.

“Nothing, just a bit nervous to introduce you to everyone,” You smiled back at him, he squeezed a little tighter, catching your lips in a quick kiss. “Looking at your team, yet?”

“Nevermind that,” He grumbled, removing his hands to now interlace your left one with his right. “We should go in, right?”

“Maybe we could head back, to my place, say you are sick or something?” You looked back at him with a pleading look, to which he just chuckled at, starting to move to the front door, pressing the doorbell as you groaned a little.

“You’ll be fine,” He looked back at you as Rossi answered the door, cheerful smile on his lips, glass of scotch in hand as he moved out of the way to let you in.

“Ah! Y/n!” He cheered, leaning over to kiss your cheek and then pulled back. “Glad you made it! This must be…”

“Y/n! Oh where is the man?” Penelope rushed in, coming right by you with her own fruity drink, then leaning to whisper in your ear. “Is this him, oo!”

“Uh, Jethro that’s David,” You pointed to the man who first greeted you, him and Jethro shaking hands. “This is Penelope, the one kind of like Abby,” You smiled, as she gave you a little look, turning back and enveloping him in a little hug. She quickly turned back to you.

“He looks a little intimidating,” She whispered as you just laughed.

“For sure,” You nodded.

“Can I offer you a drink?” David turned to you two, gesturing to the one in his hand. “Something like Garcia for you Y/n, and what about you Jethro?”

“Just call me Gibbs, and yeah that’s fine,” He corrected Rossi, taking your hand as the two of you walked more inside of the magnificent house.

It truly was so well designed, very expensive, and the appetizers adorning the oak wood table looked very delicious. You wanted to go and grab a bite, before you were actually led to the living room where everyone was currently sitting.

“L/n, finally made it,” Derek laughed, beer in his hand as he pointed at you with a little chuckle. “You always know how to be a bit late.”

“Fashionably late, I believe that’s what it’s called,” JJ corrected them with her own wine glass in hand, Will sat right besides her on one of the couch as most of them in that room joined in laughter.

“What can I say?” You laughed, walking over, feeling less nervous with the factor of introducing your boyfriend, taking a seat on another couch in the large room, Jethro automatically sitting right besides you.

“So, introduce us,” Emily motioned over to Jethro, sly smile playing on her lips.

“This is Jethro, but he goes by Gibbs, and, uh, this is the team,” You started to name everyone off while pointing to them, leaving off a few names due to your members introducing their own partners to you.

Emily, Derek, and JJ had all brought partners. Spencer and Penelope decided to ‘go together’ as if they were partners, and Hotch hadn’t arrived yet. Rossi also had his girlfriend helping him cook in the kitchen, making drinks for you and Gibbs now.

“So, you work at NCIS, right?” Spencer questioned. “The Naval Criminal Investigative Service, very interesting considering the type of crimes you investigate. I would love to hear more about some of your cases and how you went about it,” Spencer smiled, a small notebook being pulled out of his pocket with a pen.

“Yeah,” Gibbs just nodded, looking at you a little questioning, which you just chuckled at.

“Why should we talk so much about work, it’s something we all do too much of,” You joked, everyone laughing, as Dave came back out, handing some drinks.

“Fine, fine, what do you do for fun Mr. Gibbs?” Derek asked, putting a arm over the couch and pulling his girl closer to his side, the woman just on her phone.

“I like to build boats, a type of hobbie I’ve been doing for years.”

“Building boats? Where?” Will wondered, intertwining his fingers with JJ.

“My basement, a private workspace.”

“How do you get it out then?” Penelope inquired, now back by Spencer and her face in her hand, leaning closer to show her interest in Gibbs statement.

“I’d be no fun if you knew that,” He shrugged, taking a drink with a small smile as Penelope gasped, Emily mouthing how ‘I like him’. It was sweet how everything was going well.

They all continued to converse with Gibbs, easily accepting him apart of the conversation, it was sweet and you were now on your second drink, practically all nerves gone.

“Sorry we’re late,” A voice mentioned in the hallway, dressed in a fine suit with a beautiful woman standing besides him. He shrugged off the last of his coat as he hung it up, taking her hand and walking into the hallway a little.

“This is such a nice place, Aaron. Oh! Your friend, wow, so grand,” The woman admired, now truly getting in your line of sight.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, eyes interlocking with yours before falling onto Gibbs. “I’m Aaron, call me Hotch.”

“I’m Gibbs,” Your boyfriend stood up, moving over to the other man with his hand stuck out. “Call me that.”

You had a feeling this evening wouldn’t be as smooth as you hoped.

——————

taglist - @wolviesbabes @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

(comment to be added, or a tag list for all my gibbs post)

[harrieatthemet]

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing. 

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof. 

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity. 

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school. 

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother. 

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind. 

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet. 

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?” 

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth. 

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.” 

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either. 

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to. 

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare. 

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason. 

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?” 

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date. 

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes. 

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot. 

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.” 

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?” 

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it. 

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).” 

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension. 

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this. 

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.” 

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

[plus-size-reader]

Sneaking Around

Columbus Ohio x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2344 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Tallahassee finding out that you, his daughter, and Columbus have been seeing each other in secret

—————————————————————————————————

It was a bad idea.

All things considered, there was nothing worse that you could have done. You both knew it, but at the same time, you couldn’t help yourselves.

Once Tallahassee found out about this whole thing, he was going to lose his mind. However, as much as you loved and respected him as your father, you weren’t blind to the fact that he wasn’t always right.

Where Columbus was concerned, for example, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Florida acted like there was something wrong with him, even though the younger male was arguably your father’s greatest friend in the world. It was where you were concerned that the whole thing fell apart.

Columbus wasn’t good enough for you.

The idea of the two of you together, in any way, made him want to throw up and Tallahassee wasn’t exactly secretive about that. It was his one rule, the one thing he’d forbidden you from doing.

You weren’t allowed to date him.

So, naturally, that was exactly what you were doing.

It was inevitable.

The two of you were around the same age, going through something that only you were going through, and as if you didn’t already know, the apocalypse was lonely.

It wasn’t like the dating pool was vast and diverse.

Besides, you didn’t see anything wrong with it. Just because Tallahassee was your father didn’t mean he got to decide everything you did for the rest of your life.

There was a difference between keeping you safe and running your life. All you asked was that he learned the difference and respected it.

The two of you had grown up together seeing as Tallahassee had you pretty young, and your mom gave up custody of you almost immediately. In that way, you knew you were closer than the typical father-daughter would be.

...but controlling who you could and couldn’t date in your early twenties was a bit of a stretch.

You liked Columbus, and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to stay away from him if you tried. The only other option then, if you didn’t want to be lectured into eternity, was keeping your relationship a secret.

It wasn’t ideal, and you weren’t happy about lying to him, but sometimes you had to do what had to be done.

What Florida didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Right?

Wrong.

Sneaking around was bound to get old at some point, and the longer you kept it up, the more you ran the risk of getting caught, which just couldn’t happen.

You would never, ever, live that down.

Though, one of you wasn’t nearly as worried about getting caught as the other. In fact, Columbus was having a really good time keeping secrets from Tallahassee and sneaking around behind his back.

He was getting a kick out of it.

The older man had been busting his balls since they met and knowing that he had such a huge secret that Florida knew nothing about was some pretty sweet irony for him.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was head over heels in love with you.

From the start, Ohio had been in a desperate search for love and as soon as he met you, he knew you would be the one. There was just something about you, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else changing his life like you had.

You were strong and determined, without the uncontrollable anger and sass that Tallahassee had. It was as if you mixed together all the good qualities in the man with the genes of your mother, who he could only imagine was an angel.

That was the only way he could imagine Tallahassee having a kid like you.

It didn’t make any sense otherwise.

“Come here, look at this” You gushed, grabbing Columbus by the arm in a desperate attempt to get him to pay attention to what it was you were seeing.

After what had happened at Graceland, you had very little hope for the Hound Dog Hotel but it wasn’t shaping up to be too bad a time. All things considered, there was some pretty cool stuff here.

...and you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You hadn’t seen your dad since you walked through the doors and you were sure he was sneaking around here somewhere, snatching memorabilia from the shelves and singing at the top of his lungs.

At the very least, this place would put him in a better mood than he’d been in lately.

“Are you seeing this? These are Elvis’ actual shoes” you gasped, gesturing wildly to them as you fangirled. You had been raised on Tallahassee’s love of the King, and harbored quite the obsession yourself.

Being here was putting you in a really good mood.

Columbus grinned, watching you stare in awe at the blue suede, taking in every little detail of them as if you had never seen anything better before now.

It was sweet.

There was something sweet about it, something innocent that he hadn’t seen in you in a really long time. It was a real joy, without the worry or concern that came with living in a world like this one.

“I see” he hummed, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his tone as he talked to you.

A pair of shoes seemed a little silly as far as things to get this excited about were but he was just glad you were so happy. If you were happy, he was happy.

That was how this whole thing worked.

“And isn’t that amazing?” you continued, hoping that you could prompt a similar amusement from him but nothing came, not in the way you were looking for anyway.

More than anything, he just enjoyed being here with you.

The two of you didn’t get a lot of chances to be alone without the intrusion of someone else, whether that be Wichita, Little Rock, or worst of all, Tallahassee.

Just being together was all he could have ever wanted, but there was one other thing that would have surely gotten the reaction from you that he wanted so badly.

Without so much as a second thought, Ohio snatched the blue suede shoes from the pedestal they were on and slipped them on to his feet. It wasn’t a sure thing at first, but he quickly realized they were a perfect fit.

What were the odds of that?

“What do you think?” he grinned, doing his best to be suave in them, though it didn’t really work that way because he was too lanky and awkward. Instead, he sort of resembled a newborn calf learning to walk.

Thankfully, he was so endearing and adorable that you couldn't help but laugh.

“They’re very sexy” you teased, closing the space between you with a smirk on your face, doing your best to keep the giggled bubbling up in your throat at bay as you draped your arm over his shoulder.

“Oh yeah, you think?”

Columbus’ voice came in the same teasing tone as your own, his eyebrows wiggling as he looked at you, jaw tight to hold in his own laughter.

This was just too much for you both.

“Absolutely” you smiled, leaning forward just enough to capture his lips with your own as the best way to punctuate your point. They weren’t really all that sexy so much as you just liked him, but he wasn’t about to split hairs over it.

He was just glad to be kissing you, in all honesty.

However, the moment was over as quickly as it started because from somewhere behind you, someone else had entered the room and wasn’t about to leave you to it.

After all, Tallahassee was just doing his best to keep his head from exploding as he took in the sight of you, his daughter, in a heated make out with his most pathetic acquaintance.

It wasn’t happening.

He was sure it wasn’t.

The more viable conclusion was that he’d fallen somewhere and given himself a concussion, inducing hallucinations, or maybe he was dead. Anything would be easier to accept than what he was looking at.

“Oh fuck no”

Those three words were practically inaudible at first, but that too was short lived because once he’d realized that what he was seeing was really happening, that was when the yelling started.

...and once he started, it was hard to get him to stop.

In fact, by the time you’d turned around, fully separating from Columbus, your father was already red in the face.

Evidently, today was the day.

You were never going to hear the end of this.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME? I MEAN, ANYONE WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER THAN HIM? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY RULES? THAT WAS THE ONE THING I ASKED-”

There was no good way for this to end, which you and Columbus both knew. Even as you looked at him, eyes wide, Tallahassee kept going. He couldn’t imagine how this had happened right under his nose.

As far as he knew, the two of you didn’t even get along but clearly that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t born yesterday, and he knew what kissing like that meant.

That wasn’t a passing smooch or a casual make out out of boredom. This was something the two of you had been maintaining for quite some time, and that was the worst part of it all.

You had been lying to him.

“Buddy, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal” Columbus tried, practically shouting into the void with his suggestion. Though, as soon as he spoke, Florida stopped his rant in its tracks.

Which wasn’t a good sign.

“Oh no, not gonna happen buddy” he spit back, momentarily making you glad he’d left his gun in the van. If he had it right now, there was no telling what would happen.

Tallahassee was angry, in general, but this was something different. For him, this was more of a betrayal than something that would make him angry, which made it so much worse.

He just couldn’t believe this was happening.

All you knew was that someone had to do something before this escalated much more and ruined the entire thing you all had going on. You were a family, but if you didn’t step in, there wouldn’t be anything left.

Clearly, Columbus wasn’t the one to fix this whole thing.

“Okay, can we just talk about this like adults please? I’m a grown up, remember?” you hummed, intentionally keeping your voice calm to keep this from escalating that much more.

Over everything else, you were sure he was more upset with you. At its core, this issue was about you growing up and doing something you shouldn't have done.

It had very little to do with Columbus himself.

If it had been anyone else, Florida would have been just as upset.

“Oh, you’re a grown up, well then, what am I even doing here?” he grumbled, completely ignoring the male at your side now, his focus completely on your face.

Objectively, he knew you were right. Even with as much as the world around you had changed, you had too. You weren’t a little girl anymore, clinging onto his pant leg and crying every time he left your side.

You were a grown woman, which was hard enough for a father to grasp, but this was something else entirely.

You weren’t allowed to be with him.

You just weren’t.

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t get why it's such a big deal” you huffed, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans, where you could hide the anxious tapping you got up to.

All you were doing was seeing someone who you really liked and while having your literal father walk in on an impromptu make out wasn’t ideal, it also shouldn’t have been the end of the world.

He used to date plenty, before most of the population died out.

“Because it is. I told you not to do it, and you did” Tallahassee grumbled, crossing his arms, his words leaving his lips in a traditional dad fashion.

That was always his go to thing, even when you were a kid.

You can’t do that because I told you not to.

It might have worked out well when you were six years old and trying to tie your opposing shoelaces together but not anymore.

Now, the world was literally crumbling around you and you all faced death on a daily basis. If the worst thing you got up to was falling in love with a man who carried a tiny purell in his pocket, you didn’t get why that was such a problem.

Out of all the men you could have chosen, even before the end of the world, Columbus was by far the best.

He was sweet, smart, and cared about you more than anyone ever had in your life. By all accounts, you were lucky and while you felt bad for lying to Tallahassee about being with him, you wouldn’t have done anything differently.

Being with him was important to you, and you loved him.

Nothing was going to change that.

“I love him, okay? That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew this was how you would react” you sighed, finding it almost impossible to not just give up completely.

You knew that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t make a difference. Once Tallahassee had made up his mind, there was nothing you could do to change it.

As much as you would have liked for him to be supportive of your relationship, you weren’t going to stop seeing the man you loved just to appease him.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

It would seem that if there was any time for you to act like your father and take on his stubborn nature, it was now. You just weren’t ready to lose Columbus.

Not now, and not ever.

[midnightmoonkiss]

All For You.

Villain! Midoriya Izuku X Reader

Summary: You didn’t ask for this, and yet he gave you the same sick gift again and again. You hated him.

WARNINGS!: blood, death mentioned, dark themes

Category: Angst

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

A/N: Was listening to “If I killed Someone For You” and.. I think it fits Villain Deku perfectly.

Just To Clarify:

You’re both adults

Izuku has OFA

He is not necessarily a yandere

You live alone for a reason

Frigid water poured steadily from the faucet as he rinsed his pale hands, turning the water crimson as it washed down the rusted drain of the medical sink.

The room was dark, the only light being a flickering candle that dripped white wax onto the concrete floor below.

The handle creaked as he turned off the water, a soft sigh slipping past his chapped lips.

Stray droplets broke the silence of the room.

It would have driven anyone else insane.

Dull green eyes stared into a mirror, the dirty surface reflecting his disheveled appearance. 

Blood stained his clothes, smudging against his freckled cheek.

His green hair was a mess, once slicked back with gel now all over the place from his habit of running his fingers through his hair when frustrated.

It certainly wasn’t the look he was going for.

Two knocks sounded on the other side of the metal door closing the room off, the noise echoing in the nearly empty room.

Inhaling deeply, the man fixed his hair up with wet digits best he could, only after he finished did he notice his forest green tie had splotches of blood on it as well.

He giggled to himself as he fixed it, tightening it up to his neck. 

It looked festive.

Turning around on his black leather heels, he looked over at the bloodied corpse tied up in the corner, all life completely drained from its opened, bloodshot eyes that were once filled with curiosity.

“You know…”

He whispered to it, 

“If you hadn’t been so cruel to my beloved, you wouldn’t look so fucking disgusting right now.”

His dress shoes clicked against the floor as he made his way to the large door, knocking thrice in a particular pattern.

It unlocked with a loud clink, and he was out of the room that once held two very alive people.

He didn't like soiling his clothes or getting his hands dirty, but whenever it came to you, he was willing to do anything.

Midoriya Izuku was a dangerous man, and he wasn’t afraid to bare his teeth and leave a lifeless body behind him.

He’d done it before, he’d do it again.

Though he was exhausted, he didn’t let it show. The dark circles under his eyes have been there since he was a child, they didn’t give away how he felt anymore.

“I’ll be heading out.” 

He stated, voice low and challenging, daring any of his subordinates to object.

“It’s raining…” One brave soul spoke up from the back,

“I know.” He could smell the asphalt from here, as well as hear the thumping of raindrops on the metal roof five floors above the basement they were currently in.

He took his time climbing up the metal stairs, pulling his black leather glove from the pockets on his slacks and slipping them on.

They prevented fingerprints, and they were quite warm.

..

..

..

The rain was unexpected, leaving you completely soaked all the way down to your shoes as you fumbled with your keys. 

You just wanted to get inside, undress, relax in a bath, and go the fuck to sleep.

Today was far more stressful than it had to be, considering your bitch of a boss decided to skip work today without telling anyone - leaving you in charge during the most hectic time of the month.

You were freezing and both mentally and physically exhausted, and what was pissing you off even more was how this was the third time you dropped your damn keys.

Your fingers were numb as you shivered, hard to grip the slippery keys.

You felt like crying victoriously when you finally got the door unlocked.

Slipping your dirty heels and soaked pantyhose off, you dragged your feet through the house, making your way to your room without the use of a light switch. You were too tired to fumble around for it.

Inside your room, you shrugged off your coat and unbutton your white blouse, making your way to your dresser for a fresh pair of clothes.

It was a Saturday, and knowing you had the day off tomorrow was like a sweet kiss.

 “(Y/N)..” 

You froze, body no longer shaking just from the cold.

That voice.. It haunted you.

Once so sweet and kind.. now all you could associate it with was the stench of gunpowder and the coolness of a blade.

You could see his silhouette in the mirror, his tall, dark figure beside the window you hadn't noticed was opened.

Bile burned your throat, you didn’t want to be near this man ever again. 

You were foolish to think you had escaped his reach.

“I’ve missed you..” He drawled, sincerity threading itself through his words as he took a step towards you.

“Really?” You huffed, “I don’t miss you at all.”

“I know you do,” 

He was behind you before you could blink, the frightening sparks of his quirk sending chills down your spine as they lit the room in a green glow for just a moment.

You were trapped against the dresser, one hand pressed against the mahogany wood, and the other slithering dangerously around your throat like a snake that could strangle you at any moment.

You gulped, breath stuttering as you fought to stay calm.

His chest was pressed to your back, his figure towering over you.

He always made you feel so small and helpless.

“You reek of blood..” The scent burned your nostrils.

Soaked green locks brushed against your cheek as he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume that drove him crazy.

He had purchased the same scent a while ago, his sheets were covered in it. He could never get enough

“And you smell delicious, my love.”

“Don't call me that-!” You spat through your teeth, venom in your voice only making him smile against your clammy flesh.

You reminded him of an angry mouse.

“And why’s that?” His voice was always so deep and dripping with authority. 

His thumb and forefinger gripped your chin, pulling your face to the side so that he could look into your mesmerizing (E/C) eyes. 

They were like a drug to him, heroin that he shot into his veins every time he had the pleasure of looking into them. 

Even if all they held was fear and disgust, they were still so beautiful to him.

You didn’t answer.

He sighed.

Looking down, you noticed the red blood on his collar, the sight making you gag. 

He no doubt had more on his person, and yet he was pressed against you. 

You wanted to throw up.

“Who was it.”

The question hung in the air, and he found himself not wanting to answer it.

“Midoriya, who was it.” Your voice shook, tears blurring your vision at the thought of him torturing another person because of you.

You tried so hard to keep away from people.

You cut contacts with all of your friends and moved cities to keep them safe - hell, you hadn’t even dated after what had happened with your last lover.

He ruined everything.

He stalked you like a predator, and you clearly had nowhere to run and hide.

You would forever be caged like a pet, and your own pathetic attempts to fight back only ever made him smile even wider.

That smile used to bring butterflies to your stomach, and now it just made you nauseous.

To him, it was a game. 

The game of seeing how long until you break and give into him.

He’d let you run ‘free,’ act as though you can fight against him.

He adored that spirit of yours, but he knew that it would break some day.

He couldn’t wait.

You’ll be completely his one day, not that you weren’t already.

Looking into his eyes, you somehow knew who it was.

Shame burned your veins.

Your boss..

Even if he was cruel to you, he had a family.

“Don’t cry, (Y/N)..” Izuku whispered, fingers falling from your chin to brush away your onslaught of tears, “I hate it when you cry..”

“You always make me cry, Izuku!” Sobbing out loud, you fought to get away from him, though it was useless you couldn't help yourself from trying.

“I hate you-! Mph!” 

Your outburst was silenced by his fingers, two digits knuckle deep in your mouth.

You choked around them, cringing at the taste of leather.

Sniffling, you breathed loudly through your snotty nose, tears stinging your cheeks.

“I don’t like it when you talk like that..” He muttered darkly, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You were afraid of him. 

You always were.

 It was like there was an invisible knife pressed against your neck, slicing into your skin and daring you to try and speak again.

His forehead fell to your nape, and you stood there in silence for a while, the pitter patter of rain doing next to nothing to soothe your nerves.

It felt like time had stopped in the silence, like you were waiting for your own death.

“You’re soaked..” He commented, pulling away, saliva dripping down your chin as he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“No..”

That made him chuckle, the sound making your skin prickle.

“You were going to take a bath, right?”

Despite being a murderous villain, Izuku still treated you with an ounce of respect, never once looking down at your exposed chest despite a large mirror allowing him to do so.

You hated how he was a gentleman despite everything he’s done and will continue to do.

“You should get out of these clothes.. You’re going to catch a cold.” 

And you hated how he fretted over you.

You hated everything about him.

The faint sound of sirens pierced the atmosphere, not too far away but getting louder and louder every second.

“I suppose I better take my leave, my love,”

“Don’t call me that..” You repeated meekly under your weak breath,

“I’ll see you again soon..” He turned around, pausing for a brief second, “but you won’t see me.”

He somehow always made your skin crawl without even having to touch you.

Biting your lip, you whipped around, ready to scream at him, only to see nothing.

He had already left.

And yet..

You knew he was never really gone.

You wished you never met him.

[deiliamedlini]

Slipping on Ice

Summary: Link is forced to take his little sister Aryll ice skating at 7am, and they suddenly have to share the rink.

~Modern Zelink AU ~

Word count: 4644

Or read on Ao3!

~~

“Link, you missed the turn!”

Aryll sat forward from the backseat and tried to point frantically at the road, only for the seatbelt to lock and send her backwards. There were several loud clicks, and she closed her eyes in defeat before Link could say a single smart word, because now she was stuck with the seatbelt completely trapping her.

“Can I fix my seatbelt?”

“No. We’re almost there. Suck it up.”

“You’re mean!” she groaned, leaning her head on the window.

Link glanced at her in the rearview mirror before making a U turn into the near-empty parking lot.

He leaned his head back against the hard headrest and closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t promised his mother that he’d do anything if she let him go to a party over the weekend. He was 18, he shouldn’t even need to ask permission anymore.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!!” Aryll chanted, shaking the driver’s seat with her little hands.

“One day, Aryll, you’ll actually want to sleep in, and then I’ll wake you up to drag you somewhere stupid.”

“Nowhere is stupid!” she countered, whipping her door open and leaning against the window to eerily peer at him.

Glancing at the clock, he rolled his eyes. It was 6:58am and here he was spending the first day of his week-long vacation taking Aryll ice-skating. He double checked his wallet to make sure the 30 rupees his mother had given him were still there and then reluctantly dragged himself from the car.

Aryll was bursting with excitement, bouncing up and down as her plush coat swished with every excited move she made. She pulled her gloves from her pocket—her favorites that had seagulls on them despite the cold—and fiddled to get her fingers in as she stared into the glass door, waiting for whoever to unlock the doors.

Link, on the other hand, was miserable. He was so tired. He wasn’t one of those people who could function with a coffee and just 4 hours of sleep, so he closed his eyes for the next two minutes while leaning against the metal handrail. It didn’t feel cold; everything was cold. Why Aryll wanted to go to an indoor ice rink was beyond him, but he didn’t really care whether it was indoor, outdoor, or on the moon: he didn’t want to go.

“Fix your hat, Link,” she said to him, tapping on her own. She made a twisting motion.

Feeling for the emblem of the Rito Fliers on his knit hat, he pulled it off and retied his sloppily thrown-in ponytail before returning the hat so that the emblem was back in the center.

Finally, the employee came up to the door and stared at Link with equally weary eyes. Link didn’t recognize him, but honestly, he could have been at the party too, given his age and his general disposition that seemed ready to just die a little bit.

He let out a heavy sigh and unlocked the door.

Aryll didn’t even give him enough time to get out of the way before she’d accosted him.

“Hi! One adult and one child please! And we’ll need to rent skates!”

“I’m not skating,” Link muttered, grabbing the rupees. If he could avoid the skate rental and the admission fee, he could pocket the rest of the rupees.

Aryll glared at him as though he’d just told her that he’d killed her best friend. “You’re skating with me, or I’ll tell mom and dad that you didn’t. I’ll call them right now!”

Grimacing, Link handed over the rest of the rupees and told the man their sizes before turning toward Aryll’s smug expression. “No one wants to be friends with a dirty rat, you know.”

“I’m not dirty. And I haven’t told anyone yet, so I’m not technically a rat either.”

“No one wants to be friends with a smart mouth.”

“At least I’m smart.”

He made a face and leaned heavily against the counter until the guy returned with their skates. Link took them while Aryll bolted through the doors and into the rink.

It was freezing.

The chill hadn’t been enough to wake him up, but it was enough to make him a bit more alert. He looked around the deserted room, his footsteps echoing in the silence and making him more self-conscious than he already was about being here. What if Mipha saw him here? Would she laugh at him for his inability to skate? Would she make fun of him for spending the first day of his vacation with his little sister? Would she even notice he was there?

Not that any of that mattered. Mipha was dating Revali.

It was just a crush. On the most popular girl in school. Who was also gorgeous. But he’d never even said three words to her, so why would she care if he was here anyway?

“Hey! Link! Come on! Give me my skates!”

Shaking his head to snap himself out of it, he descended the stairs and tossed Aryll’s skates in front of her.

“Rude.”

“That’s for making me actually skate and blackmailing me.”

“I’ve seen you skate, Link. If you can even call it skating. It’s more like shuffling.”

“Shut up.”

Aryll grinned while she slid into her skates, testing them out before heading to the door onto the ice.

“Hey, wait!” Link called, gesturing to the spot in front of him.

“What?”

Link set his shoes down and knelt on the ground. “Put your foot up. It’s like mom never taught you to tie shoes.”

Groaning, Aryll threw her head back and set her skate against Link’s leg so he could retie it. The force that he pulled at the strings had her jerking back in surprise, and nearly toppling over, but she kept her balance and watched Link as he knotted the laces a few times. Admittedly, it did feel like a better fit when he was done.

“Other one.”

He shook his head as he pulled the loose strings. “Honestly, I thought you knew what you were doing.” He pulled the laces and Aryll swayed again.

“I do! I’m just… not the best shoe-tier.”

Satisfied, he patted the side of her foot. “Okay; go ahead. I’ll be out in a minute. But you know you’re kind of on your own, right?”

“Oh, I know!” she laughed, finally gliding onto the ice with an ease that Link was reluctant to admit he envied.

He put his own skates on slowly, glancing up every now and then to make sure Aryll hadn’t cracked her head open or anything terrible like that. He’d have no idea how to get to her if something happened, but she had been adamant that her classes made her good enough to know how to fall and how to jump and how to glide.

No one else knew how to ice skate, so sending Link was as good as sending anyone else with her. Plus, despite their occasional snippiness, Link would protect Aryll with his life, and their parents knew that enough to trust him alone with her at an ice rink. He’d find a way onto that ice faster than someone could call an ambulance.  

Link let out a deep breath again and set his phone inside his shoe before standing up. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered. He could do this, for sure.

That attitude went out the window the second his first skate hit the ice.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, already unsteady with one foot still on land. Land? Is that what it was called now?

“Sound carries in here!” Aryll chided, swishing by him tauntingly.

He waited until she was on the opposite side of the rink before clutching the boards for dear life, throwing his other foot over and slipping like was… on ice, he supposed. His feet couldn’t stabilize, and it was all up to his arms to hold him up until he managed to regain his balance.

Sliding his hand along the boards, he pulled himself as far as he could until the plexiglass took over, and he was forced to slide his fingers into the narrow gap for any grip.

He hadn’t lifted his legs yet, but he was where the net would be in hockey, so he let go for a second and glanced back at Aryll. “Better than you thought I could do, huh?”

She skated up to him and then turned herself backwards, judging him with her arms across her chest as she disappeared.

“Critic,” he muttered, trying to lift his foot. He could only manage to get his right off the ground, and he kept trying to dig the front of his skate into the ice to push himself forward, because that’s what everyone in those videos Aryll made him watch with her last night did. He managed a shuffle, and every time he felt himself going, he grabbed for that little spot under the glass to steady himself, and then dragged himself along.

“You really suck,” Aryll said on her next pass.

“Hey! Language! You’re like, five!”

“I’m not five!” she called back. It was a running joke between them because Link needed to do math to figure out Aryll’s age. He always had to subtract six years from his own age to figure hers out, but she still seemed younger to him. Maybe she’d always be that way just because he was the oldest. Maybe, she’d be in her thirties one day and Link would still think she was a teenager.

It took a long time and several taunts from Aryll, but Link made it around the whole rink once, while Aryll had probably circled it nearly two hundred times. He’d gone around again, but he was stopped, watching Aryll practice her jumps when he heard the echo of footsteps entering the rink.

It was a public place, he knew, but they’d gone early to avoid people, not to share.

But wow, any semblance of annoyance he had disappeared when he saw the girl hurrying down the steps with a gym bag slung over her shoulder.

She had long blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, and really that was all Link could see from that distance, but he did have a thing for blondes, and that was all he needed to feel an instant infatuation. But of course, his nerves shot up tenfold because now there was a hot blonde who’d watch him not know how to skate and probably fall on his ass.

He dragged himself around a bit more, trying to just keep his eyes on his feet instead of on her, but he was a sucker and glanced up.

She was watching Aryll with a fond smile on her face before she stood up and moved onto the ice.

Link shivered while he looked her over. She had a loose short-sleeved shirt on, her sports bra straps showing on her shoulders, and she was in a pair of leggings that hugged her a little too perfectly. He groaned to himself. She had to be hot. Physically, not temperature wise because honestly, she looked like she might be pretty cold.

After pulling himself along a little more—and then trying to shuffle his feet rather than drag himself like he was trying to lead a stubborn horse—he needed to pause to rest. So, he watched Aryll and the girl skate around the rink.

The girl neared him as she was making a turn around the rink, like a warmup, and smiled shyly at him when she noticed his gaze on her.

Shit. She probably didn’t want to be watched just as much as he didn’t. And Goddess, her eyes had been so green they’d nearly made him do a double take. But no! No double takes! She didn’t want to be watched!

It wasn’t until he heard Aryll’s loud “Whoa!” that he looked back out, clutching the boards again as he whipped his head and lost his balance. He expected to see Aryll on the ground, but she was just watching the other girl in awe. And honestly, so was Link.

She was spinning, but not like a normal person. Her arms were tucked against her chest and she spun like those people on the television who competed for medals and awards.

Her arms went out gracefully as she ended it like it was no big deal. Like she didn’t look like someone had just perfectly spun a coin.

She smiled at Aryll, and Goddess above, her smile was gorgeous and inviting and why did she have to be here?

The girl then leaped, some sort of near perfect split in the air before landing and sending Aryll another grin.

“How do you do that?” Aryll asked.

“Aryll!” Link called, chastising her. “Let the lady practice in peace.”

“No, it’s okay with me if it’s okay with you,” she said, stopping just in front of him.

Oh, she was so much prettier up close: freckles that scattered along her face, her long hair tied back into a much better ponytail than his own, glowing skin, impressive muscles. And she wasn’t too bad in the… no, he had to keep his eyes up! Only to be captured in her green ones. Expectant.

“What?” he asked, realizing that she was waiting for an answer from him, but entirely forgetting the question.

“I don’t want to talk to her or help her out if you’re not okay with it. That’s all. You are with her, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking at Aryll’s clear eavesdropping expression as she pretended to be distracted, though her eager face gave her away. “Yeah, go ahead. She likes all that… spinning stuff.”

The girl bit her lip to stop herself from giggling at ‘spinning stuff.’ Goddess, he was stupid. What a stupid thing to say to someone who clearly knows what they’re doing.

He kept shuffling, trying in earnest now to block out their conversation so he could focus on the simple task of going forward.

His attention was torn between making sure Aryll wasn’t being kidnapped and wondering how he’d ever cross the rink to save her if she was. But all he saw was the girl demonstrating something before Aryll tried it, and the girl’s face lit up as she clapped in encouragement.

The entrance of the rink was back in his sight, so he was less concerned about watching Aryll and more focused on his feet.

Which is why he didn’t see the girl until she was right in front of him.

“You should move away from the boards and look up rather than at your feet. It’ll help.”

Even her voice was gorgeous. Goddess above…

“I’ll fall,” he said simply, his hand still on the board.

“Yeah. You have to fall.”

“You haven’t fallen and you’re doing all those… spins. So I don’t think that logic works.”

The girl skated backwards in front of him. “Do you really think I haven’t fallen?”

“No, of course not,” he muttered. Someone who was that good had to have learned through a few spills over the years.

“Then trust me. Look up and get away from the boards. Stop worrying about falling.”

She skated back over to Aryll, demonstrating something else for his sister to try.

With their attention diverted, he pushed away from the boards and kept his eyes on the wall straight ahead.

And promptly felt his skates slide away from him, wide and uneven, throwing him entirely off balance until he hit the ice with a hard thud.

Knowing that both their eyes were on him now, he tried to get to his feet quickly, but that only ended with him slipping and hitting his chin on the ground. So, face burning with utter embarrassment, he rested his forehead against his arm so he could scream internally for a hot second before trying again.

When he looked up, the girl was crouched down in front of him. “Do you need help?”

He could either: stay on the ice like a flattened pancake, or let the hot girl realize that he really is an embarrassment for being unable to get to his own feet.

Looking back at her, he was struck by how she didn’t smile. She wasn’t laughing at him, or enjoying his pain. She wasn’t pitying him either. She just looked… like this was normal.

“Y-yeah,” he found himself saying, taking her outstretched hand.

He shuddered at the contact of her skin on his. She helped him flip onto his stomach and then to his knees before she pulled him up. “Is this your first time skating?”

Lie, or tell the truth?

Something about her wide, earnest green eyes had him sucking up his pride. “No, I just suck.”

“Everyone sucks at the beginning. Once you get it, you’ll be flying like the Rito,” she laughed, tapping the emblem on his hat. Then she blushed furiously, her whole face turning a shade of pink as she let go of his hand and moved backwards. “Sorry. Personal space issues sometimes when I’m on the rink.”

“No, it’s okay,” he muttered, unable to get his voice any louder. His hands were out to steady himself, but he slipped again, landing on his knee.

This time, she did smile, but it was soft and she held her hand out again.

“Your sister could teach you. She said she’s been taking skating lessons for a while.”

Scoffing harshly, Link shook his head and glanced at Aryll, who was blissfully making loops around the rink, unconcerned with them. But he took her hand again.

This time, she didn’t let go. She shook it. “I’m Zelda.”

He glanced at their clasped hands and raised his eyebrows, shocked that she was even telling him her name. “Link.”

She gave him a tug before letting go of him, letting him coast in the momentum. “So, you… um… go to school around here?”

He looked back at his feet so they didn’t get away from him, but he heard Zelda tsk, so he looked back at her. “Yeah. I’m in my last year at Faron High.”

Her smile broadened. “I’m in my last year at Labrynna!”

Hot, kind, and his own age.

Link took her in, suddenly feeling guilty; as much as he wanted to fall again just so she’d offer her hand one more time, he didn’t know her. “I’m sorry for taking up your time. Thanks for helping.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, glancing at Aryll for a while. “I’m always here, so it’s nice to have a different morning. And I like meeting new people.”

And just like that, the guilt faded away from him. “Always here? You a professional skater?”

“Not professional,” she said, offering her hand again. “I’ve done competitions.”

This time, he didn’t know why she was offering, so he hesitated before getting sucked in by her genuine smile. She tugged him again and he started to glide with her again.

He chuckled and kept his eyes off his feet. “You good at it?” Zelda raised an eyebrow, so he quickly waved his hands. “I-I mean, you looked incredible, but anyone who can move forward deserves a medal in my eyes. So, my comparisons aren’t great.”

Zelda bit her lip and shrugged. “I’ve done well.”

That, Link knew, was code for ‘yes, I’m very good,’ but from someone far humbler than himself.

After checking on Aryll, Zelda nodded to herself as she looked over Link. “You’re doing better already.”

“I am?” he asked, glancing at his feet.

Which, of course, sent him lurching forward until he hit the ice.

Zelda giggled this time, covering her mouth to try to stifle it. “I’m sorry! I threw off your focus!”

Link groaned and made it halfway to his feet before taking her hand this time. Well, he was getting better at falling anyway.

She didn’t let go.

Instead, she held out her other hand. “I can help keep you balanced so you can try moving your feet.”

One more hit, and Link was sure he’d wake up from this dream. Because what was even happening right now?

Well, if this was a dream, might as well go for it. And if it wasn’t… what could he do that’s more embarrassing than he’d already done?

So, he took her hand.

She pulled him with her for a moment before gesturing to his feet. “You should try… you know… skating.”

“Right,” he said, admittedly holding her a little tighter as he tried to push off the ice but stumbled.

She steadied him, but before he knew it, she was clicking her tongue at him again. “Link, stop looking at your feet.”

The sound of his name on her lips had his head jerking up far faster than he meant to. He was like an eager puppy, and he knew it.

Once they’d gone around a little more, Zelda loosened her grip. “I’m going to let go. Keep going. You’re doing really good.”

He blew out some air as she released him, and his arms shot out to his sides to keep him steady. But he was doing it. He was going forward.

He couldn’t help the triumphant little laugh that escaped from his lips.

“So, you’re not hopeless after all!” Aryll said as she skated beside him. “It’s taken him forever to figure this out! I even tried to show him videos yesterday.”

Defensive, Link glared at Aryll. “I tried to do it their way. But I couldn’t figure out the toe thing.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow again. “Toe thing?”

“Yeah, they kept pushing off with their toe or something, but I can’t get it.”

Goddess, Zelda was perfect, because she lifted her foot up to show off her skate while still skimming backwards in front of him. “This thing?” she asked, pointing to a sharp barb looking thing in the front of the blade.

“Yeah, they pushed off with that, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it.”

Zelda laughed again as she set her foot down. “These are for figure skating. The ones you have on are for hockey. No toe pick. They’re different.”

“They are?” he asked, trying—and failing—to get a good look at his own skates. “I thought they were all the same.”

“They’re not,” she said, her cheeks pinching her eyes with her smile. “You know, you’ve been skating this whole time without falling.”

“It’s a miracle,” Aryll muttered.

Link turned to her with a glare. “You’d better watch it, because when I get really good, I’m going to pick you up and throw you across the ice, and you better know how to stick that landing or you’ll end up on your ass.”

“First off, language,” Aryll huffed. “Second off, that sounds fun, so go ahead.”

He scoffed and playfully pushed her, though it did little more than throw him off balance for a moment. And when he looked up, he could see that people were starting to come into the rink quickly.

Zelda sighed and watched them with a sad expression. “I know them. They always just completely take over the ice. It’s a pain.”

Link finally stopped moving when he saw who it was. Mipha, Revali, and their friends were laughing boisterously as they took their seats in the bleachers to get their skates on.

Zelda looked between them and Link. “Do you know them?”

“Kind of. They go to my school, but we don’t talk.”

Zelda stared at them, specifically at Mipha, before muttering to herself. “Wow. She’s really pretty. I’d kill to look like her.”

Looking Zelda  over, Link was glad that Aryll had taken a turn around the rink without them. Because he didn’t think he’d have the courage to say anything if she’d been around as his audience.

“I know a stranger’s opinion isn’t worth anything but… personally, I prefer blondes.”

Whipping around, an incredulous look on her face, Zelda lost her balance and fell back onto the ice. She barely seemed like she noticed, pulling her legs up to her so she could stare open mouthed at Link until she regained her composure.

Her face was bright red, and she couldn’t quite meet Link’s eyes as she laughed to herself. But finally, she worked up to it and her gaze had him pinned.

“Yeah, I do too.”

Link nodded nervously before he started to chuckle and held his hand out to help her up.

She took it as a courtesy, but got up on her own so she didn’t pull him down when he’d spent so long getting his balance.

This time, when their hands lingered too long, the energy between them was palpable, and both of them were blushing.

Aryll skated up to them. “I’m hungry. Can we go to Windy’s?”

Link glanced apologetically at Zelda, and she followed them back to the gate, watching as they both pulled at the laces in much the same aggressively impatient manner. It had her grinning.

“You know,” she said when Link stood up. “I’m here at 7:30 whenever there isn’t school. I’ll be here tomorrow, if Aryll would like some more help.”

Her eyes were distinctively flirty, and Link was beyond glad that Aryll was still too young to recognize it, because she gasped in excitement. “Can we, Link?”

He didn’t look at Aryll, too entranced by Zelda’s blatant invitation. “We’ll ask mom, but if she says you can, I’ll bring you. If not… I might just come here alone.” His lips tipped up, and he prayed that the red in his cheeks and down his neck just looked like it was from the cold.

“No fair! But mom will say yes if you’re bringing me so she can go back to sleep!”

Link didn’t even realize how awake he’d become since Zelda came into the rink.

Zelda pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ears that had come free in her fall. “Okay then. I’ll see you both tomorrow. For lessons.”

Aryll beamed. “Maybe you can come for lunch with us tomorrow?”

Zelda bit her lip and looked over at Link, who was now staring at the floor so she couldn’t see his expression. But she thought he was cute when he was nervous. “Link? What do you think?”

Forced to look up at her, he knew she could see how eager he was to just straight out say yes. It was all over his face, and burning in his eyes. “If you’d like to,” he said carefully. “I have no objections.” He finished sliding his normal shoes back on before standing up.

“Okay. I look forward to it. I’ll see you tomorrow Aryll. Link.”

He stepped forward, a little too close to where she leaned on the board. “Zelda.”

Her mouth dropped into a smile as he used her name for the first time.

Link patted Aryll’s shoulder to lead her up the stairs before taking one more look behind him at Zelda.

They were halfway up the steps when Link pointed to Aryll. “Do not tell mom that there is a pretty girl involved.”

But Aryll smiled. “Your voice carries, Link.”

Spinning around on the stairs, he saw Zelda beaming as she giggled. But she—thankfully—pushed off the board and twirled once before skating away, her eyes on them until she no longer could see where they stood.

And when Link glanced at Mipha as they passed, and he felt that his infatuation with her had faded to near nothing from the time he’d gotten out of the car to the time he got into it once again. He knew he was doomed. because the only one on his mind now was Zelda.

He’d never been more excited to set an early alarm.

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[ktheist]

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’? 

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

x

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say. 

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

x

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?! 

x

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

x

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.”  yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile. 

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner. 

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes. 

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

x

 dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

x

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm. 

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

x

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

x

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites. 

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon. 

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer. 

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you. 

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.” 

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

x

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

x

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything. 

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

x

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

x

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

x

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading.  the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying. 

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

x

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance. 

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

x

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

x

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane. 

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

x

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

x

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else. 

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the  a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths. 

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

x

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

[creativeashproductions]

Magician Behind the Music // Owen Joyner

sagSummary: Being in a studio recording songs is an intimidating experience for anyone regardless of age. Wanting the best in the business for his soundtrack Kenny Ortega brings his cast to the best in the business. Heading the production is no ever than Y/N with a certain sparkle when it comes to the tall blonde.

Warning: Swearing, insecurity, oblivious!reader and fluff

Words: 2.1k

A/N: I know nothing about producing songs so I ended up winging it. About time I make a fic for Owen

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The studio had the sound of music as a group of people walk down the hall of the building that housed world-renowned recording studio. The office chair was leaning back as a figure sat listening to the nearly finished album. Forest green Sanuk slip-on shoes on the feet of the individual the door opening wasn’t heard.

“Girls you wanna hear the finished product?” You questioned from your seat behind the large control panel. The four girls on the video chat excited responded enthusiastic band members.

Not needing anymore push the song replaced the one that had been playing as background noise. Sliding the volume up the music, you had both produced and featured played through the speakers. As the pre-chorus and the chorus came, you couldn’t help but start singing.

 I find peace in every story you told

 I think of you, I’ll never be alone

 It’s true, true, true

 You know I do, do, do

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

 Oh, you save me in ways that I can’t explain

 Always been there for me, now I’ll do the same

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

All five that poured themselves on the song couldn’t help but bop along with the catchy words and beat. By far, one of your most favourite songs you ever co-wrote, feature and produce. You and little Mix had been desiring to co-work on something for years now.

“That pre-chorus and chorus are the favourites of my career!” You excitedly announced glancing up the glass separating the booth from the control room. Your face found a handful of young adults and Kenny in the reflection.

“It’s gonna be a bop to sing!” Perrie agreed with her hair in messy space buns sitting at her computer desk in comfy clothes.

Jesy, Leigh-Anne and Jade wore similar loungewear in the safety of their homes after travelling out of LA back to England. An entire week spent solely on writing music and recording with a few sleepover nostalgic of the teen years.

“I gotta go. My next clients are here.” You told the excited British girl group before your cursor ended the video chat.

Pushing off with your toe on the floor, you faced the group seated taking in the awed expressions from the song. Part of you is annoyed at the blatant disregard of professionalism and the potential of the song being leaked.

“Charlie, Owen, Jeremy, and Madison this is my friend Y/N. She’s a musician, songwriter and a producer.” Kenny spoke, waving towards your seat position at the forefront of the control panel.

Your eyes gleamed brighter with the teal blue cable knit sweater paired with a pair of fitted blue jeans. The pros of being a producer in a recording studio meant the work attire was relaxed compared to desk jobs. It appeared this group was similar.

“Hello.” You spoke standing up to be closer to the group, “I believe you have a soundtrack needed? I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’d like to ask that the song you overheard not be spoken about again.”

“I’m Charlie.” The brunette with a white hat put on backwards immediately shook your hand. Even with the hat, you could tell his hair was a gorgeous brown that contrasted his pretty eyes hazel green eyes.

“Hi Charlie.” You smiled at the male before stepping around him to the other three people in the room. The only other girl in the room was most definitely the lead of whatever show Kenny was currently doing.

“You’re Madison.” You spoke, taking in her youthful appearance and the quiet wisdom flowing within her eyes, the colour of dark coffee grounds. Her hair was down in her natural texture, resting on the shoulders of her muted olive green shirt.

“Jeremy.” Came from the shorter boy with startling rich dark brown almost black hair and eyes you couldn’t discern between blue or green. His cheeks a permanent pink flush but an infectious grin, “How are you?”

“My collaborators for a song liked it, and I’m not going to explain what you’ll be doing in the booth.” You replied gesturing to the enclosed space with the microphone and a stand of instruments.

Brushing off any other details you finally came to the only nameless individual in the room with the only blonde head of hair.

“Owen.” The blonde spoke softly with his eyes nearly begging to leave your expression with the anxiety building. This was so new for Owen, and unlike anything, he had ever experienced before in his life.

“Take a seat.” You motioned towards the long couch against the wall opposite the recording booth. It was a plus that extended couch perfect for a short nap after a near all-nighter. Your studio was the only one with such a good sofa.

“I’ve worked with Kenny on his Descendants series with the cast along with strictly only musicians. I say this with respect with Kenny, but if you don’t respect me or my process, I won’t hesitate to end this. It’s in the contract.” You sternly told the young individuals, “That being said. Your voice is an instrument that needs to be cared for. You need to be careful with it.”

The vocal coach dove into a more detailed list of the items not to be ingested by actors. The same thing happened with every new client you met after the horror film of a massacre a few years previous. As they went over, you looked over the schedule.

The binder was thick with the different songs in the series with jot notes in the margins. Kenny sat in the other chair, looking at them.

“So, Jeremy is the only one with experience?” You questioned glancing up at your elder with a look of curiosity. Kenny nodded with a fond smile, “Okay so let’s get his vocals for the first song recorded. That way, the others have a first-hand look at how it happens.”

Jeremy was quick to rid himself of his jacket to slide into the booth with the headphones resting on only one ear. In two hours, you had guided Madison and Charlie through their parts of this session. Your mouth opened to invite Owen into the booth but his demeanour concerned you.

“Kenny, how about we take a break for lunch?” You subtly guided Kenny to look at Owen before he quickly agreed.

Charlie was practically skipping out of the recording studio with his hands nudging Jeremy on his way out. Madison, led by her father, left right after leaving Owen to just about exit the room.

“Hey Owen?” You spoke, bringing the tensed young man’s attention, “Can you give me a moment?”

His head of thick blonde hair hesitantly nodded as Kenny followed the other cast members out of the room. Gently nudging the door closed you guided him to sit on the couch with you stationed in the office chair.

“First time recording is a bitch of pressure. I completely understand because I’ve guided people and been guided in the booth.” You began leaning forward to meet his eyes, “I know as someone with anxiety it’s intimidating. Let me know. Whatever you tell me will stay between us.”

Owen was quiet, “I’ve done other projects. I’ve never had the opportunity to have a role as a drummer. I guess this is overwhelming.”

“How about you hop into the room, and we mess around with a song?” You questioned, “I can show you how I produce if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.” Owen’s lips curved just a fraction into a ghost of a smile with the tension in his shoulders melting.

For the next two hours, you spent time in the booth explaining the equipment’s role in the recording. After he gave a short lyric, you invited him to sit by the soundboard with you to walk him through it. All the while, you shared the pizza you had ordered for both of you.

 “I started in the business as background vocals for a few bands before I delved into my own career as a musician. I believe I was about seventeen when I got to be part of people getting the songs ready for fans. I fell in love and find it more fun behind the soundboard.” You informed the blonde listening to a recent song you had finished.

“This is insanely cool. I think I’m ready to record my parts.” Owen admitted playing with his fingers. In response, you typed out a quick message to Kenny, bringing the other people back after a long break.

As much as you would have loved creating the soundtrack, it wasn’t possible with your other commitments. Leaving the work in Alana’s capable hands, you had been packing for your visit to the UK for performing the song with Little Mix. Owen, having the day off, had found himself in your apartment as he had for the last few weeks.

“Do you really have to go?” Owen whined, staring at with his head tilted back on the couch. Lips pursed in a pout and blue eyes shining sadly.

“As much as I would adore falling for that look, we both know I have to.” You admitted dropping packing to snuggle into his side, “What’s up with you lately?”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, rolling his head on the back of the couch you look at you. From the position, he couldn’t see your face, but that didn’t stop him from staring.

“It’s hard to describe, but you get flustered when certain songs come on. You’ve been ditching the cast to spend time with me.” You listed off, staring off into the distance, “You got Charlie to drive in the opposite direction of your work to pick me up.”

“What kind of songs?” Owen inquired with one arched eyebrow high. You shifted to stare up at the soft look in his pretty blue eyes.

“It was some duet from that tv series about the High School Musical films…” Your sentence trailed off as everything clicked, “You have feelings for me.”

“Thought it was blatantly obvious. I danced with you in the rain at midnight while I sang to you. I think that’s the most obvious action.” Owen chuckled brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he took in the startled expression

Owen had walked you home after a late recording session with the cast talking each other’s ear off with different subjects. His hand had slid into yours as he tugged you into the ice cream shop on the way; a scoop each. His eyes glued to every move you made with passion behind every single word.

“-they came to me about a song. It’s a surprise for Kenny, I suppose.” Your one holding the ice cream cone nearly went flying with the motion you made. Your other clasped in Owen’s without even realizing it.

“So, it’s the last song you’ll be helping us on, right?” Owen asked halting to toss the napkin from his cone in the closest bin. You followed suit while intertwining your fingers back together.

“The girls want to do a short little radio tour to promote the single. It would be a month most likely to brainstorm new ideas for songs. We’ve all agreed to collaborate in the future.” You informed the nineteen-year-old. He was a year and a half younger than you.

“When-”

Your sudden squeal cut him off as the sky opened up to a sudden pouring of rain on the two of you. Had you not been so focused on the conversation you would have seen the cloudy sky and the light drizzle of rain.

“Whoa!” Owen laughed, tugging you into his arms in a complete act of spontaneity. His voice softly singing one of your favourite songs.

As he twirled you around in the rain, he serenaded you with Edwin McCain’s song ‘I’ll Be’ unapologetically sharing a piece of himself. It seemed the universe took pity on the male by allowing him to dance smoothly with his friend.

“This is my favourite song.” You giggled as he dipped you with one of your legs in the air. The joy in your features melting the actor’s heart.

“You’ve been playing it every day for the last week.” Owen beamed, leaning his forehead on yours as he trailed off the end of the song, “I’ve memorized every lyric in it.”

With rainwater dripping down your nose the words settled in your mind cementing something you had been only slightly aware of. Playing that song often meant one thing: you had deep feelings for someone.

The someone being Owen Joyner.

“I’m kind of stupid.” You snorted turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I’ve got no doubts I fell in love with you in that dance.”

Owen’s grin preceded a toe-curling kiss that was the first of many that would happen.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds  @siriuswvrld​ @princessvader15​ @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle​ @joshy-obx​ @lovesanimals​ @oopsiedoopsie23​ @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you​ @jaskiers-sweetkiss​ @lostrandomfangirl​n @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @jatp-holland​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland​ @dasexydevitt13​ @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​ @ssprayberrythings​​ @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @zukoshonourr​ @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl​ @all-in-fangirl​ @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @badwolf00593​ @blowakissbabe​ @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @writerinlearning​ @aiofheavenandhell​ @sageellsworth05​

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ eddie ate dynamite﹫johnny suh

fangs - matt champion PLAYLIST

pairing : johnny x reader (f), feat. ten as johnny’s best friend and roommate and jaehyun as your college friend. 

genre : fluff, another case of smut with too much plot, pianist!johnny, guitarist!reader, college!au, neighbour!au, strangers to friends to lovers, warnings : ten being a cockblock, it’s overall really cute. heavy making out, grinding, marking, slight choking, slight thigh riding, mutual masturbation, slight panty kink and menhandling, oral, penetration. word count : +22k synopsis : where you never really tried to make friends with your neighbours. after all, most of them – if not all – are families that would not have much time to talk to a college student. you don’t mind, you’d rather spend some time with your guitar. but your new young neighbour doesn’t seem as anti-social as you are, it’s eleven past meridiem when someone airdrops a tab sheet on your computer, you play it. a/n : i got this idea while i was showering just after i ordered my electric guitar, i also felt like shit so figured writing about my ult would cheer me up.

Calm and clean streets, pretty cherry trees dotted in red, small park filled with multicolor flowers, you remember the day you moved in your neighborhood like it was yesterday. You don’t say it much, but you love everything about your district. Yes, it might be mostly – if not totally – filled with small families and couples in their thirties, and they usually don’t have much to tell you, you still love the tranquility.

No college students being obnoxiously loud, no parties every week, no gatherings of wannabe frats.

You have to say, you got lucky. The small – but convenient and comfortable – apartment you’re ranting is what you could call a “perle rare”, a gem.

After searching and searching for anything that could fit a college student and it’s budget, you found this very building, freshly built. Only fifteen minutes away from the city center, exactly seventeen minutes away from your university, you couldn’t really believe your eyes, you even thought it was a scam at first. A more than decently sized apartment at the second to last floor, elevators, almost soundproof walls, balcony, big windows facing south, you couldn’t ask for more.

Even better, the owner was a family friend, a deal that made everyone happy was quickly made and, a few days after your twenty-first birthday, you moved in.

It was a bit more than a year ago and you have to say, you quickly made yourself at home, you didn’t mind leaving alone either. Besides, you had friends over a few times a month, and your family didn’t hesitate to visit without any notice.

Ah, and, a few days after moving in, you found this very cute and cosy coffee shop down the street. Oh, how you got addicted to their éclair au chocolat and their croissant. You’re a regular there, now, and the short brunette girl at the register still makes fun of you for your pronunciation. They also make a pretty good iced vanilla coffee, one you’re drinking this very moment, hands turning cold over the transparent plastic.

“Y/N, hey ! I have something for you !”, a voice you quickly grew familiar to sings the moment your badge opens the front door to your building. Sun Sangkyu, building H7’s concierge, doesn’t even wait for the glass door to close behind you to stand up from his chair, searching for the said “something”.

He’s a balding man, you’d say he’s around sixty-something years old. He agreed to work at the desk for good money despite his age, you remember him saying he loves it, it distracts him for the day while his wife volunteers with kids in a less wealthy area. Sangkyu wears big glasses that often fall down the bridge of his nose, eyes half moons whenever he smiles with his little diastema.

“Ah-a, I know what it is !”, you match his tone almost perfectly, a smile stretching your lips. Walking a bit closer to the men’s cubicle, one he customized so much it contrasts with the minimalist style of the entrance.

Red banner for the Chinese New Year, you’re surprised he did not take it down sooner. Next to it, he has multiple drawings from the kids in the building, pictures of him, his wife and kids.

“There it is. Such a tiny box, what did you order ?”, he asks, and the middle aged men doesn’t hesitate to shake the box a little, bringing it to his ear. He’s a bit too curious for his own good, but you don’t mind, it’s funny.

“Guitar picks.”, you tell him with a laugh once he lets the cardboard box fall into your waiting hands.

At that, he frowns.

Small pout on his thin lips, his dark brown eyes shift to the left as he tried and search in his memory.

“But…What about the ones you brought last winter ?”, he asks carefully, almost like he’s scared of not recalling things well. But, after all, you were the only guitarist in the building.

“I…lost them…”, you answer after a few seconds of silence, like a child admitting they misplaced something to their father.

“Ya…”, his instinct kick in with the noise escaping his face, slightly rolling his eyes, drawing out the last letter. “Anyways, I have something else for you.”, he looks at something on the floor, probably where he left his leather bag.

“But, I didn’t or-.”

“My wife made some yesterday !”, he cuts you abruptly, wide toothy smile as he slides a paper bag. And, oh, you already know what they hold by the smell alone. Baozi, steamed stuffed buns Sangkyu’s wife can make like a real master, your mouth salivates with the thought alone.

“Oh, bless her.”, a sigh tumbles from your lips, clenching the small bag against your chest. As you open your mouth to thank him, the slight buzz of the door opening catches your attention. You notice a rather tall men pushing the door with his back, strong arms holding boxes.

“Thank you very much, Sangkyu. Have a nice day !” You conclude with a smile, nodding as the oldest returns the gesture, face already towards the unknown men.

You don’t pay much attention, quickly walking towards the elevator with your two precious items in hand. Your index taps the code and your floor number like a mechanism and, just before the metallic doors close, you catch the unknown men sighing, “One more box and we’re done, Mister Suh !” Ehm, the apartment on the second floor probably found a new owner, you think at first, the thought brushed away in a second.

The ride to your floor is a quick one, your full attention on the small box in your hand, one you’re trying to open as best as you can. But you quickly find hard to rip the thick duct tape with your left hand occupied with the wrapped food.

“Oh, fuck !”

What was meant to happen, happened. As the feminine yet weirdly robotic voice announces your floor with a “Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, you drop the small box. The cardboard hits the floor with a small sound, laying lifeless a few centimeters away from your shoes. Great, that will teach you. Leaning down, you pick the box up with a sigh, straightening your back as the grey metallic doors open in front of you, left wrist twisting to let your digits wrap around your keys. And it’s your turn to frown. Eyebrows furrowed, you take a step forward, taking your body out of the elevator before the doors close and head down again.

Boxes, boxes everywhere. Your door’s on the left, body naturally facing your apartment but your eyes can not help but look at the overwhelming amount of…stuff laying there. Probably a dozen cardboard boxes in the hallway, the door’s open to the empty apartment if it’s not for all the wrapped furniture in the entrance. Uh, so it’s not the second floor. You have to say, you’re a bit surprised. When you moved in, you remember this very apartment being owned by a middle-aged woman, the fake blonde told you about the three other places she owned and ranted all year around. Be it to travelers, students, young adults. Someone ranted it for two months at best, before moving out, you don’t even remember their faces, to be honest. You never asked why it was always empty, you just figured the area was more appealing to families that would rather buy their own place rather than rant it for god knows how much.

Well, seems like you have a new neighbor. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll introduce yourself later, once they’ll be done with moving in. Let’s be real, you’re not Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives but, you were well raised. Ah, and, you should probably tell them about your habit of playing the guitar a bit too late at night, you think as you finally take your attention off the open apartment and go for your own. Everything might be pretty well isolated, you don’t want to risk starting beef with people you barely know leaving right next to you.

Plus, who knows, maybe they’re nice.

Knife stabs the duct tape, the brown layer easily ripping under the sharp object. Comfortably sat on your bed, you quickly tear the cardboard with your hands, leaving the packaging on the floor of your bedroom, neatly leaving the small bag of picks you ordered on your white sheet.

It’s around ten and a half post meridiem when you finally get around opening your order. College life is one you knew would be busy, but seventeen years old you never knew you’d spend hours on an essay’s introduction. But thank god, you finished a good chunk of your assignment, showered, ate and now, it’s time for a bit of relaxation.

It’s sort of a ritual for you, a way to reward yourself after a productive day. You take a long shower or a good bath – it depends on the bath bombs you have in stock –, you eat a good, hot meal and get to your room for some alone time with none other than your beloved guitar.

The sun’s already set, the streets’ lights filling your bedroom. And, that’s when you notice the dim light coming from the room right on front of you. The layout of every apartment being identical, you know it’s another bedroom, few meters away from your own. It’s a bad habit you developed after your old neighbor left, you’d pull your curtains to the side and eventually took them out, they clashed with your room’s aesthetic anyways. After all, if no one was leaving there, you would let your window wide open for a bit more light.

You figure you should maybe go and find where you stacked them and get ready to struggle for an hour before eventually, putting them up again. But for now, you don’t mind, if your new neighbor actually pulls his curtains to look outside, all they will be able to see’s your light purple colored walls, paintings and pictures, your overly packed schedule stuck right on top of your desk.

You don’t let your mind wonder too much, after quickly opening the thin packaging, you let the small plastic picks fall on your bed. Medium sized, you choose the color you like the best, abstract design in red, black and white. Now that you think about it, you really don’t know where the six other ones disappeared, you even used to keep the last one in your phone case.

Digits wrap around the slender neck of your electric guitar, picking it up from the stand it rested on for a few days now, instrument easily finding its place on your lap. Ah, how you love the feeling of the smooth material under your fingertips, left hand on the body to keep it from falling as you lean forward. The Jack cable you left laying there a few days ago moved a bit, hiding under your bed but you’re quick to grab it, plugging it where it belongs. A flick of the wrist, you turn on your amplifier, turning a few settings. Now that you have neighbors, maybe you should turn the volume a bit down. Until now, you could play as loudly as you wanted thank to the building’s isolation and a few other…reasons. The men living right above you was a bit older than Sangkyu, and he had a few hearing problems, plus he didn’t mind the music at all even if he heard it a bit, when your window was opened. The women leaving right under you is in her mid-thirties, a nurse that had a working schedule you cannot wrap your head around. One thing you know, she’s never there from nine post meridiem to some ungodly hour in the morning.

You’ll talk to your new neighbors tomorrow anyways, brushing the thought off as you place the strap on your shoulder.

“Eddie ate dynamite.”, you mumble under your breath, pick plucking at the three top strings. In tune, great. “Good bye Eddie.”, the three last strings are slightly out of tune, but your quickly arrange that with a few twists. Right hand flat on the six strings, you stand up from your bed, walking to your desk with a few steps. You had left a tab sheet open on your devise before going for your bath, screen lighting up as you open it. It’s a song you practiced once a few weeks back before forgetting about it. Bold, black letters, “Fangs – Matt Champion”.

Eyes scanning the numbers, your fingers quickly find the strings without you needing to even look at your guitar’s neck. Your body follows quickly, shoulders and head moving at the rhythm, it’s a chill tune you can warm your fingers up to. It’s a moment you adore, when your entire building’s silent, fresh breeze of the early summer sneaking into your room, multicolor lights flashing in your bedroom (tiktok made you buy them). Tones and sounds of stings being pulled fill your room, it’s no hard for you to remember the notes at the end, eyes closing as you finish the song.

A good song to start on, you think before opening your eyes and…?

“What’s that ?”, you ask out loud, eyes squinting at the window that opened itself on your screen. Apparently, someone’s trying to airdrop something. It’s probably a mistake, you think at first. A weird mistake, for sure, your laptop clearly had your name on it. Your index finger’s about to decline the request before you take a look at the actual picture sent. Is that…A tab sheet ? Your eyebrows furrow a bit more. Clearly, this was not a mistake. Eye travel to the window, could it be ? Your neighbor’s room is now lit up, but you can’t make anything up in it, unconsciously waiting for a head to pop-up. But hélas, no movement comes from the other side. It could come from anyone, but you doubt

“The Less I know The Better – Tame Impala”.

Ah, you’re not a stranger to the song, you have it in multiple playlists, but you never took the time to look at the tabs. At least the person has some good taste. It’s a weird situation for sure, is this…a request ?

Unconsciously, your fingertips press on the right strings. Eh, might as well try it, right ? Tune familiar, you go through the intro easily, though maybe you should’ve taken something to loop the sound. Irises focused on your screen, you try your best not to mess up, eyes sometimes traveling from your computer to the neck of your guitar. Brown polished wood glow under the purple light, it softly transitions to blue, green, and you stop after the chorus.

Maybe you’ll keep the sheet.

Cold morning breeze, sounds of a city waking up. Birds singing a bit too loudly, a few cars driving by, chatter from families and young adults all around, voices muted by how high you’re apartment is.

You follow along, body turning in your bed, though maybe in a less graceful way, softly shaking the sleep out.

You changed your sheet right before going to sleep, after playing a few other songs, flowery fragrance comforting, nose deep into the soft fabric. You almost think about not leaving your bed but hélas, you have some classes to attend today.

At least, they’re starting a bit late. Sleepy eyes shift to your clock, the very one that woke you up, nine ante meridiem, you have an hour to get ready, that should be enough.

Another bad habit, your hand grabs your phone as you roll over to your side, cheek squished on your pillow, one eye closed. Maybe you should not do that, apparently the second eye's vision can and will go down if you do this too much. You have an appointment soon anyways, working on your computer all day long got your eyes dry.

Checking mails, social media, texts, you tour your phone before finally stepping out of bed.

Music theory class, multiple hours of it. But, at least, it didn’t end late at all, today was your only free day. But again, depends on what is your vision of freedom, you'll probably end up at the bakery slash coffee shop down the street to study a bit more.

Arms stretching above your head, your lips part in a yawn you quickly hide behind your hand. Fuck, you probably slept on your arm, shoulder aching under your fingertips massaging the muscle.

Walking around your bed, you take a few steps, dragging your feet on your floor towards your window. You needed a bit of fresh air before anything else.

The weather's pretty good today, you note as you fully step in front of your window, skin gratefully taking in the sunlight, a few white clouds here and there in the sky but nothing to complain about. The sun seems to already be heating the air up, maybe you can go for a light coat today, or a thick top alone.

Naturally, your eyes fall straight forward, to the very window you were looking at the night before.

Curtains pulled to the side, your curiosity gets poked, maybe you can have a quick look at the room, right ?

It looks empty anyways, you think at first, but it seems the universe wants to annoy you a bit today. Just as you're about to detail the room opposite to yours, a figure walks in.

His shadow is the first thing you see, stretching on the beige painted walls of the room before he eventually steps in front of his window as well.

Fortunately for your dignity, the men has his back turned but how... Broad do they look, even from a distance.

You have no idea why, but you're stuck there, one side of your brain telling you to leave before you get caught and inevitably get label as the creepy neighbor while the other whispers that you might want to see the strangers' face.

Shoulder blades move against the tanned skin, hands quickly run in his honey colored locks, pushing them back, it seems your neighbor's getting ready too.

That's when you realize your hand's still gripping your window's handle, right hand falling to your side, you really should go and get ready too but... You wonder, is he the one that sent you the tab sheet yesterday ? Wouldn't you want to put a face a the music taste ?

As you're about to take a step back, the men turns slightly, applying what you can only assume is cream to his face, digits running down his jawline as he angles his head as desired. And oh, the one second long glimpse you get at his profile is enough to make your lips part.

Shiny locks falling in front of his eyes, straight nose, full lips, sharp jawline, a curse almost falls down from your lips. You'd think anyone would find the guy attractive from the small peak you just got but... Isn't this a bit... Weird ? You suddenly feel like a whole voyeur, your eyes detaching from the stranger as your morals kick in.

He doesn't look like a father, or maybe he's very young father ? But again, you didn't see anything for a baby yesterday, nor did you hear one crying yesterday night...

Maybe he moved in here with his significant other, even though young couple usually go for the other side of the city.

Or maybe, he's a college student like you are, does he have a roommate ?

Pupils traveling up again to the window, you're about to get on your toes for a better look. Maybe you should say introduce yourself tonight, rather than guessing and throwing hypothesis out there. And maybe, just maybe, you want to get a better look at his face.

He turns around, you duck to the side.

It’s around six after meridiem when you finally, finally get up from the sit you occupied for several hours now. Maybe you should’ve taken a break between two massive paragraphs to write, you think as your arms stretch up above your head. Thank god, the beloved coffee you decided to drop your bag in had some comfortable light beige chairs, cushion as still cloud-like, exactly like you found them the first day you entered the shop.

You wonder how they keep them so clean, someone must’ve dropped their dark coffee or chocolate on the unforgiving fabric at least once, you surely fear being one of these clients.

“You done ?”, familiar voice hums, and you just nod at the question, eyes falling on the black clock right behind the counter.

“Yeah, I can’t think anymore.”, you tell your friend, hand grabbing the second cup of coffee you brough, shaking it lightly to estimate the amount of liquid left. Jaehyun, maybe your closest friend in your university, pouts at that. Dirty blonde hair fall in front of his eyes as he grounds, before he lets his forward press against his computer’s touchpad. The poor guy had been struggling for an hour now, the rhythm of his fingers tapping on his keyboard gradually loosing speed. You have to say, you were in the same situation, writing and rewriting the same sentences again, brain refusing to cooperate after already vomiting out a few large paragraphs. But, unlike your friend, you decided to stop there for the day, you still had a full week to finish it anyways.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”, the Korean grounds again, dramatic nature kicking in as his head snaps back, rolling backwards, the men cannot go a day without faking death.

“Save it, we still have a week to do it.”, you sigh out, but you don’t hide the smile growing on your face at his antics. Though, you don’t wait for his answer, saving your own file before closing your laptop.

“Six days. Six.”, he corrects, like a day changes anything anyways. See, Jaehyun needs to turn his paper in a single day before yours, since he had chosen to attend the very class twenty-four hours before you. Rolling your eyes, you know the men cannot read your facial expressions, bag turned as you drop all your belongings into your bag.

“You gonna stay ?”, you simply ask, there’s no need for you to point out the slight difference in days. Jaehyun nods fingers running on his touch pad as he zooms out his Word Documents, eyes scanning over his six pages for any underlined errors. “Well, good luck. I didn’t finish this, want it ?”, you ask, eyebrows slightly raised as you push the still fresh iced coffee towards your friend, who doesn’t need more, lips wrapping around the straw.

“Text me when you’re home.”, Jaehyun mumbles, mouth filled with tiny ice pieces, pieces he quickly swallows. “Don’t work too late, text me too.”, you finish it like you too usually do, quickly waving before you walk out of view.

“Are you done, Y/N ?”, another familiar voice calls you out, one you know pretty well by now. See, the coffee shop is getting more and more exposure as days go by, but it does not meet the owner and workers will forget about the regulars, like you. “For the day, yeah. Still have a few things to write but I should be done tomorrow or the day after.” You smile at the brunette, Hana, coffee “Flâner”’s cashier. As said, she’s a brunette with the longest locks you’ve ever seen. Or maybe she has black hair, you think it depends on the lighting. Anyways, she’s been there since the opening, working 4 days a week, greeting costumers with a smile and a light French accent whenever she spoke, thought you remember her saying she was born somewhere else.

“Ah, I hope you’ll have a good grade !”, she says cheerfully, black irises leaving your form as she places some cakes into their signature black box. “Is…Jaehyun staying ?”, the smallest asks, even behind the counter, you can’t help but notice her small, petite figure. It’s like she doesn’t dare to look at you, and a small smile stretches your lips. Oh…She doesn’t hide her crush very well. You wonder, is Jaehyun staying late for another reason as well ?

“Ah, yeah. He’s proofreading what he wrote today.”, you explain, fainting obliviousness.

“Oh, alright !”, she responds with a smile, eyes flickering from your figure to the your friend’s. You’re about to leave, let them somewhat alone if you forget about the three other costumers drinking their tea, when your eyes fall the small cakes she’s arranging behind the glass. And god, how they look tasty. You guess they’re make of a chocolate mousse, a shortbread at the bottom, your mouth salivates. As said, you’re not the Bree Van de Kamp of your building but, if you’re going to greet your new neighbors today, shouldn’t you bring something ? And no, you’re definitely not doing this because of what happened this morning, no way.

“What are these ?”, you ask, taking a step closer.

“Un royal !”, she answers in French, your eyes squint as you try to say it back. How the fuck does she do that -r sound.

“Can I have two of them ? And a croissant, please.”, you order, hand already fishing for your phone. God, this shop will make you go bankrupt, they will also make you addicted to their food, if you’re not already.

“Sure, ma’am !”, the young girl answers, before she grabs yet another black box. Fingers push the cardboard until it takes the shape desired, iron tool dropping the cakes into it. You’ve done this so many times, it’s ironic. Right hand grabs the box, left hand turning your phone screen towards the young girl so she can scan the code.

“Thank you, good bye !”

“See you soon, Y/N !”

The glass door is pushed with a shoulder, smile stretching your painted lips when you give another look inside the shop, catching Jaehyun walking up to the counter. “Buying three coffees isn’t a way to flirt, Jaehyun.”, you laugh to yourself before leaving.

It looks like the sun is about to set, sunlight a lot less aggressive compared to the beginning of the afternoon. Cakes in hand, the walk to your building is a short one, though you come across the Hwang family from the fourth floor going to the park, greeting the mother with a smile, waving lightly at the twins she’s holding hands with. Ah, you really do love this area, you think as you walk along the park’s barrier, catching a few giggles and screams from young kids. And, from the sound of it, they started opening the water in the fountains.

“Cakes again !”, Sangkyu might be on the older side, he still has some sharp eyes, you note. The door closes behind you with a small noise, the lock activating itself. “Yes, cakes again.”, you say, shooting him a fake-ly offended glare, left hand to your chest. “But these aren’t for me, they’re for the new neighbor.”, you point out, walk slowing down in front of the men’s cubicle.

“Ah ! Mister Suh and…”, his face contours as he tries his best to recollect the second name. Oh, maybe it was a couple, good thing you got two cakes, even though you got one for yourself… “Right ! His roommate, Mister Leechayapornkul !”, his features light up with a smile as he correctly – you assume – recollects the second name. Ah, a roommate, you think, interesting. “Oh, I didn’t know they were two. I’m going to introduce myself now.”, you tell him with a smile.

“Ah, by the way, have you heard ? Miss and Mister Jeon want to organize something for the building’s anniversary, I’ll keep you up to date !”

On that, you leave the old men with a smile, quickly strolling to the elevator. The metal cubicle stops at the third floor, a young girl you don’t really know polite greets you before pushing the fifth button floor, she’s probably friends with the kids on that floor.

“Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, the metal doors open on your small hallway, and for the first time, you walk towards the right door. Deep, dark green color like yours, your shoes barely make a noise on the light beige carpet as they lead you to your neighbors’ place. You stay there for a second, mind questioning the dumbest things, should you wait a bit ? How many times should you knock…? Raising your fist up, the first joints of pointer and middle finger tap a few times on the dark wood. One, two, three. You wait.

Though, everything seems silent, if it’s not for the small noise of the elevator going up and down. Are they…Not there ? A small pout on your lips, you shift on your feet, both hands grabbing onto the black box. The apartment was silent, you guessed your new neighbors were not there, your luck.

From : Jaehyun, 8:37 pm. : “im home !!” : “ended up proofreading and wrote the second to last part” The well familiar name flashes on your phone, alongside a picture you took when you visited his family on the country side. Jaehyun’s rather tall body’s folded as he tries to ride on a small tricycle, legs so long his knees are above the handlebars. Quickly, your thumbs tap on the small keyboard as you walk toward your room.

After entering your bedroom, you decided to eat a bit earlier, taking a shower before going back to your guitar. The shower was a cold one, if the sun had already set, the air was dense, heavy. Moments after stepping out of your shower, a thin layer of sweat managed to gather around your hairline. It’s like the weather suddenly switched to the middle of summer, and you definitely were not ready for it.

To : Jaehyun, 8:38 pm. : “is it because of the third coffee you bought :D ?”

To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “…i do not know what youre talking about .” To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “when are you gonna ask her ?”

You send the message before locking your phone, throwing the devise on your bed. You’re quick to set up your guitar, since you left you amp’ plugged in yesterday. Right index flicks the switch up, before you plug the Jack cable in. However, as you’re about to flop on your bed again, you notice the screen of your phone lightening up as your college friend calls you.

“How did you know ?”, it the first think he asks, tone whiny, the second you accept the call and press the speaker button. “It is very much obvious, Jaehyun.”, you laugh out, left hand finding its place around the neck of your black and white guitar as you bring it on your lap.

“Do you she’s int-.”, Jaehyun starts as you play out a few random chords, thumb stroking the six strings ever so softly. “Yes.”, you cut him before he even manages to finish his sentence. “She’s into you. I thought you knew.”

“I, uh, I wasn’t sure.”, he mumbles, and you hear his fork pick whatever his eating. After hanging out around the male for some years now, you figured your good friend was a bit clueless when it came to his looks and charms. Yes, Jaehyun knows that’s he’s handsome, you don’t miss the opportunity to remind him whenever he gets dressed up or send you a selfie, as a good and supportive friend.

But, Jaehyun doesn’t really weight the affect he has on girls, guys, and everyone in between. You remember when this guy in your Music Therapy class, and another girl, you don’t really remember what hear studies were about, but she was in your distant group circle and they both had a big – massive – you’d say, crush on your friend. You remember both of them throwing some light hints at first, thought the girl went a bit harder after as the first eventually dropped it. Jaehyun, him, was completely oblivious until you told him one night, when he was staying over after a night out. “Ask her out already !”, you sign out, left hand over your guitar’s string, blocking any sound.

“I will soon, okay ! Give me some time, I’m…Thinking about the right way to do it.”, your friend starts, drinking something in between his words. “Anyways, moving on ! How’s your neighbor ?”

You sigh at the question, opening your laptop as you search in your files for something to play, you really should organize your things a bit better, you think to yourself.

“They weren’t there.”, you breath out, eyes unconsciously flickering to the window. From this angle, you can’t really see much, apart from the vague shapes behind the curtains, yellowish light on before you even came in your room.

“They ? Oh…Is it a couple ?”, Jaehyun asks, tone slightly disappointed. See, this morning, you obviously told your friend about the airdrop…Thing. Obviously, you had texted him before going to sleep but decided to keep much of the details for a real life conversation. After a hushed story-time, eyes travelling to your teacher every now and then to make sure he was not looking at you, you told him about what happened this morning.

Of course, it immediately poked the blonde’s curiosity, who would not be. As said, you and Jaehyun had been friends for some years now. When you two met, he was in a relationship that ended a few months after, you being there for him had strengthen the bond, he had been single ever since and you, had been single all the way. Sure, you had a few crushes, two or three people shooting there shot but, the crushes were always short-lived, nothing serious.

So, when Jaehyun heard that you found someone attractive after months of radio silence of the channel of your earth, someone who lives next to you at that, your friend jumped on the occasion, already hoping for something to happen before you even got to introduce yourself to the guy.

“I don’t know, Sangkyu said they’re two roommates.”, you inform, trying to recall the two names the oldest men told you hours before.

“…Are you sure you don’t want me to stalk ?”, Jaehyun proposes for the second time today. As soon as you finished your small story this morning, the Korean asked if you wanted him to do some stalking, promising and selling his apparently, amazing, skills in the domain.

“Jaehyun, no. I didn’t even introduce myself.”, you breathe out, half-desperate, half laughing at his antics. “Alright, alright. Go see them soon, alright ?”, there’s a small silence, you simply hum at his question. “Play me something while I do the dishes.”, your friend yawns and you oblige pretty quickly, after finally finding a song to practice to. Maybe you need a little more practice on the song, one by Frank Ocean in the “channel ORANGE” album he put out in 2012, if you recall correctly. On the other line, the sound of water running and dishes being done drowns the voice of your friend slightly singing to the song, one you two have on the collective Spotify playlist you have. Your attention stays on your screen, just in case you forget a chord and, as you’re starting the second chorus, something comes between your eyes and the sheet. Your hand comes flat on your guitar strings, stopping the music at once. You already know what it is.

Jaehyun does not stop the water, but his voice does comes closer, microphone muted every now and then as you hear him struggle. “Why did you- Oh, fuck, nooo. There’s sop everywhere.” You laugh breathlessly at his whines, eyes quickly looking at the black screen of your phone, like you’d be able to see your friend. Though, you hear him wipe his screen, cloth going over his microphone again.

“There ! Why did you stop ?”, he asks, bringing his mouth a bit too close to his phone. Staying silent for a second, your finger tap on yet another Airdrop. “He sent another one.”, you simply say, a bit quietly, as if your neighbor will be able to hear you. Pupils look over at the window, you almost want to get up and walk to your window but…

Jaehyun gasps softly over the phone, “Play it, play it.”, he says as you’re scanning the sheet sent. And oh, he’s that type. It’s crazy how two songs alone help you draw a quick sketch of your neighbor’s personality, or his music taste at the very least. Unlike yesterday, you don’t hesitate and open the file sent, though you have to say you already know the chords.

“Jae’. He sent The Neighbourhood’s Daddy Issues.”, you squick into the phone after grabbing into with your right hand. Jaehyun knows well, you still love the band but had an unhealthy obsession a few years back, not to mention your massive crush on Zach Abels.

“Oh. Ooh. He’s like that.”, Jaehyun notes as well, before he presses you again to play it. Urged by your friend, you lean forward to adjust the reverb on your guitar. “That’s…Kinda hot, though.”, your friend whispers out and you, yourself, can’t comprehend the sound that comes from your lips, something between a laugh and a choked gasp.

“Jae’…What ?”

“No, but, I mean…Daddy Issues, that’s hot.”, he tries to explain himself, you quickly shut him up by running your fingers over the six strings. You don’t really need to look at the tabs, from memory, your fingers find their rightful place.

“3D, 5D, 3G, 5D, 5B, 5G.”, you say as you play the notes, humming the rest as you play the intro.

“C minor, G minor, B flat major.”, and from then, you remember the song pretty easily. Between two chords, you turn the volume on your guitar up, just to make sure your neighbor’s hearing you play.

“That’s flirting.”, concludes Jaehyun once you’re done with the song, you know him well enough to know his mouth a bit agape.

“It is not.”, you tell him, though you’re not sure yourself what this is.

“You have to talk to him like, right now.”, he urges so loudly you have to turn the volume on your phone down.

“Now ? No ! I’m in my pyjamas, and I don-.”, you start, and it’s your friend’s turn to cut you off. “’kay, okay ! Go talk to him tomorrow, please ?”

“I will, don’t worry.”, you start, but before you can continue, you’re phrase’s cut again but this time, it’s by…A piano.

Your mouth parts for a second, a single syllable falling from your lips before you close your mouth. The tune’s familiar, but you never heard in played on a piano. Your head slowly raises, eyes fixated on your window.

“Can you hear this ?”, you quietly ask Jaehyun, who answers with a soft “Yeah”, sounding as dumbfounded as you do. Slowly, you get up from your bed, leaving your guitar on your bed, that’s when you realize how hot it is. The fabric of your shirt sticks to your skin, hands lacing into your hair as your push them up in a makeshift ponytail to let your neck get some air.

It's after a few notes that you finally put your finger on it. The Weeknd's last album, “After Hour”. “Repeat after me.”, you tell Jaehyun, I single “Oh” coming from his lips as he recolls the song.So he's a musician as well, you conclude easily. You never heard anyone play this very song on the piano, you wonder if it's his own arrangement.

On the other end of the line, the blonde's silent, carefully listening to the soft piano tunes as you do the same. Few steps take you to your window again, just like you did this morning. This time, curtains are pulled to the side, enough for you to  see the same broad shoulders under a black hoodie, back straight as his head hangs down towards the keyboard.

From your spot, you can't really see his fingers, but you do see his hands quickly running over the black and whites, pressing confidently. Seeing a pianist's always mesmerising, eyes stuck on the figure, you try your best to get a better view but, what can you do from your room ?

When the song ends, unlike this morning, you don't hide behind your wall. Your neighbor doesn't move, stretching his arms above his head, fingers laced together, a curse falls down your lips.

“Y/N. Send him a sheet.”

It's around five in the afternoon when you find yourself in front of your neighbor's door, holding a black box of cakes, for the second time this week. Your classes had ended two hours earlier today and maybe, maybe you should use that time to work on your assignment but since last night, you don't think you can go another day without introducing yourself to the building's new people. Plus, you have enough time, you tell yourself.

It's ironic, isn't it ? You weren't the type to go out of your way to speak to your neighbors, most didn't have a lot in common with you but now. Now, this nameless, a bit too handsome young guy moves in and you're bringing some patisseries in front of his door.

Music brings people together, you've always thought, you've always known and this, this is a pretty good example. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have went out of your way like this if the guy didn't send you a tab sheet, if he didn't play last night.

Like yesterday, you bring your first up, knocking a bit more confidently this time, thought you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You barely have the time to let your hand fall down to your side when a deep, voice a bit far away let's out. “Coming !”

Of course, broad shoulder guy had to have a deep voice to go along side.

“Oh, hi.”, your soul almost jumps out of your body when the deep green door abruptly opens to reveal none other than your - handsome - neighbor.

“Hi...! Uh, I'm your next door neighbor, the name's Y/N.”, you let out, maybe you should thank your past self for practicing this very line right before stepping out of your apartment.

Your right hand's stretched out in front of your for him to shake, but your attention's on something else. Deep brown eyes stare down at you, they almost make you feel small. Or maybe they're a honey brown, you wonder as the plane blocking the sun finally moves away to reflect into his eyes.

Yes, definitely honey brown eyes, the same eyes that turn a crescent shape, just like before a full. moon.

He smiles at you with the same full lips you saw from your window, hands wrapping around your own.

“Ah, yes. Johnny, nice to meet you !”, he says, hand slowly shaking your own. Finally, a name on the face. You quickly notice the slight simple in the middle of his cheek before he lets go of your hand.

“Oh, I bought some cakes from the coffee shop down the street.”, you tell Johnny, both hands one the black box.

At this, his lips turn from a smile to an - o shape, eyes round. Maybe you guessed right at the moon phase.

“You didn't have to !”, your neighbor blurs out, hands at his sides for a few seconds before they eventually accept the gift when you slightly push the box towards him. Your eyes fall to his hands for a quick second and yes, definitely some pianist hands.

“It's just a small welcome gift ! I wanted to drop them yesterday but, I think you weren't there.”, you explain, a lot, lot more relaxed, though turning your attention away from the men's hands. This isn't the moment nor the place.

“Ah yeah, me and Ten we're out for the first grocery shopping trip.”, he explains, right shoulder leaning against his door frame. You get a quick glimpse at the apartment itself, though you don't look at it too long, everything looks already set up. You remember taking a week to get everything as home-like, but you guess having a second pair of arms help.

“Ten ?”, you ask, right hand wrapping around your left upper arm. Probably the one Sangkyu was talking about the other day.

“Yeah, he's my roommate.”, Johnny answers, letting a silence settle between the two of you. “Do you want to come in ? I won't be able to eat two cakes by myself.”, the men proposes after a few seconds, pupils landing on the black box. He probably saw the two cakes thank to the transparent part of the cardboard box, at the top.

Come in ? And... Eat with him ? Suddenly, your palms grow sweaty, slightly shifting one foot to another. “Oh, but. Your roommate.”, you mumble out.

Sure, at first, you bought two cakes, one for him and one for you. Though you thought you'd eat them by yourselves, when Sangkyu told you about the second person living there, you figured you'd keep the two cakes for your two neighbors.

“He's at his parents’ house to get some things, he won't be there until the day after tomorrow.”, the brunette tells you with a smile. His body moves a bit more, enough to let you enter. “Come on, I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

How can you say no to this ?

“Wait, it ends like that ? There’s no way he does that.”, laughs Johnny, a full laugh that shakes his chest, right under his plain white t-shirt. Short sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his body leans back, black jeans covered legs spread on his one person sofa.

“I swear he does, watch the second season !”, you interject quickly, straw mixing the iced tea in your long glass, ice cubes clashing against each other before eventually melting away.

“Yeah, I guess I will…! I never thought he’d kill her.”, you neighbor says, and he seems genuinely choked, bushy eyebrows raised.

After taking a step in his apartment, the pianist led you to the biggest sofa, where he left you for a few minutes. People say boys are bad at decorating their place, but you have to say Johnny and Ten’s apartment was already looking pretty good. Beige walls, a few black and white pictures were hung up right above the dark sofa. Wide windows on your left, your apartment has the opposite view. While you have a view towards the city center, street lights fascinating at night, Johnny has an amazing view on the park.

Large television right in front of you, you quickly notice de PlayStation 4 and switch neatly placed under it. On your right, just like your apartment, the small open kitchen, counter the only thing separating the two rooms. The honey-eyed seemed to have found his marks easily, navigating in the kitchen quickly. After taking out two plates and two small spoons, he placed the two cakes, refusing your help every time you offered it.

“Iced tea ?”, he had asked, taking out two long glasses when you agreed. Red hibiscus iced tea was poured and handed, before he sat in front of you. You do not remember well how the conversation around the series “You” started, but you recall seeing his Netflix profile on the tv screen.

“So, you live alone ?”, he asked after some seconds of silence, pillow lips wrapping around his metal straw.

“Yeah, I’ve been there for a year, I’d say.”, you start out, spoon digging into the chocolate mousse. “You’ll see, it’s lovely here.”, you tell Johnny with a smile he mirrors.

“I’m sure it is, everyone’s really nice. Especially Sangkyu.”, you laugh at that, the old men really has the power to give one memorable first impression.

“Ah, Sangkyun-.”, you laugh, “He’s something.”, you point out, yourself taking a sip of the iced tea. “Really good memory too, he made fun of me for buying two sets of guitar picks in a few months span.”

“Oh, right, the guitarist.”, Johnny smiles, placing his empty plate on his table. Pink tongue pokes out to wet his lips, your eyes shamefully follow the movement before forcing yourself to find his honey eyes again.   There it was, you didn’t know when nor how to bring the subject up, but you were thankful it happened naturally. For two people, two strangers, the conversation was going pretty well.

“Exactly ! By the way, sorry if the music’s too loud.”, you add quickly, yourself reaching towards the table to leave your empty glass. You’ll have to ask for the receipt. Johnny’s reaction is almost comical, his head shaking from left to right. “No, no ! It’s not too loud, not at all. T-That’s why I sent you a sheet, I liked it.”, he blurs he words out quickly, cute, you think.

Crossing one leg over the other, your eyes shift to the left for a quick second at the small compliment. “Thank you. You’re a good pianist.”, you return with a smile, spoon scraping the last bit of biscuit.

“Thank you very much, it means a lot. Have you been playing for long ?”, he asks, glass a quarter full left on the table. His right arm comes behind his sofa’s backrest, getting more comfortable.

“Since I was…eleven. Got an acoustic for my birthday and ended up selling it for an electric a year and a half later. What about you ?”, you explain, remembering the light brown instrument your parents got for you, you also remember it being way, way too big.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve always liked the sound of an electric guitar better. I was seven, or eight. My mother wanted me to learn and I ended up really liking it.”, he explains, fingers tapping on the sofa’s fabric.

Music brings people together, you tell yourself a second time when Johnny tells you about how her mother loves the sound of a piano, how she’d always stop next to her when he played. A kind of art that helps you learn more about a person, when he tells you his favorite songs to play and you tell him yours.

“But you do have a real pianist’s hands !”, you argue back when Johnny down plays one of your compliments, to which the brunette looks down. Crescent shaped eyes fall on his ring clapped fingers, a small smile on his lips he struggles to hide. “You noticed ?”, he asks, and you try to convince yourself his voice did not get lower.

“Well, yeah. A music student always looks at people’s hands.”, nice save, Y/N.

You learn the young men kept music as a hobby and currently studies international commerce et economics, Ten is a long, long time friend pursuing performing arts. You learn your neighbor’s not only a good looking men, brown locks falling in front of his, nose crunching up every time he finds something funny, rosy lips tugging up to reveal a row of white pearls. He’s also extremely well mannered. Soft spoken, polite, his chuckles put you in a comfort zone, the way he almost doesn’t let you help him clean the two plates a bit too cute. You find his presence entertaining.

Maybe it’s because you just met him, things to learn about him awaiting, but you don’t see the hours running by, nor does he.

It’s around ten post meridiem when Johnny insists to walk you to your door, handwritten receipt of his hibiscus iced tea in hand.

“Do you want me to st-”, Jaehyun asks over the phone for the third time in a week, or maybe for the fourth time, you lost count. Your devise rests right next to your laptop, which is propped on your desk.

“No, Jae'. I don't want you to stalk him.”, you breathe out into your microphone, fingertips tapping on your touchpad at a random rhythm. A paragraph, the conclusion, and you should be done on your essay.

“Too late. Got him !”, he almost chants out and, at that, there's a silence. Clear sign of your disappointment and your blonde friend's concentration. “Oh, wow. He's a photographer too ?”, he asks as if you can see his screen.

You hate it, you hate how your curiosity gets picked by the simple sentence. Needless to say, Jaehyun was filled in by every bit of information you got once Johnny walked you to your door, at least he waited two days before searching for your new neighbor's Instagram. Or at least you think.

“Oh wow. OH. Woah.”, your friend gasps into his microphone, your index taps aggressively on your keyboard, deleting the last sentence you wrote. He’s obviously doing it on purpose, pushing your bottoms. The blonde knows how curious you are, he’s just trying to see how long you can keep it together.

“Uh, Ja-. Show me, what did you find ?”, not very long, obviously.

“Ah, see ! Wait, I'll send you some screenshots. He's hot.”

He is, you want to answer, but would rather shut your mouth for now or you’ll never hear the end of it. Eyes finally leaving the screen of your laptop, they travel to another, finger unlocking your phone.

Your text messages with your friend enlighten your features, bubble appearing at the bottom.

“Finding him was extremely easy.”, Jaehyun points out, before a few screenshots are sent at the same time.

And indeed, you see how easy it must've been for your blonde boy. User johnnyjsuh.

He must've been pretty popular in his old schools, you think after looking at his followers.

Pictures of him in the same white shirt you saw him in days prior, pictures of him with an argentic camera, selfies, mirror selfies, outfit pictures. His feed is almost as good as Jaehyun's. And that says something.

Unlike Jaehyun, you don't have to be careful, worried you'll accidentally like one of his pictures. Shamelessly zooming on the screenshots your university friend sent you, you unconsciously pull your bottom him between your teeth.

He's cute. Too handsome it should be illegal.

“That's a lot but, yeah.”, Jaehyun giggles, you learn you don't have much of a filter between your mind and mouth. “Follow him !”

“Are you crazy ?”, you almost scream out, eyes wide at the suggestion. “He'll know we searched him up.”

Basic social media rules, you can't follow the guy when you don't even have his number, nor talked to him more than twice at this point, if him talking to you in the elevator counts.

“Alright, alright. Don't scream in my ears like that, I have earphones.”, he complains, not leaving you a second before continuing. “Y/N, don't be a coward, airdrop something.”

“I-.”, you start out, attention drown back to your computer. With one tap of your finger, you manage to hide your word document, piano sheet open behind it. You’ve searched a few sheets the day prior, downloading one before going to sleep that night, just in case.

After all, he sent you two tabs, why wouldn't you send him something ?

Tap, tap, you open the airdrop settings. You really should, hm ?

“Alright. I'm doing it.”, you finally say, more to yourself but your friend softly cheers on anyways.

“Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish.”, from the songs he sent you, it's a fair guess your neighbor is familiar with this one too, you’d doubt he doesn’t know who Billie Eilish is.

“Johnny's IPhone”, it's a click away. One you reach, tapping on the touch pad again. Sent. There.

“Now we wait.”, you announce, leaning back .

“Tell me if anything happens, I have a call to take.”

On that, simple goodbyes are said, you promise Jaehyun you’d tell me if anything happens, he hangs up after saying good bye a second time.

Minutes go by, you don't really know how many, maybe five where you debate going back to your essay, finger frantically tapping on the Word Document icon. Before a few notes are heard.

Piano notes, fingers pressed down on white and black keys. It has the power to make you smile, lips tugging upwards, there’s obviously not a doubt who’s playing at this very moment. Even the way he plays feels confident, he's sure of himself, he knows what he's doing.

Attention for your school work long gone, your pupils naturally find your window again.

It's slightly open, the music would come in easier if it was fully pushed, you think to yourself.

Do you even have to hide anymore ? You guess not. He knows, you know, it's just music you want to enjoy, you convince yourself even though your palms are slightly warm, heart fluttering in your chest.

Leaving your phone on your desk, you quickly walk to your window, right hand in the handle pushes it towards yourself. Warm breeze enters your bedroom, in a soft gush that sends your baby hairs floating away from your face, framing your features.

The sun's just starting to set, purple hue tiger stripes on the blue sky but your eyes are on another shade of purple.

Johnny's wearing a light lilac hoodie, brown locks the only thing you can see, he hasn't moved his piano, his back facing you again.

Forearms against the window frame, you lean forward, humming at the summer sent floating in the air.

A bit too quickly, your neighbor ends the song, hands lingering on the keyboard. Finally, his right hand grabs the very phone he propped up on his piano to see the sheet you sent him, sliding it in his back pocket.

He stands up, fingers toying with a button on his instrument, probably turning some things off.

He turns around, you don't duck to the side.

The men's visibly taken back, his turn stopping mid-way, lips slightly parting for a second. Honey brown eyes find yours before his pupils travel down at your body behind your glass window. He genuinely smiles after a few seconds, eyes half crescents, full lips tugging upwards, you can almost hear his giggle.

“Hi.”, voice soft, Johnny says once he opened his own window a bit more, forearms on his frame, mirroring your own posture.

“Hey, that was very good.”, you tell him, head tilting to your left.

“Ah, thank you. I messed up somewhere in the beginning, though.”, one hand scratches the back of his neck like an embarrassed teenager, before his elbow rests on the frame, hand holding his jaw.

“Ah shoot, I'll send something easier next time.”, you tease, to which he laughs lightly, the sound airy.

“Would be easier to send it by text, wouldn't it ?”, Johnny asks, one eyebrow raised and you have to say, you took a second to understand. But when the brunette hands you his phone, pricy devise between two apartments on the ninth floor, your eyes grow wide.

Your number, he wants your number.

Probably just because you two are neighbors, you have a bunch of your neighbors’ phone number too...

And also probably because sending sheet via airdrop isn't the most convenient thing in the world. Don’t over think it, Y/N. Don’t overthink it.

Two hands grab his phone, just in case, and you struggle to remember your phone number all of a sudden.

You have to retract in your room, too scared you're going to drop the devise with your slightly trembling hands before eventually typing in your name and phone number. You don’t get why you’re so nervous, maybe it’s because Johnny didn’t stop looking at you, slightly giggling at your antics.

“Oh, by the way. I'm sorry if sending that tab sheet the first time was too much. I just couldn't resist.”, Johnny blurs out once he gets his phone back, sliding it back into his pocket. It’s his turn to look slightly nervous, hand rubbing at his shoulder.

“Ah, no, not at all ! It was fun, plus I think we might share the same music taste.”, you reassure him with a smile.

“Really ? You should send me your playlists.”, your neighbor says with an enthusiastic tone, eyes lightening up.

If Jaehyun was there, he'd tell you this was blatant flirting. Maybe you'd agree. At that very moment, you thank your past self for having a pretty organized Spotify accounts, you're one of these people with matching playlists accounts and vague names, a playlist for each feeling almost.

“Yeah, sure ! I'll send you my Spotify user !”, you immediately tell him, as keen as he is.

“Nice, and I c-.", his sentence is abruptly cut by a surprised noise falling from his lips, brown eyes looking up at the sky. He sticks out his right hand, palm up.

Rain starts pouring down.

Saturday, laundry day. It’s not a moment you particularly cherish but at least, you do not have to walk meters or kilometers to wash your clothes. Half thorn basket on your left hip, your right hand mindlessly scrolls through Johnny’s playlist, small smile on your features.

See, after the rain started pouring down, you two decided to return to your rooms in unanimity. Now that he had your number, communication was a lot, lot easier. As promised, you sent him your Spotify profile, where he followed you and you did the same.

User youngho’s listening to “The Weekend – SZA” from “late summer nights and city lights” playlist.

Your playlist.

User citylight’s listening to “Angelina – WIINSTON” from “yellow” playlist. His playlist.

Blatant flirting, Jaehyun would say.

Johnny has his playlist organized by colors, a simple theme you quite like. You have to say, you like all of them but, you had to follow his “purple”, “blue” and “yellow” playlist, where your neighbor managed to capture the color’s feeling. However, after a few days, the “red” playlist sat untouched. You didn’t dare. For having a similar playlist Johnny was actually shamelessly listening to, you knew exactly what the “red” playlist held.  

To : Johnny, 1:25 pm. : “how does angelina only has 40k view on youtube !!”

You quickly type on your keyboard, right after saving the said song to your likes. Finding new artist and finding new song’s always fun, especially when Johnny’s as invested as you are. He’d send you his thoughts on some songs, and you quickly learned the brunette was musically more intelligent than some people in your course.

From : Johnny, 1:27 pm. : “I honestly don’t know….” : “It’s such a catchy song too like”

Double text. Fuck, Jaehyun really got into your brain, didn’t he ? The notification bar slides down for a few seconds, enough for you to read his texts. At the same time, the metallic doors of your elevator open up to the lobby. Leaving your devise in your basket of dirty clothes, you figure you’d answer in a few minutes, once you’re done with your laundry.

“Good afternoon, Sangkyu !”, you call out the the older men before he manages to see you. It’s a fun thing you like to do, catching him off guard whenever you can. Turning his face towards you, the bold men vigorously waves.

“Y/N ! Hello !”

You don’t stop by his cubicle, rather turn to your left right before. There’s built the building’s laundry unit, you thank the architect every week for this. You do pay a little for it every month but again, it’s better than having to walk for minutes with a basket of heavy fabric. Four small machines and four bigger, it’s enough for everyone in the building. It’s also where some announcements are tapped, probably because people usually sit around the laundry room waiting for their clothes.

You’re probably going to watch an episode of Chambers while your clothes watch, you think to yourself as you open the door. It seems the universe has some other plans for you.

By now, it’s almost comical how easily you recognize Johnny’s back. Brown t-shirt on his broad shoulders, his head bob to a rhythm you can’t hear. He’s dropping his wet clothes in the machine to dry them, face turning towards the noise as you close the heavy door behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, hey !”, his smile is heard through his voice, right hand taking his earphones one. Johnny places his Airpods in their case, one you quickly notice is Marvel themed.

“Hey, Johnny.”, you wave with a hand, taking your earphones off as well.

“I was just listening to your playlist.”, the brunette says, shaking his earphones in his hand. You laugh at that, leaving your basket on the table. You assume the second basket there is Johnny’s. “Same !”

There’s a comfortable silence, the brunette pushes a few buttons on the machine and his clothes are sent for a cycle. You, yourself, drop your clothes in the washing machine after setting your phone on the brown table. You’re about to turn around and sit down, but you’re abruptly blocked by a tall figure, accidently bumping into Johnny’s chest.

“Oh, sorry.”, he breathes out, you hear him place another basket on his machine, right hand on your shoulder as if his chest did anything more than surprise you. “No worries…How many clothes do you have ?”, you ask with a laugh, not meaning to sound rude. But your neighbor’s dumping a second whole basket into the machine right next to you.

“Ah, Ten. He needs an entire outfit every day. Sometimes he even changes in the middle of the day.”, the machine quietly starts after the blue liquid is poured, Johnny leans against it. You’ve never seen your neighbor so up close, how is his face so symmetrical ? Slender eyes curling inwards, short little lashes batting a few times.

“Y/N ?”, fuck. His lips sure were moving and you didn’t register anything at all, you probably look dumb.

“I’m sorry, wh- what did you say ?”, clearing your throat, your eyes travel down to the machine, looking at the settings like you forgot to turn something on.

“I found your guitar picks. I mean, I assumed they’re yours.”, he says again, but he doesn’t hide the wide smile on his lips. You probably look dumb, really dumb. Right hand fishes into his back open, before he presents what indeed is one of your guitar picks, the light blue one. He holds it between his thumb and index, you notice he does so the right way, maybe he plays guitar.

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely mine. Where did you find it…?”, you half ask, already knowing the possible answer. His palm opens to reveal not one, but two other picks of different colors.

“Washing machine.”, he says simply.

You learn Johnny uses a detergent that smells like vanilla and some flower blossom you can not distinguish, but the smell sure is comforting. It floats in the air as he folds his clothes next to you while doing a very detailed report on The Weeknd’s new album.

“But he’s right, though. “Repeat after me” is just a song where he brainwashes her but it’s so good.”, you tell Johnny while you take care of your wet clothes.

“His storytelling skills just keep getting better.”, he approves while popping a candy in his mouth. “Want some ?”

“Oh yeah, thanks !”, dropping the small chocolate in your hand, both your attentions are caught by the sound of the door opening. A lady in her mid-thirties enters the room, dyed red hair stopping at her shoulders.

“Miss Jeon, hi !”, you great the lady with a smile, one she easily returns. For the entire year you’ve been there, you don’t think you ever saw her without one tugging her lips.

“Hey, kids !”

Ah, yes. Miss Jeon also insists on calling everyone slightly younger than her “kid”. You don’t mind, though. You notice the rolled up paper in her right hand as she takes the hairband out.

“Doing laundry, eh ?”, she starts out, “Ah, it’s a great thing you two are here. Me and my husband are organizing a little gathering for the building’s anniversary.”

Right, Sangkyu told you about it, you remember. You hear Johnny hum behind you, to what Miss Jeon continues.

“It’ll be Saturday in two weeks ! Johnny, you and your roommate could come and get to know everyone a bit better, yeah ? Though I see you’ve already made friends with our Y/N.” Oh no, there she goes. You love the Jeons, but they’re so, so talkative, and they never know when to stop. They’re like parents taking your old embarrassing pictures out when your friends are over. Your eyes grow wide, a slightly embarrassed chuckle coming out of your lips.

The lady struggles to unwrap the paper, to which Johnny leaves the shirt he was folding to help her out.

“Ah, thank you. You know, Y/N isn’t really that talkative, but I think it’s because we didn’t share a lot in common, and we’re not as young and handsome as you.”

God. Stuck on your chair, wide eyes look at the scene as your neighbor chuckles. “Oh, really ?”, he urges her to continue to your misbelief,  but you quickly understands he’s doing it on purpose, crescent eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks over at you, the young and handsome bit wasn’t necessary but it sure did boost his ego.

Miss Jeon finally unfolds the paper, a big announcement on the anniversary gathering she’s holding. In the park, with the date and hour, you guess you should find an appropriate dress for the event and something to eat to bring.

“Anyways, it’s great having new faces ! You’ll come, right ?”, sticking he paper to the wall, the lady claps her hands, a little joyful jump when Johnny nods.

“Yeah. We’ll go together, yeah ?”

You learn Johnny isn’t only a good looking guy, he’s also a really good friend.

The friendship grows easily, after Miss Jeon left, he helps you out with your clothes while already planning what to bring for the gathering. The brunette tells you he’s better at cooking salty dishes than sugary cakes. You agree on that, it’s one of the many reasons why you buy anything sugary at the coffee shop down the street. Nonetheless, you and your new neighbor decide to challenge yourselves, you propose some French crepes and Johnny agrees on using his kitchen for it, with the help of Ten who’ll surely be here. Surely, the kids living in the buildings would love them and, they aren’t that hard to make.

You two walked to your apartment floor, basket in hand, though Johnny’s ability to carry two at the same time is rather impressive. One on top of the other, you try to be as discreet as possible when your eyes travel down to his arms, flexing, to his ring clapped fingers, gripping at the handles. He doesn’t walk you to your door but, is it really necessary ?

It’s funny how the universe seems so willing to put him on your path.

Every now and then, you catch a glimpse of the men through your window, walking in his room, mindlessly walking back and forth when he’s thinking about a composition, pen taking on his full bottom lip. He seems really concentrated whenever he tries to write something, eyebrows furrowed, whispering quietly to himself. He catches you carelessly dancing to songs late at night under your lights, moving like nobody’s watching, hands in the air as the singer’s angelic voice seems to control your body, silently giggling when you catch his eyes and abruptly stop.

He seems to vaguely have the same schedule as you do, you see him getting ready some days of the weeks, applying cream on his face like the first time you ever caught a glimpse at his sharp features at a distance. And you bump into him in the elevator every other day, both so exhausted with your classes, heavy backpack carelessly throws over your shoulders, so tired you two would rather smile and stay silent in the metal cubicle. You see him with his roommate a few times too, the first time happens to be right in front of their door, both of them carrying two bags of groceries.

Finally, you’re introduced to Ten, a much smaller and a bit thinner guy, though you quickly find out his personality might be as big as Johnny himself. His bright smile and laugh are both extremely contagious, and you also notice for yourself how much he cares about his appearance. Just like Johnny told you when you first saw him in the laundry unit, he wears different outfits like he’s going for a runway every day. Sharp eyes covered under his jet black hair, you can’t help but notice the multiple piercings on his ears.

Funny enough, you catch your new friend at the “Flâner” coffee shop, getting the exact same cake you brought him and some dark coffee, he tells you he got addicted to everything they do but regret not having enough time to sit down and study here.

On top of that, he never stops texting you, you never stop texting him. Conversation flows easily to the point where you sometimes have to pause to type out a response while you’re on the phone with Jaehyun.

Ah, your dear friend Jaehyun. Your blonde friend follows the events like a drama, though you tell him multiple times that “Nothing will happen, we’re just neighbors.”

Are you, though ? You don’t know if neighbors send each other sheet, you and Johnny never stopped, it became easier with his number. You don’t know if neighbors talk to each other by the windows, for so long it leaves marks on both your arms at the end of the night, red dent on your skin. You don’t know if normal neighbors talk to each other that much.

You and Johnny tip toe on the lines between neighbors and friends, the line between friends and…a little more ? The line snaps right before the building’s anniversary.

Thursday, one in the afternoon when the metal doors of your elevator open to your hallway. The sun’s shining, birds singing, your teacher’s car broke down, leaving you with a free day. Truly, the universe was on your side, you thought when you got the text from your classmate. After texting Jaehyun who told you he already went to the mall at your opposite, you decided to use that time to buy some curtains and take a day off your studies. A well deserved day off, you might add.

After searching again and again, you thought it’d be better to get new ones. You remember the old ones got dirty anyways. Plus, it’s not like you want to hide yourself from Johnny, he has some and you figure you should too for some privacy every now and then. A pack of clear curtains in your hands and some cushions in a bag for your living room, you step out of the metal cubicle, only to be greeted by a Johnny standing right in front of your door. Attention caught by the sound, your friend turns around, half expecting to see you and, he looks slightly flustered ? Short eyelashes bat a few times, rosy cheeks as he opens his month just to close it right after.

“Hey, Johnny ?”, you start, completely clueless at first, you don’t notice the white fabric he has in his hand. “Do you need something ?”, you ask, setting down all the new things you bought down, alongside your bag as you fish for your keys inside.

“I-uh…”, he starts. Why is his voice so shaky ? Eyebrows slightly raised, a knee down, you look up at your friend with a curious look. At that, the brunette looks away. Honey eyes diverge to his right as he shifts his body from left to right.

“Johnny ?”, keys in hand, you rise to your feet, slightly turning away to open your door, struggling a little at the last lock.

“We uh, got some clothes mixed up.”, he tells you, pink hue on his cheeks. You take a few seconds to understand, before recalling the meeting in the laundry unit.

“Oh ! I didn’t even notice anything missing.”, you tell him with a laugh, before your smile wavers to a more…stunned expression. The white fabric he’s holding in a hand, you only need a second look to distinguish the lace waistline you know too well. Your panties. He’s holding your panties. God, you didn’t even notice ? You wear these often, you don’t have that much panties. “Oh.”, you say again, with a much different tone. Heat washes over your body, a much deeper shade of pink coloring your cheeks.

Lips dry, you extend your hand down, almost timid to hold your own piece of clothing.

Johnny stays quiet, handing you the white underwear, hand hiding in his pocket right after.

“Erhm, thank you.”, you mumble out, hiding the fabric behind the pack of clear curtains, like he did not have the time to look at it before.

“I’m sorry, I found them in my shirts this morning and I first thought about just leaving them at your door but it would’ve been even more awkward.”, he laughs slightly, hand rubbing at the back of his nape again. You laugh lightly at that, it sure would’ve been even weirder to find your panties in a box in front of your door. Creepier too.

“Would’ve been very Joe-like.”, you tell him with a smile, the atmosphere immediately a lot less tense. You’re thankful for it, it’s clear Johnny didn’t want things to be…weird either. He laughs a little, cheeks high, before noticing your new purchase, especially your curtains.

“Oh, redecorating a bit ?”, his arms cross in front of him, biceps building up, stretching the sleeves of his shirt. “Ah, a little. I just needed new curtains, I forgot where I stored the old ones.”, you tell him, shoulder leaning again your door. “Putting them on was a nightmare.”, you sigh a little, head resting on your door as well. When you first moved in, you had to put the curtains all alone and only remember the ache in your neck and arms.

“…Was it ?”, he asks with a sly smile, eyebrows lightly furrowed like he’s questioning your experience.

“Some of us aren’t blessing with your height, Johnny.”, you tell him with a fakely annoyed glare, “I almost fell down and broke my back.”. You dramatize with a pout on your lip, to which Johnny only smirks lightly.

“Need some help ?”, Johnny finally, head tilting to the side. “I don’t want you breaking your back.” Yet, Johnny thinks.

“Ah, please !”, no need for him to propose a second time, you’d take anyone to help you with these demons any day, let alone someone like Johnny. One hand turns your door handle, proceeding to push it with your body. “Welcome to my humble home.”

Johnny lightly chuckles at your antics, curious eyes scanning over your apartment. It’s always weird to see an apartment so similar to yours yet so different, he hums at the sent of the light incense you blow out right before leaving. Sliding your shoes off, your friend follows quickly after, though he takes them with one hand to neatly store them right next to your door.

“It’s really pretty.”, he hums behind you as you walk towards your living room, letting the back full of cushions on your table. Smiling brightly as his compliment, you have to say you were pretty proud of your decorating skills. You took multiple months to pile everything you wanted up and, after a year, all your plants grew green and luscious.

“Thank you very much !”, hands gathering your hair, you quickly attach them with a hairband you always have on your wrist. “Do you want something to drink ?”

“Hm, maybe later ! Let’s start with these nightmare curtains first.”

“Alright, let me just get the stool.”, and on that, you take a second to remember exactly where you stored it before quickly jogging to the small closet near your entrance door. You don’t remember the last time you used it, you take a few seconds to take the cold iron object out of its hiding place, one foot stuck in a random box you still have there. You finally pull the object with a sharp tug and not without a small sound of struggle. Johnny is quick to grab into the heavy object and lets you take care of the pack you just bought. For the few seconds you take to move from your living room to your bedroom, you pray you didn’t leave anything too embarrassing there, you really didn’t think you’d have Johnny over today. But thankfully, when you open your bedroom door, the only think you left on your bed’s your pyjamas or rather, shirt you sleep in you didn’t fold the morning.

“So that’s the room.”, Johnny notices softly, the very room he seems fragments of from his own. Curious eyes look over your desk and the multiple things you sticked right above it, before they travel to the side he definitely never saw from his window. Denty fingers gaze at your guitar’s neck like he’s afraid of touching it without your permission, though it’s definitely clear you don not mind.

“It is ! Is it weird seeing it entirely ?”,  you joke a bit around as you sit the pack down on your desk. Scissors you leave on your desk are used to cleanly open the transparent protection as Johnny opens the stool and places it where he desires. “Really weird, I’m used to…this.”, he jokes too, thumbs and pointers digits forming a frame in front of his eyes. “And that’s what you see. My room looks so empty from here.”, Johnny notes, leaning a little in front of your window.

“It looks like you only have a bed and a piano in there.”, you tease him.

“I don’t ! I spent two entire days decorating it ! I’ll show you next time.”, he promises and somehow, it has the power to make your lips part a little, heat slightly burning your cheeks. The brunette doesn’t notice though, and immediately starts helping you out with your curtains.

Or rather, you help him. Johnny does most of the work on your curtains and you won’t complain. The men takes things into his hands, stepping onto the stool. Where you needed to climb the four steps, Johnny barely needs to climb two, body barely needing the extra height. His hands work quickly to detach the metal bar on each side, fingers twisting at the sides. When the black bar is finally off, he hands it to you so you can work on the hoops and slide the curtains in, which you do quickly.

As easily as he took it out, Johnny slides the metal bar back in before screwing each side in. From this angle, his jaw looks even more sharp, eyes focused never leave his work. He looks even more intimidating, especially when his eyes look down at you and you have to dodge eye contact. “Much easier like that.”, you say, almost dumbfounded at how easily he just did…that. Johnny laughs with the breathy giggle you’re starting to get used to. “See, only took a few minutes at best.”, Johnny says while stepping off the stool, hand lightly touching the curtains.

“Wait, let me throw this away.”, you mumble out, picking the packaging in your hands. Again, Johnny isn’t slow to follow, telling you he’ll help you with your stool. The young men follows you quickly, easily finding the small closet you store anything and everything in once you point it with your index. From your small kitchen, the sound of the stool being pushed inside and the door closing is followed by Johnny’s joyful “Done !”.

“What do you want to drink ?”, you finally ask when the brunette sits down right in front of your kitchen counter. Elbows on the cold grey material, he stares for way too long at the two choices you offer him. Tropical juice in your right hand, still unopened bottle of some bubbly beverage in the other, your friend acts like it’s a life or death decision. “C’mon ooon.”, you laugh out, arms getting tired at the way you’re holding the heavy bottles.

Finally, the brunette points your right hand with an index.

“Oh, you’re a slytherin ?”, he asks when you open your cupboard. Glasses on the bottom and mugs at the top, you look up at the same exact mug he noticed. Right in the middle, the grey and green logo is a clear statement on your Hogwarts house.

“Yes, a very proud slytherin.”, you tell him while setting the two tall glasses on the counter, pouring equal amounts of juice into them. “Let me guess, Gryffindor ?”, you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I actually never took the test.”, Johnny says, to which you dramatically gasp. “And I never watched the movies. One of my friend’s just a really proud slytherin as well, I bought so many slytherin themed gifts that I just can recognize the logo right away.”

Double gasp, you set your glass down, eyes growing wide as you’re trying to judge if he’s actually joking or not. You found he definitely isn’t, but he does find your reaction quite funny. His laughs resonates into his glass, liquid half drowned.

“Are you for real ?”, you ask him just to make sure, and your neighbor just nods.

“A hundred percent, I just never really had the chance to watch it.”, poking his tongue out, pink muscle collects the drop of juice threatening to fall down.

“In 2020 ?”, you’re dumbfounded, you never thought someone could actually go so long without watching it. “You have to watch it.”

“I will. One day. Maybe.”, Johnny teases, eyes falsely rolling back.

“Now.”, you tell him, a certain sense of urgency in your voice. “I won’t let you get out of my house uneducated, young sir.”, you tell him before looking through another cupboard, hand pushing some unopened chips bag and opened for too long biscuits. Finally, your hand find the flat package you were looking for, proudly taking out for Johnny to say right after checking for the expiration date. “I have popcorn.”

How can Johnny refuse ? How can he, who he has to say, already has a soft spot for you, say no to such a proposition ? Not when your clutching the said uncooked popcorn bag against your chest, slight pout he’d probably kiss away on your lips. Wait, what. Johnny understands he’s utterly fucked once he agrees after a very short time thinking, he’s fucked because he knows the more time he spends with you, the more he’s probably going to fall. You, on the other hand, only understand what you did once Johnny comfortably takes place on your coach. You’re unaware of it, but you have the same exact soft spot, the same small butterflies whenever music is heard from the other’s bedroom, the same tiny smile creeping up whenever one sends a song recommendation, the same tingly feeling in the middle of your chest whenever one catches a glimpse of the other.

Another thing the two of you have in common, you two have some impressive actor abilities, if Johnny acts cool and unbothered, totally not lowkey stressed and watched over by adrenaline at this very moment, you can do the exact same.

Has his thighs always been so…Muscular ? Firm ? Your eyes quickly move away when you catch the train of your thoughts, looking into your bowl like it’s most interesting thing ever as you pour down the hot popcorn. Picking one up, you pop in into your mouth, unconsciously trying to distract your thoughts. This brand’s popcorn really good, right amount of caramel on each piece, you wonder what hickeys look like on Johnny’s caramel skin.

Fuck, bravo. Way to go. It’s his jeans, you blame it on his jeans and how they seem to perfectly hug his legs as he spreads them on your coach, one arm right behind it as he scrolls on his phone with the other.

If the brunette’s thumb is scrolling ever so slowly on his twitter timeline, his mind isn’t really able to read the small tweets at this very moment, not when you set the bowl full of popcorn down on the table before dropping on your knees in front of your tv. Why does he have to see everything in such a way, Johnny quickly blinks and tries to get his attention back on his phone but what can he do when you’re right in the background, in the peripherical vision.

He sees you looking for the movie in the pile of CDs and games you have, before finally finding the very first Harry Potter, a triumphant “Ah-ha !”, coming out of your lips.

“You’ll love it.”, you tell Johnny once you place the CD in the CD player, something you haven’t done in actual months, seating down right next to him. You’re some what grateful you only own one single sofa that’s enough for two people and a bowl full of popcorn right in between.

“Wait, is that how Cedric dies ?”, Johnny’s mouth hangs open at the young actor laying seemingly lifeless on the grass after a fatal spell, a gag sound coming out of your friend’s lips when Voldemort’s bare feet comes in contact with the Hufflepuf’s face. “I hate this shot.”, you tell him, slightly disgusted at the scene, before you yawn loudly against your hand. The glass you refilled many time is now empty, you leave it right next to the empty pizza box Johnny insisted on buying.

It’s midnight, you can barely process the hour it is, not how long you stayed by Johnny’s side to the point where you’re curled up next to him under the blanket you two are sharing. At the end of the first movie, you were happy to see a pretty speechless and invested Johnny, it was still pretty early, around four and a half in the afternoon and you both agreed to watch the second. At the end of the second, he offered to buy pizza and something to drink while you popped the third movie. Let’s just say Johnny got a bit excited when you said the four movie was your favorite and midnight being still a bit early for two students, you agreed on watching a last one.

“So, what do you think ?”, you ask once the credits starts rolling, lazy smile stretching your features. Your tall friend flops off the coach, letting his body slowly fall on the ground to grab his phone charging. “This one’s definitely the best, I mean, the whole Marauders thing ? Love it.”, he tells you, head resting on the sofa you’re still on. “I wanna know what my house is now.”, he mumbles while unlocking his phone, searching the right quizz.

“Wait, wait. Let me read the questions !”, you tell him, hand stretching to get his phone, and the brunette gives it to you without hesitation. You, who took the exact same official test four times, are familiar with questions and ask them one by one. Day or night, forest or beach side, Johnny thinks about his answers before. Familiar animation before the sorting hat reveals his pick, you hide the phone with a hand. “Guess.”, you tell him after looking at the result, results you would’ve easily guessed.

“Gryffindor ?”, he asks with a slight bit of doubt in his voice.

“Gryffindor !”, you tell him with a dramatic shout, mimic the sorting hat’s. His head rolls back with a grown, eyes screwed shut even though he has a smile stretching his full lips.

“Ah-! I lowkey wanted to be a Slytherin.”, he tells you, big puppy like eyes looking at you from below.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, slightly surprised. You had to say Johnny was more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin.

“Yeah, I wanted us to match.”

Full lips out in a pout, it’s your turn to think about kissing it away.

You understand you’re fucked when Johnny helps you out in cleaning your living room, washing your glasses while you dry your plates and bowl. He understands he’s fucked again when you hum a song he’s familiar with but can’t put his finger on the name. You both are fucked when he slides right behind you to set your glasses in your cupboard, chest brushing against your back. It feels strangely domestic, comfortable and…Normal ? A soft “Be careful”, comes out of his mouth and his breath moves a few pieces of your hair, arms stretching up to carefully place the glasses he just washed. It’s your turn to walk him to his door, where you two understand Ten’s already fast asleep, loud snores coming out of one of the rooms.

How strange it is, people say time alters in airports, empty trains stations and others. Time alters in front of Johnny’s door. He leans against his door frame like the first time you two met, lazy eyes looking down at you as you stretch a bit more.

“It was fun.”, he tells you quietly, tired smile stretching your lips. You return it, sighing as your muscle wake up.

“Yeah, glad I got you into Harry Potter.”, you tease him a bit, “Might have to buy you some Gryffindor themed things.”

“Ten’s gonna lose it when he learns he wasn’t the one to get me to watch it.”, you frown at that, head tilting to the side.

“Wait, he tried ?”

“Yeah, but he never sold it like you did.”, he hums and for a moment, it seems his mind isn’t really where his words are. Honey eyes drop for a quick second to your lips, but he regains his thoughts as quickly.

“Oh, he’s gonna kill me, isn’t he ?”, you joke a bit, though you’re surprised you managed to get Johnny into the saga quickly when he told you before that him and Ten knew each other for years. The brunette’s laugh is breathy, controlled so he doesn’t wake up his roommate who’ll probably kill him right before killing you. “If he finds out, totally. We don’t have to tell him, though.”, and, did his voice just drop even lower ? You didn’t think it was possible, the man’s voice is already deep but right now, in the dead of the night, it almost seems sultry.

“Oh wow, having our secrets already ?”, you breath out, biting a laugh down on your bottom lip. It does it for Johnny, his attention was already on them right before but, his slightly clouded mind could not really help himself. He doesn’t take his eyes away, not even when your mouth slightly parts at the realization. Only then do you wonder if it is mutual, your breath alters for a second, just when the taller let’s a simple “Yeah” tumble from his lips.

He leans down, or at least, you think he does. A millimeter, maybe you dreamt it, maybe he was going to hug you, a millisecond, a third voice gets heard from the deeps of the apartment.

“Johnny ? Turn the fucking light off.”

“Y/N-ah, Y/N !”, Sangkyu sings the moment you step foot in your building with your grocery bag. You guess quickly it’s because of tomorrow’s gathering, the old men always loved a reason to party, with moderation obviously.

“Hi ! You seem particularly happy today.”, you tell him, stopping in front of his cubicle, you notice he added another drawing to his wall, probably the kids on the first floor.

“I am ! We finished making the cakes a few hours ago and they are de-li-cious.”, his eyes disappear as he smiles brightly, you decided you love this man with all your being.

“Ah, I can’t wait to taste them !”, you hum, switch your bag from your left hand to your right. Even without knowing what him and his wife did, you can at least guess without a doubt that it is going to be as delicious as he says it is.

“Just a day ! What are you making ?”

“French crêpes !”, you tell him while lifting your bag, proud smile at your pronunciation, you just went and bought some milk and flour for it right after leaving your university, Johnny told you he had everything else.

“Ah, yes, with our new neighbors, hm ?”, he starts, smile turning vicious and oh, you know where he’s going. You wonder if Jaehyun and him are working hand in hand. Let’s just say Jaehyun did not drop the subject, not when he learned you accidently ignored his texts the other night because of a movie night with the brunette. Not when you told him you think Johnny almost kissed you. Or hugged you.

“Yes.”, you tell him simply, not going any further. You hope he will drop the subject, but you know he probably won’t.

“We hear you two playing, but you should both play something together.”, Sangkyu tells you, not taking the hint or maybe, he decided to ignore it. But he is not wrong, you two should play something together. You have to say, you didn’t know your playing was so loud but if no one ever complained, it was a good thing, right ?

“We should.”, you tell him with a smile, ready to go towards the elevator, his voice stops you a second time.

“Do you like him ?”, he suddenly asks. God, he really is acting like a father who also wants to be a friend. You suddenly stop right in your track, hand turning towards the oldest.

“Who ?”, you ask dumbly, but Sangkyu isn’t one to take your fake attitude.

“Johnny.”, he tells you straight forward and a bit too loudly, arms leaning against his counter with a too happy smile.

“Sangkyun…”, you whine, quiet in case anyone walks in.

“Y/N-ah…!”, he mocks the tone of your voice and you whine even more.

“Come on, you can tell me.”, you says, you know he won’t ever let you go and even if he does, he’ll draw his own flowed conclusions, better tell him already.

“Maybe, yes.”, you tell the oldest before walking a bit too quickly towards your elevator, index jamming into the up button.

“I knew it !” and, when you hide yourself in the metal cubicle, you see your old friend making a few happy dance moves with his arms, you wonder if you’re seeing Jaehyun in the future.

“Alright, how’s this ?”, you ask Jaehyun after stepping right in front of your phone. You’re actually video chatting with your blonde friend, but you can barely see half of his face, he decided to hold his phone so close you could only see from his hairline to the bridge of his nose.

“Turn around.”, he says, breath overloading his device’s microphone. You do so anyways, showing him the outfit you decided to wear for tonight. Obviously, it was just a small gathering between neighbors, you didn��t have to go all in with a cocktail dress but, a nice and pretty one was expected. Following your friend’s order, you turn to show off a black, thin strapped, body hugging dress you got a year ago and yet, never wore.

“Is that your mom’s jacket ?”, Jaehyun asks, chewing on what you think is a handful of chips. You hum at the question, you’re indeed wearing the oversized jean jacket you mother used to wear when she was in college. “The dress looks hot, when did you buy it ?”

“Eh, last year ? Around the middle of the summer.”, you tell your friend, stepping out of your phone’s camera to search for your earrings. “Wait, you never wore it, right ?” “Nope.”, from a distance, you can hear Jaehyun mumbling something about you having too many clothes. Maybe he’s right, but you brush the remark anyways, taking your rings.

“How’s my makeup ?”, you ask, kneeling in front of your phone, you step closer to let the blonde have a closer look at your eyes makeup. “You know I don’t know shit about makeup !”, he complains, finally letting you see his face as he moves his phone. “Jaehyun, does it look good ?”, you ask him, acting annoyed at his antics.

“Yes, you look good.”, he says, voice somewhat a high pitched tone as he snaps a picture once you stand up again. “If lover boy doesn’t kiss you tonight.” Small smile stretches your lips at the compliment, you decide to brush the second sentence off, applying some lipstick before checking your watch.

“And you’re telling me he acted like nothing happened ?”, Jaehyun asks, sound of the chips bag covering his voice. You sigh at that, eyes rolling a little, you think no matter how many times you’ll tell him, he’ll keep asking. “He did. I mean, his roommate was there so, he couldn’t really…Y’know ?”

A quick glance at the bag you’re supposed to bring down to the gathering starting in fifteen minutes, it holds the dozens of crêpes you, Johnny and Ten made a bit earlier. Just like it was planned before hand, you showed up after class to their apartment, Ten was the one who opened the door. Apparently, Johnny was a bit late, his teacher’s lecture went on for a bit longer than anticipated and when he showed up, he immediately helped with the batter. The brunette greeted you like he usually would and acted like nothing happened the night before, though you don’t blame him, not when his roommate was between the two of you half of the time. You had to bring your own pan after realizing how many crêpes you’d actually make and, after about two hours, you left to get ready. Let’s just say Jaehyun was not happy with the lack of exciting events. You weren’t either, but you still somehow hoped something would happen tonight, somewhere deep in your thoughts. However, you didn’t want to think too much about it, tonight was a gathering to celebrate and have fun, you didn’t want to overthink what happened the night prior.

“Anyways, I have to go.”, you finally tell you friend, who simply tells you to enjoy yourself and text him after before hanging up.

Heavy bag of crêpes in your hand, you slide out of your apartment after spraying some perfume on your neck. Locking your door, your neighbors are quick to follow as you agreed to go together and, fuck.

He looks hot, Johnny looks hot. There’s a slight second where you stay silent and take in his figure, legs hugged by a tight pair of black jeans, cotton white blouse slightly open on his caramel chest, the golden hour isn’t even here and yet, the slight bit of sun hitting his skin makes him glow. You know, you know he caught you staring and yet he stays silent, slight smirk tugging a side of his full lips.

“Y/N, Ma’am !”, Ten’s voice drags you out of you reverie. The men takes a step closer, you notice the very pricy Yves Saint Laurent grey and white top he’s wearing. “You look fucking good ! Right ?”, it seemed the men only needed a few hours to get familiar with you, but you don’t complain and smile at the compliment.

“You do, you look amazing.”, if Ten managed to make you smile brightly at his antics, Johnny’s low voice only makes you blush and your eyes waver a bit, not knowing where to look, almost unable to keep eye contact with the tallest. “Thank you. I-, hm, you too.”

Great.

“Thank you. Let’s get going, I don’t want to be late.”, thankfully, he doesn’t say more, hand grabbing onto his own bag where you assume he has the chocolate and strawberry spread.

“Wait, what about me ?”, his roommate asks, acting so offended you wonder if he isn’t actually hurt by the lack of compliment you and his roommate showed. The smallest frowns, angry glare at Johnny who doesn’t even notice him as he went towards the elevator to call for the metal box.

“This shirt looks amazing on you, very pricy too.”, you tell your neighbor with a laugh, stepping right behind the tallest, waiting.

“And I already told you it looked good.”, he says, right before stepping in the elevator.

“Thank you, Y/N.”, the black haired says your name a bit louder, but you don’t pay too much attention either.

Poor thing, if you and Johnny aren’t aware yet of the tension, Ten sure is, and he hates every bit of it when he understands, stuck in an elevator where he’s the third wheel. By the way, has your elevator always been so small ? Your back leans against one wall as Johnny does the same right in front of you, honey eyes traveling from your eyes to your uncovered collarbones. The brunettes tries, he really tries to stop his eyes from traveling down but they do eventually, swallowing built up saliva when his pupils travel down your hips, to your naked legs.

Ten’s almost about to say something, just to break the thick silence before the doors opening saves the young men, he decides he definitely is not going to stay with the two of you tonight.

You, on the other side, seem to finally be able to breathe once you step out the elevator, Johnny’s attention did not go unnoticed. Try and act normal, probably the only thing going on your mind and Johnny’s.

“Hey, look who it is !”, Miss Jeon’s voice is heard before you can even see her. You’re familiar with the park the gathering is taking place in, but it sure looks amazing in the late afternoon. At this time of the year, the grass’ green, flowers bloomed, small fruits are starting to turn red under the summer sunlight. Even better, the water fountains are on, the one right in the middle is large, tall, multicolor lights when the moon shines. Finally, when you and your two friends turn the corner to enter the park, you’re physically greeted by Miss Jeon who’s wearing a really pretty pen skirt, hair flowing in the soft summer wind. “Miss Jeon !”, you greet her with a smile which isn’t enough for the lady who pulls you into a hug. One hand grabs yours and the tallest makes you swirl around, a high pitched “Wow ! Look at you !”, coming out of her lips.

“You look amazing, darling. You two, too.”, as always, the lady is extremely cheerful. You notice hers and other neighbors’ kids already playing around in the park, loud screams every now and then. A bit closer to the fountain, multicolor light are hanging from the threes, you can faintly distinguish a song playing. Large tables are set there, alongside chairs were parents and others are all talking together, setting whatever they bought.

“Go set everything there, we’ll start eating soon.”, Miss Jeon instructs, and you follow her orders as she stays in front of the park to greet anyone coming.

Everything is quickly set up where all the deserts are, neighbors come until you they flood the park, you almost think everyone’s here. “I did not expect so many people.”, Johnny tells you, taking a plastic cup to get himself some juice right before giving you a cup.

“Me neither.”, you tell him, eyes glazing over the last people walking in. Almost everyone responded to the call, a pretty heart warming sigh. Some of your neighbors you never actually talked to are here, mostly because they’re from other buildings from the same project.

“I see Ten is already making friends.”, you continue, eyes catching your friend talking to another neighbor, one you think is in his early thirties, you’ve talked to him once, maybe.

“Ten is a social butterfly.”, Johnny laughs into his cup, before eventually taking a step forward toward the black haired. If his roommate was going to socialize, he might as well too.

“I think it is overrated.”, ah yes, now you remember why you did not much to this guy. James is a foreign, blonde, man bun type of guy who finds everything overrated, it’s almost impossible to talk about your hobbies and interests with him without being ripped apart. He probably isn’t that mean just, not that good at social interaction. You see Ten’s expression turning from excited to somewhat confused, to what you intervene.

“What is ?”, you ask, and you don’t really like when the blonde acts like he did not notice you and Johnny walking.

“Oh, Y/N, hi. Long time no see.”, he says, not paying any attention to Johnny. You greet him anyways, slightly taken back by his attitude. “And you are ?”

“Johnny.”, the men behind you says, stretching a hand out to shake his.

“Oh, strong grip.”, slight contortion of the blond’s face, he quickly retracts his hand when Johnny lets go.

“Anyways, when are you letting me see you play ?”, James ask and oh, how you have to search in your memory to understand what the fuck he’s talking about. The blonde wants to learn how to play the guitar, that was, maybe eight months ago.

“Oh eh. One day, maybe.”, you awkwardly laugh.

“We hear you play every night, don’t say you don’t have time for me !”, he tries and laugh off the sentence. Ten shifts, poor thing seems taken back but thankfully, Johnny’s quick to react. As you’re about to respond, his hand slides on your waist, “I’m pretty busy with uni’, but I can send you some great guitarists’ videos.”, you choke out, mind slightly bugging at the brunette’s touch.

“She’ll let you know when she has time for you.”, the tallest does not hesitate and, it visibly annoys the blonde. A sharp “Okay .”, tumbles from his lips before he leaves towards the salty foods.

“He’s weird.”, Ten finally says, Johnny doesn’t take his hand away.

It takes hours for Johnny to address it again.

The midnight breeze always feels special, soft, fresh, it licks the thin layer of sweat the bolt sun created on your skin. Your jacket’s off your shoulders, loosely hanging on the crook of your elbows, seating on the cold marble of the fountain.

Soft sound of the water running behind you, all the kids have been sent to sleep, alongside their parents and other hard working adults needing of sleep, just the low sound of some jazz music you’re unfamiliar with and some chatter as the background noise.

You shoes kick off some small rocks and sand, eyes looking up at the multicolor lights still hanging on the trees. You laugh off one of Johnny’s joke, before he gets serious again, his left hand lightly touching the fountain’s water.

“By the way, sorry about earlier. I didn’t ask if I could touch you like that.”

You have to think for a slight second to understand what he’s talking about, hand grabbing onto the bowl of ice cream you set aside for yourself. Your spoon digs into the chocolate cream, taking a fair amount of whipped cream.

“Oh ! Oh, no. Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.”, I liked it, you would’ve said if you were a little bit more brave. Spoon in your mouth, you eagerly gulp down the frozen desert, Johnny only softly smiles.

“Is he always like that ?”, he asks, body turning a bit more to face you. He’s close, really close, but it became normal. It became normal for him to have your naked thigh against his, you shamelessly look down at it for god knows how many times tonight. It became normal for you to almost be able to feel his breath die on your skin.

“I don’t know, tonight was the second time I ever talked to him.”, you tell him, tongue quickly cleaning the tiny drop of ice cream forming at the corner of your lips. Johnny stays silent for a second, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips, before its feels like he shakes his thoughts away. His gaze stays fixated on your eyes so confidently it’s even worst than him looking at your lips, you shift under his pupils, crossing a leg over the other.

“He seems really pushy.”, Johnny breathes out, and he finds the exact same octave he was speaking to you in just last night, right in front of his apartment. It’s clear he only is replying for politeness.

“You have hm, some ice cream, here.”, the brunette hums, again ripping you out of your reverie. Left hand covers your mouth, index and middle finger brushing at the corner but it seems you are not picking the right side.

“Wait, no-.”, he laughs for a quick second, crescent eyes before they shift to something else. His thumb quickly wipes the other side of your lips, and you freeze. You lock dead in your position, eyes slightly larger as he helps you clean up with a soft yet deep “There you go.”

For hours now, Johnny had been the only thing on your mind. From the moment he stepped out of his apartment, the moment his eyes seemed to devour every bit of your body, the moment he left is hand lingering on the small of your waist. To the moment he sat down to eat, legs, strong thighs spread, the moment he talked to the smallest kids from the second building, the moment he lead you behind the fountain with a hand in the small of your back.

But, when Johnny lets his lips capture the tip of his thumb, cleaning the bit of ice cream, you think you might never be able to think about anything else but him, but Johnny.

You have to look away, desperately trying to gather your thoughts, something you can’t do when the brunette’s looking at you with such innocent eyes.

“You okay ?”, he asks like he didn’t do anything, like he did not just do that.

“Yeah, I-.”, you have to leave you plastic bowl somewhere behind you, brain fuming to find something else to say.

“You’re blushing. You had the same look yesterday.”, he notes, and…He knows ? He knew before you did, that’s what his slight smirk tells you. “It’s a shame Ten had to ruin it, but I like this setting better.”, Johnny hums, but he never takes his eyes away.

“Could’ve kissed me anyways.”, you dare to say. Your mouth goes dry, for some reason, biting down on your bottom lip. The brunette comes a little closer, and just like last time, you can't help but get lost in his irises, notice the way his eyes curl at their inner corner, now how his pupils slowly eclipses the soft brown of his eyes.

Tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, his lines a bit closer again, hand sliding under your chin. You stop breathing for a second, eyelids involuntarily growing heavy.

“Did I miss my shot ?”, you can almost feel him mouth the words.

“Maybe, but I can give you another one.”, you manage to tease, face tilting to the side before he even does anything. If he doesn't do it himself, you'll break the distance, but he holds you in the palm of his hand, so hypnotise under his spell you can only anticipate his next move.

“Good, would've hated myself for missing it.”, he says and, as you hoped, the brunette finally lets his lips crash against yours. It's soft, a kiss to taste the water, though he himself taste the chocolate you just ate.

Pillows lips slowly starts moving against yours, you easily follow his rhythm, sighing when his hand moves from your chin to your neck, deepening the exchange.

Your hand easily finds his hair, finally letter your fingers grasp onto the soft locks. It's a soft grip, yet Johnny sighs softly against your lips, sound turning into a slight groan once you bite down on his bottom lip.

That does it for him, the kiss quickly turns needy, desperate, he touches where he can, second hand lightly running up your thigh.

Arms wrap behind his neck to keep him close, body leaning backwards, Johnny has to plant a hand on the marble behind you, second hand wrapping behind your waist.

The brunette doesn't hesitate a second more, like he's afraid of letting go of the moment, afraid you're gonna slip away between his fingers like the clear water of the fountain. Pick tongue laps at your bottom lip, you part them without a moment of hesitation. It's eager, rushed, the taste of the desert you just ate still lingers on your tongue while you get the fruity drink he was sipping on moments before.

Finally, when you have to let go for some air, breathing altered by the exchange, Johnny doesn't let go. Long kisses are planted at the corner of your lips, he takes his time until he travels down to your jaw where you stop him.

And, before he can ask you anything, you quickly grab his hand in yours, “Let's go inside.”

He follows quickly behind, leaving everything behind, you take the second gate of the park. Shorter, you also don't have to walk in front of all your remaining neighbors like this, lips swollen, eyes blown.

You don't think you've ever walked so fast to your apartment, you don't think you've ever been so happy to see Sangkyu's spot vacant.

The silence is heavy, breath still uneven when you push the button of the elevator and the doors open immediately.

If you didn't know the men behind you was as desperate as you were, you definitely understand once he pushed you inside the small cubicle.

He blindly pushes the button to your shared floor, right hand wrapping around your throat to swiftly push you against the cold wall. If he doesn't tighten his grip, you sure wish he did, but you have other things to care about at the moment. The hand previously around your neck plants itself right next to your hand and this time, he has to lean down to capture your lips another time.

Completely pinning your body to the cold metal, he uses his hips against yours, a gasp escaping your lips he uses to slip his tongue between your lips again. And, you let a breathy moan come out of your lips when he pushes his hips flush against your, hard on pressing against your body. Even with the two layers, you can feel him.

You never felt so hot inside this elevator, it moves without stopping at any floor, no music as the silence is filled by your soft breaths and the sound of his mouth against yours.

Beat washes over you, if your panties weren't ruined already, they sure are now. Now that the brunette rolls his hips, slowly, tentatively slow, just to make you feel every inch. Your mind's clouded, body reacting by itself when it archs away from the wall.

He lets his forearm rest against the metal wall, about to travel down to your neck, hips grinding against yours.

When he's about to bite down on the skin of yours neck, teeth grazing over the flesh, the doors open to your floor.

It's Johnny's turn to grab onto your hand, pulling you out of the elevator but he never stays too long away from your body.

Full lips pepper kisses on your face, before he breathes out against your skin.

“Your apartment, yeah ?”

Obviously, you want to tell him, naturally walking towards your door.

“Unless you want your roommate to walk in on us.”, you let a breathy giggle out, facing your door.

Fuck, now out of all times, you can not find your keys. Maybe it's because your shaky hands can barely search your pockets. Hard to blame yourself when the brunette stands behind you, hard cock pressed against you, arms tightly wrapped around your stomach, face buried in your neck.

“Baby, they're here.”, the tallest hums, voice so low it vibrates against your skin. His right hands pats one of your front pockets. A simple “Oh.” tumbles from your lips at that, mind hardly registering the way he still his moving against your body, nickname rolling out of his tongue too easily.

Finally, you manage to force your key into your door, quickly twisting the metal piece before you push the door open.

This time, you don't know if you pull Johnny in your apartment or if he pushes you in, the door is loudly shut before the men tries to take your near your coach, as you drop your jacket off somewhere.

“Johnny.”, you try to whine, but it comes out as a breathy moan as the men soflty sucks on the skin between your neck and shoulder, a pale purple petal blooming. His name coming from your lips sounds oh so delicious, Johnny decides he loves the way it sounds, determined to hear it again and again, louder and louder. “Let me at least close the door.”

When he lets you do so, not whitout a pout on his lips, they find yours again in a desperate kiss, hands grabbing the back of your thighs.

“This dress looks so fucking good on you.”, he growls once you let him pick you up, black fabric riding up your thighs.

“Got dressed up for you.”, you confess, your own lips traveling down his neck when the brunette sits down on your coach. He chuckles lowly, head rolling back, humming at the small attentions you're giving him. “Hm, saw you putting your makeup on and knew you'd look ravishing.”, he says.

Large hands on your hips, Johnny easily pushes your hips down on his thigh.

“Wow, I'll make sure to pull my curtains next time.”, you tease, blooming flowers on his collarbones.

“Give me a fucking show next time.”, he growls out, hand ghosting over your neck before his thumb traces your bottom lip again.

You almost freeze, mere thought of following his oder the next time you catch him in front of his window a little bit too appealing. Having him so close yet, too far to feel his touch, you already felt it for days.

“Come on, ride my thigh.”, you moan out.

Forceful hands help you find a rhythm, one you easily follow once your thoughts get over your dizzy mind. You mouth hands open, hands grabbing onto his arms at the sudden gesture. Johnny only smirks, an eyebrow arching up.

If he didn't before, he sure does look like a god at this very moment. Blown out pupil look directly into your eyes, honey color you know so well eclipsed. Swollen, red lips, a hue painted over his cheeks, small love bites trialing down. Soft brown hair messy by your hands.

“What ? You think I didn't see you glaring ?”, there's a slight mocking tone in his voice, slight embarrassment washing over you but your body follows his voice anyways. Strong thigh under your core, you can barely gather words to reply, it's even harder when he flexs his muscles under you.

Your hips rocks back and forth, delicious pressure against your nub but you need more, more than just his thigh. He has everything to offer and if you don't get it now, you might go crazy.

And so, you tell him. “Johnny, need more.”, your voice sure sounded a lot less weak but the men obliges.

“Impatient little thing.”, he gestures towards your room, and when think you might not be able to walk all the way there without him pushing you against another wall, you surprisingly do.

When you turn around and crawl up your bed, Johnny's quick to follow, hands gripping onto the fabric covering his back before he pulls it over his head.

Defined abs under his caramel skin, strong arms holding himself up, you need a moment to take everything in, hands running down his chest when he hover over your body.

“Take it off.”, he demands, voice almost strict. Leg over his hip, you barely use any force to change positions.

You sit on his lap a second time, supporting yourself on your knees to take off your dress. The brunette uses his elbows, mouth parting when you pull the fabric over your hips. He barely needs any support to sit up, hands grasping the black dress to help you take the fabric off entirely.

The brunette mumbles praises into your skin, lips ghosting over your neck, hands touching wherever they can. Desperate, he maps your body, learning every curve, every inch.

“So beautiful.”, he mumbles out, before his right hand traces the line of your panties.

They're soaked, wet patch on his black jeans and he doesn't fail to notice.

“Already so wet, hm ? Fuck, can I ?”, he doesn't hesitate once you give him your verbal permission, a finger running over your folds over the light fabric.

What a simple touch can do to you, you don't doubt the men doing it also has a huge part in it, but you shiver under the slight attention.

Biting down on his bottom lip, ring clapped hand dips into your panties, where his index and middle finger gather your juices, humming contently.

You're about to complain again, ask him to do something already but he beats you at it, both fingers effortlessly sliding between your lower lips.

“Fuck, ah— Johnny.”, hands gripping his shoulders, your eyes screw shut once he finds a slow and torturing pace, moving in and out as his thumb brushes over your bud.

It's sensual, burning, one hand travels down his chest until you're met with his jeans, quickly working on them once he nods.

You curse his tight jeans for a moment before he helps you push the fabric just enough, alongside his grey briefs.

And fuck, he's big. You knew when he grinded against your inner thigh, but the way his cock slaps against his stomach, head red and hungry, has your mouth parting, core clenching against his fingers.

“Shit, yeah. Good girl, right there.”, Johnny loses himself in praises, head rushing with thoughts he groans out once your hand wraps around his length.

It's probably the honest thing you've ever seen, Johnny's head rolls back, it hits the wall of your bedroom, Adam's appel bobbing up and down. The pace of his fingers matches the rhythm of your hand around his cock, eyes slightly opening just to watch your slender fingers around him and the way you take his.

“You're so fucking tight, god.”, a third finger goes alongside and you have to pose, jaw hanging open and the brunette can not resist.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses deep, messy, hurried. It's like his starving, he growl against your mouth when your thumb runs over his slit and your hips move against his fingers.

“Fuck, wanna taste you.”, he flips you over too easily, a gasp coming out of your lips when you back harshly hits your bed.

Strong hands gripping at your panties, your hear the sharp snap of the elastic breaking under his soaked fingers.

“Johnny !”, it's between a whine and a moan, how can him ruining your panties be so fucking hot.

“Will get you new ones if you want.”, you can barely recognise his voice, his fingers slide the fabric down and he looks up at you, eyes hungry, lips red.

“You have no fucking idea how hard I was when I found your panties.”, he confesses and, before you can reply, his mouth dives in. Tongue flat against your core, your legs instinctively close around his head, but his hands are quick to pin your thighs to the mattress while yours find his hair, messing it even more.

“Yeah ? Fuck, you're so good, your tongue feels so good.”

Johnny only hums, tongue running up and down until he wraps his lips around your button of nerves. The brunette's eating you out like a starved men, shamelessly, the wet sounds filling the room.

When he takes a break to breathe, he pops his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them.

“Taste so good.”, every word he says fires your body up even more, his mouth doesn't even need to speak for it to affect you, but you need him.

He dives a second time, fingers joining this time. Pace a lot less slow, his lips wrap around your bud a second time, focusing on the small button while his fingers quickly move.

In, out, in, out. Long fingers quickly build up the tension in your stomach, cold rings contrasting with his hot breath.

You only need a little bit more, when his fingers curl the right way, his groans vibrate at the right moment. Your fingers tighten around his locks as you come undone, loudly, unapologetically.

Wet lips, glossy eyes, Johnny looks at your figure as you arch your back away from your bed, moaning into the air.

It takes almost minutes for you to come down but, when you do, Johnny's about to dive a third time. Your hand stops his head.

“Want you inside, want to feel you.”, you tell him once you pulled him towards you face again. A quick kiss is planted on your lips where you can taste yourself, before he hides his face again in your neck, breathing heavily.

“Do you have a condom ?”, he asks, blown out eyes looking into your own.

You nod quickly, pointing at your bed table. You hear the brunette thanking the gods, he didn't want to have and walk all the way to his own appartement to get one. Leaning towards the said bed table, he pulls the small door open and find the box there.

Taking a little foil package between his lips, Johnny quickly closes the small door before hovering over you again.

Pearly teeth are used to open the packaging, he doesn't wait a second to roll the material out on his hard shaft, sighing slightly.

“So tiny, can you even take me ?”, it seems the brunette asks himself, hand jerking himself off.

You answer him anyways, “I can, please.”.

Soft smile on his lips, the brunette uses his hand to align himself with your drenched core.

The tallest thought about this very moment for hours the night before, but nothing prepared him for the tightenes, your wet, hot core wrapping around his head.

You both moan in almost unison, Johnny has to hold himself from slamming in. You, on the other hand, have a hard time wrapping your head around how he's stretching you out so nicely.

A mixture of pleasure and slight pain you're quickly addicted to. A hand claws at his back, the tallest moves inch, by inch, by inch.

“So fucking tight. When's the last time someone fucked you properly ?”, his sudden change in behaviour gives you whiplash, you can only whine at his question and mumble something about not knowing when, exactly.

“Please, fuck me.”, if you have to beg, you will but thankfully, Johnny doesn't have much patience tonight. Once he's fully in, he doesn't hesitate to pull out just to ram in. Your body rides up, head thrown back, moan silent.

“Gonna fuck you nice and deep. Stretch you, yeah ?”

You can only nod eagerly, Johnny laughs breathlessly. His forearm supports his body right next to you head, necklace hanging over your body, right hand tightly holding your hip.

He barely gives you the time to adjust, hips snapping at a steady pace.

Headboard sharply knocking against your wall, your thankful your neighbors aren't here. Still sensitive, your moans turn breathless, barely audible. Forehead against your own, Johnny doesn't hide his moans, your name, any profanities coming to his mind.

“Fuck, turn around for me, baby.”, breathless, chest irregularly moving up and down, he helps you do so after moving out.

Flipping you on your stomach, the brunette curses at himself a second time. His body flush against yours, he supports himself next to your head again, second hand affectionaly running in your hair.

He takes you from behind, cock easily sliding in this time. Moans hidden in your pillow, Johnny doesn't take that, using the hand locked in your locks to turn your head.

“Don't hide your moans, wanna hear you.”

Just like he wanted after stepping into your apartment, the tallest has you whining his name, loudly, until you're numbed, fucked dumb until his name's the only thing you know.

A snap of his hips reaches deeper, it's there you feel the tension threatening to break.

It's like he can read you, he does it again, breathy laugh coming out of his lips.

“Come around me, let go. Let go for me.”, it's all you need, you easily follow his order, core tightening around his shaft.

“God, your pussy’s gripping me.”, his hips alter, lips finding yours again. “Gonna make me come so hard.”

Fucked out, yet you managed to raise your hips, core clenching around him. That does it, loud growl resonates in the room, mixed in with your name.

“Are you okay ?”, Johnny asks, voice soft after he pulls out, throwing the condom in your bin.

You hum, too tired to answer, you smile nonetheless when he takes you into his arm, arm pushing your hair to the side.

“This isn't how I wanted things to go.”, he hums, picking a fallen eyelash from your cheek.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, tired, his hand running up and down your spine putting you to sleep.

“Wanted to take you out on a date first.”, he admits. “But how do you want me to resist when you were calling me like a siren singing at a lone traveler.”

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Room For Two | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  After a long weekend at the Denver Comic-Con, you were just looking for a quiet evening. That plan is out the window when all the planes are grounded at the airport and Tom arrives at your door. With no other rooms available in the city, Tom asks to share your room for the night. Just one problem, there is only a king bed in the room.

Warnings: fluff

-

“Finally.“

The hotel door slammed behind you as you let a sigh go. The past three days had been a whirlwind of panels, interviews, and autographs. It was only through multiple cups of coffee you were still standing. The Denver Comic-Con was the latest stop in the unending promotional tour.

You throw your shoes off and flopped onto the king bed in your room. You contemplate what to do first, a hot shower or order food as you massage your sore feet. The growl from your stomach decided for you and you lean towards the nightstand to pick up the phone.

“Room Service,” a cheery male voice answered as you hit the auto dial button.

“Hi, can I get the grass-fed burger, Caesar salad, and the Caprese pizza, please?”

“Charged to Room 1415?”

“Yes, please.”

“It will be 30 to 40 minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You hung up the phone and allow your head to sink into the pillows. You seriously contemplated falling asleep right now and hope you wake up when room service knocks. But you decided to wash the layer of the day off your body.

As you head to the bathroom, you shed your clothes piece by piece, tossing them on the floor along your way. You make a mental note to make sure you pick it up before room service gets there. You flicked the shower water on and turned it up as hot as tolerable. Once the water warmed up, you stepped in and let the near scalding water pour over your body. The tension left your shoulders and neck and the grime of the day, both literal and figurative, washed away. You wanted to stay under that hot water for an eternity but after about ten minutes you turned the water off and stepped into a fluffy bathrobe. As you exited the bathroom, you got an insistent knock on the door.

“That can’t possible be room service,” you muttered as you look through the peephole.

Instead of your food, you see a lanky ginger-haired gentleman rocking from side to side in front of your door.

“Tom?” you questioned as you open the door.

Tom turned on that smile.

“I hope I am not interrupting your evening. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

“Yes, come on in,” you stepped aside to allow him entry to the room. You noticed he was carrying a small duffel bag with him. “I thought you were flying out tonight.”

He pivoted around to face you.

“Funny thing. They grounded the flights. Someone thought flying drones in the air space was a good idea. After four hours, they sent everyone away.”

“Didn’t that same thing happen at Heathrow in December?”

“The same thing. They are calling it a copycat.”

“I am so sorry. If I can help, just say the word,” you commented as you turn to let him out the door. Tom does not follow.

“Well, that is the other funny thing. Because of the comic-con and the big education convention, there is not a spare room in the entire city.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“I am serious. Not even my original room was available. I thought about sleeping at the airport when I remembered you were staying a few days…”

Your eyes widened, realizing what Tom was asking.

“You want to stay… HERE?!”

Tom looked at the ground, scuffling his feet on the carpet.

“If you don’t mind.”

You looked to the single king bed in the room. Tom followed your gaze and then both of your faces reddened.

“I could sleep in the chair.” Tom gestured towards the armchair in the corner.

It was at least half his size and looked uncomfortable.

“No, that is not fair… We can…”

A knock interrupted your thought.

“SHIT!” you hissed as you pulled the bathrobe around your body, “that is room service.”

Tom held up his hands.

“I will handle it. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and make yourself decent?”

He made the last remark with a slight smirk on his face as his eyes raked over your still robed body. You throw him a dirty look as you grabbed your pajamas and shut the bathroom door.

Tom thanked the person who brought the food as you pulled a comic book t-shirt and well-worn pajama pants.

“Were you expecting company?” Tom yelled through the bathroom door.

You remembered your hunger induced over ordering.

“Are you judging me?” you retorted as you opened the door, smiling.

“Nope. I have always appreciated people with a healthy appetite. I must admit I am famished myself. Airport food is not my favorite.”

You suppressed a giggle as Tom eyed the burger. You gestured for him to dig in. Tom dug into the burger without a second thought and moans of satisfaction escaped his lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” you mumbled as you shove a forkful of salad in your own mouth, “I also appreciate a man with a joy for food, even such a high esteemed actor as yourself.”

Tom rolled his eyes. This was an ongoing joke between you two throughout filming. You mention his fame and him shutting you down every time.

“Please. None of that tonight. I am far too hungry and weary to fight you off.”

“Fair enough.”

***

The two of you eat the rest of the food in relative silence. Tom regal the tale of his ill-fated trip to the Denver airport and you shared crazy fan stories from the con. After every morsel and you bellies were full, the matter of sleeping arrangements came up once.

“So…” Tom started, looking once again towards the bed. “I am taking the chair.”

Your face once again reddened. You screwed up your courage to be an adult rather a hormone raging teenager.

“No, that is silly. You are like twice the size of that chair and it looks uncomfortable,” you wrinkled your nose, “Plus it is not like you and I have never shared a bed before.”

Tom had been a perfect gentleman and did everything in his power to make you comfortable during your first ever love scene. At the end of the day, the scene had made the film a hit. After that, you harbored a crush on the dashing Tom Hiddleston.

“True. So sharing the bed.”

You swallowed and nodded your head as if solidify your decision.

“Yep,” you get up and move the empty dishes to the door, “do you need to use the shower? You are more than welcome to use any of my toiletries. I promise there is nothing too girly smelling in there.”

“Thank you.”

Tom headed into the bathroom, taking his bag with him and the shower started soon after. You attempted to contain the mess of clothes on the bed. Not that it mattered.

You shoved all the clothes into the drawers and when the water stopped, you jumped underneath the covers. Tom strolled out. His shaggy locks were wet, and he was wearing pajama bottoms with a plain white tee. You could smell your soap wafting off of him. It was intoxicating.

“I took the right side. Is okay?” you commented, while playing with the edge of the sheet.

Tom laughed. “It’s fine, it is your room and I am the interloper.”

Tom slid into the bed on the left side and adjusted the pillows behind him.

“Would you like to watch a movie or something?” you picked up the remote.

“No thanks, darling. I am tired from the day. I bet you must be too. This is your first comic-con circuit, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I am tired too,” you lied.

You leaned over and switched off the light and plunged the room into darkness. You settled yourself into a night of sleeping. You arranged the pillows behind your head and then took one of the extra pillows and tucked off to one side to lie on. You turned towards Tom’s side to see him propped up on an elbow, taking in your sleep ritual.

“What in earth are you doing, Y/N?”

“I am getting ready for bed. What are you doing?”

“Watching you getting ready for bed. Do you always hug a pillow while sleeping?”

You made out a hint of a smile on his face.

“It is not hugging, it is for support,” you huffed down and wrap your arms around the pillow.

“For emotional support?” Tom countered.

“No.” you said, “I thought you were tired.”

“I am. But I am not too tired to watch this ritual. It is adorable. If you need to snuggle something, I am available.”

You reached over and smacked Tom in the chest.

“You are incorrigible. I’m fine. Go.. to.. sleep, Tom.”

“Suit yourself.”

Your sleep was fitful that night, tossing and turning all night. Around midnight, you threw the pillow to the ground and the comforter off your feet. Tom breathed heavy next to you. Tempted to elbow him in the ribs and wake him,  you decided against it.

***

You woke the next morning to something warm and solid pressed up against the entire back side of your body. You attempted to roll over, but you realized something pinned your legs to the mattress. Craning your neck around, you see Tom pressed up against your back and his legs intertwined with yours.

Tom’s body was radiating heat, and you snuggled close to his body. You could feel his breath on your neck and you sighed to yourself.

If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

As you continued to sink into his body, you inadvertently ground your ass into Tom’s crotch. You feel his erection through his thin pajama pants. Not even the great Tom Hiddleston was immune to morning wood. A soft moan escaped Tom’s lips, and he reached around your waist, pulling you in closer. Tom’s chin nuzzled into the crook on your neck and his hot breath tickled your skin.

You tried to extract yourself from his grip but only turned yourself around and now you were face to face with a sleeping Tom. His long lashes threatened to touch his cheeks and you let a sigh out at the sight of him.

Damn, why does he have to be so handsome!

The change of position caused Tom to stir and you see his eyes flutter open. With sleepy eyes, Tom noticed the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you and smirked.

“Morning, darling.”

“Morning, Tom.”

“I see you abandoned your pillow and went for something more satisfying.”

You scoffed, attempting to pull away from his grip but not trying too hard.

“I woke up with you wrapped around me. Perhaps you have a crush on me,” you joked.

Tom looked you dead in the eye.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I have been hiding away a secret torch for you since you first walked onto set. And perhaps I fear you would not reciprocate my feelings.”

You lied there in disbelief. Was Tom confessing his affections towards you? You didn’t know how to react.

“Perhaps you are wrong.” you parroted him, “Perhaps I would reciprocate your feelings. Perhaps I have been hiding a secret crush for you since the day of that bedroom scene.”

You looked up at him, again attempting to wriggle away. This time with more effort. Tom yanked you forward until the two of you were chest to chest.

“Perhaps I will just kiss you and see what happens.”

You opened your mouth to come back with a snappy comment but Tom leaned in and his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you had imagined, but better. A warmth flowed through your body and you snaked your arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him closer.  The two of you parted, breathing heavy.

“Wow,” Tom smiled with pride, “your breath smells.”

Both of you burst out into laughing.

“Your breath isn’t minty fresh either, darling,” Tom placed a quick peck on your lips. “Let’s get up, get dressed, and head downstairs for breakfast, Y/N.”

“Okay but you get ready first. I am not ready to get up.”

“Fair enough.”

Tom bounded out of bed and rustled through his bag before finding clean clothes. Just as he reached the bathroom door, his phone buzzed.

“Do you mind checking that, darling?”

You nodded, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

You picked up the phone and saw a text from Luke.

Tom?! Where are you? You didn’t answer your phone last night. It took some persuading, but I got your suite back at the Hyatt. Please call me back. I hope you didn’t end up sleeping in the airport.

That little liar! Tom had manipulated you to spend the night. What a sneak! Your initial anger gave way to mischief and joy. If not for Tom’s little subterfuge, the two of you may have never gotten together. Still, you couldn’t let him get away with his little scheme scot-free.

You seated yourself at the edge of the bed, legs crossed and his phone in your hand. Tom came out in jeans and a shirt, a toothbrush in his mouth. He looked at you confused.

“Who was it?” he questioned, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.

You smirked, “Oh just Luke.”

“What did he want, love,” he came over and placed a minty kiss on your forehead, “everything all right?”

“Yeah,” you wiped the remnants of toothpaste off your face, “he was just worried you slept in the airport, instead of your old suite in the hotel.”

Tom’s smile fell from his face.

“I can explain…”

You stood up and walked until you were toe to toe.

“Oh? And what is your explanation for lying about your sleeping arrangements?”

You suppressed a smirk and giggle and you can see Tom scrambling to come up with the right words.

“Well..” Tom held his hands up in defense and then sighed, shoulders slumping, “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you into bed with me.”

His blue eyes sparkled back you, hopeful. You let a Cheshire cat grin spread across your face and you pulled up onto your toes to place a kiss on his lips.

“You are lucky you are so charming, otherwise I might be more mad. Besides, we need to discuss this.” you waved your hands between the two of you.

“We are?”

“Yes. Now excuse me but I have to get dressed…”

Tom settled onto the bed as though you would strip off your pajamas right in front of him.

“… in the bathroom.”

Tom’s face fell.

“You wound me.”

“You lied.” “I promise I will never make that mistake again, darling.”

“Good, now call Luke back while I get dressed.”

You closed the door and got ready. Tom dialed in Luke’s number.

“I’m fine, Luke. I promise. No, I didn’t end sleeping in the airport; I stayed with a friend. No, a female friend. Yes it is her, if you must know. Yes, Luke. I understand. Oh by the way, I will spend a few days in Denver, clear my schedule.”

Tom could hear Luke grumbling through the conversation. He couldn’t resist send him into a tailspin before re-engaging in radio silence.

“Oh and Luke, if you hear any rumors about me, they are true. The photos too.”

With that, he turned his phone off. The next few days were for you and you alone.

[a-detraque-barista]

Bread and Blood

Yandere Vampire Jimin x Reader

Genre: Yandere, Horror, Angst

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: blood, abuse, anxiety, insecurity, yandere themes, mentions of religion, reader getting ignored??

A/N: Hello hello everyone~ this took me s o long cause it’s the longest fic I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy~ @strwbrry-lia

(I created the aesthetic myself 😊)

“Now now, Blood Bag. No need to get emotional over someone like him” whispered the blood-sucking monster that stood in front of you. Blood Bag. That was the ‘cute’ nickname he had come up with for you. The man in front of you wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that he put on your shoulder to make you look at him. “Why don’t you stop crying over that good-for-nothing for one second, and tell me what you were doing.”

Even though he used the word ‘why’, it was not a question. It was a command. Living with him for five months has taught you what different tones of voice he had. It was a wide range and some blurred with others making you tread lightly at those times. But right now, you knew you needed to respond correctly.

“I was just going to pack my things and bring them back home,” you choked through your tears as you tried your best to sound convincing.

“Tsk tsk, blood bag. We’ve talked about lying and that it’s bad. Haven’t we?” his grip on your shoulders became tighter as his red orbs stared into yours.

When you didn’t respond he repeated his question, “Haven’t we, blood bag?” His hand that was still covered in blood trailed the slope of your neck and wrapped his fingers to where you were struggling to breathe.

You quickly nodded. His fingers eased but did not leave the scarred and bruised skin. His eyes landed on the bite marks he’s left and couldn’t help the shiver slither up his spine. You were doing things to him that no one else could. Ever since he found you broken and beaten in this very building, his infatuation for you has only grown. How this happened, you have no clue. From the first time he bit you, you’ve been trying to leave his clutches. But you have no home, the only friend you had is now lying on the floor dead, and your family hates you. However, finding a place to stay wasn’t the only difficult part. The undead, blood-sucker wouldn’t let you leave.

“You always seem to be up in the clouds. Tell me, blood bag, what are you thinking about?” he spoke in his usual sickly sweet tone, masking the beast that was hiding.

“Thinking about how I got here,” you confessed and finally noticed you were back in the living room you’ve had to sit in for so many months.

“Well, that’s easy,” he stepped impossibly closer with his hands now cupping your face. “I saved you.”

⠽ ⡰⠑ ⠍⡠⠑

Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight was Halloween. One of the most liked holidays. When kids go trick or treating and teenagers along with adults get drunk. Frights and screams are all around except for your little apartment at the edge of town. Your apartment was cold and dreary as you sat curled in your favorite corner. You were waiting impatiently for the inevitable beating that was coming for you. The knocks at your door went ignored as you cowered behind your bed.

An hour of waiting ended in a thunderous pounding at your door. Covering your ears did nothing to drown out the loud banging. Suddenly, in the middle of your panic-filled mind, you think of the fire escape outside of your bathroom window. You just had to get your legs to work before you could carry out your scattered plan.

Using the bed to help you up, you slowly and shakily make your way to your bathroom. You groaned internally as you realized this was the window your landlord had warned you about. It was the one that got stuck and needed force with special angling. You’ve never opened this window so you had no idea how to open it. Your fear overcame your pessimism making you try your best to get the window open.

After time and time again, you couldn’t open the damn thing. Stepping back and taking a deep breath, you tried to calm down. You heard the door bust open making your head snap to the bathroom door that was still ajar. Quickly closing and locking it, you tried prying open the window again.

Someone was looking out for you up there because the window had finally budged, allowing you to crawl out and onto the rusted fire escape. You shut the window closed just in time as you saw your father burst through that door. Flipping him off, you climbed down quickly and into the alleyway. You began to run as fast as you could, already knowing your father was only now exiting the front door of the building.

You ran and ran. Even as your lungs began to burn and your legs aching, you kept running. The bruises and cuts on your face and stomach hurt more than anything at that point. You knew you couldn’t stop until you found somewhere he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would find you.

Then, the old abandoned warehouse where thirteen people mysteriously died came into view. Practically skidding to a stop, you were panting while contemplating if you should go in. Convincing yourself it would only be for the night, you squeeze through the wood that blocked the main door.

The air was no colder than your apartment so the clothes you had on were more than enough. You sat down on the floor next to the door that read ‘office’. The letters were faded and there were small bits of them missing. If you remembered correctly, this factory was almost seventy-five years old. The broken windows and cracked foundation proved as support for your guess.

After catching your breath, you stood up to head into the office. Looking around to see if anything was interesting. As nothing popped out at you, making your way upstairs seemed to be a good idea. That was until you saw him.

The man wasn’t necessarily tall, but he was still taller than you. His back was turned towards you but you could see the terror on the girl’s face that noticed you. Tears were rushing down her features as she winced in pain. Her voice was lost when she tried calling to you for help. Her face paled and her eyes rolled back. The woman’s body dropped to the floor and the man inhaled deeply. You heard the hitch in his breath and you backed away as slowly as you could manage. Unfortunately, glass crunched beneath the heel of your shoe. Without thinking for too long, you turned around and sprinted back down the stairs.

“Fuck no, not doing that shit,” you mumbled to yourself as you tried to exit the factory as fast as you could.

You felt a hand grab the back of your hoodie causing you to fall onto your back with a grunt. Turning over to your side to ease some of the pain in your back, you see a pair of shiny black dress shoes stand in front of you. With the tip of his foot, he pushed onto your shoulder so he could see your face better. His head tilted to the side, causing his hair to show more of his eyes that were glowing. The crimson color almost distracted you from the rest of his face.

His jawline was sharp and tilted up slightly as if he was looking down at you in a more demeaning way. His full lips that were covered in drying blood tugged into a smirk. He hummed as if thinking about what to do next. He planted his foot back down on the concrete floor before crouching down. You had to admit, the murderous man was even more handsome up close but you sadly couldn’t focus on him right now.

Your head began to feel light and fuzzy the more you looked at the man. Closing your eyes maybe wasn’t the best idea, but your head was suddenly submerged in pain. You moved the hand that was gripping the opposite shoulder to your head. It did nothing to take away the pain but there’s not much you could do as a killer stood above you, planning to do who knows what.

“Don’t worry, blood bag. I’m not gonna do anything to you...yet,” you heard his honey-like voice before feeling him wrap his arms around you. “My name’s Jimin, and you’re going to love your new hell.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐ ⤐

Five months later and you were in, just as he said, hell. You have scars from his fangs all over, fatigue from blood loss, and an appalling adoration for the man who has brought you to his home. What he called home, you called hell. Not only were you used as livestock, but you were tormented by the fact you had fallen for your shepherd.

You hated calling him by his name because you thought it fit him so well and rolled off your tongue like it was meant to. So you called him anything but his name.

He was still locked up in his room like always and you’ve already ventured the enormous house, there was practically nothing to do. You’ve been staring at the wall so often you can no longer sit on the couch, where you’re certain has an ass print from you. Nothing in this mansion intrigued you anymore. Should you maybe...leave the house? You’ve never attempted to leave since you figured he would punish you for it. But how would he know if he’s always in his room or workspace?

You got up from your bed to look into the closet of wonders you’ve never bothered looking through. You just see a comfy set of clothes and go with that since you don’t do anything. Luckily, you found an outfit that matched your style. You didn’t have any money so it would just be a walk around the town, and getting to know exactly which town you were in.

It was a lot easier leaving than you thought was possible with a vampire living there. The house was on an isolated street but you saw old and rusted signs pointing towards the town. It was maybe a twenty-minute walk with you humming and slightly tripping over nothing. It was nice to finally get out of that suffocating house and go for a walk. The air was brisk and made your lungs feel like they were fully inflating.

Once you got to the main road of the city, many people were seen walking. Either by themselves or with children. The day was nice but it seemed there was an event going on. Crowds weren’t your thing so you decided to keep exploring the quaint town.

Walking by bakeries, craft stores, and many other family-owned shops. It was all different to you, having lived in bigger cities your whole life. You were walking by the only bookstore you’ve seen so far and decided to go in. It smelled of old paper and incense. Tall aisles were filled with any genre you could think of and more. You couldn’t remember the last time you were in a bookstore.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” a deep voice broke you from your thoughts as you turned towards the man it came from.

“Oh, no, just looking. Thank you though,” you smile slightly before continuing your way to the back where the sign read ‘Folklore’.

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around town before. You just move here?” he followed you while asking his question.

“Yeah,” you didn’t feel like talking at this point.

“I figured. Well if you need someone to show you around I’d be more than happy to-”

“Yeong-Jun, go bother somebody else. She’s obviously not interested,” another voice interested the man that was pestering you.

The guy next to you huffed before leaving the store and you looked to see who had said that. He was behind the counter where a register and binders sat.

“I’m sorry about him, he does that all the time,” he smiled gently at you before going back to the small paperback in his hand.

You went back to scanning the spines of the books that sat in front of you, but your eyes kept glancing at the nice man who helped you out. You couldn’t help but think that maybe the two of you could be friends. He seemed nice and he obviously liked books, same as you. But what would you even say to him? Talking first was never your strong suit, or just making friends in general. You never knew what to say so maybe, it’d be best to just leave him alone.

At this point, you didn’t even know why you were taking so long in the store. It’s not like you could buy anything. Sighing, you headed towards the exit before the man at the counter’s voice stopped you.

“Didn’t find anything interesting?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that I don’t have the money for it.”

“Oh, well...How about you take one anyway?”

“I’m sorry?” you turned back to face him.

“You can take a book of your choosing. Think of it as me lending it to you. For free,” he said through a chuckle after seeing your expression.

“You sure?”

He nodded before motioning at all the rows of books. Swiftly, before he could change his mind, you made your way back to the Fantasy section and grabbed the one you had been eyeing almost the whole time.

You stopped at the counter, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, just bring it back when you’re done and you can borrow another one,” he smiled so wide it made his eyes turn into crescents.

You tried hiding your smile while nodding and exiting the store like a child who had just gotten candy. Books have been your only entertainment ever since he kidnapped you. There was no television to watch, no laptop, or a gaming system. The castle held no form of technology besides electricity for the lighting and sound systems. No matter where you were in the house, you could always hear music. It was beautiful yet sad performed by a group of woodwinds, brass, and many other instruments.

It’s good music to read to. You decided to head back to your hell. Wait...Why...Why would you go back if you were able to walk out the front door, be gone for almost an hour, and walked around town with no questions asked?

You turned around and headed to the church because that was the only place you could think of that would let you stay for free without worrying too much about a creep.

The last thing on your mind now was the thing that was holed up in his room, becoming hungry.

You slowly opened the door to the only church in town that was almost as big as the castle you came from. Not seeing anyone, you fully entered the building with the book in your hand. You tried to walk as quietly as you could but your shoes hitting the polished tiles caused echoing that bounced off the high ceiling walls.

“Hello? Is someone there?” a voice was heard coming from the side. You didn’t respond as you heard footsteps coming closer. “Oh, well hello there. What can I help you with?”

“I-I...I was wondering if I could, um, stay here for the night?” your social skills have suffered tremendously because of the anxiety your family has caused.

“Oh dear child, of course, you can. God’s house is always open to anyone,” he guides you to the other side of the building where he opened a door showing a long hallway.

As you walked down the large corridor, you noticed all the doors you passed by. Some were closed and some were opened. The opened ones revealed empty rooms with a bed and nightstand. You assumed the closed doors were occupied rooms.

“Many people stay here, all for their own reasons. We have a dining hall just around the corner, baths are just past that, and you are always welcome to join sermons,” he stopped in front of a room that was at the very end of the hall. “If you need anything, we have many sisters throughout the church that will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” you slightly bowed before entering the room.

“Of course,” he closed the door and walked to a random spot in the corridor. He placed his hand on the wall while whispering a murmur in Latin. A door opened and he entered.

He descended the spiral case of marble stairs before coming to another door. This door had carvings of so many symbols, you couldn’t count. He touched a particular one causing the door to creak open.

“You all felt it as I did,” he spoke loudly before he sat down in his designated chair.

“You wouldn’t be able to,” another pastor said sarcastically.

“Will he come?” asked a nun.

“I do not know,” sighed the pastor who showed you to your room.

“Will you protect the girl, Claude?” asked a woman who sat in the middle of the table.

“Yes.”

✨

You had fallen asleep almost seven hours ago, according to the clock that hung on the wall opposite of the bed you laid in. That was the most sleep you have gotten in about two years. Insomnia was a bitch you knew all too well. Being able to sleep for so long made you full of this energy you haven’t experienced in so long. A knock was heard at your door before a nun poked her head in.

“It’s time for supper,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” she closed the door after slightly nodding to your response.

You sighed before looking out of the window that was close to the ceiling. You slept and found a place to stay but now what? You couldn’t live here so close to him. Yes, you loved him but it was unrequited and you knew it. It’s not like you could help it. In the little time you’ve spent with him, that didn’t involve your blood, he was kind and his smile gave you a serotonin boost. The way he was gentle with the plants he had and how he disagreed with the disgusting morals of characters from a different era. All of these things made you grow feelings for the undead immortal. Maybe it was because you’ve never encountered such a personality. But who knew?

You climbed out of the bed and headed to the dining hall with the book in your hand. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a meal that wasn’t frozen or from a restaurant. You never felt like cooking even though you knew how, you just never felt like it.

The volunteers were kind as they offered you everything they had. Sticking with only the bread and stew they made, you sat down at an empty table while beginning to read the book you picked out from the store. The front and spine read Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by April Genevieve Tucholke.

Someone had sat next to you making you look at them in the corner of your eye. It was the priest from yesterday. He had a plate of his own filled with stew, bread, and rice.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” he motioned towards the open book in front of you.

“Oh, uh, no. It’s fine,” you nodded making him smile softly.

“What brings you here?” he asked while respectfully eating his bread.

You had to think carefully about what you wanted to say. You couldn’t just tell him that a vampire had kidnapped you, but didn’t care enough to keep an eye on you.

“I ran away from home.”

“Why is that my child?”

“My father- he uh…he would hit me...a lot, so one day I ran away,” it wasn’t a complete lie. That is what had happened at the beginning of all of this. However, your town was most likely miles and miles away.

“I am sorry, my child. Do you still, um, have bruises or anything?” he was hesitant in the way he spoke hoping he wouldn’t upset you.

You nodded causing him to sigh. Some people were truly out of God’s reach and your father needed to be punished for abusing as he had.

“Where are you from?” he asked looking back at you.

“Seoul.”

“Seoul? My, that’s ways away from here. How did you get to Busan?” he was shocked by how far you have traveled and was curious how you managed to get down here. Of course, he knew how you got there but he wanted to know if you trust him or not. By how long it took you to answer, it was obvious you didn’t trust easily.

“Many many buses,” you lied through your teeth, to a priest no less. Good thing you lost faith a long long time ago.

“I see,” bells rang in the distance signifying everyone that supper time was over and it was time to either go to your room or do chores. “We’ll get you started on chores tomorrow, okay?”

You nodded once again before standing up and taking care of your tray before heading back to your temporary room. Started on chores?? How long does he think you’re staying here? Now that you know what city you’re in, it will be much easier to get back to Seoul. You just had to find a way to get back and then figure out where you were going to stay. Your mind went to the book in your hand

You laid down so the growing headache could maybe stop from spreading from your frontal lobe to the cortex. Setting your book on the table beside you, sleep was your best choice at the moment.

Candy apple eyes stared down at the pathetic looking ‘House of God’. The eyes held hatred and disgust for the building and the oh so holy salvation that occupied it. The man’s features turned sour thinking about all the bothersome puppets that have tried to kill him, more often than not.

He wasn’t here for them, no-no. He was here for you of course. At first, he didn’t even realize you had escaped. Your scent was covering every inch of his mansion so it took maybe a whole day before he realized you were gone. The vampire was in his office so he wouldn’t bite you so much. Whenever he drank your delicious blood, he felt it course through his veins, he felt the warmth he once did when he was alive, he felt. And that terrified him. He was scared of the feeling, but he didn’t want to lose it. So he spent hours and hours researching from the very scripts his ancestors and others wrote, trying to find a way to keep you forever.

Now he’s sitting there thinking, how fucking stupid could he have been to let you leave like that. All the doors had normal locks so it wouldn’t take much brainpower to figure them out. If he didn’t get you back before another creature claimed you, it would be over. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Because you were different. He knew that. Your smell, your taste, and your personality. All of it was so entrancing and he let it slip away just like that. Maybe he was just being dramatic, but what vampire isn’t? Maybe it was a good thing you escaped. How else could he hunt for such scrumptious prey? He loved to hunt before he fed but that usually ended with his prey dying. This time, he was going to keep you. Not only for your blood but also for you. The sarcastic remarks you made had made him laugh, your smile made his unmoving heart skip, your eyes told a story that only you knew. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let you go.

The priest who had welcomed you had once again descended the marble stairs into the secret hideaway. Once the nun saw him approach she spoke loudly, “He’s already here and you’re playing tea party with the girl.”

“No need for malice, sister,” the priest sat down in his usual chair and placed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He knew he was here. Years of training his perception had been fruitful.

“I wouldn’t need to be malicious if you would just do your job!” her voice reverberated against the walls and back to them.

The woman sitting at the head of the table cleared her throat before addressing the nun who had gotten out of line, “Do not point fingers, let alone yell in the House of God, sister.”

The nun sat back in her seat while crossing her arms. She had never encountered a vampire before and she wasn’t trying to now. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she stiffened. She felt powerful energy that she wasn’t able to identify.

“Hello~” Jimin stood not too far away from the table but far enough to where no one could touch him before he could move. “Let’s negotiate.”

↬ ↬ ↬

It’s been a week since you’ve arrived at the church. You haven’t seen the pastor since that awkward dinner in the hall. Maybe he realized you couldn’t be helped and decided to move onto the next person. Who would help you right? You’re just a nobody who has parents that hate you. That’s normal...it’s all you’ve ever known. You sighed as you hung up the last piece of clothing on one of the lines. Not wanting to spend all day at the church again, you decided to take the book you finished back to the store. Hopefully, the nice employee was working today.

You went back to your temporary room to grab the book before you made your way to the exit of the building. On your way to the exit, it seemed like all the nuns and pastors you’ve passed we’re trying to distract you. First, a nun had asked for help with cleaning the rooftops, which sounded like a pointless job that would take all day. So you politely declined but when she insisted you told her you can help after you take the book back to the store. Then, a pastor had asked how you’ve been feeling and if you’re comfortable in your room. Saying yes to both and walking at the same time, you were able to get out of that conversation fairly quickly. And as you placed your hand on the door, two more nuns were asking you questions about you and where were going. Thankfully, another nun held their attention while you slipped through the crack in the doors.

You let out a sigh of relief and made your way to the bookstore. It felt nice to get out of there, at least for a little while. The weather seemed windy today and the clouds were slowly becoming a dark grey. Hopefully, a storm will come by. That’s always when you slept the best no matter where you slept. You were never able to sleep well, but on nights where you could hear thunder and see flashes of lightning, it lulled you to sleep, unlike any stories or songs.

Your mind suddenly went to him. Does he like storms? You stopped walking for a second, realizing your mistake. How could you think of him like that? Your cheeks get warm before you start walking again to try and forget about him and focus on getting another book.

Who cares if he likes storms? Certainly not you, he means nothing to you...do you mean nothing to him? You sighed as you weren't able to stop wondering about the handsome man that captured you months ago. It kind of made you sad that he hasn't come to find you yet. Your thoughts had you passing the bookstore before the employee from before calls out to you, “Hey!”

You snapped your head up and looked around before your eyes landed on the person who called out to you. Looking around again, you realized you had walked by the store without noticing. Your cheeks turned red before you made your back to the store where the worker waited for you with a smile.

“I think I have one you might like,” he motioned for you to follow him to the desk. He told you to set the book in your hands on the cart to the right and slid a different one on the desk.

It read Between the Spark and the Burn, the sequel to the book you had just returned. “I didn't see this the last time I was here,” you carefully picked up the book and held it in your hand by your side.

“I noticed the book you chose so I requested it from the next town over for when you finished the first one,” he sat down on the wooden stool that was rickety and old.

“Thank you,” you said quietly while keeping your gaze anywhere but him.

It’s been a while since someone did something nice for you. You're usually the one doing things for other people. You could see him smiling in the corner of your, making you realize that you were also smiling. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt so you decided to introduce yourself, “My name’s Y/n.” Hopefully, that was the right way to begin this conversation.

“Taehyung, a pleasure,” his smile grew before he covered it with his hand.

You nodded before reluctantly walking towards the door. Just as it closed behind you Taehyung was met with somebody standing next to him. He casually looked to see who it was only to find his best friend.

“Jimin~ it's been so long since you visited!” he stood up to give Jimin a hug and Jimin reciprocated. “What brings you here?”

“Turns out, you were just flirting with the girl I was talking about,” Jimin sighed as he straightened his posture to not look as short compared to his friend.

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot and pointed his thumb towards the door where you just exited. Jimin nodded before pinning him to the wall, “And you're gonna help me get her back.”

⤐ ⤐ ⤐

“Y/n!” your name echoed throughout the spacious corridor. You turned around to see the priest waving to you while jogging to catch up to you.

...you don't remember ever telling him your name. You began to panic so you quickly made your way outside and into the garden to hide behind the large rose bushes.

You heard him calling for you but stayed behind the bushes and went deeper into the rows and rows of red and white roses. You let out a sigh before sitting on the ground more comfortably.

“Blood bag, how come you haven't come home yet?”

Your whole body stiffened, but surprisingly relaxed. But now wasn't the time to question your muscles. You looked up to see the man who you thought you wouldn't have to see again.

“I've missed you, ya know,” he crouched down so his piercing eyes could be level with yours. It reminded you of the first time you met, back in the warehouse.

You remained quiet and averted your gaze to a wilting rose at the bush behind him. What were you supposed to say to him anyway? Did you miss him too? Of course, you did, he has given you more attention than anyone in your life. Up until you had spoken to Taehyung a couple of days ago.

“Blood Bag, it’s rude to ignore me,” he cupped your face with his hands decorated with silver rings.

“You ignored me for days at a time but that doesn’t matter, does it?” your anger got the best of you, making you regret even opening your mouth. You watched as his eyes widened slightly before he smirked.

“It does matter because I was doing something very important in that office.”

“Of course, what would be more important than using me as food whenever you felt like it.”

You saw his eyebrow twitch at your smartass comment. You didn’t know what had gotten over you at that time. You were usually the pushover but it seems that something about this vampire made you want to talk back. Maybe it was the smirk on his ethereal features or maybe it was just you trying to deny your feelings for him.

“I’m gonna let that slide since there’s something else I need to talk to you about,” you stood up before you had to hear any more of this unnecessary conversation. Before you were able to take a step, you were brought back to the ground. Your back hit the hard dirt making you wince. Jimin sat on your waist with each knee on either side of you. “You have recently met a very good friend of mine without even noticing what he was. I’m afraid he wants to take you as his. So I was nice enough to come here and warn you about him. But it seems you don’t want my protection…”

He trailed off waiting for you to start begging for him to help you but it never came. His smile fell and his eyebrows furrowed. Why were you not groveling? Were you not afraid? That’s not it, he can smell the delicious fear coming off of you.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m leaving by the end of next week,” you lied hoping he wouldn’t catch it.

Jimin stared at you for a second before getting off of you. But not before giving you a quick peck to the lips. Your face burned as you looked up at the grinning blood-sucker of a man. It most definitely gave Jimin an ego boost to see you so affected by his action.

“See you later, Blood Bag,” he waved before disappearing around the corner. What you didn’t see is that Jimin had to stop after turning the corner. He held his hand over the left side of his chest. It hurt. His chest was in pain. Like his heart was beating once again. The cold skin of his cheeks flushed while he felt like his lungs were actually working. If this was what it felt like just to kiss you, imagine what it would feel like to...Jimin had to stop himself. No need to let his mind go too far until you’ve fallen for him. And he was confident you would.

You finally willed your legs to get up and move to hurry to your room. You stopped when you passed an opening leading to the street in front of the church. You didn’t want to give Jimin or the priest time to find you again, so you made your way back to the bookstore.

When you got there you opened the door and your eyes instantly landed on Taehyung...and his bruised cheek above a busted lip. You stopped in your tracks making Taehyung look at you.

“Done with the book already?” a smile stretched across his face making him mumble ‘ow’.

“What happened to you?”

“Just a little friendly brawl.”

“In fifteen minutes?”

“Lots can happen in fifteen minutes.”

You shook your read to get your thoughts focused, “I came here to ask you if there was a bus or a train that left the town today.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure the next train outta here isn’t for another two days,” Taehyung lied without hesitation. The next train left today in thirty minutes and wouldn’t be back until next week. He didn’t want another beating from Jimin.

“Oh, well thanks. I’ll have the book back by then,” you nodded before heading back to the church. What were you supposed to do for the next two days?

Once you made it back to the church you headed straight to your room to find the priest sitting in the wooden chair. He told you to have a seat on your bed after you closed the door.

He cleared his throat, “So you obviously seem uncomfortable around me and I apologize for whatever I have done to make you feel that way.”

Your eyes were on the book in your hand before you quietly replied, “I just never remembered telling you my name so I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve been more careful,” he saw your confused expression before continuing. “I am no ordinary priest. I am a...protector of sorts. I protect people from supernatural creatures of all kinds.”

Your eyes looked into his, and his were telling you he knew about the vampire that had kept in his home. Of course, he knew, this made you breathe out a laugh, “So you know about him.”

“I do.”

“You know, I was able to walk out the front door of his house like it was nothing,” Claude’s eyebrows raised in shock. You nodded, “He was so deeply in his work while in his office, I was able to walk out of there. But now he knows I’m here and I need to find a way out of here.”

“I can help with that. The train that transports out of town leaves in twenty minutes. I can get you there along with a ticket straight back home. If that is what you wish.”

It only took you a few seconds to register his offer and you quickly nodded and followed him out the door. All while leaving the book from Taehyung on the bed.

“What’s your name?” you asked while trying to keep up with the man that has been trying to help you for the past week and a half.

“Claude.”

He looked around the corridor before muttering the Latin mantra for the hidden door to open. Claude had to come back up a few stairs to grab your wrist to lead you down the stairs. You had unknowingly frozen in place after seeing the wall slide open to a set of stairs.

“Do all churches have a basement like this?”

“Not all, we’re one of the few that do.”

“So cool,” you whispered as you skimmed all the symbols and words that were engraved into the walls.

“There’s a tunnel that leads straight to the station. We don’t want you to miss the train, the next one won’t be here for another week,” Claude explained all while hurriedly walking down the tunnel.

You didn’t want to think about how Taehyung lied to you and how you didn’t realize that he was the friend Jimin was referring to. Just then, passed the room where you could see people sitting around a large dark wood table.

“Are we not going to talk about how you guys have a literal l a i r down here?”

“Nope.”

“Alrighty.”

Claude had led you up a flight of stairs that lead to the back of a building. You couldn’t tell what kind it was until the two of you walked up the side to the front. The large sign read Train Station. There were many benches set out but only two other people were waiting to get on the train. Claude had just realized he still had a grip on your hand but luckily you didn’t seem to mind as you read all the signs telling you the train’s schedule.

Claude paid for your ticket to Seoul before having you sit down on a bench close to the entrance gate. He looked around to make sure Jimin was nowhere in sight. Then he would glance back at you to make sure you were still there. The loud whistle of the train made it to your ears before you stood up and watched as it slowed to a stop.

“I have nowhere to stay up there,” you paused in front of the bench and started at the open door showing a few metal stairs.

“You do,” he brought a piece of paper from his pants pocket and gently set it in your hand. He nodded towards the train, motioning for you to get on before it leaves.

You thank him before boarding the locomotive and taking a seat in the designated section. Your seat was on the side of the station. Looking out to see Claude waving and smiling at you through the window. No one else was around him, nobody had gotten off and the few people that were waiting were already boarded. You waved back before your blood ran cold.

Claude’s neck was snapped right before your very eyes. His now lifeless body fell to the ground, in what felt like slow motion. The one person that had been helping you from the kindness of his heart, lied on the floor, dead.

Through your teary eyes, you saw it was Taehyung. His face showed no emotion, not even as he stared into your sorrowful eyes. As you went to stand, the train began to move and when you looked back to where Taehyung was standing, he was gone.

🩸🩸🩸

You rushed off of the train and hurriedly went to find whatever stood at the address Claude had given to you. Your head constantly went from side to side, causing a headache to form. But you didn't want the pounding of your brain against your skull to be the reason you were caught.

Finally, you ended up at the place where you met Jimin. The warehouse still appeared worn down and abandoned. Nothing had changed since you last saw it, except for the door. The door used to be blocked by wooden planks but now, it was a sleek and elegant carved piece of wood. There laid a door knocker that looked to be recently polished, in the shape of a cross.

You hesitated in reaching for the knocker and just as your fingers touched the cool metal, Taehyung interrupted. You spun around to see him even more beaten than the time before. When you went to knock again the door was gone, and the old wooden beams replaced them. You froze, that was going to be where Claude promised safety. Now you met with the thing that killed him. The thing you had considered your friend for only a short period of time.

“I didn't wanna hurt you like this, ya know. I really did want to be friends with you, and maybe even one day be more than that. Because you seem like a great person and-” he stopped talking once he noticed you had slipped through the wood and into the building. He sighed before following you in.

You wondered if there was even a point in trying to hide from him. He obviously wasn't human so he could track you down in seconds. Yet, you still went to hide in the room where you saw Jimin feeding on that stranger. And after months, her body was still there. Rotting and decaying. You gagged before exiting the room quickly.

Taehyung was right there, causing you to run into him. He held you close as you tried to pull away. He rolled his eyes as you struggled, irritated you wouldn't listen to his practiced speech all while running away. It was clear Jimin had no issue throwing punches towards his friend. Even though they were the same age physically, Jimin had been alive for much longer than he had.

You attempted to pull all your weight back as Taehyung dragged you down the stairs and to the entrance. Suddenly, you went flying back onto your ass as Taehyung’s grip left your arm. Your gaze landed on Jimin wrestling with Taehyung on the concrete floor. You looked around to find another door but there wasn't one that you could see. You didn't want to wander the building and get lost, but you also didn't want to wait for the two supernatural beings to be done with their fight.

You let out a shaky breath after realizing you're going to have to sneak past and get to the entrance. Your legs trembled as you slowly made your way around the two that were yelling at each other. Threats and fists, along with knees, we're thrown back and forth. When you got to the entrance you heard a sickening thud. It wasn't someone falling on the ground or one being thrown. No, the thud had an underlying crack to it. Turning around, you saw dark crimson ooze from Taehyung’s skull.

He was face down, making the sight easier for you to stomach. If you were able to see the look on his face and the emptiness of his eyes, you wouldn't be able to sleep again.

Jimin picked you up by your biceps, making sure you were as close to him as possible. He rested his forehead against yours. He bit his and leaned in for a kiss. Jimin kissed you over and over again until every inch of your face had met the touch of his pillowy lips. lip

“So tell me, Blood Bag, are you ready to spend an eternity with me?”

[broadstbroskis]

thanksgiving | jeff skinner

a/n: it’s here!!! this is like 4k that i threw together in like a week after i took it as a personal challenge from @blueskrugs after i asked why we don’t write more thanksgiving fics. a huge shoutout to her and @danglesnipecelly, for inspiration and cheering me on for this, as well as literally anyone else who’s cheered me on to finish thing, you’re all the real mvps and i love you all 💚

-----

Jeff shrugs, and from across the table filled with pizza, beer, and a bunch of other things that are most definitely not on his approved list of foods, you stare at him.

“I dunno. I don’t really have plans, I guess? Probably just sit at home, relax a little?” He says. Your jaw drops. He has...he has what now? “You're going to your parent’s right?” You nod slowly, still stuck on the fact that he’s going to sit at home and do nothing on Thanksgiving, the best of all holidays. Not spend the day with some teammates, not make a quick trip to his family, nothing. “That’ll be fun!” Jeff grins, dimples popping. “What are you-”

“You’re doing nothing?” You get out finally, the words coming back to you.

Jeff’s smile falters, but only slightly, and he nods. “Yeah? I mean, there’s no practice, no games. I’ll just…” He trails off for a second and then shrugs. “Rest.”

“You’re not going to go, like, visit your parents? They’re right across the border!”

“It’s a Thursday.” Jeff says patiently and you abruptly remember that his Canadian-ness is the whole point of this conversation.

“Thanksgiving is the best holiday! You can’t sit at home alone on it; I forbid it!” Jeff’s smile grows again as he laughs and you try and fight your own grin as you shove at his shoulders, to no avail. “Come home with me!”

“What?” He laughs again, but this time, it’s more like disbelief.

But the idea is already growing in your mind. “Come home with me! You know my parents love you, they won’t mind at all!”

“I can’t just invite myself to your Thanksgiving!” Jeff protests.

You wave him off. “You’re not, I’m inviting you! Come on, we’d love to have you!” He still looks hesitant, so you add, “Our Thanksgiving is huge anyway; one extra mouth to feed isn’t going to put anyone out, Jeff.”

“Alright.” He caves, and you grin, pulling your phone close to you to text your mom and let her know. “But ask your mom, okay? Like, really ask her, don’t just, like, tell her I’m coming.”

“Too late!” You say cheerfully, showing him the text you’d sent in your family group chat, telling them you were bringing Jeff with you next week. Your mom’s already responded with a string of happy face emojis and your younger sister with a How I Met Your Mother gif about Canadian Thanksgiving. “Be prepared for a lot of Canada jokes!”

“Is that supposed to be different than any other time I see your family?’ Jeff deadpans, but you’re pretty sure he looks like, at least 50% more relaxed, so you count this as a win and ignore him completely, already mentally planning for the best holiday of the year.

-----

The drive back home to your parents takes about an hour longer than you’d like, stuck in the same godawful traffic as everyone else trying to leave Buffalo on Wednesday so that they can get back home in time to go out that night. 

When Jeff finally pulls his car up in front of your childhood home, you can already see that it’s bustling with activity, getting ready for tomorrow. Most of your siblings have already arrived- only your older brother, with his wife and daughters will come in tomorrow, with the rest of your family- but your younger brother and sister have already come home, a fact that’s even more evident when you and Jeff walk in the front door and immediately trip over three pairs of sneakers.

“Liam!” You cry, grabbing onto Jeff so you don’t fall. “Motherfucker, move your shoes!”

Your brother pops his head out of the living room, AirPods in his ears. “I’m on a call!” And just as you're marveling at the fact that your brother is a real person with a real job taking real work calls, said real person with a real job spots Jeff and lights up. “Jeff! Bro! What’s up, man?”

“I thought you were on a call.” You snap at him.

“I’m on mute.” Liam slaps his palm against Jeff’s pulling him in for a ridiculous handshake-bro hug combo, before he finally comes over and lifts you off the floor. “Yo!”

“Yo!” You repeat, honestly unable to believe you’re related to this kid. If the two of you didn’t look exactly alike, you’d probably think he was adopted. “You still coming out tonight?”

“Hell yeah, this is my last call. I’m ready to go.”

You snicker, looking down at his sweatpants and dress shirt combo- he must have taken a video call at some point today. “Yeah, okay, bud.”

He ruffles your hair, in that annoying way he’s been able to do ever since he grew taller than you. “Don’t you worry, I will be.”

You laugh, ducking under his arm, to let him get back to it. You’ve got no doubts about that. Liam’s always ready to party. “Finish your call so we can start pregaming.”

He grins, like you knew he would. “Now we’re talking.” And then he ducks back into your dad’s office.

Jeff is laughing when you look back at him and you give him a look. “What?”

“Nothing, just forgot how the two of you were when you got going.”

“Yup, and you’re stuck with us for next two days!” You grin.

Jeff rolls his eyes at you, but he’s still smiling when he follows you to the kitchen, in search of your mom. She’s at the counter, rolling dough for biscuits, her only other contribution to the annual Thanksgiving dinner that she hosts, besides the turkey; a holiday that she’d taken over hosting once it had become too much for your grandmother to handle, but only on the caveat that everyone began contributing food toward the meal. It’s been a potluck style holiday ever since.

She’s ultra-focused, the volume on her favorite playlist high (this wild mix of 80’s pop and today’s hits that’s actually kind of a banger), so you sneak up behind her and wrap your arms around her. “Hi!”

“Jesus!” Your mom jumps, elbowing you in the process, but you’re laughing too hard to care. “Don’t do that!”

“Just excited to see you!” You beam at her, squeezing her once more, before pulling away. “Where do you want the pie?” Jeff lifts the pie you’d made yesterday, showing your mom.

Your mom purses her lips, studying the kitchen around her. “Leave it on the counter for now; I’ll have your dad clear some space in the garage.” She gestures with her elbow. “Hi Jeff!” 

“Hi!” Jeff pulls out his best smile, a real one, dimples super popped. “Thank you for having me-”

Your mom cuts him off before he can finish, like you knew she would. “Oh, we’re so happy you could make it! You’re welcome anytime, Jeff!” She assures him.

“Is the guest room ready?” You ask. “We’ll throw our stuff upstairs before Dad sees it at the bottom of the steps and has a fit.”

Your mom fights back a laugh at that- a statement that everyone in your family knows all too well-but then looks almost apologetic as she finishes, “It is, but we gave it to Katie.”

“Oh, Katie’s here too?” Your sister’s roommate at college was, at this point, basically another sister to you. She hardly went home for breaks within the semesters, usually came up for at least a month during the summer, and more often than not came home with Abby when she was back for anything. The “guest room” really was more like Katie’s room at this point. 

“Where else would she be?” Abby appears, right on cue, with Katie right behind her, practically matching in leggings and oversized sorority shirts. “It’s Thanksgiving; she’s ready to rage tonight.”

You actually can’t wait for the babies to be hungover tomorrow-both were 21 for their first Thanksgiving Eve and you know they’re going to be in a super rough spot tomorrow-but you keep that thought to yourself. 

“It didn’t even occur to me!” Your mom says apologetically. “I just gave Katie her usual room.”

“No, it’s cool. Jeff and I can share. He doesn’t mind, right?” But you barely even wait for his shrug and nod in agreement. It’s not like you haven’t before, when you’re either too lazy or too drunk to go home. You’re both adults, it’s no big. “I’ve shared a bed with you before; I’ll spare Katie the bruised shins.” You tease your sister.

Katie cracks up as Abby sputters out how rude you are. “It’s a hazard!” Katie agrees, dodging the swat your sister sends towards her. It sets the two of them off, which you take as your cue to grab Jeff’s hand and drag him (and your stuff) up to your room.

Of course, usually when you’re sharing a bed with Jeff, it’s a king sized bed, or at least a queen- definitely not the double that your parents just shoved in your old room to replace the queen bed that had been in there until you moved out and took your furniture with you. You hadn’t realized how small it was though, not until today, until the idea of actually having to share it with someone, with Jeff, who might not be a giant, but isn’t tiny.  “Sorry.” You apologize, almost unsure of what you’re saying.

Jeff shrugs. “Well, at least you don’t kick.” He smiles, as then it’s like everything’s back to normal, that awkward feeling that was growing over you gone as quickly as it came. 

“She’s a bruiser, don’t let her tell you otherwise.” You throw your bag down, rifling through it for the sweater you were planning to wear tomorrow, to hang it up so it isn’t too wrinkled.

Jeff laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.” He’s holding up his shirt, a button down and a tie. “Where can I hang this?”

“You can’t wear that!”

He frowns, likely at the vehemence you’d just spoken that with. “Uhh, why not?”

“You’ll get roasted.” Seriously, you’d told him it wasn’t a dressy affair. God, what part of not dressy does he think requires a tie? “Don’t you have, like, a sweater?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Sweater and jeans, that’s fine.”

Jeff gives you a look. “That doesn’t seem-”

“Sweater. And jeans.” You repeat. He’ll thank you tomorrow, when your uncle doesn’t ask him when tea is. When your cousin doesn’t talk to him only in a fake British accent for the entire night. 

Jeff hands over a sweater, a soft thing you’ve seen him wear on many occasions, and you smile your thanks at him, hanging it up next to yours. “Meet your standards?” He asks; you think he’s aiming for teasing but he kind of misses the mark, sounding a little more nervous than joking.

“Perfect.” He smiles back at you and you laugh. “Come on, you dork. Let’s go see what’s for dinner tonight.”

-----

“Don’t wake me up when you come in tonight!” Your dad calls, as he drops the five of you off at Mel’s, the bar for Thanksgiving Eve. Your friends are already at the bar, you’re anticipating a high school reunion for sure, and you’ve warned Jeff of this, even though he assured you that he could handle it, and he was just excited for a nice, chill night.

You’d actually laughed out loud at that. Oh Jeffrey. 

“Pshh.” Liam waves your dad off. “I haven’t done that since I was like 16 and still having to sneak out.”

Your dad gives him a look. “I was talking to your sister.” He looks over at Abby, who ignores him completely, in favor of taking a SnapChat with Katie, and he sighs resolutely. You all absolutely know she isn’t listening to a word he says. “Have fun, be safe. Uber home.”

Liam salutes him. “Will do.”

Inside the bar, the night starts exactly as you and Liam have started your last few Thanksgiving Eve’s-with a round of shots at the bar as you’re ordering drinks, before splitting off to find your respective friends to start the evening.

Jeff fits in with your friends fantastically, laughing and joking around with them like he’s known them forever, even though you’re sure the only one he’s met is your oldest friend, Ashley. But he greets Ashley and her husband, Brian, like old friends, and quickly joins conversations with all your other friends, and soon hours have passed before your brother is sliding up behind you. “Heads up.” Liam mutters as he passes. “Douche at 3 o’clock.”

You tense as it takes everything in you not to turn and look over. “Hey.” Jeff nudges you, concern clear in his eyes as he looks at you, and you’re not sure what he pulled himself away from, but you must look pretty bad. “You okay?”

You nod, kinda spacily, but leaning in closer to him, and he takes the cue to curl in toward you- you’re not really interested in shouting to the entire bar and you’re really not interested in drawing attention to yourself. “Yeah, just- my ex is over there.”

Jeff purses his lips for a minute and then schools his face back to neutral. “I take it things didn’t end well.”

“No.” You say, thinking of the demise of your relationship with Dylan. “It did not.”

You hadn’t even realized that Jeff grabbed your hand until he’s squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shake your head. “It was...definitely for the best.” It might have taken you a while to see that, but you can now, even if the rare instances you still see Dylan sometimes rattles you. “I thought I was going to marry him, at one point, but I’m so much happier here now.”

Jeff smiles. “Good.”

You squeeze his hand once more, a thanks for his comfort and care, before both of you rejoin the conversation, and you forget about Dylan entirely for the next hour, until you physically run into him coming back from the bar with another round of drinks for you and Jeff.

“Hey!” Dylan beams at you, goes right in for a cheek kiss, like you’re still that familiar, and once again you stiffen up.

“Hi.” You return politely, ready to sidestep around him and return to Jeff and your friends.

“No, wait.” Dylan steps with you, blocking your path. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Let’s catch up a minute, what’s new?”

“No offense, Dylan, but I’m not really looking to catch up with you.” You say flatly.

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can another voice cuts in. “Everything okay here?” Jeff asks politely, stepping very purposefully next to you, and Dylan’s eyes immediately fly over to him.

“Mhmm,” You nod. “Was just on my way back to you.”

“Good.” Jeff says, in a tone far more harsh than you usually hear him take. “Let’s get back.” He positions himself again, clearing a space for you to easily slip past Dylan, and then steps closely behind you, catching up quickly.

“Thanks.” You lean against him, gently, not looking to spill either of your drinks, but Jeff solves that problem by taking his.

“Any time.” Jeff says softly and you don’t have much else to say on the matter so you just nudge him once more in thanks and walk back toward your friends with him at your side.

-----

When you wake up the next morning, you’re warm and comfortable and only a little hungover, which you count as a huge success. There’s not too much noise going on downstairs yet, which means you definitely have some more time to sleep, so you curl back into your pillow, humming contently when it pulls you in closer.

And then your eyes pop open abruptly, because pillows don’t do that.

Except they do when they look like Jeff Skinner, who looks just as soft and warm and comfortable as you feel right now, still sleeping judging by the evenness of his breath. 

It’s just...it’s a really nice way to wake up, with Jeff’s kind-of smiling face, looking super soft and cozy as he breathes just on the wrong side of too loud, but not so loudly that it drives you nuts. 

It’s a little too early to unpack that, and your hangover might not be that bad but it’s definitely bad enough that you’re not ready to think on that, so you close your eyes and let yourself curl into Jeff and fall back asleep.

-----

When you do finally get out of bed, Thanksgiving morning is its usual chaos, running around with last minute errands, cleaning, and helping your mom in the kitchen. The last to shower for the day, by the time you arrive downstairs, the Lions vs. Bears game is well underway, your notoriously early grandparents have already arrived, and your grandmother is already asking your mom where that one turkey decoration she bought her one year is.

You bypass the kitchen entirely and move toward the living room, where you find your dad, grandfather, Jeff, and siblings all gathered, just as you’d expected. You slide down on the floor next to Jeff, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before more of your family arrives and you’re offering your set up anyway, and wait for the next round of chaos to begin.

It doesn’t take long. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins start pouring in and then it’s just introduction after introduction, as you wrap up showing off Jeff to one group just as the next arrives. You are absolutely confident he has no idea who anyone is, but it’s fine, because he’s still laughing and joking around with all your uncles and cousins that have joined you in watching football. 

The kitchen is its own brand of chaos, when you make a quick stop in on your back from a beer run, but chaos has never stopped your aunt before and it certainly isn’t today. “Oh my god!” She exclaims, after you’ve pressed a smacking kiss to the top of your grandmom’s head. “That boy!”

“What boy?” You ask, like an idiot, which is immediately clear from the looks you get from everyone in the kitchen, even your usually oblivious uncle, who’s doing...something...with the ham they’d brought. “Who, Jeff?”

“Yes.” Another aunt stresses. “He’s cute!”

You shrug. “Yeah, I mean-”

But your grandmom cuts you off this time. “And so friendly! Just the nicest boy! Oh, you couldn’t have found anyone better!” She exclaims.

“Well, I haven’t.” You announce, watching all of their faces fall. “So sorry to burst that bubble.”

“Why?” One of your older cousins frowns. “Girl. Get on that. You are not going to do better than that boy in there.”

“I truly don’t know if that was meant to be a dig at me or you all think that highly of Jeff already, but regardless. We are just friends.” Now everyone in the kitchen is giving you a look. You gather the beers and retreat, distributing them as you return to your spot on the floor near Jeff.

He’s giving you a look as you pass him his, but whatever’s on your face must not be too bad, because he just thanks you as you pass him the bottle, and you nod in return as you try to find the same comfortable spot as before, leaning against his thigh.

-----

Your dad catches you a bit later, as he’s coming back with beers this time and you’re coming out of the bathroom, and he nudges you carefully as you take a few bottles from his hand. “So Jeff?”

You groan. The tone of that statement was far too loaded. “Jesus, you too?”

Your dad laughs. “Who else?”

“Everyone.”

“Well maybe that should be your hint.” Your dad says teasingly, but also not? There’s definitely some seriousness to this. “That Jeff’s pretty perfect for you.”

You stare at him. “You’ve met Jeff, like, a hundred times. Why’s this coming out now?”

“I always thought you were my smart kid and that you’d figure it out yourself.” He muses. “Now I realize you’re only book-smart and you’d never figure this out on your own.” And then he leaves you there in the hallway, with your jaw dropped and too many thoughts, as he continues on, laughing at you.

-----

When the call to come serve yourselves echoes into the room, the usual mad scramble follows immediately. It’s only as you’re getting into line behind your brother that you realize that Jeff’s not with you anymore, and you abandon the long line waiting for food, in favor of seeking out Jeff.

You find Jeff upstairs, in your room, just kind of lounging on your bed, and you lean against the doorway. “Hey! Food’s ready.”

“Yeah.” Jeff nods, the smile he sends you back in return far too tight and forced to be genuine. “Be right down.”

But he doesn’t move, so you step in and climb into your bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Jeff laughs; it’s kind of hollow and doesn’t sound anything like his usual loud laugh or his giggles that you love. “What- nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Jeff.” You say softly. “Come on.”

He sighs. “Why did you bring me here?”

That...was not at all what you expected. “What?”

“Why did you bring me here?” He repeats. “Why did you bring me home, to your family? I thought, maybe, finally…” He trails off for a minute. “Except, there’s like ten other randos here too!” He laughs again, that hollow thing that you’re already hating. “Everybody in this family just brings people home, and that’s awesome, okay? Please don’t ever change that about yourself. I just-I thought we had something special, is all.” He says, sounding almost sad? Melancholy? 

“You are special.” You hate this. Jeff should never be sad; he should always be happy and smiling and joking. This is worse than seeing him after losses, worse than seeing him at low points in the season, that one game when he realizes that shit’s done and they’re just playing to keep playing now, that playoffs won’t be coming this year, again. “Jeff, you’re-”

“I’m in love with you.” Jeff says and it’s so straight-up, matter-of-fact, like it’s never not been a fact for him. “And I’m sorry I’ve fucked things up here for tonight and made this so awkward. I just- being here with you and your family just made me want you that much more.”

There’s so so so much you want to say to Jeff, but it’s like time is frozen. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything except look at him in awe, until he starts to move off your bed, when you reach for him, finally, resting your hand on his thigh, relieved when he looks back at you. “My dad thinks I’m an idiot.” You blurt out and Jeff just gives you a look. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” You take a deep breath, trying to gather the jumble of thoughts in your head. “Or at least, not the only thing. He thinks I’m an idiot because he thinks you’re perfect for me and I didn’t see it. My whole family thinks you’re perfect- cute and friendly and nice- and god, Jeff, you are! You’re all those things!” He’s still watching you, with like, barely the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “I just-didn’t realize you were perfect for me until we came here.”

Now he’s full on beaming, dimples showing, and you don’t even realize that you’re returning the grin until his hand comes up to your face, thumbing at the corner of your lip. “I’m sorry I’m a dumbass.” You finish lamely, too busy smiling at Jeff. “Please kiss me so we can make sure we get biscuits.”

Jeff hums. “I don’t know if I can kiss you now and just...stop.”

“Well I’m not going down to eat until you do.” You say stubbornly. “And you’ve been hyping up those biscuits since breakfast.”

“Fair enough.” Jeff laughs and then you’re smiling into the best first kiss you’ve ever had, tangling your hands into his hair and wondering if you may actually end up missing the meal this year.