#plus I just really liked her in a pantsuit

[omo321]

wanted to do a kaiao from the ski/cosplay episode for a while lol..... I was disappointed when he's put her in a dress instead

[leclsrc]

see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways. 

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety. 

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.” 

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water. 

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you. 

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening. 

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family? 

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh. 

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!” 

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family. 

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it. 

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills. 

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone. 

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place. 

You slide him five euros over breakfast. 

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards. 

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you. 

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses. 

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes. 

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room. 

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.” 

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face. 

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles. 

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating. 

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings. 

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh. 

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes. 

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him. 

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply. 

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off. 

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts. 

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

[tuberchelsea]

Come Out to LA

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple trip to LA to visit your childhood friend turns into a weekend of a life time

Genre: idol au, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers

CW: sexual content (grinding (we in da club), oral, fingering, exhibitionism (if you squint), dom!Yoongi, sub!reader, p in v), unwarranted Kiss Cam, Yoongi is just too fuckin cute. Also, we may have some sad girl times.

A/N: I have not been in the basketball circle for a while, so my knowledge is meh (also am not a Lakers fan). Also, for somebody (me) having a JK bias, Yoongi’s been on the (my) mind lately 🥴

Title inspiration: Come Out to LA - Don Broco

“Question - how would you feel about seeing a Lakers game while you’re here?” Your friend, Becca asks over the phone.

“I mean I’m not the biggest lakers fan, but it’s been a while since I’ve watched a game - I’m down!” Why not? You’d never been to Los Angeles, so it’d be a good idea to do as much as you can in the 4 days you’re there.

“Awesome! The game is tomorrow evening! Did you want to borrow a jersey? I have plenty hanging around!” Becca asked, knowing full well what your response was going to be.

“…I’ll just wear something nice.” There’s no was you’d be caught dead wearing a Lakers jersey.

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then!! Love you!!” As Becca hangs up the phone, you glance over at your half packed suitcase and the pile of rejected outfits sighing - packing shouldn’t be this hard. Looking over at your closet, you eye the new lavender pantsuit you’d bought months ago - might be time to put it to good use.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“Why do I keep punishing myself with bum-fuck early flights?” You curse to yourself as you off board your last connecting flight to LAX. You needed to find Becca - thankfully she was waiting by baggage claim.

“Girl, you look like you need caffeine.” Becca stated as she gave you a giant hug. You nodded in agreement - 4 am flights aren’t exactly your jam. Grabbing your bag off the carousel, you follow her out to the car. Not even buckled in, Becca started rambling off the schedule for the day - something that didn’t surprise you.

“So, I’m thinking we drop stuff off at the house, you can change, then we do brunch? Get coffee and eat - kill two birds with one stone.” You nodded, sending the necessary texts to your family.

“What else do we have today? Better question, when is the basketball game?” You inquired - she hadn’t really disclosed that to you.

“Oh! That’s tonight! We need to be there at least an hour before tip off, it’ll be a bit easier to get to the seats courtside, plus I-“

“Did you say courtside?” You interrupted her, looking up from your phone. She nodded, smiling mischievously. “How did you land courtside? HOW MUCH DO I OWE YOU??” You KNOW you couldn’t afford the ticket at this point, even if you didn’t go shopping.

She shakes her head and laughs, “you don’t owe me anything, hun! Besides, I got them for free bec-“

“Did you win a contest??” You interrupted again.

“No, I got them fr-“

“Oh! Gifted from work?” You interrupted once more. Becca then glared at you, reaching for her flip flop.

“Well! I! Could! Tell! You! If! You’d! Stop! Interrupting! Me!” She yelled, striking you on the thigh with each word. “Now hush!” She tossed her flip flop at you. Your eyes the size of dinner plates, you nodded obediently, rubbing your thigh to help with the sting. “Oh I didn’t hit you that hard. AS I WAS SAYING, I got the tickets because I’m dating one of the guards on the Lakers. We haven’t gone public with our relationship, so I can still enjoy sitting courtside without media in my face. I was able to get him to get another ticket tonight so I could take you to see a game - they’re actually pretty fun!” You nodded, processing the new information.

“Wow - you moving out here last year really changed you for the better.” You sigh, looking down at your hands.

She reaches over and places a hand on yours, sensing your change in mood, “how are you handling all of that, by the way?” You go silent for a moment, thinking over the events from the past year.

“I was able to have closure - his family is still on my side with everything. Nobody’s really heard from him since his family and I found out why he left me for her.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “But I’m hoping it’ll be easier for them and myself once I move away.” You look back down, fidgeting with your phone again.

“Where are you planning on moving to?”

“I’m hoping here - I’m gonna check out UCLA’s Marine Bio Grad program tomorrow. It was one highly recommended by my professors.”

“Well if everything works out, I could talk to the landlord of my apartment complex. He’s actually a pretty decent guy. Plus you’d be in a pretty decent location.” Becca shrugs, turning into the complex.

“And I’d be close to you?” giving her the side eye and a smirk.

“I mean I think that’s the best perk if anything! Now come on, grab your stuff and let’s get you changed so we can start the day! Race you to my place!” She says, already running for the door.

“Becca hold on, I need my ba - I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO GO!” Groaning, you grab your bags, trying not to trip over yourself as you follow suit.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“I still can’t believe you wore a pantsuit, hun. I still think you should’ve worn a jersey.” Becca shakes her head as you both enter the Staples Center.

“Well, I think it’s appropriate - it’s a tint of purple AND I wanted to look nice since we’re gonna be court side. Plus lots of people will see us, even if we’re not sitting with the celebs.” You shrug, placing the blazer to drape off your shoulders.

“Hun, you do understand that court side isn’t like the VIP lounges, right?” Becca quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Meaning?” You send her a confused look.

“Meaning we will be sitting with famous people. Like there’s only one ‘court side’, hun.”

“Well now I just hope there’s not any cute celebs.” You scoff, following Becca to the seats. She grabs her seat, pointing to her left to direct you to yours. As you take your seat, you hear a conversation to your left - one that’s not in English. Your curiosity wins and you (assumingely) nonchalantly turn to see where it was coming from. Almost immediately, you make direct eye contact with the person that’ll be sitting next to you for the night -

Suga.

He gives you a small wave and smile before sitting down, you do the same to him. Once sat, you turn to Becca with a bemused look on your face, earning a small shrug from her.

“Becca, I feel I don’t deserve to sit here!!” You whisper yell through a toothy grin, earning a laugh from her.

“You’re fiiiiiiine, hun. Just enjoy the moment! Now, do you want anything to drink?”

“…Red Bull please. Flavored is preferred, but no coconut.”

“Got it!” Becca saunters off to the drink stand, leaving you alone. Already feeling warm from the arena (the anxiety wasn’t helping), you decide to slip off your blazer. You stand to drape it over the back of your seat, leaving you in a sleeveless mock turtle neck.

Suddenly, you hear a small voice from your right - one you wouldn’t have heard if they weren’t right next to you. “I’m assuming you’re a fan of The Ocean?” You look up to see Suga pointing to your right arm, sporting a sea-themed sleeve.

“Well I hope I do, seeing as I’m a Marine Biologist.” Sitting down, you instantly regret what came out of your mouth - hoping the sarcasm wouldn’t be too lost in translation.

He laughed, surprising you that he didn’t think the line was cringy. “Marine Biologist? Do you study ocean animals then?”

“Not right now - kinda hard when you live in the mid western part of the United States. Currently I’m working with more lake, river and pond life. I’m hoping to switch to more oceanic when I finish my Master’s though.”

“So you’re not from LA?” Apparently he’d caught something in your ramblings.

Shaking your head, you answer “nope, I’m visiting my friend, Becca” you pointed to her still empty seat. “I currently live in Montana.”

“Ahh okay!” He nods, “I’ve never been there, but I want to someday. I hear it’s really pretty. Also! I didn’t catch your name!” Suga gives an apologetic look as you mentally slap yourself for not introducing yourself.

“I’m y/n! I didn’t mean to come across as rude, Sug-“

“Yoongi” he interrupts. You look at him with a confused look, your brain short circuiting. “You can call me Yoongi. Also, you weren’t being rude, I was the one that caught you off guard.” He gives you a soft smile, holding out his hand to shake yours. He then introduces his manager that’s sitting off to his left. As you two finish introductions, you feel something cool press against your cheek. Grabbing the can from Becca, you thank her before you take a drink.

“Oooh! They had my favorite flavor.” Tonight may just be okay.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“How did the refs miss an obvious travel?? Like he went almost half way across the court.” It’s coming close to the end of the 2nd quarter (not period, as you were immediately corrected by both Yoongi and Becca. “Don’t mind her, she’s more of a hockey fan.” Becca leans across you to apologize, getting a smile out of him), and while you are enjoying the game, you’re also enjoying the company around you. When the three of you aren’t yelling at the refs for missing blatant calls, you would carry conversations amongst the three of you (as well as you could in a loud arena); small talk quickly turning into more personal topics. Soon, the buzzer went off; indicating the end of the quarter.

“I’m going to head to the locker room to go see my man, then grab drinks on the way back - you want another Red Bull?” Becca asks you as she’s standing up. You nod, then she heads off. At the same time, you see Yoongi’s manager leave, leaving Yoongi and yourself alone. You feel the anxiety come back to you - while you were comfortable being around Yoongi, not having Becca there to back you up was slightly intimidating. As soon as you zone out though, you’re quickly brought back by a small touch on your forearm. You look to your left to see the hand belonging to Yoongi, who was wearing a slightly concerned look. “Are you okay, y/n?”

You blink a couple times before you nod, “yes! Sorry, I tend to zone out when my anxiety gets to be a bit much.” You then let out a breath you didn’t even think you were holding.

“Is the crowd becoming a bit much for you?” He asks, hand still on your arm. You nod. He sighs, “I’m glad I’m not the only one overwhelmed.”

It’s your turn to wear the concerned look, “I’m guessing this isn’t the same as performing, is it?”

He shakes his head, “there’s a reason I’m more of a background person” he laughs nervously.

“We suffer together then?” You suggest, hating yourself again for the cringy comment. He smiles, making you feel a bit better. The announcer then comes over the arena speakers, announcing the arrival of the Laker Dancers. You both shift your attention to the dancers on the court as Mic Drop begins to play over the speakers. You see a shift in Yoongi’s demeanor, becoming more stoic, bobbing his head to the beat. When the camera spans over to him, he gives a tight smile and a wave. Once the dancers left the court, Yoongi turns back to you, going back to being relaxed. The two of you trade more conversation while waiting for the second half to start, not even noticing when Becca and his manager return to their seats.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The game is closing in on the end of the 3rd quarter. At this point, you and Yoongi aren’t paying a lot of attention to what’s going on on the court - too engrossed in your conversation. You two were so engrossed in conversation that you didn’t even notice the play stop, what was said over the speakers or Becca calling for you.

“Y/N LOOK UP!! AT THE JUMBOTRON!!” You direct your attention to the screen above you - to see yourself.

And Yoongi.

Featured on the Kiss Cam.

He must have caught it too; because if looks could kill, most of Staples Center would be gone. Instead of getting the hint that you two weren’t happy about this, the Cam stayed focused on you two for a lot longer than necessary. Becca then reached over and grabbed your face, just to plant a big kiss on your cheek. The Cam moves on, giving some much needed relief to both you and Yoongi. Once the awkwardness of the moment had passed over, both of you turned to face each other.

“I’m so sorry!!” You both blurted out at the same time.

Yoongi throws you a confused look, “why are you sorry?”

“I feel me sitting here conversing with you in The Public Eye may look questionable to those around us - I don’t want to ruin anything for you.” You quietly confessed, looking down at your hands.

Yoongi smirks, shaking his head, “if I was so worried about that, I wouldn’t have said a word to you in the first place! Besides, I was the one that started our conversation. If anything, I’m sorry you had to be put on the spot like that. I wasn’t even aware they were gonna feature me on that - not that they had a reason to anyways.”

“Well I have a small feeling somebody is gonna lose their job today.” You looked over Yoongi’s shoulder to see his Manager in a heated conversation with Lakers Staff. He looked over to his manager, then turned back to you wearing a grimace. You both began laughing, covering your mouths with your hands as an attempt to hide it.

Sometime later, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. “Do you mind waiting a bit, hun? I wanna see my man before we head out. Should only be about 15 minutes.” Becca asked, gathering her stuff. You shrug, nodding - there was no other way you would get back to her house anyways.

As she walked off, you began gathering your stuff, then turned to Yoongi. Taking a deep breath, you blurted out without thinking, “thank you for making the game a bit more enjoyable! It was really nice meeting you!” You immediately cringed at yourself, apologizing. I really need to think before I speak my dear god, you thought.

“You’re okay, y/n! I enjoyed your company too.” Yoongi gave you a small smile, causing you to smile back. There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you - even though the arena was still loud. “Oh! You said you were here for the weekend, are you busy tomorrow night?” Yoongi asked, breaking the silence.

“Other than I’m visiting UCLA before noon and probably going to go shopping once Becca is off work, I have nothing else planned!” Your heart began to race, you cannot believe this is happening.

“Awesome! Well we’re thinking of hitting a club downtown tomorrow evening, around 9? Would you guys want to join us? If that’s your thing, haha” Yoongi asked, looking nervous while looking for his phone.

“I would be down! Though you’d have to tell me where to go cause I no idea where that place is at.” You smile. Yoongi smiles back, looking like he let out a sigh of relief. He then hands over his phone, asking for your number.

“I’ll text you when I get back to my hotel?” He asks.

“Okay! Can you send those photos over that you took then?” You respond, Yoongi nodded in response. His manager then came back to his side, noting his departure. You two waved, sharing huge smiles. Becca soon returns to your side. “Why the big grin, hun?”

“I’ll tell you in the car!” You say, wearing a huge smile on your face, silently praying to your higher powers to not mess up this weekend.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

Unknown number: Hey! It’s Yoongi! ☺️

Y/N🐙: Hey! I’m assuming you made it back to your hotel okay?

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Yes! Only had to deal with Army’s; no paps thank goodness.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Did you make it home yet?

Y/N🐙: Yes - like we just pulled up to her apartment.

Y/N🐙: Also didn’t have to deal with paps 💁🏼

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Oh thank goodness 😮‍💨

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Attachment - 2 photos

Y/N🐙: Ooh! I like those!

Y/N🐙: Attachment - 3 photos

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Ooh these ones are cute

Y/N🐙: Cute?? 👀

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Like I said, wouldn’t have talked to you if I didn’t want to - wanted to cause I think you’re cute 🤷🏼‍♀️

Y/N🐙: …🤭

Y/N🐙: That’s as good of a flirty comeback as I can conjure at the moment cause it’s past my bedtime 🥲

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: I understand - it’s past mine too. I have a mid morning photo shoot tomorrow; I’ll text you in the morning?

Y/N🐙: Works for me! 😌

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“What time are you going to the college?” Becca asked the next morning while she was feeding her dog, Vanya.

“I meet with the Head of the Post Grad Biology department at 11, so probs head out at 10. Will that be enough time for me to get there?” You asked, pulling up the subway schedules.

“It should be. But I’ve gotta go - I’ll be home around 4 and we can go shopping for outfits for tonight?” You nodded in response as your phone pinged, showing a new message. Becca leaned over to peek at your phone to see a message from Yoongi. “My dear Gods this man must like you enough to text you at 8 am on a Saturday!” She smirks as you try to hide the blush on your face.

“Get to work, loser. I’ll see you later!” You laugh as her and Vanya run out the door.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Morning! ☺️ What time are you headed to the college this morning?

Y/N🐙: Morning!! I meet with the Department Head at 11, so I’m headed out a bit before 10!

Y/N🐙: What time is your shoot?

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: It starts at 9 - thankfully I’m not having to go far cause I’m not even awake enough to order the right coffee this morning

Y/N🐙: Speaking of, I should probs make sure my route to the college includes a coffee stop. I’m still dealing with jet lag.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: You’re preaching to the choir, Y/N.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Aish, my manager is calling for me, I’ll give you a call after I’m done with the shoot!

Y/N🐙: Okay! Have fun! ☺️

After finishing breakfast, you changed into a simple pair of Khakis, a hunter green blouse and white vans. Donning a simple make up look, you completed the look with a simple ballet bun. Throwing on your AirPods, you headed out the door, making your trek towards the Subway station and hopefully some coffee.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“MIss L/N, I feel you would be an excellent addition to the Master’s Marine Bio Program! We could use a new Reseaarch Lab manager as well - plus you’d get credit for working.” You’d spent the last hour with the Department Head, him chatting your ear off. You’d grown more excited about attending; the lab job making the deal more enticing. Off hand, you’d mentioned your earlier lab work with your professor; the name immediately catching the Dept Head’s ear. “I thought I’d seen you were coming from MSUB! I had the honor of working with your Animal Bio professor years ago! Still love his research on scorpions - fascinating work.” You nod, having worked on it as your first lab project. Walking back to his office, he’d asked if there were any questions you’d had.

“Yes! I’d heard that Research Diving would be added to the curriculum - when is that happening?” You’d just finished your SCUBA certification for the subject - might as well use it.

“This next school year - right when you’d be starting if you enrolled by the end of next month!” You nodded, seriously contemplating applying. He handed you a business card, mention to email him once you had enrolled - if you choose to. You place the card in your wallet, standing to shake hands. Once you were out of his office, almost out of the building, you’d decided to check your phone. You look to see 3 messages from Yoongi, 2 from Becca and the Family Group Chat flooded with messages. Ignoring the group chat, you see that Becca is stuck working a double and won’t be able to join tonight. Internally cursing, you reply that it’s okay and you’d probably see her later tonight or in the morning. You then check the messages from Yoongi; 2 of them complaining about the shoot, and one asking if you were still at the college. You decide to call him instead.

“Hey, Y/N!” Yoongi picks up after 2 rings.

“Hey, Yoongi! I just saw your text messages; I just finished the college tour! Also, sorry about the shoot being so boring.”

“It’s no problem, but I was wondering if you’d have time to do lunch right now? I’m near the college and there’s a small restaurant nearby that I frequent anytime I’m in town.”

“Sure! I’m free for the afternoon. Can you send me the address?”

“Of course! Do you need a ride there?” You hear the text notification and check the address on Maps.

“Nah, it’s a block outside the campus - I can be there in 20 max!” Thank goodness you didn’t wear heels.

“Okay! I’ll meet you there then!” Hanging up the phone and putting your AirPods in, you began the trek to the restaurant. I’m really getting my steps in today I guess, you thought.

As you approach your destination, you pull out your phone to see if Yoongi is here yet (you’d made it in 10 minutes instead of 20), when you suddenly get a text notification from him.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: You know, that was one of my favorite songs to perform live - wish we could’ve performed it more than once.

Y/N🐙: …wut

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: UGH! It’s one of my favorites.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Also, it’s not good to listen to your music that loud.

Y/N🐙: …you’re scaring me

You feel a tap on your shoulder, so you quickly spin around and nearly give the perp, Yoongi, The Elbow. Pulling out one of your headphones, you shout “DONT DO THAAAAAT YOU SCARED ME!” wearing a frightened look. Yoongi was wearing a mischievous smile in return, which then made you glare at him.

He laughs, “I am so sorry - I just saw an open opportunity and took it!”

“I could’ve hurt you though!!”

“I don’t think you would’ve cause that much damage - now follow me!” He quickly changes the subject and you follow him into the restaurant, which happened to be Tradtional Korean. The older lady at the host stand looked up and her face lit up as soon as she saw Yoongi.

“Yoongi!! It’s been a while! How are you doing??” Yoongi bows to her, you follow in respect.

“Hae Won-nim, hello! It has been a while! Everything is going well! You have room for two more in here?” Yoongi jokes, looking around the crowded restaurant. Hae Won chuckles, giving the two of you a huge smile.

“Of course I do! I’ll have you and your friend follow me this way.” She then glanced over at you, putting emphasis on the word ‘friend’. Following the two, you decided not to put too much thought into it. Once sitting and handed menus, Yoongi helped you order (you asked him if there was something not too spicy; or at least milk to help with the spiciness), then filed you in on how the shoot went. You updated him on your decision for college; having chosen to apply to UCLA. When the meals came out, a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you; even with a busy restaurant.

“Ooooh Becca is gonna LOVE this for her after work meal! Thank you again, Yoongi.” You beam, happily full from lunch. Yoongi and you are wandering around the neighborhood, still in-depth with the conversation you were having at lunch. As you were meandering, you’d passed by a Record Shop - Yoongi insisted you both stop in. Which it’s a good thing you did - you were able to finally get your hands on some B-Side 7-inches from Slipknot and Foo Fighters.

“I’m taking it you’re a vinyl collector?” Yoongi inquires, chuckling as you dove head first into the vinyl section.

“…yes. It’s a soft spot of mine. My ex used to complain about how many I had, so I stopped buying any for a while. Now that I don’t have to worry about his opinion, I’m going a bit crazy with it. Besides, I have a lot of catching up to do.” Fishing out your vinyl list on your phone, you show it to him.

“You were not joking. But no BTS?” Yoongi looks in surprise.

“I already have what’s available on vinyl. But it’d be cool if you’d release Map of the Soul 7. And maybe Young Forever?” Tilting your head to the side, you smile and wiggle your eyebrows.

“…I’ll see what I can do.” Yoongi repsonds, smirking as he shakes his head.

After letting time slip from the both of you, Yoongi walks you back to the subway station. “Are you still on for tonight?” He asks as you reach the station.

“Yes! Though Becca won’t be joining - apparently she’s stuck working.” You sigh.

“That’s too bad - but I’m happy you can still join. I’ll have a driver come pick you up from her place at 9 - I’ll need you to send me the address.” You nod, sending it over to him.

“Well, I had fun, Yoongi. Thank you again for lunch - and the vinyls! I’ll see you tonight!” You open your arms to hug him, and thankfully he did the same. After holding each other for what feels like forever, you both let go. You look down at his lips,he does the same. Just as the both of you were moving in closer, the subway is pulling up, screeching to a halt. The announcer calls for your destination over the intercom, signaling its your time to leave. Sighing, you gather your stuff and head for the open doors. Before you board on, you turn to Yoongi, waving and yelling “I’ll see you tonight!!”, almost tripping as you enter the car. Yoongi giggles, shaking his head with a smile.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“I need to see your ID, please”, the bouncer outside the door asks. You hand him your ID, noting to him that you’re supposed to meet somebody in the VIP area. Checking his list and your name, he confirms you, letting you in. “He’s in the third booth on the left, just so you know.” You thank him as you head up the stairs. You immediately notice Yoongi within the crowd; he must have been watching the door. You immediately rush over to him, being enveloped in a bear hug before you can say anything.

“Hey, Y/N! I was just about to grab drinks - come with me!” Yoongi weaves his arm through yours, pulling you towards the bar. Once up to the bar, he ordered a neat whiskey for himself and a blueberry Red Bull for you. “This outfit is a 180 from this afternoon!” He points out, giving your outfit a once over. You’d ditched the khaki outfit for a pleather mini skirt, black bralette, mesh top, fishnets and Dr. Martens.

“Well I wanted to go with something more…comfortable.” You smirk, moving closer to Yoongi.

“Well, I think this outfit looks amazing on you.” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You blush, biting your lower lip and look away. It’s Yoongi’s turn to smirk, passing you your drink. He offers his hand, which you take, and leads you over to the booth; where you’re introduced to some of his friends.

“So, did you want to go dance?” Yoongi asked, tilting his head towards the dance floor. You nod, following him out. Once you two are towards the center of the floor, Yoongi grabs your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest. As you two start dancing, all you can hear is the music and Yoongi’s soft, deep voice. One song turns into a few; simple dancing turns into sensual grinding. Yoongi is leaving small kisses and nips on the back of your neck; each one shooting sensations down to your core. You reach back, looping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush with his front. You can feel his hard on, so you begin to tease him more, eliciting a low growl from him.

As another song ends, he pulls you back to the booth and before you can even try to sit next to him, he pulls you into his lap; your back to his chest and legs hooked around his. The implied dominance turns you on even more. As he is talking to his buddies, his gorgeous hands sit on your thighs, playing with the strings of the fish nets. While you nonchalantly carry on conversation with those around you, you shifted in his lap, eliciting another low growl. His hands begin to go higher up your legs, almost under the mini skirt. You look over your shoulder to try and catch his eye - he’s enveloped in a conversation next to you. You ‘readjust’ in his lap again, trying to catch his attention - he moves one hand dangerously close to your core. You sharply inhale, trying to pull your skirt hem down a bit. You feel Yoongi’s lips on the tip of your ear, “you best behave, baby.” Your face and ears feel like they’re on fire - his fingers brushing over your bare folds, making you inhale sharply again. He stops his movement, pulling his hand from you skirt. “Let’s go dance again.” He pulls you from his lap, then grabs your hand, dragging you across the dance floor before you can even register what’s going on.

On the other side of the dance floor, in a dark corner, sat a couple private rooms. Yoongi opened a door, made sure nobody was in there, then pulled you in. He slammed the door shut, then pinned you against the door with your hands over your head. With the hand on your thigh, he pushes your skirt up, resting his hand on your hip. He leans close to your ear again, speaking in a deep voice that made you even more wet. “First, you come here looking irresistible” his hand moves to your core. “Secondly, you feel the need to tease me” he finger slides along your slit, eliciting a small moan from you. “And the final strike, you’re not wearing panties?” He beings to play with your clit before inserting a finger into your pussy. “Y/N, I thought you were a good girl?” A second finger joins, causing you to moan even louder.

Gathering yourself for a moment, you look up at Yoongi. “I AM a good girl! Most of the time.” You smirked. Yoongi stopped his ministrations, pulling his fingers from you. The two of you lock eyes and Yoongi grabs your face, hungrily kissing you while pinning your body with his to the door. Letting out a moan, he takes the chance to explore your mouth with his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you grab his hair at the nape and slightly pull, causing him to growl and bite your bottom lip. He begins to kiss your jaw line, making his way down your neck and finally making purchase at the junction of your neck and collar bone. He sucks a mark there, drawing another moan from you. “I honestly don’t think I could ever get tired of that sound” Yoongi begins to kneel, propping a leg on his shoulder. “Now, let’s hear how you sound when I do this-“ licking a strip from the bottom of your slit to your clit, causing you to moan out his name. “Fuck, baby; you sound AND taste AMAZING.” Yoongi moans against your clit, causing you to moan as well. He dove in, lapping at your hole like a starved man. He soon moved his tongue up to your clit, inserting two fingers into your hole. You started feeling your core tightening when he found your sensitive spot, your hand immediately grabbing onto his hair.

“F-f-fuuuck, Yoongi. I’m close!” Your thighs begin to tremble, causing him to hook your other leg over his shoulder. He inserted a third finger into you, eliciting his name from your lips again.

“Baby, cum for me; let me have a taste.” As if you were a puppet under his control, your orgasm washed over you while Yoongi lapped up your cum from your pussy, not letting a drop go to waste. He kept lapping at you after you came down, causing you to pull him away due to overstimulation. Yoongi then adjusts your mini skirt, standing to meet your slightly fucked out gaze with his own. He then gently cradled your chin, kissing you softly. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against yours, releasing a deep, but content, sigh. “Would you like to continue this at my hotel room?” His eyes felt like they were looking into your soul at this point; but you couldn’t look away either. With a big smile and a glint in your eye, you say in a small voice:

“Yes. Please.”

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The hotel room door isn’t even fully shut before you two were all over one another, a trail of clothing following the two of you while making your way to the bedroom. Once fully stripped, Yoongi lifted you under your thighs and placed you on the bed. As he hovered over you, he gazed down at your figure - your hair fanned over the pillow, eyes dilated and bottom lip bitten. To him, you were the most beautiful thing on earth. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, “baby, I don’t think I have condoms with me, I cou-“

You quickly interrupted him, “as long as you’re clean, I’m good. Had my check up a couple weeks ago and I’m in the clear, plus haven’t hooked up with anybody since my ex. Also, am on the pill religiously, so if you’re good to go, so am I.”

Yoongi looks at you with his signature gummy smile, “fuck, baby.” His lips find your sensitive spot on your neck immediately, sucking another mark there. His hands glide south gently along your curves, then onto your inner thighs, touching just enough to send sparks up your spine and to your pussy. As his fingers lightly touch your folds, his mouth begins to move to your chest, capturing a nipple with it. He then plunges two fingers into you, “still so wet for me, baby.”

“Yoongi, fuuuuck”, still slightly sensitive from the orgasm before, you feel yourself coming to the edge a bit quicker than usual. He moves from one nipple to the other, using his fingers to scissor you pussy wider. “I’m gonna cu-“ Yoongi then pulled his fingers out, leaving you on edge. Your eyes grew big and you let out a strained whine, completely astonished at what he just pulled.

“I want you to cum on my cock, can you be a good girl and do that for me?” He asks as he sticks his fingers into your mouth, having you taste yourself. You nod, then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, pumping his thick cock before he slid the tip along your pussy lips a couple times to collect some of your arousal. He wraps your legs around his waist, then began to slowly enter you. He leaned over to trap your lips and the loud moan that they would inevitably release as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuuuuck, I already feel so full”, you moan out. Yoongi’s cock was probably the biggest you’d taken, the stretch causing a little pain, but it was immediately blocked by the immense pleasure. Just from him entering you, you already felt you were gonna cum.

“Ahhh, Y/N baby, I can already feel you clenching around me. You gonna cum already?” Thrust. “My cock feel that good, baby?” Thrust. “You even look fucked out already, can’t even answer me!” Thrust. “Cum for me, baby - now.” You then let go on command, feeling your core unravel as Yoongi continued to thrust through your comedown. He then took your legs up, pushing the back of your thighs to bring your legs down to your chest - putting you in a mating press.

As he began to pump into you again, you looked down at where you two connected. “Oh my god, right there, Yoongi. FUCK.” He was hitting that spot again, better than last time. Your brain was starting to turn cock-drunk; all you could think of was the pure pleasure Yoongi was giving you as you looked down again.

“Ohhh, you like seeing my cock split this pretty pussy, don’t you? This. Pretty. Pussy. Feels. Amazing. Like. It’s. MADE. For. Me.” He punctuated each word with a thrust, his hands pushing your legs wider so he could see more of you. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m getting close. Gonna fill this pretty pussy full of me - gonna make it mine.” He brought a thumb to you clit, drawing figure eights to bring you to his level again. You were a bumbling mess; not even able to form words or thoughts as you were getting close. Just as your orgasm hit for the third time tonight, your clenching triggered his release, painting your walls white. After a couple thrusts to get out all the semen, Yoongi then collapsed on top of you, still inside. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath, staring deep into each other. Yoongi smiled, kissing your nose, then bringing his forehead to yours. “You okay, babe?” You smile and nodded, still feeling slightly fuzzy. As he softened, he pulled out, watching some of your mixed cum leak out. Letting out a content sigh, he stood up, picking you up bridal style. “Come on - let’s get cleaned up.”

Once out of the shower; which included you being fucked on the wall from behind (his excuse: Not my fault all of you is irresistible). You got dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers, then went to grab water as he got dressed as well. As you hand him his water, Yoongi notices a glint of a worried look on your face. Putting a finger under your chin to have you make eye contact, he asks, “penny for your thoughts?” You sigh, contemplating just saying no. But you couldn’t, as it immediately bugged you.

“Do I need to have Becca pick me up? And if so, do you want her to do it soon or earlier in the morning? I mean I don’t want to cause any dra-“ Yoongi pulls you into an intense kiss, shutting you up immediately.

“Y/N, baby, you worry too much. I want you to stay the night and I’ll take you back tomorrow when we both feel like it. Maybe we’ll get brunch first or something like that. I would like to get as much time with you as I can before I leave.” You left as though a weight was off your shoulders as you smile at him. After finishing your waters, you both head to bed, lying on Yoongi’s chest. His steady heartbeat, breathing and his fingers combing your hair helped you fall asleep. Yoongi then softly cradled your cheek, placing a kiss on your head. I hope to be able to see you again, baby, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

Waking up the next morning, you and Yoongi decide to go to a small cafe a couple blocks from his hotel. After orders are placed and juices are brought to the table, he grabs your hands with his. You look up at him and he asks, “So since you’re going to UCLA, when are you moving here?”

“I will probably move here next month, depending on when the apartment next to Becca’s is ready to go. Why?”

“Well, somebody has to help you move - that somebody being me.” he kissed your knuckles.

——————————

A/N pt 2: This legit was sitting in my drafts for almost a month because writing the not smut part was harder than it needed to be 🥴

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

GIF by kykygif

Chapter 3 : Unfortunate Circumstances

Chapter 2

Plot: Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, y/n's car breaks down and only Kylian is on hand to help.

Word Count: 1771

"Shit, shit, shit!" y/n yelled, slamming her palm into the steering wheel several times.

No matter how many times she twisted the key, her car's engine refused to start. It kept revving up, giving her a snippet of hope, before the rumbling noise died out again.

For a little while, she sat, her forehead against the wheel. It was dark outside, which since it was July, was saying something. After Kylian's backhanded Instagram story yesterday, she'd been dying at the office and had only managed to escape her ever-mounting workload at this late hour.

Now, thanks to her stupid, ten-year-old car, her entire night was ruined as well as her evening and her day. Besides the night security team, nobody else was at the facility. She'd have to order an Uber, which would take forever to come, given that the facility was miles from the city. Plus, paying for an Uber would bankrupt her, on top of the mechanic fees she was going to have to pay.

One final time, she placed her hand on the key, "Come on, baby, you can do this."

No, it couldn't.

For the second day in a row, she sat alone and let out a loud yell, a roar really, except this time she received a response. There was a loud knock on her window and she glanced up, a frown immediately descending on her features.

Right outside her window, Kylian Mbappé stood, a self-satisfied grin on his face. When she just glared at him, he raised his hand and waved condescendingly.

Mortified, she wound down her window, the fact that her window was manually rolled down only adding to her embarrassment. Inch by inch, it slowly squeaked down, while she twisted the handle, and she glanced back up at him, sucking on her teeth awkwardly.

"You okay in there?" he asked peering down at her.

"Peachy." she declared, "Can I help you?"

"Car trouble?"

"No. I just like sitting in here, don't worry."

Unimpressed, he frowned, "Do you need a lift?"

"No, thank you." she cleared her throat, "I'll just... be fine, thanks."

"Get out of the car; I'm giving you a lift. Which arrondissement do you live in?"

"I don't need a lift, thank you, Kylian."

He frowned, folding his arms over his chest, "Get out of the car."

Sinking down in her seat, she stared straight ahead, out the windshield, arms folded over her chest, "I'm perfectly happy here."

"You can't sit in your car all night to spite me. You need to get home."

"I'll be fine." she declared, getting back to work winding the window up, "Goodnight."

As soon as she finished the window, he swung her door open, "Come on." he declared, sternly.

"Do you always demand random women get into your car?" she asked, refusing to stare anywhere but out of her windshield.

Grabbing her arm and pulling her out himself, he murmured, "Seulement les jolies."

A scowl rested on her face but she followed him to his car, well aware that he was right, she really did need a lift home- not that she'd ever tell him that. His car was nice, a large, blacked-out Mercedes, the kind of car a soccer mom would drive, which she found quite amusing. Hesitantly, she climbed into the passenger seat, relaxing into the comfortable leather.

As he started the engine, she mumbled, "Thank you."

He glanced out the window at her beat-up little car, as he drove past it in the parking lot, "Why do you drive a toaster?" he asked, not looking over at her, "Enrique been skimping on your paycheque?"

"I'm yet to get my first paycheque. Besides, I just moved to Paris, do you know how expensive that is?"

As much as she had a point; his car made hers look like a horse and cart. Besides, her lump of metal on wheels probably should've been scrapped before she was even born. She settled into his heated seat, watching the GPS on the screen.

"What, did you waste all your money on pantsuits?" he asked.

"I'm wearing a skirt."

Why did she say that as though he hadn't noticed?

They both settled into awkward silence, as he pulled out of the facility. After a few minutes, he quietly said, "Where am I taking you?"

She leant forward, typing her address into the car's GPS. He watched her and commented, "You live in the 18th?" At first, he looked a little puzzled, maybe concerned, though she highly doubted that as she wasn't too sure he experienced emotions besides horny and amused. However, when his face morphed into a smirk (an amused smirk), she already knew what was coming, "Are you a-"

"No, I'm not a fucking prostitute." she finished for him.

He grinned widely as she scowled furiously, "I was joking, jeez. That's a rough neighbourhood."

"Unfortunately, not everyone in this city can afford to live ten metres from the Eiffel Tower in a twenty-bedroom penthouse."

"You're the head of PR at PSG, I don't think you're exactly on minimum wage."

"Well, until two weeks ago I was just some PR junior at Chelsea." she paused, "This was a big promotion but I know how temporary these can be. I'm living below my means because I know my means can change like the wind."

He puffed out air, "Do you never wanna treat yourself though?"

"Easier to treat yourself when you make 2 million euros a week."

"Only if you round up." he muttered, "What were you doing at the office that late anyway?"

Flatly, she asked, "Do you really want me to say it?"

"Dealing with me?"

"You know, I relaxed for all of five seconds last night. It was so blissful until I saw your Instagram."

He contemplated apologising for maybe five seconds before remembering that it was a she-devil trapped in a supermodel's body, who sat in his passenger seat. "You follow my Instagram?"

"Literally my job."

"I'm not going to follow you back."

"Didn't ask you to."

"But you want me to, secretly. I mean, how cool would your little brother think you are?"

"I don't have a little brother." she shook her head, "Every time I think you have any redeeming qualities or you seem the least bit likeable, you just wreck it all."

"I can be very likeable." he shrugged.

"That doesn't mean you're likeable or nice. Anyone can lie."

"But I am likeable and I am very nice." he declared.

"I see, so it's just me who gets this side of you?"

"Yep." he popped his 'p'. She didn't reply.

After a while, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She turned, casting a glare in his direction. Her eyes dragged down to his biceps, bulging out of his tight t-shirt and- No. She wasn't drooling over his muscles, no matter how big they were or how much she wanted to touch them. No! Sure, he was handsome, but he was a complete ass! He'd just admitted that!

She sighed, "I don't hate you."

"Well, hate is a very strong word." he conceded.

"Okay. But I don't hate you."

"Apology accepted."

"It wasn't an apology."

"Well, if it was I would accept it."

She shook her head, turning to look out of the window to hide the slight smile creeping onto her face, "I have nothing to apologise for."

"You ruined my reputation."

"You brought it on yourself, really. Besides, you'll recover."

He hesitated, "The old head of PR never cancelled me."

"The old head of PR got fired for a reason, and you're not cancelled."

"I feel pretty cancelled."

She rolled her eyes, as they approached the city, leaning her head on the cold window. They cruised through Paris, the street narrowing more and more the further into the urban landscape they grew.

As they neared Montmartre, she quietly said, "You can just drop me here if you want, you don't need to go out of your way."

Dryly, he laughed, "No." he softened his tone, "You shouldn't be alone at night here, it's not safe."

"It's fine. I'm a black belt in kung fu."

"What, really?"

"No. But I'm fine."

"What, have you got someone waiting to protect you at home?"

"Nope, but it's not the 18 hundreds, I don't need a chaperone."

"So there's no boyfriend in the picture or-"

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me after lecturing me for cancelling you?"

"No, I just thought you would. You know, a good-looking woman like yourself, who knows the Kylian Mbappé. What guy wouldn't be interested?"

"Well, I don't officially know you. You don't follow me back on Instagram, after all."

Without even thinking about it, he laughed, leaning back into his seat He shrugged, "Hey, if you release a statement displaying PSG's adoration of me, maybe I'll consider liking a couple of your posts."

"Have you ever spoken to a woman before?" she asked.

"I'm not flirting." he huffed.

"So you're just asking me if I have a boyfriend because I'm good-looking and you're curious?"

"Yeah. I'm just being friendly and sociable." he hesitated before adding, "And nice and likeable. Your name is y/n... something, you don't have a brother, you don't have a boyfriend, you're not very good at kung fu, you're wearing a skirt, you make less than 2 million euros a week, you used to work at Chelsea, and you now live but don't work in the red light district."

She was a little taken aback but she didn't let it show on her face. After a moment or two, she declared, "I have a brother."

"You said you didn't?"

"I said I didn't have a little brother. He's two years older than me."

"And he's a big Kylian Mbappé fan?"

"Nah, he thinks you're-" she cut herself off, clearing her throat, "No, not really."

"He thinks I'm what?" he asked, glancing at her.

She hesitated before admitting, "A conceited prick who causes his sister week-long stomach aches."

"Oh."

"You asked," she mumbled.

"Maybe he has a point. But I can be very nice."

"You keep saying that. I'm still waiting on the evidence."

He pulled the car over, "You'll see."

She glanced out the window, up at her apartment block, then turned back to him, "Thank you for the lift, Kylian."

"You're welcome, y/n."

She opened the door and climbed out of the car, a satisfied grin on her face as her back was to him. Then, she headed inside, unaware that his eyes were fixed on her until her front door closed. He watched her leave the car and cross the street, just to make sure the freaks that hung around in her dodgy neighbourhood didn't try anything with her. Then, even once the door had closed, he watched for a couple more minutes, just to be sure.

Not because he cared about her of course. Because he didn't. He made that very clear in his mind. Just because he was a nice person. He'd do the same for anyone. Even y/n.

[emberenchanted]

For Keeps (1/3)

Title: For Keeps

Characters: Dark!Carol Danvers x Female Reader

Summary: Carol sees you. Carol wants you. Carol gets what she wants. 

Series Warnings: extremely dubious consent, strap-on (r receiving), sex (oral, vaginal), anal fingering, Dom!Carol, orgasm denial, spanking, violence (not really towards reader), manipulation, forced relationship, rough sex, Ma’am kink

Note: All three chapters of this fic are already written. This is my very first (and maybe only) fic I’m posting on Tumblr. So if you like it, please let me know. All forms of feedback welcome. Comments and reblogs especially. 

18+ ONLY

Chapter 1

Carol was not happy. Though perhaps that was an understatement. As Carol stomped down the front steps of Mel’s Tavern and shoves open the door, she was honest enough to admit she was pissed. After a long week, an absolute shit week, all Carol wants to do on her Friday night is go to Thor’s brothel, have too much Asgardian liquor, and take out her frustrations on one of the pretty little whores in his employ. Instead, she’s in Mel’s trying to figure out why he hadn’t made his monthly payment for the 2nd month in a row. Though to be fair, this visit was less about finding out why he’d not made his payment and more about reminding him why he needed to make his payment. Carol wasn’t a therapist or a social worker, so she didn’t really give a shit about the why. 

Striding into the poorly lit, smoky bar, filled with gaudy tchotchkes and an unfortunate looking crowd, Carol quickly glances around the room looking for Mel. She wants to get in and out of this dive as soon as possible. However, Mel was nowhere to be found; he was smart to make himself scarce knowing that he’d missed payday, but dumb as fuck to make Carol wait. To be fair, he probably didn’t know he was making Carol wait. He most likely thought he was simply avoiding one of the lesser Avenger goons. Unfortunately for Mel, he wasn’t the only “security client” who’d neglected to pay his dues in the Avengers’ territory recently. That, plus Steve’s suspicion that there was a mole in the family meant that Carol had been drafted to figure out what was going on and to fix the problem.

Carol strides to the doorman, black low-heeled boots clicking on the grungy and slightly sticky tile floor. In her bespoke all black pantsuit, she cut a striking figure. Short dark blonde hair curled around a strong jaw on one side; the other side razed into a short undercut. The doorman stands up quickly when he sees her. 

“Ma’am,” he starts, before Carol puts up her hand.

“Where’s Mel?,” Carol interrupts. “If he’s in the back, go get him. If he’s not, tell him I’m here and that the longer I wait, the more pissed off I’ll become. Got it?”

The doorman nods sharply before turning on his heel and heading toward the closed off offices in the back of the bar.

Carol rolls her shoulders once to relieve some tension before walking over to the bar; she finds the least sticky chair and takes a seat before tapping her index finger on the bar top two times to get the bartender’s attention. That was when she saw you. 

You hadn’t noticed her until she’d sat at the bar, but you recognize the confident way she situated herself in the room as someone used to wielding authority. Seated so she had a clear view of most of the room and all of the exits, the woman leaned back into her chair, eyes flickering around the room until they stopped on you. You meet her gaze. As her intense honey brown orbs pin you in place, you begin to feel a bit shy; your heart pounds loudly in your chest and you lower your eyes. You curse yourself silently and tell yourself that she was just like any other customer. A hot customer. A really fucking hot customer. You would just do your job. Deep breaths.

The woman seems to notice your discomfort and her eyes glitter as they flicker up and down your body, pausing at your hips, waist, and the slight swell of your breasts visible over your black tank top. 

You shift uncomfortably and tug at the hem of your tank, desperately wishing that you’d thought to put on your jacket before your shift. Your outfit was by no means revealing, but the way she was looking at you made you feel like she could see right through your clothes. Her eyes meet yours once more and she gives you a gentle smirk that makes your breath catch. Your hands immediately come together in front of you, fingers twisting around each other as you meet her steely gaze. 

You stand up straight, lift your chin and walk over to the bar, fiercely hoping your demeanor doesn’t betray your nervousness.

“Hi, welcome to Mel’s. Can I get you something?,” you ask the woman, voice squeaking just a bit.

“Well hello there, baby,” she drawls in a sing-song voice, head tilting slightly as she gives you another long onceover; she doesn’t try to hide it, her eyes dragging the last few inches from your mouth to your eyes slowly. “Give me a shot of Crown, neat. Ok?”

“Yes, ma’am!” you quickly puff out, already retreating to fetch her drink. 

Carol’s smile widens at the address and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, her night is turning around. As you turn around to grab a whiskey glass and pour her shot, Carol’s eyes crawl over the curve of your waist and delicious looking ass. Yes, indeed. Her night was looking up.

   As you pour the drink you think about how...excellent the customer’s voice is. Husky and soft, it slithered into your ears and made you briefly wonder what that voice would sound like in bed. 

You pour a healthy shot of the whiskey in the glass and set it in front of the blonde woman, before quickly stepping back. She raises the glass slightly in your direction before slowly sipping her drink, her throat bobbing as she swallows while staring directly into your eyes. Her wet, pink tongue slips out to lick a drop of whiskey lingering on her plump bottom lip. Your eyes are glued to the motion and your face gets hot when you realize she’d watched you watching her. 

In all honesty, that was probably a bad thought. You didn’t know who she was, but all the other employees, and the few customers, seemed a bit on edge ever since she walked in. You weren’t quite sure why, but it almost seemed like Tony, the doorman, was scared of her. Which was outrageous. Tony was 6’5 and built like a Mack truck. But still, you knew that whoever she was, you should be cautious.  

“Come here, baby,” she mutters, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, and your eyes wildly look around the room seeking anywhere else to direct your attention. 

Your eyes settle back on the blonde woman when nobody else will meet your gaze. Not even Fred, the local drunk who spent most evenings begging for “just one more drink, love.” Traitors.

You shuffle toward the woman and start to reach for her now empty glass. “Do you want an open or closed tab?,” you ask.

She smiles up at you, revealing even, white teeth before winking and saying, “It’s on the house.”

Your brow furrows, confused before you peeked at Tony, who nods at you grimly.

“Oook,” you say, still slightly confused as you reach for the empty glass to place aside for the bar back.

In the three months you’d been working here, you’d never given anyone or seen anyone given a drink “on the house.” Mel wasn’t necessarily stingy, but you didn’t want to press your luck and drinks were priced so reasonably that nobody ever complained. But, if Tony was saying it was on the house, you had to take him at his word. 

Her hand snakes out and catches yours before you can remove the glass. 

“What’s your name?,” the blonde woman asks softly, thumb gently stroking the web of skin between your thumb and index finger. You start to jerk your hand away, but her grip tightens around yours, holding you in place. You freeze, eyes and mouth parting as your breath comes faster and you nervously wait for something, anything, to give you a clue to what she wants you to do. She looks at you curiously before releasing your hand and sliding back in her seat, back resting against the high-backed chair. 

“I’m Y/N,” you say, breathing a bit more evenly now that she’s no longer touching you. 

“Y/N” she repeats, the name rolling off her tongue melodically. “That's pretty. I’m Carol. How long have you worked here, Y/N? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Three months, but I’m not from here,” you blather nervously. 

“Oh yeah?,” she smiles coyly, “where are you from, baby?”

You feel heat rising in your cheeks at the endearment, and you softly tell her where you're from.

“That’s fun. How do you like our little city?” she says, extending her arms wide open. “Have you seen all the sights?”

“No,” you reluctantly admit. “I came out here in a rush so I’ve mainly been focused on finding work and a place to live. Haven’t had time to do the tourist thing yet.”

“Hmmm,” she ponders, smiling gently while drumming her short red nails on the bar, “I’d love to be your tour guide, baby, if you’d like that. Take you to see the sights, take you to dinner. Do you work tomorrow?”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised that she’d managed to direct the conversation into an invitation for a date so quickly and smoothly. “Umm.”

“Do you work tomorrow, baby?,” she presses again.

“No, I uh, don’t. But I’m not--” you start. 

“Great,” Carol interrupts. “That’s just what I was hoping to hear. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you tomorrow with something planned for us.”

You were taken aback. Yes, she was gorgeous and made you feel flushed and nervous (you supposed those were butterflies?), and would probably-- no, definitely-- show you a good time, but you weren’t sure you wanted to get wrapped up in whatever was going on here. But she’d already slid her phone across the bar and was beaming up at you expectantly. You figured that one little outing probably wouldn’t hurt. It’d been a while since you’d been out and Lord knew you hadn’t had time for anything fun and relaxing since moving to the city. You’d been far too busy scrambling to survive. Your hometown was expensive, but nothing like this. 

As you reach for her phone you send a silent prayer that wherever you go with her wouldn’t be too expensive so you could insist on paying for yourself without cannibalizing your weekly food budget.

As you input your phone number, the woman, Carol, leans back in her chair and glances around the bar again before once more leaning towards you. Your eyes fall to her cleavage and your thoughts take a turn before you snap your eyes back up to her to find her laughing gently.

“Such a good girl,” Carol husks as she retrieves her phone from you and slips it into her trouser pocket as she stands. 

She didn't touch you this time; you were already overwhelmed and semi-regretful and she looked like she didn’t want to give you any reason to try to run away from her. “Now, go get me another drink while I talk to Mel,” Carol instructs before and turning around sharply.

You’re thrilled to have something else to do, to focus on, so you didn’t notice the fearful look on Mel’s face as Carol strides up to him. 

Carol didn’t exactly work for Steve and the Avengers, but she did operate out of their territory when she was stateside, and lately her business dealings found her on the East Coast. Staying with the family was just easier, and that sometimes meant getting caught up in their issues. She normally didn’t mind doing Steve a favor...but it’d been a hell of a week, and up until she’d seen the little cutie at the bar squirm so prettily under her scrutinizing gaze, she had not been happy to be doing this particular favor.

Well, Carol thinks, whores aren’t the only way to work out aggression. Looks like this God forsaken place would provide her two types of entertainment tonight. 

Carol’s exchange with Mel is brief. She bulldozes over his stammered greetings and demands to know why he hadn’t been paying his security fee. Mel insists that he had been paying, he definitely wasn’t avoiding the family, and that someone new had come around and told him 3 months ago that there was a new payment method. He’d been leaving his payments in an unmarked envelope taped under a nearby bench. Someone had been picking them up, since Mel had made two payments this way and the first was gone when he went to make the second. 

Hmmm, Steve will definitely be interested to learn that. Carol muses to herself. 

“Ok, Mel,” Carol says to the stammering man.

“Ok?,” Mel repeats, hope creeping into his eyes as he looks timidly at her. 

“Ok,” Carol reiterated, “I believe you. Which is the good news. The bad news is I don’t give a fuck who you say you paid, because bottom line is we don’t have our money. The money you owe us. So you have until next week to get it to us.”

Anger flares in Mel’s eyes before Carol puts a hand on his shoulder “Ah ah ah, Mel. I can just tell that I am zero percent interested in hearing whatever you're about to say. You pay by next week or I can break your other leg, too.”

Mel blanches and whimpers out, “too?,” just in time for Carol to slip her hand from his shoulder to the back of his head before slamming him nose-first into a nearby table. The crack is audible above the shitty music playing in the background. As Mel reaches to try to push himself up from the table, Carol brings her fist down on the fingers clinging to the edge of the table, breaking three on impact and then turns to forcefully kick one leg out toward Mel’s knee, forcing it backward with an audible CRACK! Mel’s scream cuts through all the chatter and music, a macabre soundtrack in the dingy bar.

Once that was done, Carol slides Mel into the booth she’d just brutalized him at and turns back to the bar.

You were cowering in a corner, back pressed as far up against the bar as you could, eyes frantically searching for an exit, body shaking, and breath huffing quickly. You’d finished prepping Carol’s drink just in time to see the breathtaking display of violence. You feel nauseated and scared and hot and dizzy, your stomach heaving at the bloodshed. You can hear your heart beating in your head as you watch Carol stride over to you, her eyes glittering in excitement and something that looked suspiciously like arousal. 

She knocks back the drink you have waiting for her, before looking directly at you. You try to look anywhere but at her, but she was still all you noticed.

“Look at me,” she says firmly. Your eyes flicker up towards her at the command. “You answer when I call you tomorrow, ok baby?”

She waits for your weak nod, before smiling brightly at you and walking out the door.

Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for reading this far. Let me know what you think!

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 39: Girls/Guys night out

Upon arriving back in Hawkins you both made sure to call ahead & make plans with your friends. You’ll be meeting Robin Nancy & your cousin Rachel at the wheelers to go out to brunch & pan out last minute wedding details & then have to meet back up at the house to go pick up Karen & Joyce to go finally pick out your dress & the night is for fun you ladies are going to a club out in Illinois & spending two nights there to pick out your flowers & have them delivered back home brings the only florist in Hawkins didn’t have a lily in sight. Eddie has band practice this afternoon & is going for a night out with the boys to have a few beers and play some pool. You made sure to let him know to take the boys to get fitted for tuxes & what color ties and vests they need to match their bridesmaid partner. Steve being the good friend he is already has his tux at home & hanging in the closet. He’s gonna meet the boys at the hideout later but asked to tag along for dress shopping which you thought was odd at first but also have to keep in mind although he’s a male he’s so the mother hen of the group plus you’re sure Robin talked him into coming for extra support beings your mother passed away & you need all the support you can get. “Bing” the chime of the store bell as the last of your group makes its way inside the bridal boutique as your fingers skim the many fabrics of the dresses hanging all over the place. Karen,Joyce & Steve look more excited then you do but Robin looks like her head is gonna explode she’s so red in the face so you decided to pull her aside before you all get the day started. “Hey Robs you okay you look flushed I thought I’m supposed to be the nervous wreck hahah” you squeeze her shoulder for support she takes a deep breath before turning to you “dresses jame you know I hate looking frilly this place makes me feel like I’m already suffocating & I didn’t even try a damn thing on yet &…” you stop her mid ramble “robs nobody said you had to wear a dress as a matter of fact I called ahead & spoke with them & they have a pantsuit in the same color as the dresses I’m having pulled for today so please breathe it’s gonna be fine & you know I got my best friend” you kiss her cheeks & pull her along to the dressing area where all of the workers have pulled a bunch of things for you & your bridal party you turn you your group “okay bridesmaids first then finding Joyce & Karen something because you’re both being given mother roles for us both beings we both lost ours if that’s okay with you ladies?..” they both get up hugging you squealing in excitement & gladly except your offer “okay so most of these bridesmaids gowns are in lavender & we can find silver belts or something to add maybe robs there’s these for you to the black slacks with the lavender silk button up and tie Rachel Nancy I have these gowns for you two to try out & moms they’re on the way with stuff for you guys in the color scheme now excuse me while I go have a conversation with the owner & I’ll be back to see how everything looks” they all nod & you’re off to discuss colors and details for your dress wanting to keep your ideas a surprise for everyone. You head back to the group as robin steps out of the dressing area in her pantsuit “oh my robs! That’s perfect I love it!!” She beams looking more herself “i really like the way these pants fit & this shirt is so comfortable I thought silk would give me the willies but I actually really like it you did awesome” next Nancy & Rachel head out in two different gowns so you could decide which on you liked more Rachel in a dark purple tea dress with puffy sleeves & Nancy in a lavender gown with sheer sleeves & floral patterns you look at Joyce & Karen for a moment before looking back at the girls “the one Nancy is wearing just seems so perfect for everything I think I’m gonna have to go with that one it matches robs pantsuit too I really love it” the workers start measuring the ladies as you go off to try your dresses next.

Trying on different gowns alone you just weren’t feeling that spark trying them on & you were about to give up completely & call it a day until the owner knocks on your dressing room door you open up & let her inside & she has two more dresses in her arms “now these I just pulled from the back this color doesn’t sell much but I have a feeling one of these would find a home with you” you can see the colors & fabrics draped over her arm & you bubble with excitement as they’re absolutely perfect & what you’ve been looking for all this time she helps you into the first one “hmmpf yeah I feel like a big puff ball in this one & it’s kind of itchy so let’s try that last one i really like the skirt on that one” she helps you out of the first one & into the second & you feel as if electric currents were coursing through your veins & give her a smile & a nod “I’m gonna show them this one this just feels like it’s the one I know it” she escorts you to your group they’re all fussing over god knows what because they’re all talking at once not noticing you approach them until Robin catches you out of the corner of her eye “well hot damn if that doesn’t scream mrs Munson I don’t know what will” & with that they all turn to see you & gush over how beautiful they think you look. Wrapping up measurements & payments Steve comes up & gives you the biggest hug on the planet “you looked absolutely amazing he’s gonna love it I just know it I’m so happy for you jame & by the way thanks for helping with.. you know with Rachel & stuff.. we’ve really been getting along great & im hoping I can convince her to stay” this excited you knowing both Steve & your cousin have had their fair share of heartbreak “im really happy for you guys too & she’s great Steve don’t hurt her or I’ll cut your damn balls off got it” you wink he knows you wouldn’t hurt him nor would he hurt Rachel. You all exit the boutique & head for your cars & off to your homes to get ready for tonight. Instead of bachelorette & bachelor parties you both agreed on girls & guys night out. You ladies are heading to a club just outside of town & the guys are going to have beers & play pool at the hideout. You got your best jeans on a guns & roses shirt cut into a crop top your knee high boots & Eddie’s belt. The girls came over Nancy promised to do yours & robins hair & you’re all off to hop in Paula & decided tonight that Nancy be driving beings you & Robin tend to get completely wasted & act like 2 middle school children on the way home. Pulling up to the club you all get your id’s ready pass the bouncer & head straight for the bar “three bay breezes & 3 shots of tequila!” You all take a shot & take your drinks to find a table when you spot in the back near the jukebox perfect all three of you slide in & you pop a few dimes into the slot skimming through songs deciding on playing “let the music” play by Shannon as you ladies finish up your drinks to head over & dance with each other having the time of your lives. Different colored lights lighting up the dimly lit area. Thinking of all you went through to get to this very moment in life & what amazing things still await for the future ahead. Knowing Eddie’s out having just as much of a good time as you with the people who matter the most. There’s not a thing in this world that could get you to change your mind or trade in what you have now. These are your people, your family in Hawkins it may not be as large as the busyness of the inner cities around the globe but as small as this town is it’s big enough to be your entire world & then some. At the hideout all the guys have just finished up multiple rounds of pool & ordered more drinks for the table & Steve comes back with a tray of shots “alright Munson I sure as shit didn’t think you’d be the first of us to get married but here we are & I couldn’t be happier for the both of you take care of our little sister or me & gareth will beat your ass! Haha anyways to brothers to family to the future Mr & Mrs Munson” “here here” they all cheers & take their shot.

[chidorisour]

Cinderella's Castle thoughts!!!!

~SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY ~

most of these will be costume notes because i am a costumer not a theater reviewer!! chill!!

overall: whimsical, silly, and lite horror with rad costumes!!!

in general, i really admire how they put together their sets and costumes. they communicate the characters in a beautiful way while being simple and pretty easy to find pieces.

side note if you wanna cosplay Cinderella here is her apron (or at least a very close one, you would just need to weather it and add patches!!)

and oh my god the puppets!! they are stunning. a sword fight with 3 dudes and one puppet are you kidding me!!! and some amazing trolls. the way they all move is just awesome.

also super cool how drag inspired some of the costumes were. especially the stepmothers wig and the uh goddess(?) wig.

also omg the whole goddess costume was so fun and sparkly and i always love a good pantsuit/jumper situation. and i love that Cinderella later gets the same kind of sparkles in her outfit in the final scene after she comes back.

plus cinderellas dress lit up and the way everyone gasped!!!

of course the space work was phenomenal like it always is.

the songs were also just a fun freaking time. usually i hate cinderella retellings but i really enjoyed this one.

their set was so rad, lots of lights that change the mood from magic forest to clubbin at the castle. there also is this amazing tree that the set makes with lots of strips of fabric that is gorgeous and majestic. bonus points cause you can see the musicians!

[divinemissem13]

Now it's your turn. Let's go with Sharon as well.

Oh good, now instead of commenting on your post, I get to rant on my own 😂 😍

How I feel about this character: I love her. I love the cold, snarky, closed-off Sharon from The Closer, and I love the warm, funny, maternal Sharon from Major Crimes. She is tough and intelligent and a total boss bitch in the best sense of the word. Plus, she has mermaid hair and looks incredible in a pantsuit. (And have you seen her with a bean bag rifle? I mean, really).

All the people I ship romantically with this character: This may come as a shock to anyone following me here but... I'm a big Brenda/Sharon shipper 🤣. I wholeheartedly believe that if they had met in a less antagonistic setting, they could have been friends, at least... and that having a female friend would have given each of them a nice sense of balance. Sharon eventually (in MC) gets Rusty to crack her wide open, but for Brenda, Sharon is the closest thing she gets to a friend who won't let her get away with shit but isn't condescending about it (eventually) and I think she really needed that... oops this is supposed to be about Sharon, not Brenda.... Also a fan of Shandy, Sharon/Andrea, and I do find Sharon/Fritz intriguing and think they fit better than Brenda/Fritz (speaking of which, I am not opposed to reading a Brenda/Fritz/Sharon fic every now and again...)

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Rusty. He is responsible for most of the drastic changes to Sharon's character in MC (which, as I've said, I'm a fan of), and I think that their relationship is so beautiful and complex. I also love Sharon and Provenza - both when they are being antagonistic and also when they secretly kind of get mushy and supportive of each other.

My unpopular opinion about this character: Probably that I like MC Sharon just as much as TC Sharon 🤷‍♀️ .

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: We are going to ignore that thing that didn't happen and I will instead say I wish we knew more about Sharon's relationships outside of the LAPD. I love episodes where she is going toe to toe with Jack and would have liked to see more of that, but also, what happened to her parents? Is she an only child? Where did she grow up? Go to school? You can't tell me that she had no social structure of any kind in place before MC, so who are her friends?? But I guess that's what fanfic is for 😁

[seramilla]

I feel as if Odette doesn’t really like dresses, she only wears the, for very very special occasions. Every other fancy or special occasion, you’ll catch her in a stylish suit or a turtle neck with a blazer and some dress pants. Verosika loves it when Odette where’s a suit with an actual dress shirt because she can leave lipstick print on Odette’s neck and it’ll smudge off onto Odette’s dress shirt.

The last time Odette had worn a dress, a lacy little black thing with an open back that stopped about knee level, it had been for one of Verosika's award shows. She'd gone as the pop star's plus-one -- not officially, because they still weren't public. But Verosika could always choose at least one person to share her table, and Odette was usually it.

These events were usually quite posh and extravagant, where everyone fought to show off as much skin as possible, and Odette had felt extremely uncomfortable. Verosika kept telling her the entire night how gorgeous she was -- it hadn't helped. She kept pulling her dress down as it rose up every time she sat, and she'd felt eyes objectifying her throughout the entire ordeal. She didn't know how Verosika dealt with this day in and day out.

This time, Odette had agreed to come along again, on the condition that she be allowed to wear an unassuming pantsuit. A simple set with black slacks, a white button-up dress shirt with a collar underneath, and a light gray jacket. Verosika, as usual, would be decked out to the nines in a voluptuous purple dress that stopped mid-thigh. At least Odette wouldn't have to worry about her own appearance this time -- she'd be too busy looking at Verosika the entire night, she thought to herself, blushing.

But now that she's seen her girlfriend, maybe the outfit she'd chosen is too simple.

"Nonsense," Verosika says, when Odette voices this concern. "Whatever makes you comfortable, babydoll, is fine with me." Then, grinning, she undoes the top button of Odette's dress shirt, until just the top of her cleavage is showing. Smiling warmly into Odette's skin, Verosika kisses Odette's collarbone, and then her neck, leaving two incredibly obvious black lipstick prints where anyone can see.

Verosika does the top button back up, but the lipstick on Odette's neck is still showing. Odette gasps, making a move to wipe it away, until Verosika grabs her hand, and pulls it back down.

"You have to wear this for me, though," Verosika coos, schemingly. "All night." Then, booping her nose, Verosika confirms, " 'Kay?"

Blushing ten shades redder than before, Odette has to fight herself not to put her hand back up to her neck. She swallows heavily, and squeaks out, " 'Kay."

[firefly-in-darkness]

Worst Idea Ever [Part Ten]

Characters → Y/N & Bucky Barnes, Other Marvel Characters.

Series Summary → Wedding Season is brutal as it is but throw in two friends that decide to be each other’s plus ones and a mixed bag of feelings, what’s the worst that could happen?

Part Nine Summary → An opportunity presents itself, will Bucky finally be able to talk about how he's feeling?

Word Count → 1.5k

Part Warnings → 18+, swearing, angst, hurt. a smidge of forced intimacy involving Bucky and Jackie.

Beta → @kalesrebellion // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → well, let me know what you think... sorry, it's been several weeks again since I posted the previous part.

Series List // Masterlist

Previously in Part Nine: Natasha carefully slipped out of the lounge, tiptoeing so not to disturb Y/N and Wanda as they slept on the couch. She pulled the cell from her jacket pocket and quickly typed a message.

She’ll be there. Don’t fuck this up Barnes.

It wasn’t what Y/N had expected at all from Tony and Pepper. She was thinking they’d be in one of the fancy hotels in the Upper East Side with extravagant displays, prim and perfect flowers and countless members of guests and butlers.

Yet, the cream silks and gold accents adorning the entrance to the converted barn welcomed Y/N and Natasha. It held the rustic charm with its wooden beams. The bright wildflowers brought it to life.

“You must have made a good impression,” Natasha smirked while they both took in the intimate number of seats for the ceremony.

“I don’t know what to say. I guess my orgasm fuelled nightmare was enough to seal the invite,” Y/N laughed as they collected the order of service, showing Natasha the true identity of one half of the happy couple, ��And I didn’t know Pepper was Virginia.”

Guests slowly took their seats, light-hearted conversations and laughter filled the space. It made Y/N feel warm and welcomed by those that she didn’t know, and she felt happiness bloom when she greeted Sam, Wanda, and Victor. She pulled away from Sam’s hold, and that’s when she caught sight of Bucky.

She sucked in a breath, the suit fitted him perfectly and wrapped around his muscular arms and thick thighs. What stood out the most was his hair, he’d cut the longer locks, choosing a shorter disheveled look, it reminded her of the photos she’d seen of him before he joined the army. Bucky was already handsome, but now that he wasn’t hiding behind those dark tendrils, he was glowing.

Without hesitation, Y/N raised her hand to bring his attention to the group, but she stopped short. Jackie followed into the barn behind him, laced her arm through his, and whispered something to make him laugh.

The warmth of Wanda’s reassuring hand guided Y/N away from the couple that had just walked in and helped her settle into their seats to await the start of the ceremony.

The high, the happiness and joy that Y/N had felt no longer existed, she plummeted back to reality. Bucky hurt her; he didn’t care. The painful part of it all was that she still wanted to be his.

“I can’t do this,” Y/N whispered to herself, watching Bucky sit down and Jackie blocking him from view.

“Yes, you can, he’s a fool,” Wanda reassured, “The ceremony is about to start, and you can get away later if you really need to.”

Y/N nodded, straightening herself in the seat and focusing on Tony at the end of the aisle. His dashing, expensive, suit fit him like a glove as if moulded to his figure perfectly. The arrogant yet endearing grin crinkled at his eyes. She saw the way his heart stopped, and eyes blew wide to the sound of the piano and Pepper gliding her way down in an elegant white pantsuit.

Their words, tender and sweet yet also matching their personalities was enough to bring a small tear to Y/N’s eye and a burst of laughter from her lips. She felt a pair of eyes on her while the vows were being spoken, turning to find Bucky looking at her across the aisle. Jackie was short enough to no longer be in the way, unable to miss the familiar blues that made her stomach flip and her heart soar.

The sound of applause and cheers broke the trance and Y/N watched the happy couple skipping down the aisle, hand in hand. The flurries of confetti filled the space between them.

Once it settled, the guests were greeted with flutes of champagne and canapes, no expense spared here. Bucky was no longer over by his seat, but Y/N caught sight of him walking out of the barn with Jackie. Her fluttering heart dropped once more.

“I’m going to congratulate Tony and Pepper then duck out of here,” she told Natasha and Wanda as they all sipped and nibbled.

“Are you sure?” Natasha raised her brow, “who’s plus one am I going to be if you leave?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you’ll fit in just right with this lot on your side.”

“Fine, but talk to Bucky before you leave,” she playfully scolded in a way that Y/N knew she was anything but playful.

Y/N drained the contents of her glass, placed it on a vacant tray and navigated her way through the barn towards the happy couple with the hope of avoiding a certain Bucky Barnes. Even if Natasha had requested it.

Bucky’s fingers ran through his hair, still not used to the shorter length as he spoke to Jackie, hoping for her to get the hint that this wasn’t working, that he wasn’t interested in hooking up with her anymore, or anyone for that matter. She had pulled him aside the second he’d walked into the barn, didn’t even have a chance to speak to his friends, let alone Y/N.

Jackie was trying to convince him, her hands smoothing out against the lapels of his jacket, claiming his chest, “you’re not the settling down type, let's keep this casual thing going?”

Bucky was no longer paying attention to her, distracted by the woman now talking to his boss and wife. She looked stunning, and the nervous smile she gave them had his heart fluttering.

Jackie gripped his face and pulled him into a kiss, completely shocked by her actions his eyes remained wide open as she wrapped herself around him. He’d never felt more uncomfortable and humiliated, especially when he saw Y/N shaking her head and walking away.

He pushed Jackie away by her shoulders and glared at her, “Stop! Just for once, listen to me. I am not interested. This thing that was going on, isn’t going to happen again. It’s been months Jackie; you need to move on.”

Bucky left Jackie, rooted to the spot with her mouth agape and eyes wide. He jogged in the direction Y/N had gone in the hope to catch up to her. His heart hammered in his chest, and that wasn’t from the sudden exercise, he was finally going to talk to Y/N and tell her how he feels. Even if she rejects him, at least she’ll know.

The car park was full and as if fate would have it, and much to Bucky’s delight, Y/N’s car was blocked in by the Stark-Potts’ limousine. She had no chance of getting away quickly and this was the moment Bucky had been hoping for. He didn't want to corner her, just to have a few minutes to get his feelings out and hope that one day she'll talk to him, and if he was lucky, be his friend again.

Her arms gestured in anger at Stark’s driver and Bucky winced, knowing Hogan was getting an earful and decided to intervene, calling out her name as he rounded the vehicle.

Y/N’s head snapped up and her eyes glowered at him, and she folded her arms. He could feel the anger and hurtsimmering across the few feet that remained between them, “what do you want James?”

“Nuh, you don’t get to call me that,” he kept his tone even and nodded towards her car, “we need to talk.”

He could see the hesitation, the tightness in her hold but then she dropped her arms and unlocked the vehicle. Bucky whizzed into the passenger seat, not letting Y/N change her mind. The sweet smell of Y/N’s perfume and the warmth radiating from her closeness was intoxicating, regardless of the slight edge in the atmosphere.

Bucky was completely wrapped up in finally being with her, he couldn’t help but stare at her profile while she intently looked ahead. He followed the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek and the swell of her lips, completely lost in memorising every aspect of her features. Bucky’s gaze travelled down her neck, across to her shoulders, and down her arms, drinking in the glow of her skin.

“What do you want to talk about?” Her voice, quieter than before yet remained stern, snapped him out of the trance.

“Can you at least look at me?”

Y/N shuffled awkwardly, turning in the seat, and resting her arm on the steering wheel, shrugging her shoulder nonchalantly. Her face was devoid of any emotion and caused Bucky to think twice about his confession. Only for a split second, Y/N’s mask that she was hiding behind slipped, her face softening before it returned to neutrality. It was enough to give him the courage to speak.

“I love you.”

Continue Here...

@aeo10fan @akshi8278 @alwaysclassyeagle @bccky @callmeluna @capsgrl @charmedbysarge @coffeebooksandfandom @courtneychicken @crystalchrysalis19 @eclipses-and-moondust @emmabarnes @foxyjwls007 @gooddaykate @guera31 @idreamofplaid @ihatecats123 @im-squished @impala1967dwinchester @justagirlinafandomworld @justanotherblonde23 @justile @ladydmalfoy @laisbeltrans @leyannrae @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @miraclesoflove @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @natasha-danvers @nekoannie-chan @ohjammers @old-enough-to-know-better73 @queenoftheunderdark @selen-o-phile @starryeyeseunbyul @stoneyggirl2 @stuckonjbbarnes @stuckysavedmylive @suchababie @supraveng @teenagedreams-bucky @thefridgeismybestie @vicmc624 @vintagepigeon @wiccanmetallicrose @writerwrites @doasyoudesireandlive @princessmisery666 @rainbowkisses31 @little-diable

[iboatedhere]

Season 3 Drabble: Fic 3

Thank you @pragmaticoptimist34

Fic 1

Fic 2

---

“You guys are making a huge mistake, I’m Katie’s mother.”

“We know that’s simply not true,” Detective Washington says patiently, “and I would suggest that you remain silent until you have a lawyer present.”

“That’s my daughter!” Danica screams, and Washington shuts the squad car door with a roll of her eyes.

“Or not,” she says.

“Do you think she’ll plead insanity?” Carlos asks, and Detective Washington shakes her head.

“She’s delusional, sure, but not insane.”

Danica is still screaming for her daughter inside the squad car, and Carlos raises a brow.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I guess that’s for the judge to decide. Either way, she’ll never be allowed anywhere near Katie or her family ever again. Speaking of Katie,” she says, “feel like sticking around and making a trip to the hospital with me? It’s not every day a case like this has a happy ending. It would be nice for you to see it.”

“I’d like that,” Carlos tells her, and Detective Washington nods.

“I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave. Shouldn’t be too long.”

He thanks her, and she steps away to help the other officers keep the growing crowd of bystanders behind the police tape.

A media van pulls up, and a reporter and cameraman hop out. Carlos is about to make it abundantly clear that they will not be filming even one second of Katie when another officer intervenes before he can.

Carlos takes in the crime scene, noting the red jeep with the plates that he ran, an expensive silver sports car, a woman in a bright green pantsuit, and Owen, giving his statement to an officer.

“Thank you, Captain Strand,” Officer Williams says. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

“I will be around to answer them,” Owen says as Officer Williams flips his notebook shut and nods to Carlos as he passes.

Owen gives Carlos a tight smile and looks up at the sky. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Carlos sighs. “You really should have waited until we got here.”

“I didn’t think I had time.”

“She could have had a bigger knife. Or a gun.”

Owen winces. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t really think at all. But I’m a Strand, you know we don’t always look before we leap.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. How do you think TK’s going to react when he finds out you leaped into this situation.”

“I was thinking maybe we keep this between us–a little secret between a son-in-law and a father-in-law.”

Carlos feels himself blanch. “Listen, Sir–.”

“Oh, no, c’mon,” Owen says, “don’t demote me back to sir, not when we’re family.”

“It slipped out.”

“Did it, or did you and TK elope while I wasn’t looking? Not that I wouldn’t approve,” he adds quickly. “But I would like to be there when my son gets married. Plus, I’d have to know where you’re registered so I could get you a gift.”

“We’re not married.”

Owen nods. “It’s just something you’re thinking about?”

“I guess.”

“How long have you been thinking about it?”

Carlos takes a deep breath. “Since the fire. We were getting ready to jump out of a second-story window, and I was looking at him, thinking about all the things that we wouldn’t get to have together. A proposal, a wedding….” He trails off and looks over at Katie sitting in the back of the ambulance, getting checked over by the paramedics. “Children.” He glances back at Owen, who is smiling back at him. “And then we moved in with you and Mateo, and you were so welcoming. It really felt like it was a home, and we were…”

“A family?” Owen asks, and Carlos nods. “I loved having you boys there. And I’m still sorry about the time I walked in on you two without knocking. And the two times after that.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, “we don’t ever need to bring that up again.”

“You know what? Fair enough.”

Carlos nods in agreement before he continues. “Everything was good, given the circumstances, and I thought we were on the right track, and then we broke up, and TK almost died, and it felt like my whole future was going to die right along with him.”

“But he survived,” Owen says softly, “and you two are right back on track.”

“Maybe,” Carlos says. “Is it stupid or naïve of me to think that TK would still want to get married after everything he’s been through? I know about New York and about his ex…is that enough to put him off?”

“No,” Owen answers immediately, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. If we were having this conversation two years ago, the answer would be different, but TK has grown so much since he’s been here, and you’re the main reason for that. TK loves you. He woke up from a coma to you. Hell, he woke up for you, and you were there, even when you weren’t sure if you should have been.” Owen knocks his elbow into Carlos’. “You should have been, by the way. Even if–.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “--God forbid, he didn’t wake up. I know he would have wanted you there. You’re it for him, so marriage, a family…it’s out there for the two of you, whenever you’re ready for it.”

Carlos feels overwhelmed in the best way. “That means a lot.”

“It’s the truth,” Owen says. “You should know that you don’t have to come to me for my blessing, TK would probably prefer you didn’t, but you have it. Completely.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, “Owen.”

Owen grins, then glances at the woman in the pantsuit and groans. “I forgot about that.”

“Were you in the middle of a date?”

“The end of one,” Owen says. “It wasn’t going well, but I don’t know. Maybe I need to take a chance on something and grow, too.”

Carlos nods. “At least she’s age-appropriate.”

Owen narrows his eyes. “How much has Mateo told you?”

Carlos shrugs innocently. “Not much.” He gives Owen a sidelong look. “One Night Strand.”

Owen frowns and points a finger. “Careful, son.”

–

The last thing Carlos expects to see when he opens the door to the loft is a fully-set table and TK, pouring sparkling cider into two champagne glasses.

“Hi honey,” TK says brightly, “welcome home.”

Carlos slides the door shut behind him and remains frozen in place. “What is all this?”

“Dinner,” TK says, “duh. Fit for a hero.”

“Oh, no, TK–.”

“No, no,” TK interrupts, picking up one of the glasses and crossing the room to hand it to Carlos. He lifts the bag off Carlos’ shoulder and drops it to the ground. “The second we got the Amber Alert, I knew that it was you. You figured it out, and you saved that girl.”

“Well, actually–.”

“She’s okay, right? We got the second one saying that the search was over and she had been found, but that’s it. She’s okay, isn’t she?”

Carlos sighs and takes the glass. “She’s fine. Back with her parents and everything.”

TK leans up and kisses him. “You did that,” he says, “and I am so, so, so proud of you.” He takes Carlos’ hand and tugs him toward the dining room. “Now come on, look at what I did.”

“Are those scallops?” Carlos asks as he takes in the table, filled with food, lit candles, and flowers.

TK nods and picks up a fork. He cuts one scallop in half and spears it.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asks. “The crust…the sear. I learned that from you….and a few YouTube videos.”

He holds it out for Carlos, and Carlos hums happily around the bite.

“That’s amazing, babe.”

“I’m learning,” TK says, “and you deserve it. Now sit.” He pulls the chair out and guides Carlos into it. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can move onto part two.”

“What is part two?”

TK hooks his finger beneath Carlos’ chin and tips his head toward the bedroom, where the lights are dimmed, the covers are pulled down, and candles are burning on the nightstands.

“Oh,” Carlos says. “You already made this beautiful dinner. You really think you’re going to be able to top this?”

TK grins as his eyes light up. “Baby,” he says as he leans in for a kiss, “you have no idea.”

--

Two hours later, Carlos feels like he’s run a marathon. He’s sweaty and pleasantly achy. He doesn’t think he can move his arms or legs, and pretty sure he blacked out and saw God at one point.

“Baby,” he breathes as he presses his clumsy fingers to the back of TK’s neck.

TK looks up from where he’s been kissing a lazy path across Carlos’ chest with a devilish grin.

“Are you still with me?”

Carlos nods. “Barely.”

TK snorts. “And to think that was just the warm-up.”

Carlos blinks down at him. “What?” TK pushes himself up to straddle Carlos’ waist. “Did you think that we were done? I’m going to let you catch your breath, then I’m going to go grab us some Gatorade, and then we’re going to get onto the main show.”

Carlos huffs a laugh and runs his hands up TK’s thighs. “I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

“Hey,” TK scolds with a smile, “I was the one that went through a major cardiac event. If I can handle it, you can handle it.”

Carlos knows he means it as a joke, and he’s warm and alive beneath his hands, but still…

“Don’t remind me,” he says softly, and TK tilts his head to the side then picks Carlos’ hand off his leg.

He presses a kiss to the center of Carlos’ palm before laying it over his chest. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Carlos feels TK’s heartbeat, strong and steady, beneath his hand and Carlos feels overwhelmed again, overrun with love.

“Do you want to get married?”

TK’s smile flickers, and Carlos flails.

“I’m not asking,” he says, “I’m not proposing. I’m just saying…someday…if I ever do, is that something you’d want? I think we should talk about this and where we’re going—I don’t want this to be another thing that I do because I think it’ll be good for us only to find out that it’s going to break us and—.”

“When.” TK interrupts, and Carlos exhales heavily.

“What?”

“When,” TK says again. “When you propose, not if, I’ll say yes.”

A laugh bubbles out of Carlos’ chest, full of relief and love and warmth. “Are you serious?”

TK nods then cups Carlos’ face in his hands. “Carlos, I am so in love with you I don’t even know what to do with myself sometimes. You have given me second, third, and fourth chances. Chances that I still don’t even know if I deserve, but I know that I want you and this and us, forever. So, when we’re ready, it’s a yes.” He drops his hands to Carlos’ chest and taps his fingers over his heart. “But only if you promise to say yes to me, too.”

“Are you going to propose?”

“I might beat you to it,” TK says, “my proposal might be more romantic, and my ring might be more expensive. Or, well, as expensive as it can be.”

“I don’t need an expensive ring,” Carlos tells him, “I don’t even need a ring.”

“Oh, you’re getting a ring, and you’re going to wear it. I have to make sure everyone knows you’re spoken for.”

“I don’t think I’ll need a ring to do that,” Carlos says as he pulls TK down for a kiss, “I’ll have no problem letting everyone know I’m yours.”

[ravenadottir]

As far as I remember, we only find out what Lurik's physical types are, as on day 1, the boys will tell you their type in personality, so what do you think their physical types are for the LIs we don't get that info for?

reminder of the canon: lucas + blonde and good dresser // henrik + brunettes and tattoos

❝bobby❞

long hair (whether that's straight, curly, braids, dreadlocks);

shorter than him, sometimes significantly;

body wise: chest area is slightly bigger than the rest;

someone who's as comfortable in sweatpants as they are in tight dresses;

lips catch his eyes before anything else;

delicate/soft makeup (mostly bronzer and highlight);

soft fabric dresses (flowy) or tight (night time), jeans and funny/cute t-shirts, retro/80's/90's patches on jeans and bags;

❝carl❞

thicker girls;

shorter than him (which is... well, he's short so lol);

red hair (yes he's a stereotype, what about it??);

long hair (same as bobby, any texture), usually concealed by braids or buns, then she lets it down and he's like 🤤;

if she has tattoos he might propose (nerdy tattoos: he's already married to her in his head);

glam makeup (enjoys well crafted eye looks, cut creases are so cool to him, different colored eyeliners are a shout);

glam dresses or pantsuits get him, but if she walks around the house in long socks and mini shorts then he can't focus on anything!

❝elisa❞

thicker than her, which is not hard;

same height or shorter;

ass girl;

short hair (any texture) and if it's a fun color she'll marry you!

wardrobe: pastel fun colors or extreme glam, no in between;

tattoos are a turn-off;

glam or soft makeup;

❝gary❞

thiccc girls;

ass guy so that's where he focuses the most;

fun hair colors, particularly dark green or blue;

big cheeks because he likes biting them, yes i'm talking face cheeks on this specific topic;

tattoos are a MAJOR plus;

digs heavy makeup;

someone who pulls off jeans and plaid but can go with more glam dresses and skirts as well; doesn't really care for what style she's going in though;

❝hannah❞

not concerned about size;

prefers the same height;

natural color hair (mostly likes brunettes);

loves legs;

tattoos are a turn-off (unless it's something meaningful. she doesn't believe in "tattoo just for having a tattoo);

soft makeup (mostly natural looking);

flowy dresses, 90's t-shirts with light washed jeans, cool and delicate looking sneakers;

❝ibrahim❞

tattoos (canon);

gingers and blondes (if you suggest lottie the only thing between them is the personality);

shorter than him but not by a lot;

if they're athletic he drools;

ass guy. don't walk around in yoga pants, you will see his pupils dialating;

natural makeup (a nude lip, or dark brown for paler girls and slightly redder colors on darker complexions);

athletic gear like sweatpants and tops, jeans and dresses, his shirt worn as a top for a tank top;

❝kassam❞

thicccc girls;

legs, legs, legs;

if i would to guess which girl he would be attracted to, besides lottie or mc, i would say it's shannon;

usually likes short hair (any texture);

alternative haircuts (shaved sides, shaved under, cool patterns with the shaving as well, so overall... SHAVED);

fun hair colors (LOVES silver and grey hair, it's a turn on for him);

tattoos are very encouraged!

artistic makeup over glam (cool eyeliners and different/alt eye makeup);

baggy clothes and weird accessories. if she owns a pair of lightning earrings she's in. quirky music accessories like a record purse or just a chest pout.

❝lottie❞

same height or shorter;

short hair, like a bob;

black hair is a big turn on for her, especially if the styling includes a mean straight cut;

stomachs, "they look so good to be bitten...";

digs heavy makeup, whatever style;

dark lips are a major turn on. purple or black but blue is inserted here!

leather and lace, periodt!

❝marisol❞

same height or taller;

thicker girls;

prefers girls with long hair (any texture);

natural colors (it's not that a fun color is a turn-off, it's just that she REALLY likes brunettes);

chest girl (it really doesn't matter if they're big or small);

soft makeup with ONE highlighted element, like the lip;

dresses and skirts (she prefers herself in pantsuits but if her girlfriend shows up she's not exactly rejecting the idea);

❝noah❞

taller girls;

no preference for size;

long hair (any texture);

dark colors like dark brown, dark red, dark blonde;

ass and thigh guy (he can't help leaving trais of kisses even when nothing sexual is going on);

"as long as she's comfortable i don't care what she wears";

❝priya❞

shorter girls;

slimmer than her;

brunettes mostly, but prefers natural hair colors;

long hair (any texture)

chest girl;

glam everything, make up and wardrobe;

((hope this is what you were looking for!))

[novamirmirsblog]

No more bed

Word count: 2113

Genre: Not actually sure :3

Request: No

Warnings: Swearing, kissing?

A/N that's the end of the only one bed trope. Technically requests are now closed but if you think of another overused trope you want me to write then feel free to send it in!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You didn't eat that night and went straight to bed when you got too tired to focus on the words. You had made sure the pillow wall was twice the size it was to begin with. You turned off your light when you heard Natasha's footsteps come to the door, turning your back to her and pretending to be asleep. Your breaths were deep and completely even, there was no way Natasha could have guessed you were still awake. You felt her hesitate over you and the smell of reheated food invaded your nose and then heard her walk away.

The words she said back in that forest shouldn't have hurt you as much but they did. You shouldn't care what she thinks. It doesn't matter that she doesn't believe in your skills as an agent, that she doesn't think you're pretty enough to grab someone's attention.

If Natasha thought the bickering and coolness was bad at the start of the week, she was in for a shock. When she finally came back to that tiny, godforsaken bed and did her usual trick of sliding her foot over the pillow wall, you got up, took a pillow and the spare blanket and went to sleep on the rug in the living room.

When morning rolled around, you couldn't even be bothered to talk to her, focusing much more on the task ahead, just wanting this week to be over. It wasn't even the hurt you were feeling, it was the frustration that you felt hurt that drove you to stop talking to her. You hated her. She was annoying. She had no respect for anything anyone does.

You spent most the day preparing for the party that evening. Sure, it shouldn't take you over half a day to get ready but you had finished your paperwork early and you wanted to try on every single dress and suit SHIELD had supplied you with. You ended up choosing a navy blue, off the shoulder ball gown. Thinking logistically, it was quite possibly one of the worst things you could have worn. A pantsuit would have been a much more suitable choice and yet you looked and - more importantly - felt hot in the dress.

~~~~~

"You're not seriously wearing that are you?" Natasha asked as we both began to change into our formal wear. She had let you splurge out on a taxi but only after you had to walk what felt like 500 miles so no one would know where you were staying.

"Why not?" You asked with a fakeness in your voice "It's a no contact mission, plus, no one would look at me anyway, right?"

"Y/n, that's not what I-"

"Oh look. We're here." You get out the cab before Natasha can finish what she's saying.

Ivan might be an evil person, but he sure does know how to throw a party. It was elegant and high class and he made his way over to you as soon as he saw you. You had both agreed that you would keep him distracted while Natasha grabbed the relevant information.

"Dorogaya, u tebya poluchilos!" (Darling, you made it!) Ivan opened his arms wide, grabbed you by the shoulders and placed a kiss on both of your cheeks.

"Konechno, kak ya mog ignorirovat' takuyu ​​zagadku?" (Of course, how could I ignore something so mysterious?) You laughed and he moved his arm to around your waist.

"Prikhodite, prikhodite, yest' lyudi, kotorykh vy dolzhny vstretit'" (Come, come, there are people you should meet)

~~~~~

Ivan spent most the night introducing you to different 'modelling' agencies. You knew what he was doing, he was showing you off to potential buyers. Ivan ran a human trafficking ring along with some other not so nice business. You weren't worried - not in the slightest. Although, as the night drew on and Natasha still hadn't said anything, you were getting a little more... concerned.

You managed to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once inside, you tapped the earpiece repeatedly, praying Natasha would answer you.

"Romanoff where are you? Have you got the data?"

Silence

"Seriously, I'm sorry I've been ignoring you but this is childish now."

More silence

"I'll let you have the bed?"

Static rang out in your ear.

Of course SHIELD gave you a crappy ear piece. It was ridiculous. They provided you with three million dresses but couldn't give you a working piece of tech.

Just as you pulled out the burner phone, you felt a needle slide into your neck and the world went black.

~~~~~

"Y/n I have the data."

Nothing. Maybe you were still mad at her.

"Y/n do you copy?"

Still nothing.

"Y/n?"

Natasha's heart beat a little faster.

"Come on Y/n. I'm sorry. I'll let you have the bed?" Her burner phone pinged. It was your location. Shit.

~~~~~

You woke up and looked around, seeing that you were in the rundown hideout, you put your head back on the pillow. Everything felt heavy.

"You were drugged." Natasha states, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and eyes never leaving you.

"Oh." It was all you could muster up the energy to say.

"We leave tomorrow morning."

You push yourself up into a sitting position. "How long was I out?"

"3 hours."

You looked at Natasha, really looked at her. "Then why are you still covered in blood?"

Everything of Natasha's had some kind of bloodstain. She hadn't even washed her hands. It may have been dark in the corner she was standing in, having only the side lamp to illuminate the room, but her skin seemingly glowed, making the blood stand out.

She turned around and left, heading towards the bathroom. You wanted to get up to follow her but while your mouth worked again, your legs did not. Apparently whatever they used on you was a lot stronger than you thought because you fell out of the bed. Again. Natasha rushed out, getting to you in an instant, except this time there were no sly remarks.

"Careful princess, people might think you care." You grin, only for it to drop immediately when you saw a slight wetness to the corners of her eyes. "Hey, it's okay." You said softly. If she wasn't as close to you, Natasha would have missed it.

"I didn't know where you were. I-I thought you had gone off to try and prove something and then I saw you lying there, in some basement Ivan had. You-you looked so... dead."

"But I'm not." you reached up and gingerly stroked her hair, not wanting to spook her. "And look!" You gestured to your toes that were wiggling "I can feel my legs again!"

Natasha let out a slightly wet laugh. "I'm really sorry."

"For what? These things happen all the time. Although I will say, you seem to be unlucky because my missions always go wrong with you." You nudged her shoulder, crossing your legs so you faced her, both of you still on the floor.

"For making you think you weren't attractive. For basically drugging you myself."

"Don't be ridiculous Natasha. You didn't drug me."

"I might as well have done! If I had just agreed with you instead of fighting you, then you wouldn't have felt like you had to prove anything."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Seriously? That's what we're choosing to focus on now."

"Umm yes? I know it wasn't your fault at all but now I want to hear about how attractive I am." You smirked and Natasha stood up abruptly.

"I'm having a shower."

"Is that a nice cold shower for you to try to get over me?" You shouted as she slammed the door shut.

~~~~~

Natasha came out of the shower half an hour later, towel drying her hair.

"I think you're attractive too." You whispered out, half hoping Natasha wouldn't hear it.

She stilled. Looking at you, trying to see if you were lying.

"Then why do you hate me?"

"I don't think I do. Not anymore."

Natasha stayed silent, encouraging you to continue.

"I didn't like the avengers in general. You guys all act like you're so much better than us. You get all the perks of looking good and none of the paperwork. You don't know the amount of times I've seen top level agents filling out avenger paperwork when they should be out in the field. I thought you were all lazy but spending this week with you... well it made me realise that maybe you're not all that bad."

Natasha had moved herself to the bed, just watching you speak. You looked over to her, signalling that you had finished all that you wanted to say.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. I'll talk to the team about actually doing their paperwork. Who's the worst?" She asked, curiosity laced in her tone

"Steve."

Natasha let out a full blown laugh at that. "Wait seriously?"

"Yup. I see him all the time, constantly trying to offload his paperwork to someone else. I always thought it would be Tony but it's definitely Steve, then Bruce. Then it's probably Tony."

"I promise I'll try to make them stop."

"I wouldn't make promises you can't keep." You laughed.

"Why...why did you doubt me?" You asked, a little more serious than before.

"It's not that I doubted you... I guess I just didn't like the way you spoke to Ivan..."

"You mean the flirting?"

"Maybe..."

You sat in silence for a bit, you couldn't figure out why. It's not like it was against any rules and it all worked in your favour. Then, it clicked.

"Natasha Romanoff were you jealous!" You let out a slight gasp and grinned at her.

"No. No of course not." Natasha got defensive. There was no way she was jealous of that old, wrinkly, nasty smelling man.

"Aww princess!" You adjusted yourself so you were completely facing her. "I can flirt with you too if you want." Your voice got slightly lower and your eyelids dropped a fraction, making your pupils seem bigger. While you raised your voice a few octaves for Ivan, you knew that to seduce a woman you had to lower it a little.

"Stop it." Natasha hit you.

"But why baby?" You grabbed her chin and tilted her face towards you. "Now you don't have to be jealous." You sent her a wink and let her chin go, watching as her eyes got a little darker.

"Go away. I want nothing to do with you or your terrible flirting."

"You say my flirting is terrible" Your voice now back to normal, "But your body is saying something different."

"Wrong. My body is saying nothing."

"No?"

No."

"Okay then! Night night princess." You leant over to switch off the light when Natasha grabbed your arm, causing you to look back over to her.

"Calling me princess... it - ugh... well it -" Natasha looked conflicted before glancing up to you, looking at your lips and kissing you.

You were shocked. You knew you shouldn't have been. All the signs were there and you were a very good flirt but actually feeling her lips on yours made your brain short-circuit. You kissed her back and climbed into her lap.

"We're not doing it here." You said when you both broke the kiss

"Why not?" Natasha looked at you, her hands running all over you.

"Because I'm 90% sure there are rats and I really don't want to catch something"

Natasha laughed and kissed you a little more. "Fair enough. We should stop this now then."

You kissed her neck. "Yes. We should definitely stop now."

~~~~~

Just before you were due to leave, you called Natasha into the bedroom.

"Y/n, we have to go."

"I know I know but watch." You bounced excitedly as you threw a match at the bed.

"Y/n what the hell!?"

"Well, if you remember correctly, I said that if you crossed the pillow divide, I would burn the bed with you in it. As you can see, I'm generously leaving you out of the bed. You're welcome."

Natasha just looked at you. "I can't believe I like you."

"Aww you like me? That's kind of embarrassing for you." You laughed as you linked arms with her, walking to the jet, but not before Natasha convinced you to put out the fire on the bed.

You watched as the fire fizzled out and silently thanked that damn bed for bringing you and Natasha closer. Literally. It didn't mean you weren't going to have a long chat with Fury about proper size beds though.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

bruce wayne week day 2: gala rated T, no archive warnings apply, tagged: past bruce wayne/harvey dent, implied/referenced violence, brief suicide mention

how was it, bruce thought to himself, that he could withstand torture both physcial and mental without any lasting damage, but the one thing that had him trembling and ready to crawl out of his own skin was an itchy suit?

he’d grown out of them, was the thing. when he was young, alfred had ensured that he’d always dressed properly for any occasion, be that a wedding or charity event or board meeting. before that, his parents—well. they had made sure bruce was presentable enough for their friends to pinch bruce's cheeks instead of awkwardly patting his shoulder.

but now, newly returned to gotham with a thousand new scars and a hardened grip, bruce realized he had lost his tolerance for finely pressed and ironed fabric. none of his old suits had come remotely close to fitting him, and alfred had manhandled him in front of a mirror to take measurements, sending them off to his favourite tailor. bruce thought he'd cried out all the tears his body had left to give the day he came home, hugging alfred's frail body far too tight, but his eyes still managed to get all hot and uncomfortable when alfred's fingers hesitantly mapped the broad expanse of his shoulders, trying so hard to ignore the slashes, the stabs, the burn marks, the brands.

his shoes were too loose, the pointed style apparently a new trend in the gotham elite. bruce and alfred had worked on a pair of dress shoes together, ones that wouldn't fall off the minute bruce moved at anything more intense than a brisk walk, but bruce still longed for the comfort of his thick-soled boots.

those same shoes were tapping on the ground, making far too much noise, but bruce forced himself to take a breath and let the flower-scented artificial spray calm him down. logically, it made no sense at all, but bruce had always placed gotham on pause in his mind. he'd expected to come back older and harder and fiercer to find gotham exactly the same, waiting patiently just for him.

instead, bella revero had cut her hair and dyed it blonde, and was wearing a long, flowing, glittering pantsuit instead of a long, flowing, glittering gown. tom thompson's hair was a healthy salt and pepper when bruce left, but now the man was two tufts away from being completely bald. thicky-applied makeup somehow accentuated wrinkles instead of hiding them, no manner of well-cut suits could hide a growing potbelly, none of the waiters that had given bruce snacks and orange juice were working anymore, and most everyone bruce remembered being roughly his age had moved far, far away from this wretched hole of a city.

there were times when bruce slapped himself upside the head for the absolutely moronic decision to come back to gotham and announce ta-daaa! not dead! he should have just been batman and let bruce wayne's useless name and dishonored legacy be swallowed up by gotham.

footsteps behind him. bruce had tuned out most of his training, knowing that it would only hinder him as brucie wayne, only make him look suspicious. but he'd kept a basic background awareness, unable to turn that off, and these thuds were heading right for him. bruce tensed, his false smile probably turning brittle, two seconds away from whirling around and grabbing his attacker's arm so hard, the bone would shatter.

a heavy hand slammed down onto his shoulder, but right before bruce made a move, a voice spoke right next to his ear, smooth and low and capable of making his entire body relax without any input from him whatsoever.

"what the actual hell are you doing here, you motherfucker?"

"harvey," bruce sighed, turning around to give the man a relieved smile. "thank god. i thought i'd have to go through this all by myself. you didn't tell me you were coming?"

harvey's mouth pulled into a painful grin, one that didn't look the least bit friendly, and there was a bulging vein on his temple, a nervous tick that bruce knew he didn't have before.

"you alright there, harv? you're looking a little—," bruce gestured vaguely to harvey's face, "—red."

harvey's grip on bruce's shoulder tightened, fingers digging into muscle and sending painful twinges up bruce's shoulder, and bruce tried not to show his surprise. he was two seconds from shoving off harvey's hand himself, but just decided to grit and bear it. harvey wouldn't ever hurt him.

"you have been gone," harvey said, enunciating every word, "for years. i didn't know where you were. i didn't know if you were ever coming back. then i hear that you're home from a goddamn newspaper, and you just showed up to this party without telling anyone."

"i was on the guest list," bruce pointed out, automatically putting up a simplified version of his brucie wayne facade. he widened his eyes, putting a little cluelessness into the fluttering of his eyelashes, just enough to keep his cover in case anyone was recording him, just enough so harvey believes him.

"what the fuck are you doing with your eyes," harvey said flatly.

so apparently harvey knew him better than he thought.

"look, harv, i was gonna call you, i really was—"

"i thought you were dead," harvey hissed, and his best friends eyes have more lines on them than bruce remembered and he doesn't have to tip his head up just to see harvey laugh anymore and there's too much broken love in harvey's voice for them to be standing in between a gilded trash can and a spiked bowl of punch.

"harvey,,," bruce started, not knowing exactly where to go from there. he'd taught himself to prepare for any possible attack, any possible conspiracy or unmasking or targeted hit, but he'd completely forgot about his own friend. he'd forgotten he had a friend.

luckily or unluckily, harvey interrupted him before he had the chance to fumble his words. "i thought you were dead, i thought my best friend had finally fucking followed through with what i tried so hard for years to stop."

it hit bruce like a punch to the gut. he wasn't aware harvey had ever been trying.

"and now,,, what? you're just fine? you're dressed like a poser and your hair's all neat and trimmed and you're smiling at people like the only thing you care about is getting into their pants. plus, that's the fourth glass you've had tonight."

"we're already an hour in," bruce replied automatically.

"we're only an hour in," harvey said.

there was a pause. not an uncomfortable one, because it had been years since him and harvey were ever uncomfortable with each other. it was like harvey couldn't decide whether or not to reach out and strangle bruce for worrying him or break down for hurting him or hug him for coming back home.

bruce couldn't tell him. harvey worked too closely with commissioner gordon; daring bruce to steal mary jane from the principal's stash and shotgunning it out of his mouth was leagues away from keeping the secret that bruce was a dangerous, trained vigilante from everyone he knew.

"it's okay, harvey," bruce said, his voice completely sincere for the first time this night. "i found other ways to cope."

"i don't like those other ways," harvey sneered, eyes the glass in bruce's hand.

"other ways," bruce said. "you don't have to worry. i'm fine."

the photographer for the gotham gazette had snapped a picture of him entering, and no one would notice if he left now. bruce wayne couldn't be beating up pedophiles in the narrows if bruce wayne was getting drunk at a high-class gala. he'd planned to leave three hours in, a respectable amount of time, but meeting harvey had thrown him off balance.

he brushed past harvey, heading towards the butler's exit in the back of the ballroom. "enjoy the party!" he called behind him as he left, eyes wide again, clueless and fluttering and oh-so blind to the devastated way harvey watched him leave.

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[sabraeal]

WFB, Tanbarun arc: Obi meets the real reason she had to leave everything behind.

[Read on AO3]

Obi can admit: even after spending the day with Umbrella Corp’s heir apparent, even after knowing that Richie Rich couldn’t find his ass with both hands-- but in a nice way-- he hears the tiny tyrant’s little proclamation and thinks, what’s his game?

He may not be on the fast track to Summa Cum Laude, not like Doc-- and apparently this kid, if Daddy keeps paying out that Big Pharma money to keep his grades at the top of the curve-- but Obi doesn’t need any fancy academic distinction to suss out that Raj’s celebratory kegger idea belongs straight in the ‘godawful stupid’ pile. And with the quick way Doc goes bloodless at the offer, the air’s got that tangy Calculated Insult taste to it.

That is until he squares up right in front of this Timothée Chalamet looking motherfucker and is blind-sided by his bright-eyed, dummy wide smile. Despite the vibe in this room reading like the end of a slow-burn thriller’s first act, this idiot thinks he’s doing everyone a favor. The kid somehow took one look at Annie Hall here and thought that her brand says vomits Pabst Blue Ribbon as an extracurricular. There are times where Obi considers his past gold star failures and thinks he’s nature’s worst clown, but Shenezard-- Shenezard could fill a whole car.

“Raj,” Doc chokes out, looking like she’s two steps from a body bag. “That’s very...generous of you, but you don’t really--”

“No, no.” Between blinks, Raj springs forward, seizing her hand. “Shirayuki, you are the generous one, coming here after all this time to make amends--”

“I’m not,” she reminds him, steely, like the tooth of a bear trap. Or maybe the blade of a guillotine. “I’m here to present a paper.”

“--So you must give me the opportunity to be likewise magnanimous.” One hand may be taken, but the other’s free to snap, loud as a gunshot in the empty foyer. “Sakaki, see to it.”

His lawyer ventures a weary glance, closing his briefcase with a final snap. “Mr Shenezard, you know I can’t be party to providing alcoholic beverages to underage students.”

“Right.” His fingers snap again; the brothers passing by flinch. “Brian will take care of it.”

One of them-- the tall one, built like a linebacker with boat shoes that earn the name-- sighs. “Aw man, not again.”

“I told you, dude,” the other one mutters, pushing him through the doorway. “You can’t make eye contact.”

Raj doesn’t even bat an eye, just stares down at Doc, flushed with victory. “See? Simple. Get yourself ready, Shirayuki,” he warns warmly, “for tonight you will be fêted!”

*

Between Princess and Prez’s egos, there’s no elbow room for any other opinions on the frat’s event committee, but even still, Obi knows there’s some logistical issues to putting together a kegger in barely five hours. It’s the sort of thing he’d worry over if he thought for one second that Doc wanted anything to do with this half-assed excuse for a hook up, but she flees the scene the moment Raj gets distracted enough to drop her hand. It’d be a shame to get all heated when she’s already hanging out a window, escaping the only way she knows how: dangerously.

Real kind of Doc to save him the hassle; if he had to concern himself with her tender feelings, why, he’d barely have time to agonizing over what to wear. Since that’s apparently how he’s going to spend the hours between dinner and drunk o’clock: staring at his backpack full of clothes and hating every stitch on them.

It’s not like he didn’t bring nice stuff; Chief had briefed him-- and Big Guy, and His Lordship, plus a hastily emailed primer from the Big Boss with a rubric for sartorial formalities-- but he can’t exactly wear a sports coat to a keg stand. Maybe CEO Barbie could wear her designer pantsuit and not get a drop on it, but Obi doesn’t have the sort of face that can wear business formal like gym shorts. And the rest of it...

Well sure, jeans and tees would match the vibe; certainly be a step up from the early December board shorts he’s sure will be in fashion tonight, but it’s not-- not--

Hot. His Majesty said this trip would only be four days, a quick jaunt over state lines to see to it that Kihal’s momentary expulsion wasn’t in vain. Packing light seemed smart. He didn’t need to bait the hook when the only item on his itinerary was a poster session and an academic dinner.

He still doesn’t need to; his whole job here is to make sure Doc isn’t eyeing any third-story windows, not his ass. She’s six inches of leg and a drawer full of Victoria Secret away from being his type anyway, and he only came here because-- because--

Her hand had look so pale against the checkered tablecloth, so limp, like it hadn’t been held in years. Like she’d given up on someone being there to take it. He’d held it in the car-- still wet and clammy, a complete accident-- and even now it burns in his memory, the first warmth he’d felt since someone put five inches of cold steel beneath his rib cage. And stupidly, his first thought was, Doc deserves someone who would.

His second is, I’d like to be that someone.

It’s a fucking mystery why. Sure, he-- he likes her, in a real Disney Channel Original, baby’s first crush way, but this whole situation he has at Wistal is a glass shoe, set to shatter the moment he has a diploma in his hands. The last thing he needs is a reason to cling to the shards, expecting more than anyone wants to give him. Besides, he knows by now-- they could hug him and squeeze him and call hims George, but Obi’s the kind of guy who sees and open door and runs through it. There’s no point to being more friend than the job entails. Not unless he wants someone putting up flyers to find their lost Obi, at least. It’d certainly be a first.

“Right.” His palm scrub over his face, muffling out the rest of the world for just a second. That’s all he needs to remember what’s important here. “Just put something on, asshole.”

It’s a stupid thing to worry about. If these clothes didn’t smell like musty library, he wouldn’t even--

Something flutters, right at the corner of his eye. Not big enough to be a threat-- he can tell that right off, but it definitely didn’t come from his stuff. No, looks like it blew out of the trash, pushed along by the sudden burst of hot air from the vents. His mouth tilts, sliding right into a smirk. Speaking of flyers...

Phi Sigma Pi Crunch Time Kegger, this one reads; he has to squint to see the grainy oval in the center is just a photo-realistic barrel. $5 at the door. 8pm on December--

Ha, well. Look at that. It’s today. What a coincidence. Seems he’s not the only one concerned about what’s covering his ass.

*

At Wistal, Obi liked to make a point of showing up fashionably late to any function at the frat. Not to avoid lending a hand-- he did all that and more earlier in the day under Princess’s watchful eye-- but because showing up to a party where you lived a half hour after it started was peak comedy. Sometimes he even sidled up to the Chief’s current conversation and loudly announced, “The traffic getting here was brutal. Real back up near the bathroom, if you know what I mean.”

Bossman could say it wasn’t funny all he liked-- and he usually did, yanking him aside and keeping his scolding sotto voce, as Kiki called it, so it wouldn’t harsh anyone’s buzz-- but once time he slipped it into a casual conversation with some kid Princess knew from prep school, and Big Guy had to put a clamp on a full Bullwinkle guffaw.

But tonight wasn’t the night to play honors society class clown. No, he’d come here for Doc. Fought to come here for her, hard enough that he must have looked stupid, like he was some dog that didn’t know it wasn’t people.

It was worth it. He’d make himself Bobo the fool all over again if he could make sure she never looked as small as she did when they came in the door, if he could make her stand larger than life, like the girl he’d seen wrapped in his jacket at the riverside, everywhere she walked.

By the time he saunters to the top of the grand stairs-- what is it about these rich ass frats and their debutante ball style houses?-- the front hall is already filling up, the ratio of girls to guys skewed far towards the fairer sex as they filter into the labyrinth of parlors to either side. Packed as it is, it still only takes him a glance to find Doc; she’s folded into a corner with a cluster of chairs cover in discarded coats, about as well hidden as a goth kid at a pep rally.

Obi takes the stairs two at a time, beelining for her corner the minute his sole scuffs the carpet. She doesn’t see him-- not tiny like she is and getting smaller by the second. Even when he grips the back of one of the chairs she doesn’t look up, far too intent on the drink she’s barely touched.

“Well, well, well.” He lets his mouth part in a half-tame grin; growing wider when she jumps. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Obi.” All at once the tension melts from her, the barbed-wire fence of her shoulders easing back down to pickets. “I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, well--” he scoots a chair off to the side, making a large enough hole to slip through-- “I usually just look for red, but it’s been tough in this crowd.”

She blinks, a cute little knot rucking up right over her nose as she looks out on a sea of solo cups. “Ah,” she hums, her mouth twitching over her own. “I see how you might have some trouble.”

“What d’you got there?” He peers over the rim, getting a quick glance at some clear fizz before she jerks it away. “Vodka tonic or something? You need to get topped off?”

Ah, there she goes. Right back up to threat level Black Watch Plaid. “N-no. Please. I’m-- I’m fine.”

Obi’s never been a big guy-- at least, nothing like the Big Guy, built like a wall and casting a shadow like one too. He’s tall, sure, but even at the top of his gains game, he’d been more wooden shed than brick house. But standing next to Doc now, watching her shrink away, her shoulders hiked into a citadel around her drink--

He’s feels huge. And not in a good way. Good thing he’s had plenty of practice at making himself small.

“Sprite?” he asks, settling himself against the wall. “Wouldn’t figure a party like this had a soda cooler.”

“Ah...” Her chin tilts into her chest, like somehow that’ll hide her blush better than the bad lighting. “No, just seltzer. They have some behind the um, bar.”

“Oh, they’re handing that out?” Back home they sure did-- and kept coolers stocked with a whole bunch of not-booze, for the people who weren’t interested in puking on the front lawn where Kiki Seiran could see them-- but he hadn’t gotten that sort of vibe from this branch of the frat.

“Not...quite.” Her mouth wiggles, like it’s a struggle to keep it shut. “But I did ask. Quietly.”

Considering how the current bartender is locked in deep conversation with a pair of size D’s, Obi can take an educated guess at just how hard it was for Doc to slip in and get a cup with Bar Bro none the wiser. “So is the plan to make like wallpaper for tonight, or is there actually something to do in this old pile?”

Her eyelashes flutter, and it’s stupid how fond he is of way they bat against her cheek, how all he can think of is the way they laid there after she came off that ladder, relieved that it was him that caught her. “Do?”

Ryuu isn’t the sort of kid who complains; he just logs all the things that confuse him out loud as if he’s some scientist in the field talking about mystifying monkey behaviors. Maybe to that kid he is, since every person he meets acts by some strange set of rules he never got the memo on. But as Obi watches Doc shuffle and shrink, her eyes darting around the room like a cornered gerbil, too small to do anything but tuck and run or maybe bite her way out, he remembers the way Ryuu’s eyebrows would tangle together when she left the room, his mouth all knotted up as he said, I can never tell what she wants.

Obi’d laughed at that; Doc was an open book to anyone with eyes. Sure, the little guy might need her to use her big girl words for her to get the point across, but anyone else could get it with a glance. Or so he’d though, until Chief told him, I can never figure out what she’s thinking.

It’s ridiculous; that girl keeps her heart plain on her sleeve for anyone that cares to see. But standing here, he gets it. His survival might have depended on being able to read a room from a twitch of an eyebrow, but regular people-- regular people have to know to look. Any Chad or Brad or Kevin here would take her batting eyelashes and coy reply as an invitation, but he sees the way her mouth teases at a grimace, the way her fingers roll at the rim of her cup. Just being at this party has her in a full-on chihuahua tremble, and now she thinks she might have to entertain him too--

“No pressure.” He doesn’t look at her when he says it, just lazily scans the room, like it doesn’t matter what she says. Like standing here all night sounds good too, as long as it’s with her. It helps that it’s true. “I just want to plan out my dance card.”

When he chances a glance back, her big eyes are too wide, mouth really flirting with that grimace. “There’s a dance floor in one of the parlors...?”

This girl is something else, that’s for sure. “I didn’t literally mean, I wanted to--” he shakes his head, stifling a laugh-- “Never mind. Just...didn’t His Highness mention something about a game room?”

“Oh!” Everything about Doc is all or nothing; she’s either gung ho or utterly uninterested. But now-- now she perks reluctantly; a morning glory that doesn’t know whether it sees the dawn. “Yes. There are a few pool tables back there, if I’m remembering right. Not bad ones.”

“Cool.” His shoulders slouch into a shrug, a casualty of being casual.“You wanna play a round?”

It’s a long shot; Doc’s jumpy and the last thing she’s gonna want to do is look awkward holding a stick just about as big as she is, but--

Her eyes light up; a quick spark, there and gone before Obi’s even convinced he saw anything at all.

“Well...” Her head sways as she considers, finally settling at a thoughtful tilt. “If you’d really like to...”

Obi huffs out a laugh. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“Oh.” Her mouth curls at an edge, an expression so mysterious it might as well be on his. Rather than hers, he means. Not...anything else. “I guess I could try a round.”

*

Obi’s only a player of opportunity, not a pro, so when it comes to grading tables he’s all by feel, not science. But he’ll admit: the velvet’s smooth on this one; not pilled or piebald, but just the right amount to make a game more about skill than luck. Doc seems to approve too, running her hand along a bumper before she says, “I think this one could do.”

“If you say so.” He plucks the rack out from beneath it, catching balls as Doc rolls them down to him. “You ever played before?”

She hesitates, palm hovering over a yellows stripe before she bounces it down the felt. “A few times. Not, um, recently though.”

“No problem. It’s a quick game to pick up.” He’s careful to sound light, easy, like he isn’t do this just to keep her from having a nervous break in the middle of a kegger. “We won’t do any fancy rules.”

Her eyebrows bounce up, buoying near her hair line. “Fancy rules?”

He shrugs, more natural now that he’s not leaning against a wall like a tool. “Like, billiard stuff. Don’t get any weird ideas about it either-- it’s not because I’m going easy on you, it’s because I don’t remember them. And Señor Google doesn’t need to get involved.”

The hand she’s held out for his phone curls, falling back down to the wood finish. “If you say so.”

With a quick roll across the felt, he sets the triangle right on the little sticker. “What do you think? Do you want to break?”

“Me?” Her eyelashes flutter, stilling once her gaze falls to one of those little metal bits on the edge. “Are you sure you want me to do it?”

“’Course I do, Doc.” His mouth curves in his best won’t-melt-better smiles. “If you’re worried, I can always show you how.”

The offer’s meant for a demo, him at one of the table and her at the other, maybe even a side-by-side just so she can get the angles on it, but the second it’s out of his mouth--

Well, he’s seen movies before. Some guy that looks like Patrick Swayze sidles up to girl he’s with, wrapping his arms around her and pressing close, telling her to move from the hip or something. Just thinking about being close to Doc, closer than they were today in the library, sends a rush right down to his toes, pins and needles pricking in its wake.

God. He twists from the table, sipping at too-sour beer. Three months ago he had game for days, and now he’s struggling to put a piece on the board.

Not that this is what that is. He‘s got varied tastes, sure, but he knows what he likes in a girl: long legs and nipped waists, the sort of girl who smiles like she’s got a secret. A sexy secret. Not--

Not someone who wears a cardigan to a kegger, like she got lost going from the lab to the library. Not even if she smiles when she sees him, saying his name like she’s been waiting. Not even if she looks perfect in his hoodie.

Fuck. His eyes clench shut, trying to block out her smile, so bright where she sits on the floor. I’m glad it’s you, Obi.

He tossed back half his cup, wincing as the sourness washes over him, a cold track to his empty stomach. Two years ago, he would have been thankful for this shit, but now he’s been spoiled by Big Guy’s craft beers and Princess’s bottle snobbery that he’s not sure he can even choke down the rest. A real hardship when his usual plan for dealing with feelings is to black out instead of having them.

Obi shakes himself out like last week’s jeans. There’s no reason to get tripped up over a girl who unironically has to use Urban Dictionary, especially when that girls already has a boyfriend. Or at least, a friend who’s growing more and more boyfriend-shaped by the day. And that friend is the same guy who pulled him out of the garbage. He’s just not used to the attention, that’s all. Nothing more to it than that. Dick completely uninvolved. No reason to get all tied up just because--

“C’mon.”

It’s loud in here, bass pumping from one of the parlors down the hall and everyone getting talking at a volume that can only be termed ‘drunk-loud’ to make up for it. But even still, he hears that, a guy’s voice, almost too flat to sound real. Hears it real clear, since it’s coming from just across a short stretch of felt.

“No need to play games.” Obi’s seen this guy before; just this morning this bro clipped him walking out the door, eyes giving off that really dead fish vibe as he glared back. Hadn’t given off much of an impression, but now that he’s looming over Doc, using every inch of that above-average height, well-- Obi’s noticing him now. “I can go get you something, on the house. Girl as cute as you shouldn’t be paying for her drinks, you know.”

Funny, last he checked drinks were free. At least as long as you had the right equipment below the belt.

“I’m-- I’m fine. Really. See?” She holds up her solo cup like it’s a talisman. “If I finish I’ll just, uh, find a soda.”

“You want a LaCroix?” He steps closer, driving Doc back a step. “Bitches love LaCroix.”

The asshole’s right: bitches do love LaCroix. But hearing this guy say that to Doc, to hear him imply she is one--

Well, it makes him itchy. The kind that’s usually solved by taking a swing and ending a night in the drunk tank.

But that’s not who he is anymore-- no, that’s not who Doc needs him to be. The last thing she needs is another complication, another hurdle to jump before she gives her presentation. The last thing she needs is to be doing it alone.

Obi draws himself up, stretching every last inch until he’s got that same big dick saunter Big Guy does as easy as breathing. Maple Leaf might be able to make it look friendly, like he’s just the boy next door who happens to be hung like a horse, but Obi-- Obi does what he does best: make it look dangerous. Like it’d be a real hassle to fuck with him.

“Hey babe,” he drawls, slinging a lazy arm around her waist. It’s not precisely natural; she’s small and he’s not, and it ends up being more of a slant from shoulder to hip. “You know this guy?”

“Ah!” Her eyes are wide when she looks up, too much white as she presses into him. “Obi. We were-- I was only--”

Yesterday’s Catch of the Day frowns at him. “We were just talking.”

“Cool.” Fuck, but he can feel her shivering. “I thought you were gonna show me how it’s done?”

He’s got a lot of balls-- Chief reminds him of that at least twice a day-- but however much that is, it’s not enough for him to shove his nose right into her hair, to really sell this bit. He leans in a little instead, curling his body around hers to make a nice little scene with as minimal touch as he can.

And still, she stares at him and goes, “What?”

Unbelievable. Doesn’t this girl know a rescue when she sees it? “You know. In pool?”

“OH. Right.” She twists back to Filet of Bro, her shaky smile all apology. “Sorry, I’m, um...”

“Here with me?” Obi offers and the same time she manages, “Busy.”

This girl’s going to be the death of him. Still, it works; the guy glances between them with his glassy eyes. Whatever he sees twists his mouth into a sneer.

“Yeah,” he mutters, turning away. “Whatever.”

*

It’s standard procedure to keep staring, to make sure this asshole feels the yeah keep walking glare against his back until he goes back to whatever hole he crawled out of. But that before Doc collapses, bracing herself against the table as her elbows tremble to hold her.

He doesn’t know what to do with this, whether he should stand back and pretend he doesn’t see her knocking knees, or-- or go right up and rub her back, tell her she’s not alone, the way he always wanted when he...

“Hey.” He slides up beside her, close enough for her to reach out, but not on top of her. “You want to get our of here?”

“N-no!” She shakes her head, her rough bob swaying over her shoulders. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Not to tell you your business, Doc,” he hums, leaning his ass against the table. “But you look like you could be doing better.”

“No, really.” Her hands brace on the top rail, pushing her upright with a gasp. “I can do it.”

“Counter point.” Obi lifts his most skeptical eyebrow. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.” Her fingers curl over the bumper, and he see it: the moment that delicate jaw of her sets. Instinctively, he counts the windows. “I want to be okay.”

Weird hill to die on, but no one’s ever accused Doc of being normal either. “Okay.” 

“And I think...” With a single fluid motion of her arm, she works a cue off the rack. “I think I could go for a game.”

[theharrowing]

Shaky Deposition ♢ 1: Let’s just have some fun

INDEX | NEXT

♢ Hoseok x Female Reader

♢ word count: 3.7k

♢ strangers to lovers, lawyer au, infidelity that turns into sharing, smut, nsfw, poly & slash, 18+

♢ warnings: no chapter-specific warnings; just world-building. i don't really know anything about law and lawyer jargon so just pretend the things i say are smart & true.

♢ beta read by @neoneunnajimin​

♢ posted march 2021 | read on ao3

You hardly slept last night, anxious for your first day at the new job and nervous about meeting your employer and coworkers. When you received your acceptance letter to work as a paralegal at Min & Jung, one of the most prestigious law firms in the country, you stared at the letter, reading it over and over, wondering if some mistake had been made. You applied for the job, yes, but never in a million years did you expect to land it right out of school with your only real world experience having been an internship with a small claims lawyer who worked out of a nearby strip mall. This is the real deal, and you're absolutely terrified.

You opt for a simple black pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse underneath and short heeled shoes, pinning your hair back as tightly as you can get it and applying minimal makeup. Although you've seen the high-end pencil skirts and gaudy statement jewelry worn by female lawyers and assistants on TV, you worry about setting a bad first impression, especially in a field that seems to be dominated by men; showing up "too sexy" could give some of these men the wrong idea about you. You're certainly not a prude, but you hope to keep your business relationships separate from your sexual and romantic ones, at least until you get a feel for the new job.

Plus, you'd heard rumors about one of your bosses-to-be, the "Min" of Min & Jung, and his womanizing. You hope to avoid all of that, not wanting to be hit on by a fifty-something with a beer gut and receding hairline, which is how you imagine all seasoned attorneys look, having encountered a few, including Min Shinhyuk of Min & Jung himself, during your days of scouting for internships and applying for full-time work. Min Shinhyuk is a respectable man, especially among the law circle, but being fucked over his desk is not exactly your idea of a good time.

After one last look at your outfit, you leave your room to find yourself immediately surrounded by your parents and younger brother, who yell with their arms open wide. You feel self-conscious as you let them embrace you, arms to your sides as you lean forward like a boiled noodle, pliable to their sways and squeezes, simply waiting for it to end.

"You'll mess up her hair, honey," your father gripes, though he's just as guilty as your mother is of hugging you too tightly and emphatically. 

You take this as your cue to back away from the barrage of affection, straightening out your clothing and checking your hair once more in a large ornate mirror in the entryway, slipping on sneakers to wear during your commute while your heels rest in a large cloth bag next to new stationery, all slung over your shoulder.

Your mother had packed you a lunch, which you graciously accept as a first-day gift, insisting that you'd like to try the food carts near the offices too, so she need not cook for you every day. Judging by the disappointed look in her eyes, you assume you'll be eating home-cooked more often than not, and you consider that there are certainly worse problems to have.

By the time you're out the door and on your way, the sun is rising in the sky, painting everything in bright yellows and oranges. It's a short walk to the bus, then a quick two-bus commute across the river to the office in Gangnam-gu, and you listen to Bibi through headphones all the while, smiling softly; everything about this day feels auspicious and full of potential, and you hope nothing comes along that dampens your mood.

Although you intentionally gave yourself plenty of time to get to the office, you arrive 23 minutes early and find a bench near some ginkgo trees to change shoes and catch your breath. People in tailored suits and loud high heels walk past, on their way to work, and you marvel at the sight, still struggling to believe you're here, of all places. 

Part of you fears that there must have been some mistake, readying yourself to be laughed out of the building, watched over by security after you tell them your name, and they inform you that you were not, in fact, hired. You do your best to cast those thoughts aside, take a deep breath, and move forward.

You walk up the stone steps leading into the tall building, reading Min & Jung on the glass doors, and listen as your feet click-clack-click-clack against the ground with every step. Inside, you make your way through a wide entrance, coming to a receptionist's desk. Against the desk leans a tall, thin man with short dark hair and a broad smile chatting with the woman sitting there, and when you approach, he turns his smile to you, filling your tummy anxiously with butterflies. The moment you greet the receptionist and tell her your name, the man perks up, holding his hand out to you.

"I'm Jung Hoseok," he announces, taking your hand into both of his as he bows.

As you bow in return, you find a sweet citrus and floral aroma coming from Hoseok that is so pleasant you try to inhale as deeply and silently as you can so you can smell more, wishing you might live in this scent a little longer. Hoseok doesn't drop your hand after shaking it, instead tugging you along past reception, who never got a word in, and towards a large elevator.

You don't say much, instead listening as Hoseok explains that he's been tasked with training you while you get acclimated to the new job, telling you where to find your desk, as well as the library and other important offices. He calls your workspace "the bullpen," and when you get to it, you discover why: your desk sits in a large, open room with 14 other desks, with all 14 other paralegals, including Hoseok, whose desk is directly to the left of yours.

"You won't be assigned to always assist a specific lawyer," Hoseok explains, "but some may play favorites with you once you get to know them better, and between cases you’ll most likely be given busywork."

"Who do you tend to assist?" you ask, watching as Hoseok blushes.

"Senior Partner Min himself, typically," Hoseok responds with a hushed tone, though you imagine that, in a room this open, everyone is already aware of that fact. "He tends to choose two assistants, and the one who used to join me is the one whose seat you're filling, so maybe if I train you well, you'll assist him, too." 

You try not to let anxiety swallow you whole at the thought of immediately working under the senior lawyer, himself, allowing the moment to pass quickly as Hoseok drags you along to see something new, gleefully chattering the entire time.

The first half of the day goes by quickly as you follow Hoseok from room to room, looking at the extensive library near the bullpen, the coffee and snack machines, the restrooms, and other essential areas. He also takes you to the second floor, showing you conference rooms and the mock trial floor, which is set up like a courtroom. Hoseok introduces you to lawyers along the way and some of the paralegals who sit near you in the bullpen. Everything finally starts to sink in, and you feel yourself growing more anxious by the minute about living up to the standards of Min & Jung, especially if you have a chance to assist one of the senior partners themselves.

During lunch, you take out the meal your mother packed and feel delighted to see Hoseok has something similar with him. You exchange bites of homemade kimchi and talk about personal things, like where you grew up and went to school. You share that you'd always been in Seoul, and Hoseok shares that he’s from Gwangju and moved to Seoul when he was a teenager, while his father was opening his own law firm.

"Why don't you work for your father?" you ask.

Hoseok bursts out laughing, which takes you by surprise, and you sit in silence, waiting for him to let you in on what's so funny. Then he watches you with wide eyes, waiting instead for you to read his mind.

"What?" you finally ask with equally wide eyes.

"Jung Hoseok," he finally responds. "Min & Jung..."

You hesitate to respond. "I-isn't that a common name?"

Hoseok shrugs. "Maybe. But in this case, it's no coincidence. This is my father's business."

You choke on the next intake of air, coughing into your elbow as you try to catch your breath. What are the chances of meeting the son of one of the senior partners on your first day, much less getting escorted around by him?

"Let me guess," Hoseok offers as you continue to lightly cough, finally able to breathe semi-regularly again. "You're curious why I work in the bullpen if my dad is one of the names on the building?"

You nod, reaching for your cup of water; you are wondering just that. Hoseok shrugs again.

"I like being a paralegal. Being one of the higher suits doesn't appeal to me; I like to do research and put my head together with the other assistants. Plus, I work under my childhood friend most of the time anyway. Having to compete with him for cases and accolades instead...I'm not sure I'm cut out for that; I'd rather stay by his side. I'll leave my dad to butt heads with him."

This brings up a flood of questions, but your lunch break is over, and Hoseok has already gotten up to wash his hands and pack up his lunch box, so you finish your food and remind yourself to ask later if it comes up. In the meantime, you tuck your lunch box away, following several paces behind Hoseok to the bullpen.

On your desk is a small stack of papers, mostly work other paralegals have done, which you've been tasked to look over and fact check—the aforementioned busywork, you suppose. Hoseok explains the assignment, which is simple enough, then leaves you to get to work. You bring the stack over to the library and take out volume after volume of everything you need, from copyright law to agricultural science, checking over document after document and highlighting clauses that need revision.

From time to time, you look up to see, from the mezzanine of the third floor, which overlooks the bullpen and library, people standing and watching over the workers. One such person stands out, a man who looks about your age, with short platinum blond hair. Unlike the rest of the employees you've seen, he sports long silver chains hanging from his right hip and stands with an authority nobody else seems to have. At times it feels as if he's staring directly at you, which causes your cheeks to warm, and you do your best to keep your eyes on the papers and books in front of you.

You're on your last file of the day when you notice most of your coworkers are beginning to pack up. You don't have much left, so you continue to work on it rather than end your shift the moment the clock strikes 5 and your day is over. It's about a quarter after when a paper cup is placed on the table in front of you, startling you as your eyes find Hoseok standing there.

"Almost done?" Hoseok asks.

You nod and look into the cup, which Hoseok shoves closer. It smells like coffee and rich chocolate. Hoseok begins to grab books you're no longer using, placing them back on their rightful shelves. Within five more minutes, you're finished and close the volume on animal husbandry that you had been thumbing through.

Hoseok plops down on the seat next to yours, drinking from a cup that matches the one he brought to you. "How was your first day?"

"Pretty good," you respond. Your eyes glance back to where the man with the silver chains had been standing, finding the area empty, then to Hoseok. You shift your body slightly to face him.

"I'm impressed with the workload you accomplished in four hours," Hoseok says with a wide smile. "Of course, your work will be checked by one of our lawyers, but from what I can see, you seem to have done a great job."

You smile and take the cup, slowly putting it to your lips. It's creamy and the perfect mix of sweet and bitter.

"I mixed cocoa powder into the coffee," Hoseok informs you in a hushed voice as if he's sharing top-secret information.

"It's good," you tell him.

The two of you sip in silence for a moment before Hoseok stands.

"Are you busy now?" Hoseok asks you. "I like to take new coworkers to dinner so we can discuss how they're doing and answer any questions. But only if it’s no inconvenience."

You mull it over. On one hand, you'd like to go home, take a hot shower, and lay down. But on the other, it would be nice to get to know Hoseok better, and since he's offering, you may as well accept. You'd also like to spend more time with him because he's handsome, funny, and seems like he'd be a good time, but you try to push those thoughts to the back of your mind; best not to get too ahead of yourself.

"Dinner sounds great," you respond, standing and taking your small stack of finished paperwork.

You follow Hoseok back to the bullpen, where he shows you a wire tray in which you set the stack of papers to be taken up to one of the lawyers on the third or fourth floor in the morning. With your cloth bag over your shoulder, you follow Hoseok out of the building and into the warm evening air. Once you walk to the street, Hoseok hails a taxi, informing you that he's taking you to Itaewon.

"Hope that's not too far from where you live," Hoseok says, "there's a noodle bar there that I've been craving."

"I live just outside of Itaewon," you respond, checking your phone to see if you've missed any calls or texts from home.

Hoseok claps, which startles you. "Perfect!" he exclaims, "I do too!"

The drive to Itaewon is short, and as you clamber out of the cab and onto the busy street, everything begins to hit you all at once: the sounds of the city, your first day at a new job, going out with an employee with hopes of making a friend in the office; everything feels good.

You're familiar with the noodle bar Hoseok takes you to, and order your favorite dish from the menu. Hoseok is delighted to find out you've been here before and orders two bottles of soju for the table. Hoseok doesn't talk much about work, instead raving about other nearby restaurants and bars, filling your glass with shot after shot of soju. You're a little lightheaded when the food arrives and have loosened up quite a bit, laughing more heartily to Hoseok's quips and jokes, which have increased in quality and quantity with his blooming intoxication. After slurping down your meal and finishing the second bottle of soju, you and Hoseok both sit back in your chairs, exhausted and full.

"Shit," Hoseok grumbles, staring ahead at the table with wide eyes and pink cheeks. "We forgot to talk about your first day."

You chuckle and wonder if you're too full and tired to think anyway. "That's okay. There's always tomorrow."

Hoseok holds out a fist, and, with a giggle, you bump yours into his, then he pulls out his phone for a bit, responding to notifications. You do the same, checking in on the family group chat to let your parents know you had dinner with a coworker and for them to not stay up. You inform them that your first day went well, which receives a lot of praise from your parents and emojis from your brother.

When you look up from your phone, Hoseok is watching you, and you feel yourself blush. Even with pink cheeks and sleepy eyes, Hoseok is a dream, and you do your best to push away thoughts of his citrus and floral scent and heart-shaped lips.

"Want to call it a night or have one more?" Hoseok asks.

You're not sure you can handle any more food or drink entering your body, but the night is still young, and you like Hoseok's company, so you agree to leave and walk to a small nearby bar for one more drink. Hoseok pays the check on the way out and then leads the way. Something about the chaotic hustle and bustle, even for a Monday, feels calming, and you walk with Hoseok with a smile, looking into your favorite storefronts and taking in the smells of street vendor carts.

When you arrive at your second destination, you're excited that it's a bar you've never been to, and follow Hoseok's lead as he goes to the back of the dimly lit space, taking a seat at a booth in the corner. Hoseok approaches the bar after you insist you'll have one of whatever he's having, and you wait, glancing around at the other patrons and the ornate lamps that decorate the bar. It's not long before Hoseok returns with two soju and lychee cocktails.

Rather than sitting across from you, Hoseok scoots into the booth next to you, which takes you by surprise as you scoot a little further to give him room. He's all smiles when he turns to you, holding his glass up to cheers.

"I like you," Hoseok mutters.

Although he says it with a chipper, seemingly innocuous tone that you would use to announce your approval of the flavor of a candy or ice cream you just tasted for the first time, you see something else in his eyes.

"I like you too," you respond somewhat sheepishly.

You're not sure how you mean it; you do like him as a person to hang out with, and you are happy to have him as your mentor while you settle into your new position, but there's a part of you that thinks you may like him a little more than that. It's too soon, you tell yourself. Slow down.

You clank your glasses together and take a sip, letting the sweetness of the lychee take over your taste buds while the subtle maltiness of the soju fills in the gaps, rounding out in a delicious medley on your tongue.

"So," Hoseok announces, which snaps you from your trance. "Do you have any questions about work?"

You think, but your mind is as cloudy as your cocktail, only picturing the white-haired man standing above the bullpen. You want to ask about him, but you opt not to; instead, you consider something Hoseok said over lunch.

When you hum, indicating that you'd thought of something to ask, Hoseok looks up, giving you his full attention, and for a split moment, you're distracted by how round and doe-like his eyes look, but you pull yourself once more from falling into a Hoseok-induced trance.

"You mentioned you work under your best friend...is he one of the lawyers?"

Hoseok tilts his head as if confused by the question, then it dawns on him.

"Oh...I never introduced you to Yoongi."

You try to come up with whether or not you'd heard Yoongi's name until now and can't place it. You shake your head. The ends of Hoseok's mouth upturn, creating small dimples which make your heart go doo-geun doo-geun.

"He'll be out of the office until next week, but when he returns. I'll introduce you to him," Hoseok says. "He's kind of cold at first, but I think he'll like you."

You're not sure if it's intentional on his part, but Hoseok's eyes rove down your body and back up again when he says that, which makes you blush and look away, pulling your glass to your lips once more. You wonder if Hoseok is in an intoxicated stupor, doing things he wouldn't normally do, or if he's bolder than you gave him credit for now that he's feeling more relaxed around you. Your answer comes in the form of one of Hoseok's fingers tracing a line down your neck and up again, causing your breath to hitch. The motion repeats slowly, and your eyes flutter closed as all the tiny hairs on your body stand at attention under his touch.

"But who wouldn't like you?" Hoseok purrs, his voice sounding much deeper and closer than before.

You let out a deep, stuttered breath, your eyes still closed, and you can swear the floral and citrus scent is stronger than it had been moments ago. Is Hoseok closer? Will he try to kiss you or touch you more? You would be lying if you thought you didn't want him to, wouldn't let him, even here in public with a handful of others in the room.

The touch disappears, and you let another breath out, one you'd been holding in, before opening your eyes. Hoseok looks down at his drink in his hand with an uncertain gaze.

"I'm sorry," Hoseok mutters, "I didn't mean to cross a line. We barely just met."

Thoughts swirl around, and you tell yourself to let him down easily, to inform him that you try not to get involved with coworkers, especially after you'd just met, especially after landing such an important job at such an influential firm, but as your lips part, all you can muster is, "It felt good." Hoseok seems pleased, turning to you with a surprised smile.

"I d—uh, I do try not to date coworkers, though," you finally manage to stammer out, feeling your cheeks turn red hot under Hoseok��s gaze.

Mirth and sin flash behind Hoseok's eyes as he cocks his head to the side, and you swear you could drown in him in this moment, so taken by the way he looks at you, how your skin feels hot under his smoldering stare. Hoseok leans forward, gently pushing your head to the side with his as his lips lightly touch your neck, sending a jolt through your entire body. They graze softly over your newly formed goosebumps as he purrs, "Who says we have to date? Let’s just have some fun."

♢ Story written for the Suits & Ties Collab event

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