#suppose i should've tagged that huh

[andorshitdaily]

Hold up are these leaked from s2?!!?

oh buddy. yeah. i've been unwell for more than a year since the teaser from Star Wars Celebration leaked

[asce-of-hearts]

Can I request a smut with yandere illumi with a size kink & noncon?

Powerless

Contents: Yandere!Illumi x gn!reader smut scenario.

more Illumi content here

WARNINGS: YANDERE, ARRANGED MARRIAGE IMPLIED, NSFW, DUB/NON-CON, SIZE KINK, BREEDING KINK, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS DNI, AFAB!BODIED READER OTHERWISE GENDER NEAUTRAL.

"Who cares about what you want?" His words are as cold as ever, devoid of emotion. You're half naked, barely able to cover yourself with the bed-sheets, he's shirtless, jet black hair falling over his shoulders.

"You should care." You answer meekly, gasping when he effortlessly tugs away the sheets from your body. "We're married. My desires should matter to you." He tilts his head to the side slightly, and you wonder if this is just another case of miscommunication. His voice is always so even, you've had a hard time distinguishing when he's joking to when he's serious because of this. "I-It really isn't funny, Illumi."

"I'm not trying to amuse you, ___." He's always so robotic, you feel your skin crawl.

"I understand. But- Still... I want to sleep now. I don't want to make love." You breathe in deeply, trying to calm down. "We'll have time for that later... when I'm ready."

When you open your eyes after those words, he's naked and on top of you. His eyes fixed on your face, his body caging yours. You try to move, but he has you trapped against the mattress. He's smiling, amused.

"Make love? When you're ready?" He lets out a chuckle, showing emotion for once. "Don't be absurd. Sex is for reproductive purposes, and from what I know about you..." His eyes travel downwards, to your naked stomach. "This is the best time to put my seed inside of you."

"Illumi!" You scream when he tears at your clothes, he shuts you up by pressing his palm against your mouth, shoving your face against the pillows. Your eyes fill with tears, he's able to manhandle you so easily. He's strong, far too strong. He twists you around to his liking, finding an angle where he's able to line the tip of his cock with the entrance of your cunt. He rubs it against your clit, at least helping you get a little slick.

He tries to push past the tight ring of muscle, barely able to get the tip inside.

"Huh?" He says, more to himself than to your teary eyed form. "Seems like you're too tight for penetration."

"I'm telling you!" You cry out, struggling against the hand that keeps you pinned down. You let out a choked scream when he pushes again, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

"It doesn't matter, He groans, his free hand squeezing at your hip, that will surely leave a bruise. "I'll make it fit." His hand travels down to your clip, rubbing it in circular motions that seem far too calculated, it doesn't matter how much you try to deny it, you're getting wetter by the second. "Who would've thought you would be so tiny to fit me? It's my fault too I suppose, I should've thought about it." He smiles again, the hand pinning you to the pillow relenting as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You're limp, sniffling as you stare at the wall. He's finally able to slip all the way inside, bottoming out with a satisfied groan.

"You're so warm inside..." He says, slowly pulling out until only the tip is inside, then slamming back inside you with as much strength as he can without harming you. "Maybe I'll end up liking it too much and making love to you for fun, not just for babies."

He grins, he's making fun of you. You can only moan, taking in the brutal way he thrusts inside of you.

"Wouldn't you like that, ___? Making love to me."

hope you enjoyed this!!

have a great day/night

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[ashthemadwriter-archived]

TW: Irrational jealousy

"Here. You left this at my apartment"

Stealing your gaze from the book, you look at your boyfriend who's holding a wine red lacy bra in his hands, stretching it toward you. Unlike his usual attitude, GOJO doesn't look much lively at the moment. In fact, he looks somewhat... meticulous, like he's operating a very dangerous experience and is about to witness the outcome of his efforts.

Having your eyebrows knotted together, you wordlessly take the bra in your hands, the base of your fingers gently but painfully rubbing against the soft fabric. Gojo tries his best not to let his smirk break out when you give him a quizzical look and squeeze the lingerie in your hands.

"This isn't mine"

There it is. Victory. The awaitened result of his brilliant plan to give you a taste of your medicine.

Gojo cups his mouth while expanding his fingers to give you a better look of his fake gasp through the gap between them, humming abruptly. He carefully takes a second look at the bra, then begins to mutter in a not so low voice.

"Ah— well, this is awkward" He looks at your bewildered expression from the corner of his eye and continues. "I didn't want you to find out. Not this way"

The logic behind this clever act was easy to understand. You chose to spend your day offs with your stupid, lame old friend from college instead of your incredible, handsome, mind blowingly gorgeous boyfriend, and this is your punishment. Your reasoning was too dumb and made up. Huh, how could you even look him in the eye and say you're doing this because he's just gotten back from Austria and needs you to show him around town and introduce him to your colleagues? You should've just shoved a dagger in his aching heart and told him that you dont love him anymore. So yes, you deserve this; and as they all say, revenge is a dish best served cold.

"But you see, I'm not the only one to blame in this. You are too. You were the one who left me in the dark hanging to go on a romantic getaway with that good for nothing punk"

"Satoru—"

"Let me finish. I know that it was just for three days and you did nothing but work together, but I'm a man y/n! A proud, strong grown man who has his own needs"

"Satoru—"

"I'm not an animal y/n, but how do you expect me to close my eyes and pretend like nothing's wrong? Because it is, and since I'm also an honest man, I couldn't bare with the feeling of getting abandoned by my own woman. You and I were supposed to rule the world, but you never wanted what we were—"

"Satoru!!"

Gojo grits his teeth and looks at you with slight irritation, wondering what's so important that has to interrupt his dramatic show; but his liveliness and acting power vanishes in a glance when his eyes land on the part of the bra you're pointing at while holding it up.

"There's a price tag on this"

Oh.

The small, round label is linked to the inside of the bra, which is probably why Gojo had forgotten to remove it. Yes, it was totally that; not because he was too focused on his dialogues that he forgot to even check the bra out.

Gojo stares at your jumped up eyebrows and annoyed expression, flashing you one of his most charming smiles; Only this time he can't make it as shameless as it usually is.

"Eh, I guess this shows how much I actually love you and care about you"

"You bought this two sizes bigger than mine you asshole"

"My bad, I kinda got carried away"

[monkebearness]

Rereading the Mixed Messages [Pt. 1]

Kamimoto Kotone (tripleS) x Male Reader

Part 2

Tags: fluff, angst, friends-to-lovers, alcohol

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: hello, it's me again. this post was supposed to be a smut with a different story and characters, but 'cause it was a special someone's birthday (five days ago), I chose to write this instead. anyways, if you like fluffs, I hope you enjoy this one.

A woman wearing a backpack has been waiting in a hallway right outside the comfort room. She saw her friend rushing towards him, while on her right hand, the handout brochure she received eleven minutes ago wrinkled more and more, thanks to her tightening grip.

“Tone-yah!” the man shouted with relief. “There you are, thank goodness.”

“Junghoon-ah!” she called him, hurrying and somewhat in her voice, especially as she saw him already sweating. “Where the heck have you been? I thought we’d meet here.”

“I’m sorry for taking you so long. I, uhh, I just asked someone to be our guide,” he pointed to the direction beside him with his thumb.

“You just went to someone?” Concern started to radiate from her voice.

“Yeah, and I think he’s a senior who can help us out.”

“You think?” her eyebrow automatically raised slightly, as with her cadence.

“I guess… “ he surmised. “He definitely looks like a sunbae. He’s wearing a gwajam.”

“You should've just waited for me. I was in the restroom for like only five minutes, before you went all Seoul searching on our own campus like some tourist.”

“Well, I panicked, arasseo?” he raised his hands in defense. “I just found him along with a bunch of other students, but he’s the one who stepped up… And besides, he’s willing to assist us. So whatever the case may be, he may know a lot more stuff than we do.”

“You didn’t have to bring anyone, Junghoon!” she couldn’t stop herself from freaking out. “We could’ve toured the campus by ourselves and everything would've been just fine. It’s not like we’re already late or anything… Isn’t that why we went here early?”

“Calm down. But yeah, that’s… A good point,” he scratched his head. “But maybe we should hear him out first. Give him a chance first… We gotta respect our seniors.”

A groan left her mouth, just as a tall man in his university jacket approached them with a welcoming beam. Kotone watched Junghoon as he bowed to him in sight, prompting her to follow his gesture, but with less enthusiasm and more caution towards the older student.

“Annyeonghasimnikka!” he greeted them with his hoarse yet cheerful voice. “I’m Kim Myungsoo.” He turned to Junghoon for a second. “You told me you have a little trouble navigating around campus.” His eyes then met Kotone’s. “So I assumed that both of you are freshmen.”

“Ne,” Junghoon politely answered him. “I kinda also assumed you were a senior, but I am really sorry if I got the wrong impression.”

“I’m actually a sophomore, but don’t worry, ‘cause I’m actually flattered.” he chortled at his own nonchalant response. “And of course, I’d be more than happy to help you… It is orientation day, after all... But, do you mind me asking what your names are?”

“I’m Geum Junghoon,” he bows, before turning to the woman. “And my friend here is…”

In her eyes, his face looks like he’s a model or a young actor who played either a main or supporting role in a romcom college drama. That might have been too specific, but that’s just how Kotone thought about him that morning. Watching romcoms in her spare time was an undeniable factor to that mentality. She didn’t know whether to be enticed or intimidated—or both—by his striking looks, towering stature, and courteous approach. But she might have been staring at her for too long. She should be saying something to him now. She should’ve because they’re now looking at her.

“Koton—” she hesitates at first, making the senior and her friend lean their head to the side while the former lets out a low, huh? Correcting her error within milliseconds due to internal panic, she clears her throat. “Mianhaeyo. My name is Kamimoto Kotone.”

“Oh! You must be Japanese then?” Myungsoo guessed, almost with a higher pitch, something that fascinated the woman because of his reaction. “An exchange student?”

“No. I'm just living here with my relatives,” she corrected him, before following up with, “But you are right about the first one. I was born and raised in Japan.”

“Ah… It’s nice meeting you, Junghoon and Kotone,” he bowed down to them. “First things first, welcome to Seoul State University.”

“Kamsahamnida, sunbaenim,” Junghoon professed as he bowed back, compelled by his habit of being respectful towards him. Too respectful, as Kotone would think, even though she herself bowed much lower this time.

“Oh, that's fine. It's my pleasure to help out more of our Seoulmates, you know?”

Suddenly, Kotone laughed through her nose.

“So, now… On more pressing matters, what are you guys majoring in?”

“Tone’s from the College of Education,” Junghoon answered. “I’m from Tourism and Hotel Management.”

“I'm also from Education!” Myungsoo applauded his answer. “Seems like we already have something in common then, Kotone-ssi. Plus Junghoon’s building is only right next to ours, so that'll be convenient for both of you.”

Junghoon nudged her left shoulder with a smirk. “You still regretting my decision? You've got yourself a new friend!” he mumbled while they followed his trail.

She scoffed at his retort. “Fair enough. He's fine… You did good.”

“And Junghoon,” the upperclassman turned to them. “I’ve actually met someone from your department. His name’s Lim Honggi. Does the name sound familiar to…”

As the two had a conversation, Kotone’s attention towards Myungsoo grew from the moment forward. After several minutes of strolling around the nearby locations, they arrived right in front of the building of Junghoon’s department. It was like Tone was a protective noona sending off a younger sibling to go on his own (they're the same age), even though Junghoon insisted that they go ahead, right after bowing to Myungsoo out of gratitude.

“Do you mind if I take you there as well?”

Such a question struck Kotone with panic, but not enough to trigger a fight-or-flight response. Instead, it let her own guard down. “Oh… Uhh… You don’t have to do that, sunbaenim… Don’t you have a class to catch up to?”

“In about thirty minutes, yeah… But we’re heading to the same building anyway,” he pointed out. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed out of the sudden, slowly pursing her own lips out of embarrassment.

“Unless you’re uncomfortable, then I can just leave you alone. I’m sure you know your way to your room. It’s just that—”

“No!” she exclaimed again, even though she knew he was right. “I still have half an hour before our first class, so it’s fine, really.”

That was the start of their something.

“Myungsoo-yah!” Someone calls him with a teasing tone as he approaches them. “There you are! The council told me you were busy briefing freshies… Speaking of which.”

“Yeah… They were right,” Myungsoo quipped.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll be on my way—”

“It’s okay, sunbaenim,” Kotone assured both of them.

“This is Park Yeonghwan,” Myungsoo proceeded with the introductions. “My classmate and friend. This is Kotone. She’s a freshie.”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Kotone bowed to him. “It’s nice meeting you, sunbaenim.”

His mouth opened, as if he had heard a spell leave her mouth. “Kotone? Are you—”

“Yes, she is Japanese,” Myungsoo stopped him, right as Kotone was about to open her mouth. “You get the point, dude… She must be tired hearing that from everyone else.”

“Gwenchanayo, sunbae,” Kotone stepped in. “But, he’s right. About the Japanese part.”

Yeonghwan chuckled at his interjection, but Kotone herself felt a tug at her heartstrings. “She said it’s fine. Don’t be too defensive, hyung.”

“Hyung?” she tilted her head. “Wait, I thought both of you are sophomores.”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Yeonghwan confessed. “He’s a year older than me.”

Within seconds, she did some mental math for an educated guess. “So that makes you, like, twenty years old?”

He didn’t answer her directly. “I hope that doesn’t make you more uncomfortable.”

A few realizations crossed her mind. Seeing someone was the last thing she wanted right now. There was more to this interaction than just attraction. After all, she's been friends with Junghoon since middle school. Befriending a guy is not a big deal for her. Kotone only chuckled at his hesitation. “It doesn’t… I actually think we’ll get along just fine.”

“You think so?” both guys asked in unison, somewhat bewildered and impressed by her sudden surge of confidence.

“Yeah,” she cheered on. “It’s a good conversation starter for a lot of people I meet, so I can't blame them for that.”

“Phew…” Yeonghwan let out. “That’s nice to know—” he felt a buzzing in his pocket.

“You good, man?” Myungsoo inquired as he and Kotone watched Yeonghwan quickly read his screen within seconds.

“Oh, yeah… I gotta dip, man,” he informed, still holding his phone in his hand. “The council needs me for another meeting. Something about plans for the homecoming festival. But,” he turned to Kotone with a sly smile. “I won’t be giving away too much. It is for the freshies after all...”

“Do they need more help or—?”

“Nah, nah, I got this! We got this,” he reassured him. “They know you're on tour guide duties for the rest of the morning, so you keep doing you.”

“Oh… Okay, then. I’ll catch up with you guys later at class.”

“Sure. Later, hyung!” He turned to the freshie and bowed to her one more time. “It’s nice meeting you, Kotone-chan.”

She bowed back as Yeonghwan walked away from them. “Forgive me for him being a bit too casual,” Myungsoo let out a chuckle.

“Nah, it’s okay, sunbaenim.” Her smile widened. “I kinda like that kind of approach. I gotta admit, it’s pretty refreshing meeting someone new. Someone who isn't just from my own class.”

A smile also formed on Myungsoo’s face before looking at her yellow backpack. There’s three keychains he noticed in his glance. The lowest zipper contained the head of a red lesser panda. The one in the middle was a Sanrio character, whose name he definitely didn’t remember at the time. All he knew was that it was a punk rabbit, wearing a black hat with a pink skull. However, the uppermost one was an odd yet captivating design, dangling around the top zipper. Due to the chain resembling tulips, one would think of it like a twisted looking flower… Until, he realizes it’s a mouth.

“Hey… “ Myungsoo couldn’t help but point his finger. “That’s a pretty cool Demogorgon keychain!”

He knows what it is? She realized, turning her head in his direction. “Oh, thanks! It helps pickpockets rethink their decision.”

The sophomore let out a laugh. “That’s actually a nice strategy. No one wants to be taken in the Upside Down unless you’re the Mind Flayer. Or Vecna.”

“So, umm, you watch Stranger Things too?” she asked him with eyes of intrigue.

“Yeah, yeah!” he hollered, just as his enthusiasm gradually lowered. “Well, I loved the first two seasons.”

“Just the first two?” she raised an eyebrow, albeit mischievously.

“The third season’s a bit meh for me, to be honest,” he answered with a light shrug. “But the new one is still growing on me.”

“That’s an interesting take,” she professed. “I'm sure they're not as questionable as your anime takes? Or are you not a fan of one?”

Her playful taunt allured him, making him cross his arms. “Oh, don't hesitate to test me, Miss Kamimoto. I think you'll be surprised.”

Mutual interests were only the start. As both the seasons and semesters passed, they would live and learn that they have a lot more things in common than once thought. More things to talk about. More to bond over.

= =

Sophomore year, first semester. The two were at the garden when a flock of birds flew out the trees hearing her sudden burst of scream. Thankfully, no one else was there. At least no one who cared enough to pay attention.

“Junghoon got himself in trouble,” Kotone would often confide in Myungsoo. Perhaps this moment was one of the most serious talks they had with each other, even though it’s only been a year since they met.

“What? How did it happen?” He was just as confused, considering how he’s treated Junghoon as a younger brother. “He didn’t tell me about any problem in his class.”

“Of course he wouldn’t…” she grumbled. “That’s how he’s always been… But Honggi told me about it, and right when I confronted him about it, he brushed it off and told me not to worry! Like, how can I not worry about that?”

Myungsoo could feel the emotions beyond the surface of her irritation, one that she’s been trying to suppress while around him.

“He’s become a pushover. Again, ” she sighed. “Ugh… Why is he still like this?”

“Did his teammates threaten him?” he began asking his questions of concern.

“Worse,” she admitted. “It was a pair project, and he did it all by himself!”

Hearing the situation dwindled down his tension, though his worry for Kotone and Junghoon persisted. “So… No one threat—”

“No one threatened, or appeased him!” her voice elevated again. “Yeah, you got that right. His professor doesn’t even know, and it looks like it'll stay that way.”

“Maybe he has a reason,” he considered. “Was the partner sick? Or maybe they had an emergency? I know Junghoon isn't the most confrontational guy but I doubt he’d keep letting a classmate be a freeloader, especially on a pair project.”

“I don’t know… He said his sunbae was busy with her organization and that he used her references, but that’s not enough.”

“Sounds like he felt bad for her too.”

“I feel bad for him!” she countered.

“I am worried for him, too… But like you’ve said, he didn’t get punished for it. He didn’t even feel bad for what he did, even if, I had to admit, it was a bit too far that he did the project all by himself. He’ll be fine, Tone-yah… We can talk to him tomorrow.”

“Who is he even trying to impress in that situation?” she countered him. “He’s one to be interested in relationships.”

“Well,” he let out a chortle. “I guess, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Maybe, but I’ll still be keeping an eye on that Park Sohyun.”

“Wait. Park Sohyun’s his partner? That’s odd. And a bit reassuring for Junghoon.”

“Why? Do you know her?”

= =

Sophomore year, second semester. It was after class when Kotone asked Myungsoo to meet her outside their building. He could whiff a much stronger perfume the more she walked closer. Her loud voice would call out to him right after. “Oppa!” Especially with her outfit of a fit aesthetic shirt under a denim jacket (and not to mention her soft blush, mascara, and a warmer shade of lipstick), he almost mistook her for someone else for a second. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“You look…” He stopped his sentence halfway, still in spectacle at her somewhat new look and style. “Fancier. You look fancier than usual. What’s the occasion?”

“Well…” she fixed her hair in front of him, inciting a quick gulp from Myungsoo, but not enough for her to hear it. “I’m going on a blind date with three of my friends and their companions tonight, and I want you to be there too with us.”

He placed his palm on his chest, dramatically leaning away from her. “Are you really inviting me to this just now? Without further notice?”

“Yeah, don’t you wanna be my plus one?” she held his hands. “They will like you, oppa. I’m sure you’ll get along with their plus ones too. Some of them are around your age.”

The longer she stared closer to him, her eyes slowly sparkled. He couldn’t even say ‘no’ for some dumb reason. “This is a bit too sudden, Tone.”

“Please…” her tone started to shift into a more cutesy one, as if she’s doing an aegyo. Or maybe that’s just how he often saw her face. He saw her new hair style. While a low bun isn’t anything new for Kotone, seeing it up close astounded Myungsoo. “It was pretty urgent. And I didn’t have anyone else to ask to come with me.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Really? There’s no one else? A social butterfly like you?”

“Yah, I’m just a social caterpillar,” she quipped back. “If someone between us is the butterfly, it’s you, Mister Vice President of the SSU Visual Arts Organization!”

“That’s a fair point, but that’s hardly relevant, when you’re the one who asked me out on this…” he shot back. “Why didn’t you think of anyone else from the gang? Or even from your own block?”

She knew he was right, but she didn’t wanna give it up just yet, so she kept firing more reasons and excuses. “I thought of asking Yeonghwan-oppa or Honggi, but they seem like they do that by themselves anyway. I considered Junghoon, but he’s still busy on his shift tonight. And besides, this is the only time I’ve asked a favor, like c’mon...”

“I guess that’s true.” He sighed in resignation. In the silence of Kotone’s anticipation, he slowly slid his fingers through his hair before finally facing her. “Fine… But, I’m only going ‘cause you asked. But only this ti—”

Kotone squealed. “Gomawo, oppa! That’s a deal, alright? The meetup won’t be that far from here.”

= = =

Vacation, pre-junior year. Since their dorms were the closest to the university among best friends, they decided to meet on campus after lunch. It was a Saturday morning when Kotone had returned to Korea after a one-month vacation to her hometown.

“I know I’m a few days late,” she pulled out a pair of small silky bags from her pocket. “But, saengil chukhahaeyo.”

With eyes of curiosity and anticipation, Myungsoo inspected the bags. It took him a second to guess the gift, but he was familiar with it. They're omamori. Two of them. Red and pink. Considering he wasn’t too knowledgeable of Japanese, Kotone briefly explained the writings to them. “That’s a kenku, and that one’s an en-musubi.”

“What do they mean?”

“Kenku’s for good health and long life. Cliche, I know,” Kotone giggled, before she took a swift deep breath, though he barely noticed. “But the en-musubi is for finding luck in love.”

He slid his fingers on each, feeling the smooth texture of the charm, mesmerized by their design. “Woah… This looks legit. I mean, you know, it’s pretty. It’s authentic.”

She chuckled at his observation. “Of course, it is. I bought that in Meiji Jingu. I actually bought each two for you and the boys, but I decided to give yours first.”

“I-uhhh… I don’t know what to say… Gomawo, Tone.”

“You’re welcome, oppa… That’s for the Orbit merch you gave me.”

“Those were your birthday gifts… You deserved that.”

“You better not lose these within a year,” she added with more emphasis, staring at the two charms.

“I'll do my best. Especially for the love charm,” he teased, which only provoked the woman as her eyes squinted at him in an instant. “My love life is now in your hands or something.”

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, as he looked down on both charms on his hand, caressing it with affection. “I won’t lose it, of course. They’re good charms… But if something does happen to these, which I won’t allow anything to happen to, you’re still gonna be my good charm, you know?”

Kotone felt a gulp on her throat. She chuckled nervously. “Flatterer.”

“That’s just the truth,” he justified himself. “You and the guys have always been my charms since we got together.” He faced her with a serious gaze and closed smile, putting his right hand on her left shoulder. “I couldn’t be more grateful for that.”

Dugeun… “Myungsoo-oppa.” Dugeun…

“And look who’s back!” A familiar male voice yelled from behind, startling only the woman. It’s Yeonghwan, with Honggi and Junghoon, right beside him, as they all rushed to the pair behind the bench with excitement.

“Kamjagiya!” Kotone did not expect their presence, which only elevated her heartbeat. “Guys! What the hell? I thought y’all won’t be making it today!” She turned to the quiet one among them. “Junghoon-ah, you even said that you’re working at the CVS today.”

“Well, actually… The boss told me I can take one day off during the weekend until summer break ends,” he explained. “Plus, why would we ever miss your arrival?”

“So the three of you just planned this surprise without telling me?”

“It’s actually our plan,” Myungsoo revealed. “All of us wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh… Well, that’s a bummer… I would’ve brought the rest of your gifts.”

“That’s okay… The gifts can come later.” Honggi started to make circle motions with his hand on his tummy. “You’ll make it up for us some other way.”

She and Myungsoo laughed at his subtle suggestion, knowing well what he meant. What they all meant. She breathed through her nose. “Where do you guys wanna have lunch?”

Cheers erupted from the three, making her laugh more and widening her smile at the reaction and sight of all her closest friends, who gathered with her.

= = =

Junior year, first semester. The campus had been set up with dozens of different and unique booths, as plenty of clubs and organizations had prepared them in the past week. So far, the week-long university festival has been going well on its third day. From arcades and treasure hunts to readings and talent shows, hundreds of students and visitors stroll and explore the university from seven to six… And it was no different for these two. Myungsoo was holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hand as Kotone was holding a stuffed toy bunny while they walked across the crowd.

“You finally tried that spirit animal booth yet?” Myungsoo wondered.

“Oh, yeah!” she clapped on the bunny toy with her left hand as if she were a seal with flippers. “That was the funnest one I’ve had so far... They really made a lot of effort making that one, so I applaud them.”

“More than your own club’s booth?” He teased her with the question.

“Well,” she had caught his intention, prompting her to raise the confidence in her delivery. “Nothing else beats our treasure hunt, of course, so it’s a close second… Maybe I’ll consider the Lyrical Booth too some other time.”

“Oh…” his mouth slowly opened in anticipation. “Are you finally gonna be showing your rapping skills at the workshop? While at it, why not join the talent contest too—”

“Yah, I’m just considering!” she reacted with remarkable alertness. “Don’t be too excited. It might not even happen, if you keep on prying.”

“Why not?” He opened his arms wide, much to her slight embarrassment. “I can be your hype boy!”

Her eyes moved to the side, staring at him. “You mean hype man?”

“Yeah, yeah. My bad… I got it mixed up from that song from last year.”

“It’s fine…” she brushed off. “What’s what the Noraebang Booth does to you anyways. They got a lot of bangers since yesterday, so I can’t blame ya.”

“But I’m still wondering, what was your result on the animal test from earlier?”

“Oh, yeah… As expected, I’m a lesser red panda! Nothing new there,” she exclaimed. “How about you?”

“Eh…” he huffed. “I really don’t wanna mention it.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not fair,” she nudged him on his left shoulder. “Are you keeping things from us more because you now have—”

“Myungsoo-yah! Tone-chan!” A woman walked towards them. One who has been both familiar to them since the past and a half year. “There you are!”

“Annyeong, Yooyeon-unnie!” Kotone waved at her, witnessing both her friends meet.

“I just had a walk with Tone,” Myungsoo walked closer to her, holding her hands with exhilaration. “You shouldn’t worry about me too much, noona.”

“Yah… I told you not to call me that,” Yooyeon lowered her voice. “Not in front of everyone, anyways.” She turned to Kotone. “And thanks for looking after him… Tone-chan. You must’ve been exhausted keeping up with all his yapping.”

“Hey,” Myungsoo interjected, embarrassed by the woman’s remark.

Kotone chortled. “That’s no problem, unnie. He was being less chatty this time…” She poked his left elbow. “So that made things a little easier for me. And himself.”

“Hmm… That's unusual for my boyfriend.” She leaned closer into him, speaking her breath closely while he exhaled a smile with excitement. “Maybe I shall give him a better, more thorough check up inside our booth?”

As she witnessed their sweet and suggestive moment, Kotone felt a sensation travel down her spine. Her heartbeat increases, seeing their faces only an inch away from each other’s. Her fingers clenched as her smile tightened as their lips touched. “I, uhh, I’ll go look after Junghoon and Honggi at their booths. You two just have fun, alright?”

“Are you sure you don't wanna tag along with us?” Myungsoo tried to talk her out.

“And be a third wheel? Ah, no thanks,” she scoffed with a more playful undertone. His persistence to make her stay somewhat struck a nerve, but she didn’t mind it for long. “You two rarely get the chance to hang out since preparation week. Look, unnie, he even got you a mini you. Those flowers weren’t enough for him.”

“Awww… You got these for me?” Yooyeon cooed at Myungsoo, taking both gifts as they embraced.

He accepted a kiss from her on his cheek. “I just thought since it’s the festival, it’d be a nice way to help one of the arcade booths and bring you something at the same time.”

“You and your excuses, babe. And of course, you’re welcome to tag along with us, Tone-chan...” the older woman quipped to Kotone, letting out a giggle beside Myungsoo. “Who else knows better than us than our own matchmaker?”

Flattery was what she felt. At least, it should have been her only reaction. Yet it's only the surface. A convincing cover to what her heart was telling her… “I’ll be fine on my own. You two can pay me back by setting me up with someone, arasseo?”

“I'll be on the lookout, girl.” Yooyeon forms her fingers in the shape of a gun. ”You can count on me for that. I know a lot of fellas from our class, so just take your pick.”

Tone adored that her close friend was acting like that. She liked that both her close friends were happy. She did. She should.

“Sure, unnie…” she snorted. “Alright, now I really gotta go. Take care, love birds…”

But there was no point in ruining their moment by reminding them of their presence. By reminding herself. There’s nothing to gain from it. Nothing to gain from thinking about this longer than it should. She turned around and faced the crowd while still wearing her smile when she heard her clubmate’s cheerful voice.

“Have fun, Tone-chan! We’ll be at our booth, okay?”

They’re happy. It’s all that mattered.

= = =

Junior year, second semester. Things got more hectic, academic-wise, especially with seniors like Myungsoo finally reaching their final semester. But, even for juniors like Kotone, a lot more doors of opportunities opened for her… And that’s what the latter assured her when they talked by themselves in one of the campus gardens. She was told it was urgent, so the woman waited at one of the benches until he arrived.

“You should run as auditor, Kotone.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened, even standing up from her seat. “For the student council? Michyeosseo?”

“Come, Tone-yah… It’s gonna be productive for you... You’ll get to demonstrate your skills and talents outside class. Outside your little diamond dreamer club. Plus, even Yooyeon thinks you should venture out too.”

“That's easy for both of you to say, oppa.”

“Take it from me. I may already be a senior, but that doesn't stop me from trying out other responsibilities. And I don't see why you wouldn't do the same.”

“Oh, so you’re guilt-tripping me ‘cause it’s your last year, huh?”

“No, no, no! You don’t have to run. But you know, just think about it. Just my advice.”

He could only wait for her in silence. While the leaves above rustled along the winds and the branches blissfully swayed. Clinging her right index and thumb on her chin, Kotone's mind gradually shifted into a more rational route.

“Hmm… Now that you’ve brought it up,” she pondered. “Maybe it will give me more experience. Perhaps, it’ll be a great addition to my resume…”

“Now we’re talking.”

“But that doesn't mean I'll actually run for real, arasseo?” she pointed her index finger at him. I'm just considering all my options carefully.”

= = = =

Senior year, first semester. Kotone gained more exposure and some connections after becoming elected as the auditor of the Education Department’s Student Council, even after Myungsoo finally graduated with flying colors. But, there’s one thing she or any student can’t escape from. And such a laborious reality was something that she often dealt with, by spending time at the library before or after class.

After taking off her glasses, she sighed on the surface of the table right next to the stack of books she had compiled. “Would be nice to have Junghoon, Honggi, and Yeonghwan with us… Why did all of them have to enlist at a time like this? Couldn’t they just have waited their turn?”

“Yeonghwan said he just wanted to get it out of the way,” Myungsoo pointed out. Yes, he was still there. “I'm thinking the other two just thought he had a point.”

"That's such a silly answer. But yeah, it is pretty reasonable, I guess.”

“Or maybe they're just avoiding making their own theses,” he added.

“That's what I was thinking!” she almost bursted into laughter, but not before muffling her mouth with both her hands.

Myungsoo giggled as softly as he could. “Don’t worry... You still have me, right? What better way to work on your thesis than to ask for advice from your sunbae. When the boys get discharged, they’ll regret not being here with us… At least two of ‘em will.”

“Eeeeehh... You're only here 'cause you just extended your teaching assistant job in the first place!” She gave him a light punch on his left shoulder.

“Yah… Just because it's true, it doesn’t mean it's easy for me either.”

“Oh, poor you,” she sneered with a sarcastic undertone. ”Gotta wait for your girlfriend while the rest of us hoobaes have it so easy with our thesis, don’t we? Not to mention, I still have a meeting with the council later this afternoon!”

“Just so you know, I don't regret being here as much as you want me to. And Yooyeon still has another hour before her class ends, so I have no other choice but to stay here for a while as you babble in front of your laptop… And I gotta make sure that you're not just slacking around or snoring on your table.”

His argument only made her snicker. There was no point in arguing with a friend. This friend. “Well, I give up, so I’ll just say it. Thanks for the support, even if it’s just you being here with me.”

They lock eyes for a moment. No quips, no banters. Just the traces of their smile, just before a thought crawled up their blank minds... This may be the last year they’ll see each other like this. At least, with just the two of them. Perhaps, that’s for the best.

“Anytime, Tone-chan… What are friends for?”

Especially because of that.

= = = = = = = = =

“One matcha latte for Changmin! Your order is now ready for pickup,” an automated voice calls out from the counter. A man, in his early twenties, stands up from his seat right after the call, parting from his friends for a moment to fetch his order.

It's 12:00 P.M., and the cafe is already flooding with customers, most of whom are students and professors on their break. The calendars on the kiosks state February 7, 2031. On their table, twenty-six-year-old Kotone has been facing a twenty-eight-year-old Myungsoo from her seat in the last half an hour, surrounded by their now almost empty disposable cups, their laptops, and distinct bags on the chair beside them. His eye bags are more noticeable than usual. He’s still tall, although his latest figure appears a little more “mesomorphic,” as she tries to describe it herself mentally, though it doesn’t bother her. It’s not uncommon to gain weight in their late twenties, what’s the big deal?

Thankfully, there was no sense of awkwardness in their atmosphere. Why would there be? They were close friends. They were there for each other at their highest and lowest points for more than four years. If his mere new look bothered her, then their friendship was all pointless and for nothing. Besides, there’s other reasons to be awkward about.

It ain't the first time she's seen him after graduation, thanks to social media and some social gatherings that she tried to avoid in the last few years. But, seeing him now, it's something else. Something that she can't describe, considering the fact she’s been paying attention to his face as much as she is to his words, probably a little more.

“This is a really, really big project… You really sure you wanna do this, Kotone?”

“You don’t have to do it with me. I can just write and send a request letter to the Dean instead, if they need any more proof or confirmation that we’re sincere about this.”

“No, Tone-yah,” he insists. “Since I already agreed to meet with you, I can handle that.”

“How about you, Myungsoo-oppa,” she asks him, her tone’s a mix between a playful intimidation, covering her slight hint of concern. “Do you think this is a lost cause?”

“Of course, it’s not a lost cause,” he reassures. “I wanna help you. Not just because I’ve been teaching here for four years now, but I believe why you wanna do this… Honestly, it’s not that selfish to think about making some reunion possible.”

Her eyes light up with optimism, contrasting her somewhat smug front. “Really?”

“Almost every alumni homecoming we’ve had were for middle-aged folks. Which is fine, no offense to them, but people our age often forget that we were students once too, back in the day. This is a chance for us to remind them that it’s okay to think about and yearn for those times. You don’t need to be in your forties to attend a college reunion… right?”

Her heartbeat slowly becomes louder. “Well…” She clears her throat. “That’s well said. I couldn’t have put it better myself. Besides, Yoon-daepyonim already had this approved, so it would really irritate her if this doesn’t go through.”

“I know you guys do galas for socialites and folks at corpo every year,” he scratches his chin slowly. “But I didn’t know ModHaus would also be into organizing alumni parties. Like, I don’t know if that’s like an upgrade or a desperate rebranding from them.”

“We’ll plan, organize, and host just about anything, if we think it’s worth planning,” she crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not called the company of all possibilities for nothing. And, we don��t just do it for corporations... Ever since she took over, we’re not like that anymore. For the better.”

“Well, I can’t deny that. But whatever the case is… Tell your boss not to worry too much…” He offers his left hand. “Let’s do well on this project, Miss Kamimoto.”

Such an act of formality from an old friend makes her giggle, a response that she tries to cover up by clearing her throat immediately after. Leveling her eyes with her friend, she holds his hand with her right. “Couldn’t agree more, Professor Kim. Let’s do our best.”

And as their hands shake through this meetup, the Reunion Party of Batch 2025-2026 has been set in motion throughout this month. Through weekly meetings, Myungsoo helps Kotone become acquainted with some of the current alumni committee of the SSU. Most were new faces, about a few years younger. Some were familiar, most of which were either older or the same age as hers.

“Kotone-ssi! It really is you. You barely aged a day.”

“Ne! Annyeonghaseyo, sunbae. And please, it seems that time has been kinder to you.”

“Sunbaenim!” another one approaches her. “It’s wild, and an honor, seeing you here, considering how blessed you are, working at one of the richest companies in Korea.”

“Nah, I beg to differ!” she humbles herself. “I wouldn’t even have gotten to ModHaus if I never spent my time here in Seoul State… The honor’s on me, knowing how passionate and dedicated you all are in helping to plan this event.”

“And just to assure you,” she added. “You will all be compensated for your service.”

Her reminder sparks wholehearted laughter and cheers from the committee. “We’re not doing this for money, Kotone-ssi… But just so you should know, we can’t deny that kind of promise.”

“Well, it’s finally settled then.” She claps her hand. “Hwaiting, yeorobun!”

The planning and execution would take a couple of months, perhaps a little longer than their timeframe, as both the representatives from Tone’s company and the SSU alumni committee would have to juggle between fulfilling their regular duties at their personal works and making this brand new event beyond merely possible.

“ModHaus will provide their services as much as they can, so don’t worry about asking our affiliates for help, everyone. This also counts as our project, after all.”

But what makes this period more than memorable for Kotone was not only the people she’s been reunited with. They are still at the preparation stages, after all. They would have team lunches here and there. Revisiting the university itself was the most special aspect for her, because of the memories it brought both of them back with each step in every stroll they took on campus before or after their meetings.

At noon, they bask in the sunlight, which, thankfully, is no longer as excruciating and dangerous to walk freely as it was years ago without the habitual routine of putting on some sunscreen during spring and summer. The pair would walk past the grass fields and the nearby blossoming gardens. Past the buildings old and new. There’s parts of themselves that never left. It was understandable for Myungsoo, but for Kotone, it’s quite eye-awakening to see her realization unfold with her eyes. From the students, professors, to the guests like her going on with their business. A group of friends chilling under the shade of the trees, inclining on the bench, with some lying even on the grass with no to little care about the dirt that just accumulated on their shirts and jackets.

She simply can’t take her eyes off her surroundings. With every live scenery to watch in a state of bliss, her gaze would find another to watch and appreciate. “I know a lot has changed since graduation, and yet, this place feels like yesterday.”

“Really?” Myungsoo teases her, following her gaze. “I honestly can’t tell the difference.”

“Yah, don’t ruin the moment…” she whines. “That’s ‘cause you’ve stayed here while most of us went our separate ways. Of course, you wouldn’t get it.”

He does. But he doesn’t say anything. Looking in her direction, he reminiscences much like her. “Hey, do you remember that time when we first hung out at these fields?”

Kotone now realizes that she underestimated him.

She thinks to herself, Maybe this is all just nostalgia. With all this ambition, maybe this is just me listening to my younger self, instead of focusing more and more at work and slaving myself to the executives, like I have always been.

“You know… If this doesn't end well, then consider it a cautionary tale for myself,” she admits her own misgiving, subconsciously opening and closing her hands in a sporadic pattern.

“It’ll go well, Tone,” Myungsoo senses the seeds of doubt already growing within her. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I'll join you on that lesson.”

She giggled, before sighing into the breeze. “Thanks, but I don’t know… I honestly just want to make this a reality for our batchmates. That’ll make me feel better. Besides, I made a bet with a few of my closest friends. Suhyeon, Kyubok, even Junghoon.”

He wants to comfort her—but hearing a familiar name is not something he’s heard in a while, but her last-second confession makes him laugh. “Junghoon’s doing well, I see… We rarely get to hear from the rest of the gang nowadays, and I only heard that he was the head chef at your company… But it’s actually nice to hear that from our youngest.”

She knows what he means, but she doesn’t want to ruin the vibe of their conversation. “Oh, he’s doing so much better, oppa… I actually want you to hear from him when the time comes. But that for now, all I can say is…”

Kotone begins to spill tea which astonishes Myungsoo. It’s only the start of this night. Bringing together scenes and sequences of memories from their collegiate past would continue to motivate them in making this event a reality, not just for themselves, but also for everyone else who will take part in this reunion.

= = =

March 2031. They start to spend more time meeting outside the university. On this day, the pair meet in a cafe outside the ModHaus building, which surprisingly enough, was Myungsoo’s suggestion. For once, he wants her to travel less, arguing that her anticipation for the reunion will wane if they keep meeting on campus grounds.

Straight from his backpack, he hands the woman a small box wrapped in a pink ribbon, which she opens. She’s in awe.

Kotone looks back at him. “What… What is this, Myungsoo-oppa?”

“Just a gift. It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Saengil chukahaeyo.”

After a quick unboxing of the box, she gives the bottle a test spray inches away from her.

This isn’t just any perfume. This scent has brought her years of memories more vividly. Back to that afternoon. To a lot of afternoons. The garden. The flowers. It doesn't help since the man in front of her was mostly with her during those times. It’s not the exact same brand, but it’s enough for the woman to let out a sigh of longing, yearning for those moments even more.

“Wah…” she whiffs more of the scent. “I can’t believe it's been a long time since I've sprayed something like this.”

”Do you like it?” He remains reserved, even though he’s already seeing her reaction.

”How can I not? You're really making me excited about the reunion, you know that?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to…” he confessed. “But, if you think of it like that, then I’m glad that helped you be more pumped up for this event.”

Her eyes widen once again, only realizing now what he said earlier. “So, after all these times, you still remember my birthday, huh?”

“Yeah!” he cheers, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, Tone. What are friends for?”

Oh… A dart strikes her heart. Why is she feeling this? Why is she grateful, yet also hurt? Why does she feel that pang inside her? It’s nothing, a voice tells her. This isn’t the first time he’s given you a gift! “Oppa, this is too much. I don’t know what. How to repay—”

“You don’t need to repay anything. And just because you’re working hard, doesn’t mean you can’t have a little celebration. Most of our plans have been finalized! We’ve gotten this far thanks to you, so consider it as a reward.”

Maybe that’s enough. “Thank you for this, Myungsoo.”

She brushes this thought off with that self-reassurance. This thing isn’t about whatever she just considered in her mind. This is about the reunion. You’re being overdramatic around him. Just focus on your job now. “And speaking of finalized, I just have to ask again if you have proofread the whole invitation, haven’t you?”

“Yep, for the hundredth time. I’ve gone through the email. They did a great job with making it snappy and concise. They didn’t even use GPT to write those up.”

“Well, I trust your word… Let’s finally send it, shall we?”

“Of course, it’s your call, committee leader.”

“Stop,” she chuckles and with one deep breath, she takes one last scan of her invitation before hitting ‘send’ on the email with her index finger. Kotone braces herself for what’s about to come, looking back at Myungsoo as a reassuring closed smile forms on his face. “Let’s do our best, Tone-chan,” he raises his left hand, his fist closed.

His innocent face reminds her of a quote from a show that she watched decades ago. That damned smile. She reciprocates his gesture with her right hand with a chuckle, hoping to forget what she just felt earlier. Still, even that single bump of touching his skin sends a tingle through her veins.

= = =

April 2031.

Things got busier. Questions from invited guests build up. Scheduling conflicts between their sponsors and services begin to surface. With only a few weeks away, the committee has been doing their best, dividing their tasks in dealing with the problems step by step. On weekends, their responses to certain emails would take overnight.

“Let’s take a break first… We’ve done a lot tonight.”

Right as she closes her laptop, Kotone’s voice begins to crack. “O—okay…”

Myungsoo immediately sensed something’s off with her silence. He inched closer, slowly reaching his hand into her shoulder. “Tone-yah… Are you… alright?”

She struggles completing her words, completely giving into the chaos clashing in her heart and mind. “It's just… I miss them… It’s hard… to imagine… I just don’t want to disappoint them.”

Myungsoo has no words. Rather, he’s hesitant and fearful that he would only break her heart more than it already is. He doesn’t want to give false promises or high hopes, but he doesn’t want to let her down either. He listens to his heart, pushing himself to hold her shoulders, slowly wrapping his arms around them.

“I miss them too, Tone…” he mumbles, patting her on the back and caressing her hair as she lets out her tears in his embrace through a muffled whimper. “We’ll make this work, arasseo? I’m sure of it.”

= = =

On this Friday of May 2031, the reunion finally begins inside the Na Heedo Gymnasium.

And as they expected, not everyone could be there tonight. But the fact that more than a hundred invited guests arrived there has surpassed most of their expectations. Faces old and new dress up for the occasion, crossing paths with their old buddies from years ago.

The guests stand and stare at the spectacle that is the party. Hundreds of familiar faces, now several years older, laughing and grooving on the dance floor under the moonlight vibing at the playlist of Western and local pop music alike prepared by the DJ. It is still  several minutes before the program proper starts, allowing guests to keep bonding and being acquainted with each other inside or near the venue. Plentiful students, whether graduating or already graduates for a year or two, are present too, taking advantage of possible recruitment from their alumni, though they’d have to make some effort to get their attention, considering that fact that lot of alumni just wanted to party tonight by getting off some steam and escaping from their present.

“Tone-yah has really made it possible, huh,” Kim Chaeyeon shakes her head in amazement.

“I mean, it was like, almost four months in the making, right?” Kim Nakyoung wonders. “But damn. She really did it.” She claps her hand.

“Three months. But come on now,” Kotone herself joins them in a less formal dress. “It wouldn't be possible without y'all. There’d be no reunion without you guys and gals!”

“Omo, omo… Tone kudasai!” Lee Jiwoo hollers on. “The mastermind is finally here!”

“I just can't believe you and your committee managed to pull this off!” Dahyun cheers on, joining the huddle between women. “It paid off.”

She’s touched by their piles of praise. “Thanks for the compliments, y’all. I, uhh, I’m just really happy that you guys can make it here tonight.”

About four hours would go by, dozens of personal reunions take place not just inside the gymnasium, but also in the corridors, the outdoors, and even in the restroom. Let your imagination wild. Members of the committee would often check on each other, but for the most part, they’d only tell each other to enjoy the moment once their program had all wrapped up.

With nothing else to deal with, Kotone finds Myungsoo from a distance. Maybe it’s simply the magical atmosphere that the event has conjured throughout the campus tonight, but to her, it's like when she first met him during orientation week. Her heart tells her to do it. To walk up to him. Nothing can stop her now. Why keep hesitating.

Right as her eyes catch Yooyeon approaching him with two empty glasses in her hands.

She can feel her own heart pulling away, dragging down like an anchor with every beat. This isn't college, nor is it not high school either. Well, you definitely did not think this through, her ego tells her over the deafening gymnasium.

“So…” she hears someone else’s familiar voice from behind. “It still really is him. After all those years.”

She turns around. “I don't know what you're talking about, Junghoon-ah.”

“You don't have to tell me anything, Tone…” he snickers. “But, maybe it's better if you talk things out with him.”

“Nothing is going on, dude,” she keeps dismissing his claim with a smile. “And how about you and—”

“We're doing well, thank you,” he stops her, knowing well who she meant. “Worry about your own… I just don't want you to get hurt because you're keeping it to yourself… Go to him. Don’t think about it too much.”

And as he leaves her with an assuring smile, Kotone does. She takes a deep breath, maintaining her cool and shaking her worries and doubts to the side the closer she reaches the gap between Myungsoo and Yooyeon, even as they exchange laughter.

“Look who finally showed up… Koto-chan!”

= = =

It’s now an hour past midnight, inside the gymnasium, and only a few alumni and other guests have been hanging out, as they exit the hall and, on their way out, thank the ones who are still present there, the committee themselves, the two of whom are Kotone and Myungsoo. They’re now fixing everyone else’s mess, yet they do it with smiles radiating with contentment with the memories they made.

“I know the staff will be dealing with most of these in the morning, but I’d rather fix the mess we’ve made here.” Kotone places another chair on the fifth stack. “At least most of them. Wow, this is no joke.”

“Let me help you with that,” offers Myungsoo. “You’ve done a lot for tonight, you know.”

The woman has had the urge to ask him about what she saw earlier. It can just be a friendly curiosity, right? Nothing scandalous about it.

“Thanks for helping me out, not just with this, But you know… With everything.”

“Hey, don't mention it, Tone-yah,” he taps her on the back. “I loved planning this whole event as much as you did, but you're basically the MVP who made this fantasy real from the start.”

“Nah,” she objects. “It would have remained a fantasy if it wasn't for you, Kim Ssaem. You’re the one who’s still here.”

“I guess, but who knew the class officers of 2025 would still be here like we used to?”

“Not everyone from our officers got to be here, if you remember things clearly, but I guess… It’s best that we focused on who came tonight. Cherished the moments with those in front of us,” she pondered.”

“That… That couldn’t be more true.”

“The nostalgia must have gotten into you tonight as well, Mister Treasurer.”

“I didn't even know how to count money that well.” He laughs and shakes his head at her callback. “I can't remember why I even accepted the class’ nomination in the first place.”

“I wasn’t there, but I thought you did your job just fine.”

“That's because you were there with me, Miss Auditor!”

“Not when you were around,” she shoots back. “I wasn’t even there until your last year.”

“You helped me regardless. Plus, you did well on your own after I graduated. Balancing the council funds and your thesis… Now, everything paid off for you, Tone-chan.”

“Hey, at least you’re loving your job. Loyalty can get you somewhere, after all.”

“You don’t?” he queried. “You get paid like six digits for about half a year, if not more! You’re just as loyal to ModHaus as I am to our alma mater.”

“Well… That’s one thing I love about my job. I just wish I’d get to do other stuff, like I did planning this event, you know? Not that I wanna be an intern again or something, but it’d be nice to branch out to another department… It’s been a long time.”

“Have you ever considered applying for other positions in your company?” he suggested. “I doubt they wouldn't want to take your expertise for granted, because in the past three months, you’ve shown them what you’re capable of… You’re a woman of many talents, Tone.”

Dugeun. “You flatter so much, Myungsoo-oppa…”

“Yeah, but that wasn't a lie, was it?”

“Whatever. I am considering reaching out to the Event Management Team. Happy?” she spills to him. “They’re the ones who planned and executed the last ModHaus Gala, and, believe it or not, that inspired me to do this whole shebang.”

With that, some things start to make sense to Myungsoo. “They'll be lucky to have you.”

Unbeknownst to Kotone, her cheeks start to blush. “You and your words again, oppa!”

“I swear those are just my observations.”

= = =

June 2031.

Even after the reunion, the two still hang out. Kotone and Myungsoo still keep in touch, as the latter first suggested, even if they meet less this time. Around two to three times a week, they’d hang out after work with their mutual friends. Other times, it’s just the two of them, which is nothing new, much like tonight.

“Look who just got promoted?” is how she breaks the ice to him during this meetup.

“Seolma… That’s great!” By instinct, excitement fuels him to take her hands while the pitch of his voice goes up. “Chukahaeyo!”

His hand holding on to hers is evoking something strange, but not unfamiliar. Their eyes lock in silence with no exchange of banters, as they both get a feeling of déjà vu. However, such a moment doesn’t fill her mind with expectation, a juxtaposition with how heart is behaving in his presence. Kotone notices everyone else at the cafe giving them different looks, something that doesn’t seem to faze the man in front of him. The man whose eyes are only focused on her. Embarrassment is not what her mind has been warning her. Rather, it’s the same old hindrance that’s holding her back. All those years.

“You can let go now, Myungsoo-oppa,” she tells him, yet she keeps holding on to them.

He senses the discomfort in her voice. Perhaps, that’s not the right word, yet it’s abrupt for him and strange, even for himself. “Oh, right… Mianhae.” He parts from the woman, taking a few steps away from her.

“No, it's okay,” she fixes her hair, placing scattered strands to the side. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all. You were a bit too excited. And it’s my promotion, too,” she tries to lighten up the mood once again.

“Well, it's a big achievement for you,” he defends. “How can I not be happy for you?”

“Gomawo, oppa.”

= = =

Three weeks have passed. Tonight feels different, but maybe that’s just what Myungsoo feels, based on his observation. They feel a bit more distant. Strangely enough, the fact that they're inside a pojangmacha makes him more attentive towards her. It must be the limited space. Or that her cheeks are slowly blushing right after taking down her fourteenth shot of the night.

She’s quieter than usual, he notices her staring into a blank space. “You alright? Or are you gonna rant about it? Hey, you better not be regretting your promotion or something, because you very much deserved that position.”

“Oppa…” she turns to him, ignoring his active concerns and speculation, as one question has been lingering on her mind. “What are we?”

He turns to her without a word, keeping his mouth from opening agape. His reaction is delayed, like a system lagging due to the overloading of data. If he had taken a sip of his shot before that, he would’ve spilled his drink. “Huh? What do you mean, Tone? Your question’s a bit too vague…”

Just like their relationship. Kotone takes a deeper breath than before. Instead of facing him head on, her eyes gaze at a distance, wistful at her thoughts and reminiscing of her past. “Yeah... I know that’s such a cliche thing to say… But, I’ve been thinking of it for a while... That damn question… But then again, you’re not a philosophy professor.”

“If that’s what you mean, uhh, then…” he stammers, hoping that playing along will help him understand what she's talking about. “We’re friends. We’ve always been, aren’t we?”

She feels a clenching and numbing sensation in her chest. It’s temporary, but she knows why she’s feeling like this. To hear that phrase over and over again. It’s exhausting.

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Don’t mind me. I know it’s already been months since the reunion, but I’m just taking us down memory lane. What happened after graduation. It just got me thinking, how, the last time we met, you were also with Yooyeon-unnie. My close friend and fellow Diamond Dreamer.”

“Tone-yah.” He feels discomfort, even from her, since all she’s doing is bringing up his own dating life. Yet, he finds it strange that he himself doesn’t want her to tell all these details. But his mind reminds him of their encounter at the reunion. When she walked up to him and Yooyen. “Where are you going with this?”

“No, no, I’m not jealous or anything,” she slowly rubs the side of her neck. “I was happy for you guys... But now that we’re on this route, I’m just wondering how she’s doing.”

Jealous? Myungsoo’s mind repeats it. He’s not entirely convinced by her words, but he doesn’t want to worsen this moment. He just wants Kotone around. Talk things out in this new perspective, even if it makes him, or even her, uncomfortable. “I mean, with what I know, she’s been doing well now. Always a beloved professor to her classes.”

“Are you not beloved by your students?”

“Well, I had my ups and downs… And—” He realizes Tone’s move. She's trying to change the subject and beating around the bush. “Wait… You’ve caught up with Yooyeon at the reunion, haven't you? Along with your fellow clubmates. She mentioned that. And you walked to us.”

“Ah…” She's running out of ramblings. Out of excuses. “We have, and she looks just as stunning as I last saw her. And most of the members were there, too. Jiwoo. Chaeyeon. Nakyoung-unnie. Everyone had a glow-up. They evolved. They were still so beautiful.”

And so are you. He can’t speak it out, feeling a part of himself keep such words from leaving his mouth. It’s usually not like this, and it’s bugging him.

“I love Yooyeon-unnie. She was always like a sister to me... But after finding out how successful she’s been, how all of them have been, even I knew that I couldn’t have compared to her in a lot of ways—”

“Don’t say that.” He didn’t know what just came to him, but he could only feel his heart constricting, hearing the woman compare herself to his old flame. Her own best friend. Deep down, he knows it’s not all of the sudden. “You’re saying nonsense now. Yooyeon and you are different. Don’t compare yourself to her, or anyone.”

She looks at him, her eyes a veil to various emotions. Disdain. Inferiority. Regret. Determination. Bitterness. Reassurance. False hope. “So how did you see me then, Myungsoo?”

He gulps down his own nervousness, hoping that her words in the past few minutes are simply the result of her less sober state. But he finally gets her to speak out. “Tone-yah. You must already be—”

“Drunk?” she scoffs, knowing him well. Quite too well. “I don’t know. I guess, we’ve had too many of those then. We’ve had this kind of talk too many times for me not to forget. You should know by now that this second bottle doesn’t faze me one bit…”

“Are you sure about that? Because it seems like—”

“I like you, oppa.”

He’s finally at a loss of words, but she still looks at him dead in the eye.

“All those years, I've been idiotic. I'm idiotic right now, too… Just risking our friendship for something I'm not even sure will go anywhere.”

Defeated and dumbfounded by his failure to realize it beforehand, he can only look down while she takes her fifteenth shot.

“I thought that making the reunion would make things like they used to,” she adds. “I mean for a night, it did… And I was so happy about that. I was overjoyed that I didn’t disappoint anyone who made it. Or myself. I mean I did get a promotion after that.”

She pours the last ounce of her bottle, before taking her sixteenth shot without pause. “And then I saw you and Yooyeon together. I know I was happy for you two back then. But, b-but I don't know how else to say it… Seeing you that night. It… It still hurts.”

He feels his heart sink deeper. “Kotone,” Myungsoo wants to say anything else, but he keeps his gaze at her. Amidst her words, he himself is paralyzed in this dilemma. He wants to open his mouth, but she continues her somber, tipsy confession.

She wants to cry. It’s what they usually do in dramas, but weirdly enough, there are no tears left for her tonight. The pang is there, burning through her raging heart with every word she mutters. But she won’t stop until she’s left it all out of her system. “And I know that you’re no longer together, but my stupid brain kept thinking that there could still be a slight chance… So I went up and ruined your moment.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he mumbles back.

“On second thought…” she wheezes, unable to defend her own face of smugness to him, even though he defended her. “Maybe I’ll regret this tomorrow. I’m sorry I wasted your time tonight.”

Slowly, he reaches his hand going to her shoulders, but her eyes catch it from the side. “Don't do anything you'll regret, oppa. Just because you feel bad for me.”

“Then I’ll regret it with you.” Myungsoo raises his bottle. Kotone wants to feel touched, but in her mind, she’s sensed this pattern that’s been irking her in the past few months since they’ve caught up. A pattern that lasted years. His willingness and enthusiasm to hang out with her whenever she invites him, without any question. His long ‘ride or die’ mentality whenever she’s on her low point or even when it’s the silliest of hypotheticals, like now. I know what you’re feeling, but don’t get your hopes up… That’s just how he’s been to you. You’re a close friend. His best girl friend. “Or not at all.”

= = =

“Hnggghhh… Huh..?” Despite feeling the irritating, inconvenient weight of her eye bags, as well as the unpleasant sensation of her parched throat, she opens them to find herself staring at a white ceiling.

Kotone wakes up on the snuggly surface of a bed that she has never lied on in her life, wrapped under a blanket. Inside, she slowly takes a peek of her own body—inducing a sigh of relief with what she has found. Her eyes wander around the room. She hears the door creak while it slowly opens. Her eyes light up in panic but she immediately catches a glimpse of Myungsoo’s face and his waving left hand from the other side as he walks in the bedroom with a mug of coffee. Of course, it’s him. There’s no escaping from this one. She places a nearby pillow on her face, muffling herself as she groans into the cushion.

“Good morn—” he quickly backtracks his choice of words, sensing the not too welcoming atmosphere inside his own room. Not to mention her perplexed face, from her eye bags to her slouched posture, and how she just acted after seeing him. “Or is it not a ‘good morning’ for you? We’re in my place, by the way, if you’re confused.”

“I’ve had worse… But this is a pretty nice bed. Great pillow too,” Kotone puts her right palm on her face, inevitably letting out a groan while her memories just had to remind her of last night. “God, that was really embarrassing of me…”

Myungsoo approaches the bed, sitting beside her. “This will help,” he hands over the mug, which she politely accepts with a slight bow.

“Thanks…” She blows it gently, before her lips touch the latte, welcoming the balance of bitter, sweet, and slightly salty taste entering her palate. “This is, uh, this is really good.”

He can’t help but chuckle, hoping that his lighthearted approach will lighten her up. “It’s from my go-to cafe… It’s just a three-minute walk from here. They’re pretty cheap, too.”

The woman takes another sip of the coffee, wanting to disrupt the silence between them while he waits for her.

“And, as embarrassing as it is,” he continues. “I think it’s not that uncommon to have moments like those. I would’ve brought up more memories myself too… But I think… We still have to talk about something about last night. If that’s fine with you…”

It’s time, she realizes. She places the cup on the nightstand.

“I, uhh, get what you mean, oppa. And, umm… I still mean it,” she tells him up front. “Whatever how you feel, that’ll be your feelings. I just…” She sighs. This shouldn’t be that dramatic, girl, she tells herself. “Confessed my own… And, I can’t take it back.”

He exhaled through his pursed lips. “Why take it back?” he shoots back.

“What?” Befuddled by his blunt response, she doesn’t know how to answer him.

But for Myungsoo, his heart isn’t lying. Neither is hers. “I’ve seen you as a friend for a long time, Kotone. But that doesn’t mean I never saw you as anything more than that.”

“What do you mean, Myungsoo?”

“I wasn’t sure because of how you and I acted whenever we're together… Maybe I was giving you too many mixed messages, ‘cause I kept holding myself back. Perhaps I was just scared that we'd lose everything we had if I said—or did anything funny... And with what happened last night, you were… A lot braver than I am.”

She let out a chuckle. He is not that different. Even he had his own hesitations.

“And with Yooyeon… Even she was bothered at times.” His hand clenches into a fist. “About us being close friends... But I know now, that's not on her. It’s on me. You were never a problem. I was being stubborn against myself, and I ended up breaking people’s hearts. I broke your heart, Kotone. I'm sorry because of that.”

In spite of their fifty-centimeter distance, Kotone doesn’t hesitate to hold his hand. “Don't blame yourself for everything, oppa.”

“I know, but sometimes, I still do. But I shouldn't be scared. And you made me realize that, Kotone... I’ve always treasured our friendship for what it was, but I'll always care about you more than that. Whatever we may be… I don't regret this.”

Dugeun, dugeun. Dugeun dugeun.

“I know it’s stupid to say it nowadays, but I’ve always seen you as a woman.”

His explanation makes her chortle, but such a reaction can't mask her true feelings.

“Myungsoo-oppa…” She stares at the man straight in his eyes. Such a patient yet longing and welcoming gaze from him is something she never thought she would ever get to see. She stands from her seat. “Would you… like to go out with me?”

He chuckles at her more or less act of formality. Instead of answering her with words, Myungsoo stands up and takes a few steps forward towards her, walking past the thin curtains of their friendship, and wraps his arms around the woman he’s been longing to embrace for a time only his beating heart can tell. Kotone tightens his embrace, closing her eyes. Both can only have a laugh, listening to each other’s heartbeats as if they’re headphones for only one ear, or a vibration speaker. He inches away, wanting to see her face.

Just as he expected. Her looking down on the floor, trying to cover up her blushing cheeks. “Yah… Why are you staring at me now?”

“Well, it’s…” He wants to tell her. Tell her an observation that he’s never told her before. “You look so cute… So beautiful... Just like that night. I mean, you always were. I’m sorry if I never got to tell you… I’m sorry it took me so long.”

With her lips shut in wonder, Kotone can’t shoot back a witty quip or begin another banter. This time, only her blushing cheeks and heartbeat answer to his straightforward praise. Not a teardrop is willing to leave her eyes once more, as today, her sense of triumph overcomes any other emotion.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, too,” she musters up to him. That weight on her heart begins to lift up, and it’s the best feeling she’s felt since their reunion.

Despite seeing her joy through her wide smile, Myungsoo senses her hesitation to move closer. He cups her cheeks, warming it up with his hands. Slowly, he pulls Kotone into his lips and tilts his head to the right. Their eyes close at the same time. He savors the sweet and bitter taste of the coffee from her lips, as well as the traces of the grapefruit soju in her mouth, as well as the scent of the fruity perfume he’s given to her. She gets a taste of his menthol toothpaste and a whiff of his aqua cologne; her hands hold on to his sloped shoulders. Feeling her body, his hands move over to her waist.

Their lips part for a second, albeit only to tilt their heads in the opposite direction before resuming their moment and intensifying it by pulling him closer, allowing her hands to clasp around him so they can savor each other’s touch more and feel each other longer.

= = =

The next one will definitely be a smut… I really gotta start writing shorter fics, lol. In the meantime, I'll keep reading and reblogging amazing fics from amazing writers, which I'm sure you're familiar with. As always, thanks for the read. 'til next time!

[uc1wa]

*heavy sigh* possessive frat boy Dick Grayson getting increasingly more deranged about how he lays his claim on you as the semester wears on, finals week breaking point where he loses it on you like you're a stress ball, etc.

even though he'd never cave and make you his gf, nope no sir

tags: fem reader, toxic relationship, yanderish, misogyny, mentions of rough sex, penetrative sex, choking, manipulation, fucked up frat boy dick

dick fucked a different girl every weekend, y'know, before his drunk self stumbled to your door. but who cares about the smell of perfume that's clung to his half-buttoned top? the top that has buttons in places they aren't supposed to be. who cares? because he's still going to come home to you, and you'll be his last fuck of every weekend.

but you? the first load he spilled on your stomach should've said enough, no? dick doesn't just fuck everybody, at least that's what he thinks. you're his and his only.

the first time he smelt another guy's cologne on you, saw a shirt that was surely not yours, a product of your own one-night stand, dick grayson lost his shit. fucked you like you were a sleeve for his cock rather than a person.

"then... are we dating?" the condescending laugh that left dick's lips was your answer. dating? the word made him gag, why would he lock himself down when he was at his prime? are you stupid? do you know who he is?

no, you weren't dating. you were fucking, but you obviously had a problem understanding your place, didn't you?

it started with hickies. an embarrassing amount that no number of necklaces or turtleneck tops could cover in their entirety. hickies that started at your jaw, dark splotches moving down your body. did you want to wear a crop top? dick's taking note to leave one on either side of your hips. where there's skin, there are remnants of the man to whom you belonged.

it wasn't hard to stake his claim on you, but he also knew you were hot. do you think dick grayson, the commodity that he was, would fuck somebody ugly? he's not that low. he has priorities for himself.

hickies weren't enough, though. did you think you were slick when he saw a video of you at another frat house, one outside of his own, grinding on a man who was plenty of social levels below dick? you thought he wouldn't find out that you're even more of a slut than he thought?

rather than a hand wrapped around your throat, he used manipulation to his advantage. with a sickeningly sweet voice, he bought you a necklace with his initials since you needed a tag like a puppy; now you know not to run away, right?

"marking your territory, huh?" his brother, wally laughs when he sees you sporting the chain with a prideful chest, gold falling between your tits. don't look too hard, that's dick's property now!

"had to," dick replies, unfazed. "nothing too serious, though." he reminds his brother from his seat in their shared house. but it's still not enough.

he wants you all to himself and it eats away at him. hickies continuing, sucking your face in public, it's not enough because you're still giving guys attention. 'just friends' his ass.

that's why, overtop of the gold chain, his hand covers your throat and pushes down hard. between hickey-covered thighs, his cock is stuffing you full with painfully slow movements.

"i gotta remind you?" he asks, long past acknowledging the fact that you can't speak from the force his hand holds around your windpipe. "whose cunt is this?" a strangled whine, and dick squeezes harder, a satisfied smile pulling his lips when he finally feels your pussy squeeze around his length.

he doesn't care about words; he cares about your cunt being carved into the shape of his cock. he cares about sculpting you like clay 'till any guy you wanna talk to can only smell dick on you. can only smell the expensive cologne he wears, can only smell the scent of his musk. 'till you're limping to all your finals, and there's not a second thought from your classmates who put you in that state; the infamous "DG" that's still hanging between your tits, that's who!

[tagintagout-au]

(The two of you are walking through the forest, carrying everything you need.)

(...It's a little awkward just staying quiet the whole way there...)

🎀: ...So... where did you get the idea to make a shrine?

🔷️: ...Oh. I probably should've told you that before, huh.

🔷️: It's... a little embarrassing, honestly.

🎀: That's okay!! I promise I won't tell anyone!

🔷️: ...Mmh. I'm not good at this.

🔷️: ...

🔷️: You... can probably tell I'm not from Vaugarde. As accepting as it is, it's pretty clear I'm an outsider.

🔷️: ....I travelled here sometime in my early twenties.

🔷️: My mother was Vaugardian, but raised me in Ka Bue. My Ka Buan father was... not in the picture.

🔷️: I have no idea how they met, she never told me, but all I know is neither of them ever wanted a child.

🔷️: He... died, very early on in my childhood. My mother stayed, and tried her best to raise me.

🔷️: ...She never really spoke about Vaugarde much, no matter how many times I asked. I ended up growing obsessed with all the bits and pieces I knew of it, disregarding Ka Buan culture as something to be ashamed of.

🔷️: And... eventually, I left.

🔷️: We still exchanged letters, and I visited her once in a blue moon, but... she eventually passed, too.

🔷️: And then I was alone. No family to connect to, deep in a shallow attempt to reconnect with my Vaugardian roots.

🔷️: ...That's when I joined the Defenders. I... felt like I needed some sort of purpose. Like I owed Vaugarde something, like I was supposed to make up for my Ka Buan side.

🔷️: ...But now...

🔷️: I've travelled with you all for a year. Seen all of this country has to offer, or at least a huge chunk of it.

🔷️: ...And... the closer we got to reaching the Star, to that final test of our strength I- I...

(She clears her throat.)

🔷️: ...Truth is, I'm scared, Mirabelle. I'm afraid.

🔷️: Afraid that this is where our journey halts, where all that effort will end up just being worthless.

🔷️: And, most of all, I...

🔷️: ...Regret many, many things.

🔷️: I regret completely abandoning a country that is part of me. I regret never truly learning about anything, just trying to become Vaugardian.

🔷️: ...So that's why I'm doing this. To... try and make up for it.

🔷️: I... don't know how to properly make a shrine, or even which Expression to pray to. I don't know what I would ask for.

🔷️: ..But I can try, and see what happens.

(You... don't know what to say.)

(She's been going through that this whole time...)

(....And you failed her. You died to Tag so, so many times. And she never got to do this...!)

🎀: ...O-oh... Madame...

(You hold in your tears. Don't cry! This isn't about you!!)

🎀: I... I'm so sorry, I had no idea...!

🔷️: ...It's... alright. I mean, we are doing this right now, aren't we?

🎀: ...I guess. Still-

🔷️: Shush. Vulnerability time is over. We're here.

(You're standing before a rather large tree, with a small alcove at the bottom.)

🔷️: ...This seems pretty good. It'll protect the shrine from any rain.

🔷️: Well. Not much else we can do other than just unload all of this, and... make the shrine.

🎀: O-on it, Madame!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Humping it up on hump day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you. 

"Don't like it?" He asks. 

"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much." 

"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist." 

Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one. 

"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?" 

You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start. 

"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table. 

"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion." 

You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm. 

"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar." 

She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas." 

Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.  

"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away. 

You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see. 

"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out." 

"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical... 

She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from. 

"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow. 

"Good. Just boring old salad." You say. 

"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep." 

You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup. 

"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff." 

"Uh, I remember. Sorry." 

"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed." 

She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes. 

"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone. 

🩵

Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling. 

As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long. 

You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.” 

“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof. 

You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.  

You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new. 

“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!” 

You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back. 

“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.” 

Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening? 

“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!” 

You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow. 

It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall. 

There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat. 

“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside. 

“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.” 

“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.” 

You’re silent.  

“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm. 

“I’m... surprised. That’s all.” 

“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.” 

“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.” 

“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.” 

“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.” 

“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall. 

Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college. 

You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long. 

Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return. 

You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking. 

🩵

The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.  

You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless. 

You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door. 

You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises. 

You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think. 

“S...Sorry...” you murmur.  

You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin. 

You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.” 

“Right,” you agree dully. 

He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?” 

You wince. “Yeah, why?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.” 

“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light. 

“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.” 

You shrug, “not really.” 

“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans. 

“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches. 

He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by. 

“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.” 

He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go! 

[writingforstraykids]

Ready, pretty?

Pairing: Minchan

Word Count: 2564

Summary: One night, after sharing a few drinks, Minho feels safe enough to overshare a little, thinking Chan is too drunk to remember the next day. He doesn't know that Chan remembers every word and is more than willing to help him with his little issue.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, late-night confessions, drunk confessions, friends to lovers (sort of), virgin!min, first time

A/N: Oh well, another audio that rotted azzy's and my brain😂 Based on this audio by my dear miu, hope you like it love @slutforchanlix 🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-

Minho and Chan found a quiet spot away from the bustling crowd at the party, nestled under the comforting canopy of a sprawling tree. A soft blanket spread beneath them provided a makeshift sanctuary from the noise and distractions. The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, twinkling faintly amidst the velvet darkness.

They sat side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally as they sipped from their drinks, the clinking of glasses a gentle background to their conversation. Minho, already feeling a bit lightheaded from the alcohol, couldn't help but notice Chan's relaxed demeanor and chuckled inwardly, convinced his friend was also a few drinks past sobriety.

"You look like you're in another world, Channie hyung," Minho teased lightly, nudging him playfully. "What's on your mind?"

Chan chuckled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Just enjoying the peace, I guess. It's rare to have moments like this."

"Yeah," Minho agreed, taking another sip. "Life's been hectic lately, huh?"

Chan nodded, his gaze drifting upwards towards the stars. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I just need to escape from all the noise and expectations."

Minho nodded sympathetically, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him. "I get that. So, how do you relax best, then?"

“There's only been one thing that actually helped lately,” Chan grinned mischievously, a glint in his eyes as he glanced at Minho. "By relieving some tension…you know?"

Minho snorted, caught off guard by the unexpected response. He leaned his head on Chan's shoulder, his own laughter bubbling up. "I should've guessed."

Chan chuckled, patting Minho's knee affectionately. "You're not too bad at it yourself, Minho."

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with a snort.

“Your room's right below mine, I'm insomniac, so no, not everyone's asleep when you touch yourself,” he told him, taking another sip. “You're not exactly quiet sometimes and the vent carries it all the way up.”

“Oh,” he whispered, making Chan laugh. “Can't help it sometimes,” he said.

“Yeah, I get that,” Chan agreed, smirking to himself. There hasn't only been one time when Minho's soft moans and quiet whimpers kept him up, too sweet of a symphony to ignore.

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol and the already happening oversharing, Minho decided to share a bit more than he probably should have. "Yeah, well, I tried my fingers once, but it didn't feel nice. I didn't really know what I was doing, so I gave that up again."

Chan burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the quiet night. "Noted," he managed between laughs, shaking his head fondly at Minho's confession. Yeah, he'd remember that.

Realizing what he had just admitted, Minho blushed furiously, hoping the darkness hid his embarrassment. "Just don't tell anyone."

Chan sobered slightly, a warm smile on his face as he nudged Minho gently. "Hey, I'll keep your secrets safe, don't worry."

Minho hummed softly before glancing at Chan. “Did you ever try it?” 

“Yeah, a few times,” Chan nodded, seemingly unfazed. 

“Any…any advice?” he asked, ears burning up.

“Well, you should be able to relax, give yourself time and don't get too eager too fast. Also use enough lube and be careful so you don't hurt yourself,” he told him.

Grateful for Chan's understanding, Minho shifted the topic to something less potentially embarrassing. "Speaking of secrets, what do you think of our new album? You excited about it?"

Chan's eyes lit up with enthusiasm, his earlier humor returning. "Definitely. Also, you've been working so hard on those English lines, Minho. I'm impressed."

Minho pouted playfully, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I get tired of them sometimes, you know?"

Chan nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. But seriously, you sound amazing singing them. Fans are gonna love it."

A small smile tugged at Minho's lips, grateful for Chan's praise. "Thanks, Channie. Means a lot coming from you."

They fell into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in each other's company, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. The night breeze rustled the leaves above them, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their secluded spot. For Minho and Chan, this brief respite from the demands of their careers was a precious gift—a chance to unwind, to share laughter and confessions under the starlit sky.

As the party's noise gradually seeped back into their awareness, they exchanged a knowing glance, both silently agreeing to cherish this memory. With a final clink of their glasses, they toasted to friendship, to music, and to the simple joy of finding peace beneath the stars.

-

After a tiring and long day at the company, Chan and Minho finally collapsed onto Chan's bed, the soft mattress providing a welcomed respite from their demanding schedules. They had stayed longer than the others, Chan meticulously fine-tuning tracks for their upcoming album and Minho patiently walking him through the new choreography after.

Chan couldn't help but notice Minho's restlessness as they settled in. The room was bathed in a gentle lilac hue, casting a serene glow that accentuated Minho's features. He looked almost ethereal in that light, but Chan sensed a tension in him that hadn't dissipated since earlier.

"You alright, Minho?" Chan asked softly, his concern evident as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at his friend.

Minho sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting Chan's gaze. "Yeah, just... I don't know. Can't seem to relax tonight…Long day."

Chan nodded understandingly, his eyes scanning Minho's face with a mixture of affection and curiosity. "Ever wish someone could help you with that? Release some tension after a long day?"

Minho's breath caught slightly at Chan's question, his heart beating a little faster as he processed the implication behind those words. He searched Chan's eyes for a long moment, finding sincerity and a hint of something more—something he had quietly wondered about but never dared to voice.

"Yeah," Minho admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

Chan's expression softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he remembered their conversation from a few nights ago—the one where Minho had confessed his clumsy attempt at doing just that. "Remember when you told me about trying with your fingers? Didn't quite like it?"

Minho blushed deeply, embarrassed that Chan remembered and seemed unfazed by his earlier awkwardness. "Yeah," he murmured, unable to meet Chan's gaze directly. “I took your advice but it doesn't feel as good as Felix and Jisung said it would.”

Chan chuckled softly, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind Minho's ear. "It's okay, Minho. You can tell me what you need. That's what I'm here for, yeah?”

Minho swallowed nervously, his heart racing as he leaned closer to Chan, their faces now only inches apart. "I... I need..." He hesitated, unsure if he could voice his desires aloud.

Chan's hand found Minho's, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of reassurance. "You can trust me, Min. Whatever it is."

With a shaky breath, Minho closed the gap between them, pressing his lips tentatively against Chan's. The kiss was hesitant at first, a mixture of nerves and longing, but soon it deepened, fueled by months of unspoken attraction and the intimacy of their shared moments.

Chan responded eagerly, pulling Minho closer until their bodies were flush against each other. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft sound of their breaths mingling and the gentle rustling of sheets beneath them.

As they broke apart for air, Chan brushed his thumb over Minho's cheek, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I've wanted this, Minho," he confessed softly. "More than I've let myself admit."

Minho smiled shyly, a weight lifted off his shoulders now that his feelings were out in the open. "Me too," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.

“Can I take care of you?” Chan asked softly and Minho's breath hitched.

“Please,” he nodded gently, rolling onto his back and glancing up at Chan as he sat up. Minho watched him as he gently pushed his legs apart and got seated between them, gently rubbing up his thighs. 

“Want me show you how good it can feel?” he asked and Minho bit his lower lip, nodding quickly. Chan reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. 

As Chan settled back between Minho's legs, he held up the bottle of lube with a reassuring smile. Minho's heart raced with anticipation, his body tingling in anticipation of Chan's touch. The soft lilac light cast a gentle glow over them, adding to the intimate atmosphere.

Chan leaned down to kiss Minho softly, their lips meeting in a tender exchange that conveyed both desire and tenderness. Breaking the kiss, Chan whispered against Minho's lips, "Relax, Min. I've got you." Minho hummed softly in response. “May I?” he asked gently, waiting for a nod before removing his pants and boxers.

Minho blushed softly at Chan's admiring expression, feeling a little exposed. “Channie,” he whined softly.

Chan giggled softly. “Ready, pretty?”

Minho nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Chan squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He gently trailed his fingertips down Minho's thighs, causing him to shiver at the sensation. Chan's touch was gentle and deliberate, each movement aimed at building trust and pleasure.

"Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable," Chan murmured, his voice a soothing presence in the quiet room.

Minho nodded again, his eyes locked on Chan's as he slowly began to circle his fingers around Minho's entrance. He applied light pressure, testing Minho's response before gradually easing a finger inside. Minho gasped at the initial intrusion, but Chan didn't move further until he felt Minho relax around him.

"That's it," Chan encouraged softly, his other hand stroking Minho's thigh in a comforting gesture. He continued to move his finger in and out slowly, allowing Minho to adjust to the sensation.

As Minho relaxed further, Chan added a second finger, stretching him carefully and watching closely for any signs of discomfort. Minho's breath hitched, but he didn't flinch away. Instead, he arched his back slightly, silently asking for more.

Minho was a little overwhelmed by how good it felt, panting softly at the feeling. A shaky moan escaped him and he quickly bit his lip, not wanting to fall apart right there during the first time someone touched him.

"You're doing great, Min," Chan praised, his voice filled with admiration and desire. He curled his fingers inside, searching for that spot that would make Minho gasp and moan.

The pleasure began to build, Minho's body responding eagerly to Chan's touch. Chan moved his fingers in a rhythm that was both tender and insistent, coaxing soft sounds of pleasure from Minho's lips. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through Minho's body, heightening his arousal with every stroke.

"Chan..." Minho whispered, his voice strained with need. He reached for Chan's hand, urging him to go deeper, to give him more.

Chan complied, adding a third finger carefully and gauging Minho's reaction. Minho tensed briefly, but as Chan massaged that sensitive spot inside him, pleasure quickly replaced any discomfort. Chan's fingers moved with practiced skill, pushing Minho closer to the edge of ecstasy. Minho's head fell back, jaw growing slack as Chan lovingly worked his prostate. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

Feeling Minho's body respond eagerly, Chan leaned down to kiss him again, their mouths melding in a desperate, passionate kiss. Minho whimpered into Chan's mouth, his hips lifting off the bed to meet Chan's movements.

"Channie hyung," Minho gasped when they finally parted for air, his voice raw with desire.

“I'm here,” Chan whispered gently. “What do you need, baby?”

Minho moaned softly. “Need more, please. Can you - I'm…I never did that before,” he admitted, ears burning up fiercely.

Chan soothingly rubbed his thigh. “Are you sure you want it to be me?” he asked gently, searching his eyes observantly. 

“Please,” Minho nodded, vulnerability lacing his features. “I trust you.”

Chan nodded, his own arousal evident as he reached for a condom and quickly prepared himself. He positioned himself between Minho's legs, gazing down at him with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

"You're sure?" Chan asked softly, seeking Minho's consent.

Minho nodded eagerly, his eyes locked with Chan's as he guided himself into Minho's heat. Chan took his time, making sure to give Minho enough room to adjust to the feeling. They both groaned at the sensation of being joined so intimately, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that spoke of longing and mutual need.

With each careful thrust, Chan focused on Minho's reactions, ensuring he moved at a pace that allowed Minho to adjust and enjoy every moment. Minho's soft moans and gasps filled the room, driving Chan further into a state of controlled desire. He kept one hand firmly planted beside Minho's head for support while the other stroked gently at Minho's cheek.

Minho's body responded eagerly, meeting Chan's movements with an increasing urgency that mirrored Chan's own rising desire. Their eyes locked in a silent conversation of trust and need, each moment deepening their connection beyond physical intimacy.

As Chan moved inside him, Minho's fingers clawed at Chan's back, his breath hitching with each deep thrust. Pleasure coiled tightly within him, building to a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm his senses. Chan's movements grew more insistent, driven by the raw need to bring Minho to the peak of ecstasy.

"Chan," Minho gasped, his voice a desperate plea mingled with pleasure.

Chan's heart swelled with affection and desire as he pressed his forehead against Minho's, their breaths mingling in a heated exchange. "I'm here, Minho," he murmured, his voice husky with longing. "Let go. I've got you."

With a final, deep thrust, Chan sent Minho spiraling into euphoria. Minho's body trembled beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over him, his moans filling the room with unrestrained ecstasy. Chan held him close, his own release imminent as he buried his face in Minho's neck, his breath hot against Minho's skin.

Moments later, they lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in the aftermath of their shared passion. Chan pressed gentle kisses against Minho's temple, his touch reverent and tender.

"You okay?" Chan asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along Minho's back.

Minho nodded, a blissful smile spreading across his face. "More than okay," he whispered, his voice filled with contentment.

Chan smiled back, his heart overflowing with love and tenderness for the man in his arms. He gently withdrew from Minho, disposing of the condom, cleaning Minho up and then pulling him close again, cradling him against his chest. They lay together in the quiet of Chan's room, their breathing slowly synchronizing as they savored the intimacy of their shared moment.

"Thank you, Channie," Minho murmured after a while, breaking the peaceful silence. “For being so gentle and always looking out for me.”

Chan kissed the top of Minho's head, his voice a soft murmur against Minho's hair. "Always, Min. I'm always here for you."

They drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, the soft lilac light still casting a gentle glow over their entwined bodies. For Minho and Chan, this night marked not only a physical union but also a deeper understanding of their feelings and a bond strengthened by trust and love.

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[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[one-piece-aus]

Can I request Whumptober No.13 for Yan Rob Lucci or Yan Kaku?

Sure thing! ^-^

Whumptober Day 13

Yandere Lucci x Reader

"Hello there," you greeted a little white pigeon wearing a red tie. "Aren't you cute."

"Thank you."

You jumped, startled, and surprise clouded your face. "You can talk?"

"Yes, but don't tell anyone, okay?" The pigeon held up his wing as if they were hands forming the shush sign.

"Ohhhhh okay," you nodded. In awe and fascinated by this talking bird, you didn't pay attention to the noises next door. 

For hours you asked the bird questions until it announced it had to leave. Sad to see it fly away, you waved goodbye until it flew out of sight. You'd never see it.

At least, that's what was supposed to happen.

A month later the pigeon came back, and your excitement skyrocketed. You were beginning to believe the talking bird with a tie was all a dream you had, you were happy to know the bird's real. You asked more questions but then you asked one you should've asked sooner.

"Do you have a name?"

"I do, forgive me for not introducing myself," the pigeon apologized and bowed. "I'm Hattori."

"Hattori, huh." You petted his little head. "Do you have an owner?"

"Mhm, but he's... busy right now, so I came here out of boredom."

You giggled, "I hope I don't get in trouble for keeping you away from him."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Hattori leaned into your hand. "I think he'd like you."

"You think so?" You mused before going into the kitchen to get Hattori a snack.

Little did you know, his owner was standing under your balcony, arms crossed and leaning against the wall.

Like clockwork, you saw Hattori once a week now. You invited him inside a few times, but he declined, saying he preferred being outside with fresh air. At least, that was before tonight.

"[Y/n], it's cold outside, can I fly in?" Hattori shivered with his wings wrapped around him.

"Of course." You stepped to the side and let the poor bird into your home, forgetting about your glass of water on the counter. "Here let me get you a blanket."

You left the balcony door open and headed to the hallway closet, taking out the handstitched blanket you made for the bird you had created in your spare time. When reached, Hattori was perched on the counter beside your drink.

"Here," You laid the tiny thing around the bird. "You should feel better now. Oh, I almost forgot about my drink." You picked up the glass, sipping the contents. "What kind of owner leaves his pet out in the cold of night? Actually..." You placed the drink down and held your head. "I don't feel so good."

The counters became sideways and the ground came up to slam into you. Hattori flew up from the counter, you didn't quite see where he went. The last thing you saw was dress shoes approaching you.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[solarsa1nt]

𐚁֙࿐ THE PRIEST

kenjaku x fem!reader (platonic)

Tags — fluff? , platonic , ‘first’ meeting , stalker-ish behavior , soft kenjaku , creepy kenjaku , listen he cares about his daughter and shows it in weird ways

Notes — kenjaku is y/n’s parent, it’s not explicitly stated since this is from y/n’s pov but pretty obvious he is. i just wanted to clarify beforehand!

Sighing tiredly, Y/N slumps her head against her computer, eyelids feeling all too heavy as she stares down at her keyboard.

Just gonna close them real quick... Y/N thinks, allowing her eyes to flutter close with exhaustion creeping up on her.

But as she feels her consciousness start to escape her, she forced them to open once more.

Just need to finish this paper then I can go back. Y/N relents, sitting up again as she shifts in her seat in an attempt to get more comfortable in the metal chair

Maybe she should've chose a better place than some old café to study in, but it's not like she really had a choice now. Finding another place that was even open would be difficult at this time of night.

Speaking of that, she should hurry up if she wants to make it to the dorms before someone notices she left. How annoying, but she supposes it's understandable. After all, they—

Y/N was torn out of her thoughts at the feeling of something nuzzling against her hand.

Blinking in surprise, Y/N shifts her gaze down to see... a cotton ball?

"Oh, it's one of you guys again..." Y/N murmurs in recognition, eyes lighting up with fondness as she shifts her hand so it was laying flat back against the table, allowing the creature to crawl onto her hand.

"You're cute little guys, huh?..." Y/N smiles, raising her other hand to pet it, watching as it preens at the contact, making a purring noise.

Well, these ones specifically were cute. Most were... Y/N pauses, remembering all the monstrous-looking beings that always seemed to watch her. ...odd.

They never harmed her, though. In fact, most seemed to like her. As odd as it was, Y/N never complained.

"Mrp?" The creature nudges against her hand, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Ah? Oh... Just thinking about something, don't worry." Y/N pats it's head one final time before setting it down next to her computer.

"Mrrrp..." The creature lets out a sad noise, visibly deflating as its body slumps down.

Y/N laughs into her palm, grateful that nobody other than her was here to see the behavior they would surely deem odd.

Well, there was an employee in the back, but... Y/N tilts her head over, glancing through the window to see him slumped over a table with his eyes shut. ...he's clearly occupied.

Y/N reaches her palm out, the creature sliding onto it as she raises her hand against her head, allowing the creature to lay on her head.

"That good enough?" Y/N asks, smiling in amusement as she glances at the window, seeing the reflection of the creature burying itself in her hair, nestled comfortably.

"Mrp!" The creature confirms eagerly.

"That's good, then." Y/N nods in approval, turning back towards her computer as she visibly deflates. "I just have to finish this then we can—"

"Hm? I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Y/N nearly jumps out of her skin at the calm voice, turning to see a man dawned in monk clothing giving her a closed-eye smile.

A priest? Y/N wonders, staring at the man blankly for a moment before remembering what he asked seconds earlier.

"A-Ah, of course not, I was just... ranting to myself." Y/N was aware of how flimsy her lie sounded as she mentally winces.

"I see." The man's eyes peer open, amusement mixed with an unreadable emotion glimmering in them.

"I hope you wouldn't mind if I take a seat." The man says.

"Wha— ah, uh, sure? Why not...?" Y/N nods in agreement, pushing her stuff closer on her so the man could sit down across from her.

Y/N was never known for being the brightest person, but even she could recognize it might not be the best idea to let a strange priest sit with her.

Well, too late to take it back, she supposes.

"You seem to have a bright future ahead, I'm proud of you." The man observes, his tone undeniably genuine.

"Eh? Oh, thanks... just doing my best." Y/N ducks her head down in embarrassment, focusing on the screen infront of her.

Is this how they got people to join cults? Y/N vaguely wonders before shaking that thought away.

"Mrrp..." The creature on her head abruptly growls at the man, startling Y/N as she visibly stiffens.

Keeping her eyes trained on her screen, Y/N does her best to ignore the creature for now, not wanting to seem like a crazy person to the man infront of her.

"Oh?" The man glances up. The action making Y/N pause as she wonders for a moment if he could see the creature too when— "Your friend doesn't seem to like me."

"You can seem them too?" Y/N asks as she scoops the creature into her hands, petting it softly as it melts in her hand, comforted by the hushed voice and soft hands.

The man seems to pause as he watches her comfort the creature, surprise and something unreadable in his expression before he smiles.

"You really are unlike them..." The man mumbles, the words only confusing Y/N further.

"Huh? 'Them'?" Y/N asks, attention drawn away from the creature still held securely in her hand.

But the man doesn't grace her with an answer, looking down at the table with a distant expression.

Y/N's head cocks to the side in confusion, looking at the man before looking at the creature in her hand that was seemingly... glaring at him.

"What's wrong? The last time you did this..." Y/N's quiet voice trails off, not wanting to recount what happened as she looks at the creature with growing concern.

The last time it growled at someone was when some creep tried to grope her on the train, the ominous growl accompanied by a threatening presence scaring the man off.

Though this was unlike the time, the man was odd, sure, but he wasn't acting like the other guy did. The monk honestly just seemed ignorant (or uncaring?) of social norms, which she couldn't blame him for since everyone has their quirks.

"You've grown up to be a nice girl, Y/N." The man compliments, drawing Y/N from her thoughts as she looks up to see the man standing once again.

"Ah, um, thank you?" Y/N replies uncertainly, the man smiling at her in fond amusement before turning and walking out.

Only after a few minutes of silence pass do the words he said truly sink into Y/N, body freezing as she stares at where he was walked off to, feeling as if a cold bucket of water had just been poured over her head.

She had never told the man her name.

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad

[camaro-and-smokes]

Get Out of My Dreams, Get into My Car

Chapter 9: Can't fight this feeling

Moodboard by the amazing @a-redharlequin 💜

No warnings for this chapter. Tags: Feelings realization (the other way around I guess)

Summary: Steve had been struggling the whole night with the words he should've said in the evening and in the morning he finally decides just to go for it. Unfortunately the universe seems to have everything against him on that day.

Read on AO3 >>

:::::::::::

Steve had kicked himself mentally through the entire night for not saying the words in the evening. Three small words that would’ve probably changed everything and he couldn’t get them out of his mouth.

And now that they were sitting at the breakfast table, it felt just stupid if he’d say them here in the middle of coffee and eggs. Pass me the sugar and I like you please don’t go to your ex’s art thing.

“So, you’re going to the opening, then?” he ventured as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

Billy nodded, keeping his eyes on the newspaper.

“Uh, about that…” Steve started his brave try, despite the awkwardness.

Billy looked up from the newspaper.

“At what time is it?” Steve asked.

“Six.”

“Right.” Just say it, you idiot, Steve scolded himself. “I was thinking, um…”

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the terrace door and both of them turned to look at who was pounding it at this hour.

“Hey, Malibu!” Argyle shouted through the door. “Weren’t we supposed to catch some waves this morning?”

“Oh, yeah, just a moment!” Billy shouted back and looked at Steve. “We agreed with Argyle that we’d go…” Billy started and motioned to the living room.

Steve wanted to strangle Argyle. “Yeah, you go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand, managing to keep his tone light—but just barely.

Billy looked at him for a moment. “You sure?”

Steve nodded. “U-huh. It can wait.”

“Alright,” Billy said, nodding. He shouted to Argyle, “I’ll be there in five!” and left to get his gear.

Steve leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He tried to assure himself that he could still talk about it with Billy when he came back from the beach. There was time.

So, to spend the time doing something productive, he finished his breakfast, read the newspaper from cover to cover—hardly remembering any of it, though—and washed the dishes.

He was drying the last plates when the phone rang. He dried his hands on the towel and unhooked the receiver. “Harrington.”

“Morning, Steve,” came a familiar female voice through the wire.

Steve leaned his head against the wall, groaning inwardly. “Hi, mom.”

“We just arrived in San Diego yesterday and I thought—”

“You’re here?” Steve interrupted her, confused. “Why didn’t you call earlier?”

“Well, your father wanted to spend a few days longer in Vegas than we planned and then we kind of forgot.”

Steve sighed. “You were coming this way and didn’t let me know?”

“Well, we thought we’d surprise you,” his mother said with the tone that told Steve that he shouldn’t be offended when his parents decided to grace him with their existence out of the blue.

Steve ran his hand over his face. He already knew where this was going and…he didn’t exactly have anything special to do except that talk with Billy and keep him from going to the gallery opening. He let out a deep sigh. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Mrs. Harrington wasn’t amused. “Don’t sound so eager about it, Steve.”

He set the receiver on his shoulder to a bit to squeeze his eyes closed. “Sorry. I just have…things to figure out.”

“Well, can you take a break from thinking and come for a brunch with your parents? Maybe you could recommend a restaurant and we could meet there?”

+ + +

When Billy came back from the beach, to his disappointment, Steve was gone. While in the zone on his board, he’d decided that they’d need to talk about last night—and maybe ask if Steve would want to join him at the opening. To keep Rob from getting any stupid ideas and…just to go out with Steve. Totally not for a date, but just…out.

But now he had no option but to wait for Steve to come back. So, he took a shower and then sat on the couch to watch TV.

Just as he was starting to relax, when the phone ringing in the kitchen shattered the quiet and jolted him back to reality.

Alice, the owner of the aerobic studio, was on the other end, her voice sounding like it came from the bottom of a barrel. “Hi, Billy! I’m sorry this comes on a such a short notice, but would you be able to do my aerobic classes today? I got some nasty bug, and I won’t be leaving the house today.”

Billy wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “Uh, depends on what time,” Billy replied, rubbing his neck with his hand. He knew how much the studio meant to Alice, but he wouldn’t want to be the first she’d call next time…

“They’re from three to five. Please, Billy, everyone else has said no, and I don’t want to cancel.”

Billy looked at the clock on the opposite wall. It was already 2:20 pm, so in order to make it on time, he would have to leave now. “Well, you could’ve called a bit earlier, but sure, I can do that.”

“You are an angel! I’ll make this up to you! Just make sure to be on time,” she teased him, reminding him of the many times he’d been late for his own classes.

Billy laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave right now.”

After hanging up, Billy went to put his aerobics gear together. While at it, he realized that there wouldn’t be time for him to come back home from the studio. He’d have to go to the gallery straight from there.

What a perfect reason to cancel going to the whole thing.

But if he did that, said that he was sick and couldn’t go, even if Rob wouldn’t know he lied, he himself would. And part in becoming himself was to be honest with himself and to everyone else…

Fuck.

He didn’t have to stay there more than just show up, have a flute of sparkling and come back home. He’d live through it.

Now all he needed to do was to go through his wardrobe quickly to find something to wear in the evening and change into at the studio.

+ + +

The brunch with his parents had lasted longer than Steve had expected. It had been nice to see them because he hadn’t seen them after he’d moved away from Hawkins. And since he knew he had time to talk with Billy before six pm, he hadn’t rushed back.

So, when he finally got back home, it was a surprise to find the house empty.

“Billy?” he called out.

No response.

He checked the living room, kitchen and even poked his head into Billy’s bedroom, but there was no sign of him. Not even a note on the kitchen table.

He looked at the aerobics class list on the fridge door, held up by a magnetic surfboard, and immediately he heard Billy’s voice in his head correcting him: It’s a longboard! There’s a difference! It made him smile—apparently he’d finally learned the lesson.

He concentrated on looking at the timetable: Billy’s classes were on Tuesday and Wednesday, and he was fairly certain Billy wouldn’t go for an extra lesson today. Or any day, really. He did his exercise on the waves and by lifting and aerobics was on his own exercise schedule only in the winter.

Steve’s shoulders slumped as he walked back to the living room and plopped down on the couch. He had no idea where Billy could be. The only option he really had was to wait and then go to the gallery and try to catch him at the opening before Rob would do any more damage.

At least he knew where the opening was because it was written on the calendar on the wall; The Brush Poets’ Gallery.

+ + +

Billy walked through the bustling art gallery, his stomach churning with a cocktail of nerves and morbid curiosity. It had been months since he’d last seen Rob, and the prospects of their reunion filled him with equal parts dread and anticipation.

Just breathe. You’ve got this. It’s not like you’re still hung up on the guy, right? He tried to reassure himself, but his sweaty palms and racing heart told a different story.

As he navigated the throng of well-dressed somebodies, Billy caught sight of one of Rob’s paintings hanging on the wall. Rob had painted it during one of their steamy nights, and it made Billy’s chest ache with a bittersweet pang of nostalgia.

Don’t go down that road again , he chided himself firmly. Rob’s ancient history. You’re here just for …Though he wasn’t really sure why he was there. He knew he should’ve left Rob behind, for good, ages ago, but hearing his voice on the phone had breathed life into the embers of the love Billy once had felt.

Fucking feelings. Nothing but trouble.

He found his way to the other end of the space and…there stood Rob next to a podium, looking infuriatingly handsome in a tailored suit that hugged his lean frame in all the right places.

Billy snorted and pondered for a moment who Rob had coaxed into giving him the money for it, since sure as hell wouldn’t have money for having tailored anything himself.

Probably someone from this crowd. Though Billy was sure most of them were here just to show themselves and get tipsy before heading out to the blinding lights of the city.

As if on cue, Rob turned to look in Billy’s direction, and the way his eyes lit up when their gazes met made butterflies take flight in Billy’s stomach.

Though Billy wasn’t sure if it was a flutter of cute small butterflies or just a few big, ugly moths reminding him of the pain Rob had caused.

+ + +

The dusk had started to settle when Steve parked his car around the corner from the gallery. He gripped the steering wheel for a while after turning off the engine. He wasn’t entirely sure if this still was a good idea. But he also knew it needed to be done. He needed it done.

So, he got out of the car and walked back to the gallery, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. When he got there, he stopped to look inside through the windows. Surprisingly sizable crowd of people seemed to be inside. He recognized some faces—sure as hell, everyone who’s anyone, and so on. He tried to look for Billy, but there were too many people for him to tell.

Doubt crept in as he gazed inside. He wasn’t sure if he should be here. If it would make any difference. But going in was his only possibility to tell Billy how he felt before Rob did something that would ruin his chances.

The vibrant atmosphere of the gallery enveloped him as he stepped through the doors. The bright track lights illuminated the colorful abstract paintings that lined the white walls, and soft instrumental music mingled with the lively chatter of the crowd holding wine glasses.

But there was only one thing Steve’s eyes were on the lookout for; the long blond curls.

“A glass of Chardonnay, sir?” a waiter materialized at Steve’s elbow.

Steve jumped at the sudden words coming from right next to him. “Oh, um, no thank you,” Steve stammered.

Get it together, Harrington.

To calm himself, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of expensive perfume that lingered all over. He meandered along the perimeter, taking in the colorful, emotive artworks while surreptitiously keeping an eye out for Billy in the crowd.

With each passing moment, his nerves raised closer to the surface. What would he even say if he bumped into Billy? Hey buddy, fancy seeing you here! Looking damn fine in that…whatever he would be wearing.

Steve shook his head. Great, only cheesy pickup lines in store.

As Steve found his way further into the space, he finally stopped. There, on the side of a small podium, was Billy.

Steve smiled. Billy had his hair up in a messy bun and strands were hanging loose, framing his face. He was wearing a simple white silk shirt that hung on his broad shoulders and—if it was any consolation to Steve—his normal blue jeans and not the tighter than tight black jeans he usually wore when he went out. Not that the blue ones were any less tight, mind you.

+ + +

Just before Billy reached Rob, the artist stepped up to the small podium and raised his hand to silence the crowd. His voice rose above the chatter as he began his thank you speech, and Billy found himself drawn into the orbit of his presence despite the nagging discomfort.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his snobby voice rang out, silencing the room. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the unveiling of my latest collection.”

+ + +

So, this was the infamous Rob, Steve thought as the tall, dark-haired man started talking. A lot better looking than he had imagined, and, he had to admit, he could vaguely understand what Billy must’ve seen in the guy.

Rob continued his speech, his tone dripping with self-importance. “This exhibition would not have been possible without the support of you, my patrons and my friends, and most importantly, my muse.” Then he turned to look down at Billy with a wide smile, his hand reaching out.

+ + +

Billy’s heart stopped as Rob’s gaze locked with his. Oh, no. Please don’t. Not here, not now...

But it was too late. Rob was already reaching out, his eyes never leaving Billy’s. Once again, Rob did what he did best; put Billy in the spotlight so that he couldn’t say no.

Billy allowed himself to be pulled onto the podium, standing next to Rob.

Rob took his hand in his. “This man, this incredible, beautiful man, has been the inspiration behind every brush stroke, every color choice. My boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.”

Billy felt the color drain from his face as every head in the room swiveled to stare at him. Boyfriend? What the hell? We broke up months ago!

+ + +

Steve’s stomach twisted, his mind reeling. Boyfriend? Was this guy serious?

Rob had hurt Billy and Billy wouldn’t go back with him unless…

Unless…they’d made up.

Billy had been gone when Steve got home, and that was a few hours before this event was to start. What if they’d been talking things through and…

+ + +

Before Billy could protest, in a swift, fluid motion, Rob leaned in and captured Billy’s lips in a passionate kiss. His mind reeled as Rob’s lips moved against his, the familiar taste and scent of him flooding his senses with memories he’d tried so hard to forget.

+ + +

Steve watched, frozen, as Billy melted into Rob’s embrace, their bodies fitting together like perfectly sculpted puzzle pieces—and his heart shattered, the pieces scattering like shards of glass on the floor.

His eyes were stinging. Conflicting emotions washed over him, each one more painful than the last. The realization that he had lost his chance with Billy, that he had been too late, too cautious, too afraid, hit him like a wrecking ball.

You waited too long, and now look where it’s gotten you, he berated himself silently.

The bitter taste of regret lingered on his tongue, the weight of what could have been pressing down on his shoulders. He had missed his chance, and now he had to live with the knowledge that Billy’s heart belonged to someone else.

With a heavy heart, Steve made the swift decision to leave the gallery. He quickly slipped through the crowd, his steps laden with disappointment and regret.

+ + +

When Rob finally pulled away, Billy was breathless and shaking, a storm of emotions raging inside him. Shock, anger, confusion, and worst of all…a traitorous flicker of desire that he couldn’t seem to quench no matter how hard he tried.

With a shaky breath, Billy pulled away from Rob’s embrace, his insides blazing with a mix of hurt and determination. “I…I can’t…Rob, you can’t just waltz back into my life and pretend nothing’s changed,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You made it pretty clear that we’re over when you walked out of my life.”

Rob’s confident smile faltered, and he glanced at the crowd that was looking at them, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Come on, babe. We’re meant to be together. Why else would fate bring us here tonight?”

Billy shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. “Fate? No! You asked me to come, and I was stupid enough to do that. You’re just trying to mess with my head again. It’s not going to work this time.” He took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them. “I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone who actually cares about me, who’s there for me when I need him. Someone who doesn’t just use me as a prop in his little art world dramas.” He said the last sentence louder than the rest, ensuring that at least the front row heard it.

Rob’s face darkened, his jaw clenching. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe you’ve found someone better than me? Who is this mystery man, huh?”

Billy turned away from Rob, determined to step down from the podium when his eyes spotted a familiar figure by the large windows of the gallery, quickly retreating towards the door.

Steve.

His heart seized in his chest as he watched Steve go out the door, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.

And in that moment, everything clicked into place.

Steve had come after him. He wouldn’t be here, unless…Unless he had feelings—for him.

Without another word to Rob, Billy stepped down from the podium and pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the door Steve had just disappeared through.

+ + +

The cool night air enveloped Steve as he stepped out of the gallery, a welcome change from the suffocating atmosphere inside. As he walked back to his car, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp, clean air, hoping it would somehow cleanse the pain that had settled in his chest.

+ + +

Billy burst through the gallery door, his heart pounding in his chest as he scanned the crowded street for any sign of Steve. The cool evening air hit his skin, a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere inside the gallery, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was finding Steve as he scanned the street with his gaze.

Come on, Steve. Where are you?

Just as he was losing hope, he caught a glimpse of the familiar dark hair turning the corner up ahead. His heart leaped in his chest, and he took off to follow it, dodging around a group of tourists who were blocking his path.

+ + +

Steve fished the keys out of his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. The familiar scent of leather and the soft purr of the engine as he turned the key provided a small measure of comfort, a reminder that at least some things were constant in his life that would remain unchanged.

As he pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street, he let his mind wander, replaying the events of the evening in his head.

The image of Billy and Rob, locked in a passionate embrace, seemed to be seared into his memory, a painful reminder of what he had lost before he even had a chance to truly have it.

+ + +

Billy rounded the corner, his breath coming in quick gasps as he searched the street ahead. There was no sign of Steve. He’d probably had his car parked near here and had just pulled off.

“Fuck!” Billy growled, startling an elderly couple who was just passing him. They mumbled something about manners as they continued on their way.

Billy turned on his heel and headed back towards the gallery, his mind already mapping out the quickest route back home.

He burst back into the gallery, his heart pounding and his mind reeling. Barely registering the curious stares and whispered comments from the other attendees, he made a beeline to the chair next to the podium, where he’d left his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Babe, where are you going?” Rob asked, his voice laced with concern and a hint of annoyance.

Billy turned to face him, his jaw set and his eyes blazing. “I’m going after Steve,” he said firmly.

Rob’s eyes widened in surprise. “Steve? Who is Steve?”

“He’s the one.”

Rob rolled his eyes. “You’re going to run off after some other guy when you have me?”

Billy shook his head, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rob, what we had was special, but it’s over. Steve is the one I want to be with. Don’t call me again. Ever.”

With that, Billy turned and walked away.

As he pushed through the gallery doors and out into the cool night air and towards the Camaro, he felt a sense of lightness for finally doing what he should’ve done a long time ago. Stopped hanging on to a guy who couldn’t commit and open his eyes to the one who had been there all this time—Steve.

[aakaneeee]

She woke up on what seems to be a hospital bed, with multiple devices tied to her, and a burning, sharp pain from her shoulder.

So I'm alive.

Why am I alive?

I was supposed to die. I was supposed to go down. I was supposed to go down with him.

She turned, now staring blankly at the ceiling. In her peripheral vision, she could see what she was wearing: a white hospital gown. She raised her hand and touched gently around the area that hurt like hell: the material was different, bandage-like, and slightly soggy. She pulled her fingers away, and looked. Blood. Huh. How weird.

They shot me non fatally... but still, why am I here?

She felt extraordinarily numb. Like a huge part of her soul had shriveled up and died. She knows she should have gone, as well.

I no longer feel like this is my own body. I, again, as I have so many times, feel like I am watching from third person. This time, no one is touching me and I don't think I'm under the influence of anything.

She got up to the edge of her hospital bed. Everything cramped: she guessed she had been unconscious for a while. Her legs felt weak, so she decided not to walk yet.

The door to my tiny room opened, and my owner entered.

"What was that, Yvonne? You almost threw away everything, for what?!" She started, the absolute flame in her voice obvious. "You're lucky I already had talked with the owners. Money did the thing. But I could've had that if you just did it according to the plan! Now you'll have an ugly mark and you're eliminated. Do you have any idea what you've lost?- Are you even listening?!"

Ever since she said "You're lucky I already talked with the owners.", she just blankly stared at her as if she either just became deaf on the spot, or her whole sky just dawned on her.

"You're.. the one that did that?" I whispered, trying to keep my shaking voice in check.

"Yes, aren't you just so grateful?"

She didn't say anything for good minutes. She could've been where she needed to: dead. With Sebastian. It was the only possibility that would have worked for her if he would have lost. And he did. And it didn't happen the way she planned.

"I'm tired." I say, looking at the ground. She knew her owner spoke for way longer. She didn't care. At last, she walked out.

I rummaged through the drawers next to my bed. Convenient, they were filled with my belongings. I searched for something specific: pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Atleast if I'm watching in third person, I can also be on something. She lit it up. She swore she'd quit. She swore she'd stop. She couldn't. She layed back down. She killed him. It was all her fault. He was probably already dead before the shot hit him. And now she was alive.

I should face the punishment for my crimes. I destroyed myself for nothing. I killed him for nothing. I could have done just simple violence. He would be alive. I would've been shot, and considering my owner's plans, we both would've been alive. I would've gotten in touch. I'm a filthy idiot. An imbecile that should not have been over here now. I just wanted to make it better. I made it worse.

Yes, only she could kill him. But only if she dies too. She didn't find the glass shard between her belongings, so she assumed her owner will be even more careful with how she'll touch weapons. Without realizing, she became an active suicide risk, while she should've been already dead.

I took one last smoke and extinguished the cigarette. It felt like betrayal to do this again.

She's sorry.

I'm sorry.

She's.. 

I'm...

does it even matter anymore?

Maybe "it" is more fitting. It's not like "it" is it's own person anymore.

sebastian belongs to @sotogalmo (acting as if I didn't tag you because I need you to see this RN./srs)

[authorchariot]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the straight and narrow (or so he says)

rating: explicit ❤️

fandom: the nice guys (2016)

pairing: holland march x m!reader

word count: 6.4k+

content warning(s): dubious consent (via drunk sex)

tags: anal fingering, anal sex, closeted character, denial, drunk sex, established relationship, facials, fluff, friends to lovers, handjobs, hurt/comfort, internalised homophobia, mentions of vomiting (brief), not beta read, pov first person, premature ejaculation, rimming, sexual dysfunction, size kink, slurs, smut, spit as lube, substance abuse

summary: march has always been straight. 100%. 110, actually. though he has a funny way of showing it

for my hubby, @bludpudding 💛✨

read on ao3 or keep reading here ↓

College. The kind of place where you met people that would stick in your life forever, like a piece of broccoli that sticks between your teeth; whether you wanted them to or not.

I met Holland March when we were both eighteen and far too dumb to know it. He was a good-looking guy, I have no problems admitting that. We were taking the same physical education qualification; me, because I actually cared about the subject, and him, because he thought it'd be easy. Something about the coursework description made him think it was just running around a field, grading each other on how good we were at dodgeball and taking multiple-choice quizzes about the rules of soccer. Instead, he found himself trapped in a program that required anatomy classes, endurance tests and worst of all, communal showers with a bunch of sweaty, naked guys.

March was always a smartass, even then. He had this way of talking where every sentence sounded like he was setting up a punchline, even if there wasn't one coming. But underneath that, he was nervous. Twitchy. It started around the time we began the practicals, when we had to spend hours in the gym, watching each other's form, spotting for one another, or worse; getting undressed in the changing rooms with nowhere to hide. The first time I noticed something was wrong was after one of those sessions. The rest of us were joking around, towel-snapping, hyped up on adrenaline. March, though, was staring a little too long at things he wasn't supposed to be looking at. At first, I thought maybe he was just zoning out. But then his face would go red and he'd rip his eyes away like he was getting electrocuted.

The next thing I knew, he was drinking. A lot. At first, it was the usual college bullshit — cheap beer at house parties, sneaking flasks into lectures — but then it got worse. He started showing up to morning classes hungover or still half-drunk from the night before. He reeked of whiskey. He stopped eating much. And he threw himself into women like he was trying to prove something, showing off about every conquest like we were keeping score. He started reading Playboy mags in the cafeteria, insisting that he 'absolutely loved tits' and loudly announcing which female celebrity he'd fuck if given the chance.

"Guess how many times I fucked this chick last night." He'd say, elbowing me with a grin that never quite reached his eyes. I never answered. He didn't really want one.

There were nights he'd get so drunk that he'd start talking too much. "You ever wonder if—" He'd start and then catch himself. He'd look at me, wide-eyed, like he'd nearly stepped on a landmine, and then backtrack so fast it was almost impressive. "Nevermind, nevermind. Forget I said anything."

And then, just as suddenly, he'd be back to his usual routine. A different girl in his dorm-room every week. A loud, boisterous laugh at every joke. A too-casual, offhanded, "Man, women, huh? Love 'em. Can't get enough of 'em."

I should've called him out on it. Maybe I tried, once or twice, but he always had a way of twisting things, making a joke out of his own misery before anyone else could touch it. So I let him be. And he kept drowning himself in women and whiskey, hoping one of the two would finally fix him.

Years later, when we're both in our mid-thirties and life has kicked us around more times than I can count, March is still at it.

We both migrated to LA but we stayed in touch. He became a private investigator for some God-forsaken reason. He got a wife. Then a kid. Then a house-fire. Lost a wife. He spiralled. The drinking's worse. The bravado's more hollow. And, if anything, he's even more desperate to prove himself; to me, to the world, to some invisible jury that doesn't even fucking exist.

I don't buy it and, deep down, I know he doesn't either.

But he still tries. Probably a little too hard.

Which leads us up to now.

It's 4am on a Thursday morning when the phone on my nightstand rings. I blink the sleep from my eyes and roll over, looking at the clock-radio before picking the receiver off the cradle. I know who it is before I even hear his voice.

'Heyyyy... I'm fucked up, man. Really fucked up... Can you... Y'know, come get me? 'Cause I can't... Can't drive.'

Oh, God, not this again.

"March?" I sigh down the line, staring at the illuminated numbers on the Grandstand clock-radio on the bedside table. "It's fucking 4am."

'Shhh... I know. I know it's late. But I'm...not exactly thinkin' straight right now so... So can you pick me up or not? Please? For a friend?'

His speech is slurring and I can already imagine the drunken grin on his face. I sigh again and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Jesus... Fine, where are you?"

'The usual bar... You know the one. Shit... You're an angel. Seriously...'

He mumbles something I don't quite catch before there's a crash. Probably fallen over.

'Think I might throw up...'

I wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes. For a guy who drinks as much as him, he sure as Hell can't hold his liquor.

"Just...get it all out of your system before you get in my car, yeah? I just had it detailed the other week." I sigh and I instinctively hold the receiver away from my ear as I hear him starting to gag and retch. I put the phone down just as my own stomach starts to turn.

With a push, I haul myself up to the edge of my bed and pull on a pair of pyjama pants and a vest. It'll only take a little while to drive downtown at this hour, with no traffic on the roads.

About fifteen minutes later, I pull up outside the usual dive-bar in my Ford Mustang, where a shivering figure — which I correctly presume is March — is bent over in the alley, a hand braced on the wall. Cursing under my breath, I get out to see what the damage is.

"March?" I call out and, as I approach, I notice how awful he looks. His hair ruffled and messy, his shirt untucked, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot. He looks like shit and smells even worse. I shake my head and slide my shoulder under his arm, shifting his weight onto me. "C'mon. Up we go." He leans heavily on my side, barely able to stand on his own.

"Mmph... 'Ppreciate it." He mutters, his words still slurred.

I help him into the passenger seat, his long legs splaying awkwardly in the footwell, and buckle him in before closing the door and settling myself in the drivers seat.

"I swear to God, if you throw up in my car, I will end you." I grumble, pulling a box of mints from the glove compartment. He takes half the box and shoves them all in his mouth at once, crunching loudly.

"God... You mad?" He peeks at me as I turn the key in the ignition and start off down the street.

"Kinda." I reply flatly as I speed off in the direction of my little home in the suburbs. I hear him swallow the mouthful of mints and he's really not subtle about how he's ogling me. Maybe I can't blame him. It's been ages since he's seen me dressed down like this and I have filled out since college... Won't lie, it makes me feel kind of proud. Still, I'd rather not be driving through downtown LA at 4:22 in the morning. "Is Holly staying with someone?"

"Mhm... At her friend's house. Sleepover." He answers as he shifts in his seat. He's not the best dad. Honestly, when Holly says she's 'at a friends for a sleepover', that could mean literally anything. March is usually too drunk or hungover to keep track of her.

And he's still looking and it's real fucking obvious. I don't bring it up, though. It's been a while since I've seen him this bad and I'd really not rather make it worse by bringing up the fact that he's staring directly at my cock.

"When we get to mine, I'm getting you a glass of water, some deodorant and some clothes because, Jesus, you smell like a brewery next to an open sewer." I murmur pointedly and he laughs — no, giggles — as I pull into the cul-de-sac.

"Yeah, yeah, I smell like shit." He struggles to unbuckle himself as I put the Mustang in park, head over to his side and help him out, letting him lean on me as we head into the house.

It smells good inside; clean and warm and so much better than the scent of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke that clings to his clothes. Not that he can tell, of course.

I lock the door and help him through to my room, setting him on the edge of the bed. I fetch him a tall glass of water from the bathroom and a can of deodorant, holding out the glass to him.

"Drink." He takes the glass with unsteady hands and chugs it down before setting it heavily on the nightstand, which probably looked a lot further away than it actually is with his warped vision. I help him with his rumpled jacket as he kicks off his shoes. He stretches out on the bed, sprawling across it drunkenly and kicking weakly at his socks, trying to get them off but failing miserably.

"Goddamnit..." I help him peel off his socks and then start working on his shirt, which is soaked with cold sweat and spilt alcohol. I've done this plenty of times to know what he needs but his body seems even more uncooperative today. I shudder to think how much he's drunk.

Eventually, I toss all his clothes in the laundry hamper, leaving him naked. I pat him down with a towel and practically douse him in deodorant.

"You're having a a shower as soon as you get up." I tell him but he doesn't reply, instead swallowing hard. He's staring at my dick again. Walking over to the dresser, I pull open a drawer and look over the clothes folded neatly inside. "What do you want? Boxers? T-shirt?"

"Yeah, t-shirt." He says, voice unusually soft. I feel his eyes on me from across the room, raking over me. It's kind of nice to be appreciated so openly. I just wish it was when he was fucking sober. "Boxers too." I pluck one of each from the drawer and close it before heading back over.

"Here." They must smell like me; like Dial soap and a hint of Polo cologne. He can't smell, you remember. Oh, well. The knowledge seems to placate him nonetheless as he pulls the shirt over is head.

"Thanks." He murmurs and I grunt in approval, getting him another glass of water and setting it on the nightstand as I prepare a spot for him in my bed. I usually stick him on the couch but he's so out of it tonight, I don't trust him not to choke on his own vomit by tomorrow morning. I'll just keep an eye on him.

He manages to slide the boxers on, struggling a bit with his hand-eye coordination. Climbing into bed, he downs the second glass of water and I cross the room, slide into my side of the bed, pull up the covers and flip off the light. I catch a glimpse of the clock-radio before I lay back. It's 5:04. Jesus, March...

In the dark, the bed shifts as he turns toward me. "Hey..." He slurs, his voice thick and sleepy. I feel the heat radiating from his body as he inches closer.

"Hey." I close my eyes, trying to ignore how his thigh presses against mine under the covers. I'm already on the edge of the bed so I don't move away, just let him sidle up beside me. But that only encourages him. He shuffles closer, his arm snaking around my waist and his face burying in the crook of my neck. His stubble scratches at my throat and his hot breath fans across my shoulder. I feel him press himself against my hip and, for God's sake, he's hard. In my boxers. The nerve of this guy.

I huff out a breath. "March. What are you doing?"

"Mmph... Just cuddlin'..." He mumbles against my neck. His hands start to wander, fingers splayed over my chest. I feel his cock, hard, against my hip as he grinds against me. It sends a familiar heat blooming in the pit of my stomach but I try and squash the feeling down.

"You're gonna regret this in the morning." I tell him.

"Mmm... Doubt it." He nuzzles into my neck again, a hand sliding down my chest, fingers curling against my belly almost possessively. He wriggles closer, trying to get more contact between his erection and my hip. "You're warm..." I sigh because he has to be at least a little inebriated to be doing this kind of shit and I can't take advantage of him like that, even if I do know what he seems to deny; that he's gay as all Hell.

"March, get off or I'll put you on the couch."

"Noooo..." He clings onto me needily. I've never seen him like this before; so open and so...pathetic. It makes my chest ache a little. I wrap my arm around his shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly, trying my very best to keep this totally platonic, despite his cock jammed against my pelvis.

"What's got you all worked up, huh?" My voice softens and he snuggles against me. And then he says the most out of pocket shit I've ever heard from March (and that's saying something).

"Your dick... It looks big..." He mumbles against my neck, his voice barely audible. My body goes taut as I process the words that just came out of his mouth. "Wanna see it..."

"... What?" He pulls back slightly and just looks at me, his glazed eyes meeting mine in the dim moonlight that filters through the curtains. A crooked grin spreads across his face.

"I said I wanna see your huge fucking dick." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, moving my arm from around him and looking him dead in the eye.

"March, I'm not showing you my dick." And he pouts.

"Why not? You've seen mine... Wanna see yours too..." He whines.

"I've only seen yours when I've been changing you into clothes not soaked in beer. Besides, why would you want to see my dick? You're always bragging about how straight you are. Why would you wanna see it?" I state plainly and his cheeks flush bright red as he seems to sober.

"Shut up... I'm still straight, okay? I'm just... I'm curious, alright?" He mutters defensively, face flaming. "C'mon, I've seen you in a towel like a million times. Why not your dick?" I scrub a hand over my face.

"If I show you my dick, will you go to sleep?"

"Yeah... Yes, fuck. I'll go to sleep." He nods quickly, adjusting his position to give me a little more room. "Just show me." I not hesitantly and push down the covers before peeling down my pyjama pants just enough to pull out my limp dick. I wrap my hand around it. It's pretty big but I'm not one of these guys who brags about it, y'know?

"Satisfied?" I ask and his eyes widen as he stares. He swallows hard, his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Holy shit..." He breathes, gaze riveted to my cock. "Fuck... It's so big..."

"You done? Can we sleep now?" He doesn't seem to hear me, reaching out a shaky hand, fingers hovering just above my shaft.

"Can I... Can I touch it? Just for a sec? Please?"

"Why do you wanna touch it?"

"I wanna feel how big it is. I've never seen a dick this big before... Not that I go around looking at guys' dicks, y'know? I just..." He trails off. "Please? I'll go to sleep right after, promise." After a pause, I take my hand off my dick and he gives me a nervous look before he curls his fingers around the shaft. He pulls his palm down my cock experimentally, barely able to wrap his fingers all the way around it. "Fuck..." He breathes, voice deepening. "It's so thick..." His thumb runs over the prominent vein on the underside, sending a shiver through me.

"March..." It's clearly a warning. One he doesn't heed.

"So warm too..." He murmurs, his thumb slowly circling the head once he pulls down the foreskin, still working the shaft slowly. I feel my cock twitch in his grip, my jaw tightening.

"March..." It's more of a growl this time because, Jesus, if he keeps going, he's going to get me all the way hard. His cheeks flush deeper as he realises what he's doing, sobering more and more but in too deep now to stop, squeezing and stroking the shaft.

"You're getting hard..."

"No shit! You're jerking me off!" I manage to get the words out from between gritted teeth, a bead of precum welling at the slit. Without thinking, he leans down and licks it up, his tongue swirling around the crown and my fingers curl tight into the sheet, knuckles white. I slap my head back down against the pillow, internally punching myself because I really shouldn't have let it get this far. "Fuck... You were supposed to go to sleep." But that doesn't sway him.

His lips are pink and soft, stretched around the head of my cock, his hand still moving up and down the shaft. He's...oddly good at it. Especially for a guy who's as straight as Holland March apparently is.

I turn slightly and flick on the bedside lamp so I can get a better look at him. He's definitely sobered up some, eyes a little more in focus, face a little less pale. I prop myself up on my elbows, gently brushing his sweat-damp locks out of his eyes. "Jesus... Still wanna say you're straight?" My voice isn't mocking and he looks up with heavy-lidded eyes, still bobbing his head on the first inch of my cock, his bottom lip slick with a smear of pre as he pulls back slightly.

"Fuck off... I'm straight..." He mumbles before taking me back into his mouth, deeper this time. I smile and gently curl my fingers into his hair, guiding his mouth down to my sac.

"Yeah, sure..." I chuckle softly and he sucks one of my balls into his mouth, his hand still rubbing up and down the shaft of my dick. He gives me all the attention he can before dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside of my cock and I let out a long, low groan. "This is not your first time sucking dick, is it, March?" Technically, it's a question but it's a statement in spirit. He pulls back.

"Shut up." He hides his face against my thigh, almost like a kid trying to bury his face in a favourite blanket. "Just shut up and let me suck your dick, okay?"

"I don't mind, man. Just be fuckin' honest with me. Ohh, shit..." I groan as he rubs his hand along my shaft again.

"I've done it before, okay?!" He finally relents, his voice coming out in a frustrated whisper. "Does that make me fucking gay now?"

"I mean, it makes you kinda gay, yeah." I smile lazily, running my fingers through his hair to push it away from his face.

"Fuck you, I'm straight. I just...like sucking dicks sometimes, okay?" To distract himself, he brings his head back down, taking me deeper and deeper until he's gagging slightly.

"I don't mind... Ohh, fuuuuck..." I cup a hand around the back of his head, pushing my hips forward until his lips are wrapped around the very base of my cock. "Shit, I've had a crush on your since college... Y'know that?" I murmur and he pulls back immediately, choking a little.

"You're— You're gay?!" He asks between ragged breaths, his lips swollen and red.

"You're only noticing this now?" I counter and he stares at me incredulously for a second, seemingly having an epiphany.

"Well, fuck... You think you could've mentioned it sooner?!" He laughs breathlessly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "God, I've been drooling over you for...years..." He admits and I gently pull him into my lap.

"Hey, you were always the one insisting you were straight." I chuckle softly.

"I am straight!" He says, his voice getting increasingly higher. "I-I mean, I like boobs and... And vaginas and... Women..." His eyes drop to my lips, watching them curve with amusement as I move closer.

"You can like both, man." I gently brush my lips against his and he stiffens for a moment before he melts into the kiss with a quiet whimper. His lips part slightly and I press my tongue inside, his mouth tasting more like mints and cock than cigarettes and yesterdays beer. I cradle the back of his head, kissing him deeper and sliding my hand under his shirt, feeling the warmth still radiating from his skin. He's not hard in the boxers but I chalk that up to the amount of alcohol he's ingested. I don't mind. Honestly, I'm just more relieved that he's being honest with himself.

He breaks away from the kiss to pull off the shirt he's wearing, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me back in for a clumsy kiss, your hands roaming up and down his sides.

"You can't tell anyone I kissed you." He pants against my lips. "Ever." I quirk a brow, my lips pulled up into a wry grin.

"But I can tell people you sucked my dick?"

"Yeah because at least that way I can pretend I'm not actually like gay-gay for you." He grumbles, pressing his forehead against mine. I don't even try to tell him how little that makes sense. I just let my hands fall down the small of his back, feeling the generous curve of his ass through the loose boxers, kneading the soft flesh there.

"You ever taken it up the ass before?" I ask brazenly and his hips buck forward.

"N-No... I mean... I've fingered myself a few times but... Never a dick." He bites his lip. "You...wanna fuck me?" He asks in reply and I shrug.

"Want me to try?" He looks away before turning back with a nod.

"Yeah... Try it. Might as well since apparently I'm fuckin' gay for your cock." He sighs and I grin and kiss his cheek.

"Yeah, you're a secret fag and I love you for it. Turn around." The pinkness in his cheeks spreads down his neck and across his chest as he turns around in my lap and gets on all fours, presenting his ass to me. And...yeah, he has a damn fine ass. He throws a challenging glare over his shoulder.

"Well? You gonna fuck me or what?" But before he can really get the words out, I brace my hands against his cheeks, spread them and slide my tongue over his rim. He almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden contact before he pushes back against my face, his back bowing as his fingers dig into the comforter. "Ohh, my God... You're...eating my ass..." And I really have to stop myself from laughing.

"Mmhmmm..." I pull back and spit a wad of saliva onto the puckered flesh before circling it with my tongue again, kissing and mouthing at his hole. And he's trembling, legs shaking as he pushes back against me, desperate for more.

"Please... Use your fingers too... Fuck, I need it..." He begs, his voice high and desperate. "Put your fingers in me..." I spit on his hole again before slicking up a finger with more saliva and circling it around his rim to encourage him to relax.

"How many you manage to fit when you do it?" I ask and he pants heavily against the sheets, splayed over my lap, his soft cock leaking uselessly between his thighs.

"U-Umm... Two, I think? Maybe three? Don't remember... I was too busy...jerking off and crying..."

"Okay... We'll unpack that later. Let's just...go with the fingering for now, yeah?" I gently slide a finger in and it's just so easy. Who would've thought that the most eligible bachelor in Nu Sigma Sigma would be so loose? ... Well, probably everyone save for March, himself.

"More... More..." He's pushing back against my finger now. "Can you fit two? Try two." He whines and I add another, slipping in just as easy. I start to scissor them slowly, working him open despite the fact that he doesn't seem to need it.

"Jesus, March, this is..."

"Don't... Don't you dare make fun of me..." He gasps, chest heaving as he tries to get more stimulation.

"Wasn't gonna make fun of you. I'm just...impressed." I manage to slide another digit in alongside the first two and there's a little resistance but it still seems easy enough. He sucks in a breath and a low moan escapes him as I scissor my fingers again, stretching him open.

"Holy fuck... That feels..." I probe around for a moment before my fingertips find his prostate and I curl my fingers right against it, the sensation taking him by surprise. "Aaah!!" He cries out, his soft cock spurting onto the sheets without any touch to it whatsoever. He pants heavily as he collapses onto his front, smearing the cum onto his belly. "Y-You... You made me... You made m-me..." He goes a shade of red I didn't even know was possible as I pull my fingers from inside him, watching him gape slightly once I pull out.

"You okay, man?" I ask and he buries his face in the sheets, groaning in mortification.

"I'm fuckin'...fine..." He mutters, voice muffled. "Just... Just gimme a minute, okay...?" I rub the small of his back and squeeze the back of his thighs because, yeah, it did sound like he just got run over.

"Sure, sure. Take your time."

After a few long minutes, his breathing levels out. He turns his head, his cheeks still flushed. He seems almost entirely sober now, though if it's from the water he drunk, the feeling of my fingers in his ass or the embarrassing fact that he just came prematurely, I may never know.

"You laughed, didn't you?" He accuses, sitting up slightly. I collapse onto my side to look at him with a slight smirk.

"Maybe a little." I reply but there isn't a hint of malice in my tone. He still glares at me but there's no real heat behind it.

"Shut up, asshole." He grumbles, rolling over to punch my arm lightly. "I'll get back at you for this." He threatens, trying to sound tough despite the pink tinting the tipe of his ears. "Just wait until next time—"

"There's gonna be a next time?" I tease, pulling him down and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"Yeah, well... Maybe. If you promise not to laugh next time when you make me cum like a virgin." I run my fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead as he nestles against my chest.

"Sure..." I leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. "Think you wanna try taking my dick next?" I ask and he freezes for a moment, swallows hard, his throat bobbing.

"I-I dunno..." He admits, voice soft. "It's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

"Shouldn't do, not with the stretching. And I'll use extra lube. Don't worry."

"But...what if it feels good? Like...really good?" He asks quietly. "What if I like it? What if I become one of those gay guys who want dick all the time?" He jokes nervously and I scoff before pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

"Then, I guess, I'll be seeing you a lot more often, right?" That seems to soothe him a little and his arms loop around my neck.

"You'd better hope I don't get addicted." He murmurs against my lips, his facial hair rasping against my skin. "Because then you'd have to keep supplying the goods."

I gently lay him back on the pillows, kneeling between his thighs, which are pale and surprisingly soft. I reach for the lube on the nightstand and squeeze a generous amount into my hand before spreading it along my cock. Letting out a sigh, I give myself a few pumps.

"Fuck..." Finally, I pull my hand away and wipe the excess lube between March's cheeks, gently prodding at his rim with the head of my cock. "Just relax, yeah?" He traps his bottom lip between his teeth but nods.

"Okay... Okay just... Go slow..." He whispers and I lean down so our faces are barely an inch apart.

"March, it's me we're talking about, here. You think I'm the type of guy to just shove in like that?" He relents and I slowly press inside him, the crown popping in easy enough. I bow my head into the crook of his shoulder, letting out a low groan. Gasping at the initial push, he digs his fingers into the comforter.

"Fuck... Oh, fuck..." I still for a moment but he's relaxing so quickly, adjusting to the size, his body accustomed to the stretch after my tongue and my fingers.

"That's it..." It's tight. Really fucking tight but, by the sounds of things, it's not uncomfortable. Actually, listening to the way he mewls, it's starting to feel...pretty damn good.

I tentatively sink in another inch before stopping again. His eyes roll, his mouth falling open, like he can feel every vein, every ridge of my cock pressing against his insides and it's driving him fucking crazy.

"More..."

The sun's starting to come up now but neither of us has noticed; too wrapped up in each other to give a shit about the weak light filtering through the blinds. I slowly sink in, inch by inch, until I'm completely filling him up, the head of my cock nestled perfectly against his prostate, rubbing up against it as I bottom out. It's taking every ounce of self-restraint I have to not just pin him down and fuck him hard.

"March... Holy fuck..." I huff against his neck and he inhales sharply, his back arching off the bed and his hands flying up to grip my shoulders, bitten-down nails digging in.

"Shit... Shit... Holy fucking shit..."

"You good?"

"Yeah... Fuck... I-I'm good..." He pants, trying to process the sensation of having my dick pressed right up against his sweet spot. "J-Just...gimme a second to... Fuck... Move..."

"You wanna be on top so you can control when you move and how much?" I ask and he nods.

"Yeah, I think that'd be better." He breathes, pressing a hand against your chest. "Roll over, big guy."

With my cock still buried inside him, I roll over onto my back with March straddling my lap.

"Better?" He wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses me, soft and sweet.

"Much better." I squeeze his hips and press another kiss to his lips.

"C'mon, let's see you ride your first rodeo, huh?" I tease and he flushes anew.

"Shut up and let me do this." He takes a deep breath and then starts to slowly rock his hips, back and forth, back and forth. "Fuck..." I glance down to watch where my cock disappears inside him.

"Ohhh, Jesus..." He tosses his head back, finding a rhythm that makes my dick rub up against his prostate with almost every movement. He looks like he likes this. It looks like he likes this a whole lot. I run my hands down his chest and stomach as he rides me, my thumbs tracing the angles of his hipbones. "Shit, March... I think you might just be a fag like me." I say with a lazy grin and he laughs breathlessly.

"Shut up." He grins back, his hair ruffled. "You know what sucks?"

"What?"

"That I didn't figure this out sooner." He says softly, continuing his slow grind, his soft cock bobbing against his thigh as it leaks. "Could've been getting dick on the regular this whole time. Still, better late than never, huh?" I raise my hips to meet his, pulling him in to kiss him.

"Yeah, better late than never..." He keeps riding me, mouth against mine, sharing the same breaths, until we break away for air.

"Love you, man..." He whispers and I nod.

"Love you too, my guy." I reply and he lets his eyes drift shut as he really puts his back into it, bouncing in his lap like he owes me money.

"Fuck, I'm close..." He murmurs and I shake my head.

"Again? Already?" I tease and he gasps out a laugh, his hips bucking wildly, toes curling. "Shut up and kiss me, dumbass!" I tug him in by the scruff of the neck, my other hand holding his hip as I keep thrusting up into him shallowly, grinding against his prostate over and over. He whimpers into my open mouth, the overwhelm of the moment sending him spiralling. His body tenses as he cums again, his limp dick spilling white ropes between our bodies. And he's fucking trembling, pulsing inside, milking my dick.

I bury my face into the crook of his neck, growling, as I try to keep a lid on my own need to cum. "Gonna pull out. Where d'you want it?" I ask and he whines, chest heaving, voice high.

"On my chest." He answers softly. Or my stomach..." He spreads his legs wider. "Or you could cum on my face." He adds suddenly and I nod.

I shuffle the both of us to the edge of the bed then lower him to his knees, beside the bed, my cock slipping from inside him. I wrap a hand tight around my cock, aiming for his face. God, he's pretty...

"You sure about this?" I ask and he looks up, face flushed and sweaty.

"Positive." He says, parting his lips in invitation. I nod again, my free hand holding his head steady with a firm grip on his hair. I pump away at my dick, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Fuck... Okay... Here we go..."

I reach my breaking point, gasping as the first shot lands on his cheek. I give myself another pump and a rope lands across his lips. Another pump and there's a ribbon across the bridge of his nose. Over and over until his face is covered in a dozen thick, sticky lines of semen that drip down his face. I stroke his hair. "Shit, you look good like that." He sweeps his tongue across his lips, tasting a drop that slides down his lip. He swallows it down, feeling it coat his tongue and the back of his throat. I stroke his cheek with my thumb, gently working the cum into his skin and making it gleam with a slick, sloppy shine. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed, dark lashes decorated with beads of white fanning out against his cheeks.

Eventually, I grab a napkin from the nightstand and wipe his face clean before pulling him up onto the bed, the both of us sprawled out and exhausted as morning light fills the room. He snuggles against my side, letting out a soft sigh as he presses his ear against my chest.

"We should do this more often." He mumbles, already half-asleep. "Like...every day more often." I pull the covers over us and wrap an arm loosely around his waist.

"Can we do it without you being wasted out of your mind next time?" I joke and he laughs sleepily.

"Yeah..."

"Okay, just get some rest now, yeah?" I say and he hums softly, throwing a leg over mine. He goes quiet.

He's not used to them but he seems to like these morning-after cuddles. He never seems to get this with the women he finds on the street. He's usually the one to kick them out or leave himself before they can deny him the pleasure. He tenses as he realises something, despite my fingers trailing along his spine soothingly.

"Can I ask you something?" He murmurs softly. He's not sure if he wants to know the answer. "It's kinda personal." He adds.

"Mm...?"

"When did you — y'know... — know you were gay?" He asks hesitantly, tracing patterns on my chest.

"Dunno... Probably when I was about...fourteen? Fifteen?" I answer honestly.

"And you never... You never even considered being with a chick?"

"I mean, I did but...it just didn't feel the same, y'know?" I answer, pressing a little kiss to the top of his head.

"Yeah..." He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "Would you... Would you mind if I said something stupid?" He passes a hand through his messy hair.

"Yeah?"

"I tried to convince myself I was straight..." He admits quietly. "Thought if I dated enough girls, watched enough porn, maybe I'd suddenly not like guys anymore."

"And...?" I ask and he laughs ruefully.

"It never worked. The more girls I slept with, the more I realised I was, like, faking it. Before, y'know, the wife...I only ever got really hard when I looked at gay mags, y'know?" He swallows hard and I really don't know what to say. Post-nut clarity, man. Shit hits hard.

"March, just... Fuck, just rest, man. We can have a deep, meaningful conversation later. Right now you just need some sleep." I wrap my arms tighter around him and he seems to relax a little. I hope he decides that maybe he should sit the internal gay crisis aside for now. He nuzzles into me with a nod. I just stroke his back, my eyes getting heavy. "Just rest, okay...?" He nods slowly, eyes drifting shut.

"Love you, man... Thanks for pickin' me up."

"No worries..."

[yumiis]

qksnksdjjsks your yumi and tanner meeting the reader was so cute i eated it up !!! (specifically yumi bc i am a yumi girl in a isaac/nick world)

can you do an imagine where the reader is invited to stay at the house with them and the boy makes a move? perhaps SLOWBURN??? they both want each other but are really nervous? perhaps… a pinky hold? cliche yawn and arm around the shoulder? perhaps…. A CONFESSION?!?!

it can be with yumi or tanner… or both!!! OR THE WHOLE TGC!!! but that’s a lot of work. you can do whatever you want!

p.s., ur holding up the tgc x reader tag SINGLEHANDEDLY!!! you make amazing work!!! <3

- ur #1 fan

i actually wrote something like this a while back based around yumi!! i pulled it up from google docs :))

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 just kiss already ; blake

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; tooth rotting fluff

type; imagine

read below!

You'd been friends with The Group Chat boys for a while, so they'd decided to invite you over to their place. Nick had a few ideas for some new vlogs, while the rest of them just finally wanted to meet you in person!

After a good few hours that seemed like forever, your flight finally landed in Austin. Larry and Yumi were there to pick you up! Larry got out the car, waving you down like a NPC. "Y/n! Over here!" You sighed, laughing a bit as you sighed. This would be an interesting weekend. "I'm coming!" You yelled over, dragging your luggage behind you. Larry picked up your luggage and shoved it in the trunk of Yumi's car. "Let's go! Let's go, let's go!" Larry spoke loudly as you got in the backseat.

Yumi shook his head, looking aggravated as usual. "God, could you not, I have a headache. Also, hi, Y/n." Yumi spoke a bit quieter than Larry. "Hi, Blake." You smiled politely, pulling out your phone to distract yourself on the way to their place.

The car ride was relatively quiet, not an awkward quiet, more like a comforting one. Larry surprisingly didn't say much, you assumed it'd get more chaotic once you got to the house. After about twenty minutes, you pulled up to the official group chat house. "We're here! Y/n, get your shit and lets go!" Larry rapidly opened the car door and ran inside.

Yumi groaned, "... What a little shit." He got out the car after he turned it off, opening the trunk and grabbing your suitcase. "I got it, don't worry." He gave you a soft smile, which you honestly.. didn't expect from Yumi. You nodded, "Thank you!" ... Was his face red? No, there's no way. You're going crazy.

You walked into their house, and it was actually relatively clean. That's new, considering the pictures and videos you've seen. "Wow, for a guy house, it's pretty clean." You hadn't seen Isaac standing in the hallway, "Well, hello to you too!" You jumped, "Jesus Christ! Hi Isaac!" He smiled, coming towards you, then embracing you in a hug. "It's so good to finally meet you! Like, in person." You nodded, "Yeah! It's super good to be here!" He patted your head, "Flight wasn't too bad, was it?" You shook your head, "Not at all! Just felt like forever." Yumi put your bag down by his room's door, which.. was a bit weird. You just brushed it off as a nice gesture, maybe they didn't have a guest room.

Yumi looked a bit peeved for some reason, so you'd just decided to leave him alone for now. "So, where's Nick?" Isaac nodded, "Oh, he's out at the store grabbing some things, I'm supposed to go meet him.. uhh.. Now, actually. So I do have to go! Obviously we have all weekend to hang out, so.. Larry! You're coming with!" He groaned, "WHAT?! Make Blake go! I don't wanna!" Isaac looked over at Yumi, who still looked a bit annoyed. "... Nah, you're coming with me. Go get in the car." Larry groaned, "Fiiiiine."

Soon enough, Isaac and Larry were out the door and gone. Yumi sat on the couch with a bag of chips, "So, you and Isaac got a bit close, huh?" You turned to him, deciding to sit by him. Not too close, but.. closer than you probably should've. "What, the hug? I mean, I didn't make anything more out of it than just a friendly hug." Yumi nodded, "Mm. Any shows you like? We can watch something while they fuck around at the store." You shrugged, "Dunno. I don't really watch TV anymore. I'm too busy." He nodded, understanding the struggle, since he was busy working on his new album as of recently. "Uhh.. We can just put on Stranger Things or something. I don't know shit about TV anymore either." You gave a soft chuckle at that, and you could've sworn you saw his face go red again.

You nodded, "Sure! I've heard good things about it," You paused, stretching out your legs a bit, "How's your new album coming? I know you're supposed to release it soon." You could've sworn you saw his eyes light up, "Oh! Uh, yeah. It's supposed to release tomorrow, actually." You nodded, "Oh! Sick, I didn't know it was so soon." He laughed a little, "Well, if you'd look at my Twitter, you would know." He teased. "Oh, whatever! How many songs are on it? Can I get some special Yumi insight?" He shrugged, "Huh.. I mean, why not? There's 8 songs on it." You leaned back, putting your hand on the side of you. "Ooh, okay. I can't wait."

Yumi looked towards you as Isaac and Nick walked through the door. "Oh! I thought you guys would take longer! Also, hi Nick!" Nick smiled, but squinted at Yumi. "... Hey, Y/n! Blake hasn't been too much of a," He coughed, "Flirt, has he?" The word 'flirt' was barely intelligible. "Sorry?" Yumi turned a bright red, causing him to whip his head away from you so you didn't see. Nick waved his hand at you, "Sorry, allergies. He hasn't been too much of an asshole, has he?" You shook your head, "Not at all! He's been pretty nice, actually!" Nick smirked, "I wonder why."

After the other boys had retreated to their rooms, Yumi scooted closer to you. You'd thought nothing of it, you didn't want to make it weird. "So, where am I sleeping? I'm fine with sleeping on the couch if there's no guest room." Yumi shrugged, "Uhm.. Hm. I mean, I have an air mattress in my bedroom you could bring out here and use." He suggested, looking towards you as he rested his arm on the back of the couch. His arm was almost wrapped around you; you couldn't help but feel like a lovesick teenager. "Y— Uh, Yeah! I'm fine with that." You wished you could just stay in his room with the air mattress. No, there's no way. You don't like Yumi. Yumi, the lovable asshole who yells, the silly guy who lets his friends give him botched haircuts, the really, really attractive guy that— oh no.

Yumi noticed your face go red, "Are you hot or something? I can turn down the AC—" Isaac popped out of his bedroom, sneaking up behind the couch. "Oh my God, KISS ALREADY!" You both whipped your heads around to see Isaac's tall frame looming over both of you. "OH MY GOD ISAAC!" Yumi yelled, swatting him away from the couch, which made him retreat back to his room with his hands up in defense.

"... What's up with him?" You looked Yumi in the eyes. His face was as red as a cherry. Did he like you as well? Are you actually not crazy? Oh my God. Yumi sighed, "Look, he's teasing because he knows something, uh," He paused, taking a deep breath. "I do like you, Y/n. Like, a stupid amount. I feel like a stupid teenager with a high school crush, but it's so much more than that," You paused him by putting your hand on his shoulder.

"Blake. I like you too."

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 2

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T (for now, might change, might not)

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, he is a bit of a dick though, more tags to come as the story develops

Word Count: ~1800 (literally double last chapter, lol)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked and commented on the first chapter! If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please don't hesitate to ask!

And thanks so much to @theradioactivespidergwen for the adorable divider!

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705

You checked your smartwatch for the time as you rushed down the sidewalk towards Daredevil. Your GPS had told you that it'd be faster to walk there from the Bulletin than take a cab given the time of day, but you were starting to wonder if maybe you should've taken your chances.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you spotted the restaurant up ahead then slowed a bit so you could catch your breath before reaching the entrance. Okay. It's fine, I'm on time, I got this.

You looked up at the restaurant. Daredevil was displayed in dark red lettering above the entranceway, with different patterns of dots underneath each letter. Huh. Interesting choice.

You reached for the door handle and pulled, only to find it locked. Shit.

You looked at the sign next to the door. 

Hours of Operation:

Sunday: 11 AM - 2 PM

Monday: Closed

Tuesday - Thursday 5 PM - 10 PM

Friday - Saturday: 5 PM - 12 AM

You reached into your purse to call the restaurant… only to realize that you had left your cell phone sitting on your dresser at home.

You sighed. Great.  

"Can I help you?"

You turned as a pretty blonde-haired woman walked up and unlocked the door. "Oh, um, yeah, I hope so."

You dug a business card out of your wallet and handed it to her. "I'm with the New York Bulletin . I'm supposed to be interviewing Chef Murdock in a minute, but I left my phone at home so I'm unable to let him know I'm here."

The woman's eyebrows raised as she looked at your business card. "You're interviewing Matt?"

"Um, yes?"

The woman narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously. "Just a second, I'll be right back."

You waited as the woman went inside and locked the door behind her.

A few minutes later she returned and unlocked the door, this time with a friendly smile on her face.

She held the door open for you. "Come on in."

"Thanks." You stepped inside.

"I'm Karen," the woman said. "I run front-of-house."

"Nice to meet you," you replied.

Karen led you to a table near the right corner of the front entrance. "Matt'll be right out. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?"

You shook your head. "Oh, no thank you, I'm fine."

"Okay, if you change your mind, let me know."

"I will, thank you."

You took your notepad and pen out of your purse, silently cursing yourself again for leaving your phone -- which was your only audio recording device -- on your dresser.

Since you couldn't even continue your brief research on Chef Murdock while you waited, you looked around instead.

The walls were all painted a soft white with the exception of the back wall, which was exposed brick with a built-in fireplace running along the middle of it. Side tables holding bottles of wine were the only choice of decor, giving the space a simplistic look.

You kind of liked it.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty… then thirty. What is the holdup, you thought to yourself. Surely he can't be that busy since they're not open for service yet .

You were just about to get up to go ask Karen if Chef Murdock had forgotten you were there when the kitchen door opened and Chef Murdock himself came strolling out.

His photo really hadn't done him justice -- his biceps strained against the sleeves of his chef's jacket and his jawline looked like it could cut glass.

Your eyes trailed up to his, which were hidden by the same red-tinted sunglasses he had been wearing in his photo. 

You swallowed and stood as he approached, sticking your hand out for him to shake as you introduced yourself. "Mr. Murdock, thank you for meeting with me. I was told that you don't do interviews."

He ignored your hand and sat. "I don't usually, but it seems like this one was… unavoidable. And it's Chef Murdock. I didn't spend three and a half years in culinary school to be called Mr. "

You hesitated before sitting and looking down at your sparse notes. "Okay, well then. Um, Chef Murdock, I'd like to start with a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Mmm."

You took a deep breath. "Okay, so you're a Michelin star chef, correct?"

"Three." 

You looked up at him again. "Excuse me?"

"I'm a three Michelin star chef."

"Oh. Um, excuse me." Asshole . "As a three Michelin star chef, what made you want to open a restaurant here in Hell's Kitchen? Why not somewhere like Manhattan?"

"I was born and raised here in the Kitchen."

You smiled up at him. "Oh, so do your parents still live here? They must be very proud."

Chef Murdock raised an eyebrow. "Well they probably would be, except my mother abandoned me as an infant and my father was murdered shortly after the accident that blinded me as a child, which you would know if you had bothered to do a modicum of research."

Your eyes widened, your smile quickly falling from your face. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." That at least explained the glasses and the dots on the signage out front. It's Braille. "I had no idea, I --"

"-- didn't bother to come prepared, yes, that much is clear." Chef Murdock crossed his arms. "If this is the sort of unprofessionalism that everyone who works at the Bulletin shows, then I'm not sure I should be sitting down with one of their reporters. We're done here."

You opened your mouth to protest as Chef Murdock stood and stalked off, shocked that he had suddenly stopped the interview before it even had really started. 

You stood and put your notepad and pen in your purse, fighting back tears. What the hell just happened?

This was the first time you had ever failed at an interview -- you were known for both your professionalism and your ability to get to know your subjects on a deeper, more personal level in order to get them to open up to you.

You headed back to the lobby of the restaurant, willing yourself to not cry while you were still in the building.

Karen smiled over at you. "All done?"

"Um, yeah," you mumbled. "Could you let me out, please?"

"Sure thing." Karen unlocked the door for you, looking at you curiously. "Hey, are you okay?"

You shook your head. "Fine, fine, just gotta go."

You pushed past her and exited the restaurant, waiting until you had made it into the alley next to it before you burst into tears.

Matt sighed as he took his glasses off and tossed them onto his desk. At least that's over . He hadn't gotten to where he was by half-assing anything and he certainly wasn't going to let anyone ruin what he had worked so hard to rebuild, especially some so-called 'journalist' who couldn't even bother to do some simple research before sitting down for an interview.

"What the hell did you do, Matt? Karen just told me that that journalist from the Bulletin just ran out of here practically in tears."

Matt looked up and crossed his arms in front of his chest as Foggy's familiar footsteps stopped in front of his office. "She came completely unprepared, Foggy. I wasn't going to waste my time sitting down with someone who couldn't even bother doing any sort of research before coming."

"That's because she hadn't had time to do any! The interview needed to happen right away because of deadlines and stuff for the paper so it got sprung on her at the last minute, just like I sprang it on you at the last minute."

He paused as Karen's footsteps approached. "Kare, do you still have Ms. Taylor's business card? Maybe we can try to salvage this."

Taylor? "Wait a minute, who?" Matt replied confusedly. 

"Kelsie Taylor? The food writer from the Bulletin ?" Foggy sighed exasperatedly. Jesus, Matt, did you even try to remember her name?"

Matt shook his head, beginning to feel bad for being so harsh towards you. "That's not who she said she was."

"Matt's right, it definitely wasn't her," Karen added. "At least, that wasn't the name on the card she gave me."

"Who was she then?"

Matt said your name. "She did say she was with the Bulletin though."

"Her card's on the front podium," Karen said. "I'll go get it."

Foggy turned back to Matt as Karen left. "You never were going to do the interview, were you?"

Matt winced. The last time he had agreed to any kind of journalistic endeavor had ended in disaster and almost complete ruination of his culinary reputation, and quite honestly he was terrified of it happening again. "I was , but --"

Foggy groaned. "Don't even give me that bullshit, Matt. Do you know how hard I had to work to even get you that interview? They were going to give the front page to Fisk , of all people!"

Wilson Fisk, who owned Kingpin's, had been suspected of being behind several popular restaurants' sudden closures (more than one being due to 'mysterious' kitchen fires), as well as having bought most, if not all, of the positive hype and accolades he and his restaurant had received. 

Matt scowled. He would be damned if he was going to let that bastard steal the spotlight out from underneath him. "Fisk? Really? He's not even a real chef! His sous comes up with most of his recipes, he just modifies it a bit and slaps his name on it."

"All the more reason for you to get that front page interview."

Matt heard Karen's footsteps approach again. "Got her card?"

"Yeah, it's right here," Karen replied.

Matt could smell the subtle scent of your perfume as Karen passed Foggy your business card -- something lightly floral with a hint of vanilla.

Foggy read your name off of your business card. "This says she's the Features writer."

Matt's brow furrowed. "Features? You said the food writer was doing the interview."

"I assumed she was but I guess since it was a front-page article they wanted someone else to do it." Foggy pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at his screen. "Hang on, I'm gonna pull up the Bulletin staff."

Matt waited as Foggy pulled up the list of staff then tapped on your name. "Is this her?" he asked Karen, presumably showing her your picture.

"Yeah, that's who it was," Karen replied.

Matt nodded as his watch beeped with the time. "We have to get ready to open, but I'm going to go over to the Bulletin 's office in the morning to see if I can talk to her and straighten everything out."

He just hoped you accepted his apology.