#taking his job as a chef very seriously and refusing to go look for the mob boss’ money cause he has 200 people to feed at this wedding

[nonbino-chaos-fox]

Sometimes you just gotta watch a show and talk to your friend about the stupid shit that is happening during it and then they get a batfam fic idea out of it

[partyanimal167]

A Chef's Treat- Sanji x F!Reader

Not gonna lie, I've been a little nervous to write Sanji's character, but I want some practice, and I love the idea of someone cooking for that man. (As a chef, that's all I ever want) Here's a little fic to test the waters with that sweet boy.

CW: none, fluff, fem reader, black fem reader in mind, not proofread bc I'm emotionally exhausted

It was your job to feed people, and you took it very seriously. There wasn't a reason for anyone to be hungry when you're around.

You saw a lot of people come and go on your island. The bright, hot weather meant that people to could vacation year-round, and there was plenty of yummy food always in season. It was your own personal paradise, and while you did like to see other islands, your home was in that busy seaside town.

And the sea meant all kinds of people, so who knew what your customers would be like to day. You had just finished up your small break when you heard a good amount of commotion at the entrance.

"Food time!"

The servers peeked from the back and whispered amongst themselves nervously.

"What's going on?"

The group turned towards you before looking back on the dining floor. "It's the Straw Hat crew!"

"...okay, and? We see pirates every day here." you grumbled as you fixed your apron around your waist.

"They're dangerous!"

"They destroy towns!"

"Look at the bounties!"

You rolled your eyes. "As long as they have Berry, then I don't see a problem." You walked out to the main dining area, waving at your regulars as you saw the crew settle in.

A red-head pulled on the cheek of Straw Hat. You were a bit surprised yourself. You heard the tales and read the paper, but up close and personal, the crew seemed like a hungry bunch of friends who were goofing off.

You placed a basket of bread down which was immediately grabbed by the captain. "Welcome, I'm the chef here. Thanks for coming by. What can I get you to drink?" A mess of orders was shouted by the captain--mainly being meat--but you did here the drinks ordered: sake, wine, milk, tea, orange juice, water. You nodded and went to back where you glared at your servers who gave into your stubbornness and prepared the drinks.

When you returned, the woman reached into her bralette and handed you a stack of berries. "This is just to start. I have no idea how much this idiot is going to eat." You were shocked by the amount but giggled to yourself. The money was secured, so there was nothing to fret over.

The crew was there for a few hours--eating and drinking--when a blonde man entered and joined them carrying four large bags filled with groceries from fruit to cured sausages. He placed the items down carefully before squeezing himself on the edge and lighting a cigarette.

"Got everything you need?" the long-nosed one asked.

The man sighed deeply but looked satisfied all the same. "Yes thankfully. I'm surprised Luffy hasn't eaten everything from this place yet. I could use a bite to eat myself."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service." you beamed at the man as you placed a plate of vegetable pasta in front of him. "Here's somethin' light for you." the man looked up at you, and it was like his eyes became hearts.

"Mademoiselle, the heavens must be blessing me if I get to me you on this simple day." he cooed at you.

You chuckled before waving your hand. "Just call me, y/n. And eat up!"

"I'm Sanji," he then paused, "I'm never one to refuse food, but how could I take the fruits of your labor?"

You giggled before shaking your head. "Don't refuse the chef! I want you to enjoy my food. You must know how I feel."

And Sanji did, so he took a forkful and placed it gently in his mouth. The flavors bombarded his tongue, and he felt his cheeks warm from the obvious care and attention that was made. He practically melted in his seat and looked up at you with soft eyes. "Delicious," he purred.

"Great!" you clapped your hands together. "There's more where that came from!" you turned to go back to the kitchen.

"Wait," Sanji stood and called, "I must learn how that's made! Let me follow you to the kitchen."

You pushed him back into his seat by the shoulders. "This is the time for you to rest. Us fellow cooks rarely get treated by others, so enjoy this Sanji. Please~" you winked.

The man seemed to enter his own loving, floaty headspace. He swayed in his chair as you came back and forth with dishes to try. The Strawhats spent the entire day in your establishment, and while the navigator didn't seem too pleased to hand her money over, everyone had a good time.

Sanji went on and on about how much he enjoyed your food that it did have you blushing and giggling a bit. It was always nice to feed people, but it was great to hear compliments from people who cooked as well. The Strawhats promised to come back the next day, but as they were leaving, you grabbed the cook and pulled towards your kitchen--ready to see what you could cook up together.

~~~

Sanji!!! I promise to write you more next year! You deserve it.

I want more chef fics! I feel like it's such an overlooked profession in fandoms, but I wanna come home from a long day in the kitchen and read about the kitchen with my favs lol

[whatsabriard]

I was asked last night what my top 10 of all time eps of Hart to Hart were. Let me tell you, friends, that one threw me for a loopy loop. I finally settled on the final ten, but I have to say that these are my personal favorites - the ones that bring me the most joy and the ones I've rewatched most often. It's possible that a venn diagram of good eps and my favorite episodes might have very little overlap. I like what I like. So, in no particular order, I present the Top Ten of All Time.

Pilot - In many ways this episode is a mess. It seems like they decided to retool some things from the pilot to the series. What they didn't change, however, was the chemistry that they introduced. This episode had THE BEST one-liners and they were back-to-back-to-back. "This is going to be your first time isn't it?" To be fair, not exactly. | "If I rolled over right now and tried to make love to you, would you call the police?" Only if I thought you needed help. | "Your feet are cold." Compared to whose, your fulsome friend? "She threw me out." No taste broad. | "Or, I could refuse to make love to you for the rest of the year." That sounds like you. | "Mind if I sit down?" Mind if I scream?" The whole thing makes me giddy every time.

Hart of Darkness - My affection for this one is two-fold. It was my late best friend's favorite episode. She did things like taped the show (ON VHS, from FX and then hallmark) and sent them to me, and whenever we would discuss it she always always ALWAYS talked about this episode (and when Jennifer is in France and Jonathan has been taken hostage). She liked the angst. One of my very first gif sets was for this episode. It's deliciously angsty, has some very mild friction caused mostly by Jonathan's insecurities, and also features Jennifer being a totally protective mate... I had to write a post-ep for it, because the episode is one I've watched absolutely the most.

Downhill to Death - to this day, I'm not sure I could actually recount the plot of this one. Something about cheating spouses and double crossing and murderous frosty the snowman. I am here for that hot tub scene and Jennifer's absolute inability to control her face journeys. In every scene with side pieces and what not, she looks like someone watching a live action soap opera. No chill at all. None. Also, when Kate asks her in the steam room about how everyone falls out of love or whatever and Jennifer just LETS THE WORDS HANG IN THE AIR. she couldn't even be bothered to be like "oh yeah, I totally know what you're talking about." She just let the crickets sing. Good job, Jennifer. You made it weird.

What Murder? - I have watched this episode no less than five times *since September*. Watching Jonathan fall in love with Jennifer all over again *CHEF KISS*. Watching Jonathan seduce Jennifer all over again *CHEF KISS*. Max being the one to help him start to regain his memories? (he gave jonathan away at the wedding jfc) *CHEF KISS* The ENTIRE conversation about whether or not she'd know if he had a woman on the side? *CHEF KISS* The moment Jennifer thinks Jonathan died in a car accident *CHEF KISS*

Hart of Diamonds - this has been previously discussed but Jennifer mentally overcoming serious hypnosis purely out of love for her husband? I'm in. RIP ME.

You Made Me Kill You - I love a good stalker episode. This is a good stalker episode. (Robin was too much. Too crazy. The cop guy didn't take the surveillance seriously. the creep factor on that one was set to 11.) Peggy was nutty and scary and yeah she totally tried to kill Jennifer and dragged her around by the hair in her slip (ok, saying it out loud maybe it is that bad). But it leaned into the camp of it and Peggy wasn't super great about killing people. She was a lil bit bad at it even. I think it's perfectly reasonable that someone a little bit unhinged would take Jonathan's kind demeanor and respect towards women as something more.

Two Harts are Better Than One - do I even have to explain this. no. origin stories are the shit, and this one was perfect. (made all the more perfect by Harts All AFlutter by @andallthatmishigas yes i am interrupting this post for a commercial read it ok)

On A Bed of Harts - Jonathan Hart bought a bed for Five Million Dollars because he wanted his wife to have their honeymoon bed. He bought a vineyard and a hotel too, but his intention was THAT BED. The whole chasing the bed through san francisco was a silly mess and the real estate developer and the french government but the episode ends with the Harts fucking in their bed while it was on display in Versailles. Velvet ropes at all. Start to finish, zany madcap romantic hijinks with people who have more money than sense. EXACTLY the formula for this show.

Blue and Broken-Harted - This one was just a rip-roaring good time. The Harts "fighting". Knowing they're being bugged and deciding they're just gonna turn the radio up real loud so whoever's listening doesn't know they're shagging. Jennifer going to a singles bar and ending up in jail overnight - in a FUR COAT. It also had some nice details about their wedding and Jonathan's ex girlfriend and Jennifer got to absolutely cut the woman pretending to be Irene into tiny little pieces with her words. I love episodes where the people around them are like "these two idiots are so fucking in love it's almost gross."

What Becomes a Murder Most - setting aside the entire epic intro photoshoot, the beginning and end of my love for this episode sets at the feet of Jonathan Hart. This episode makes me lean into the whole "made in the 80s" and fucking DIG the part where Jonathan is about to rip the world apart to save Jennifer. Similar energy to "The Lady is Murder" but this time he's letting his roots show a bit and he was going to intimidate everyone and if that didn't work he was just gonna beat the living shit out of them. Jennifer's name will never be associated with Whitefury. AYE AYE MAN. YOU GOT IT, YOURE SCARY. (aside: those were some midly spicy pictures that Jonathan would have loved to keep with him for business trips without her. but you know the murdery stuff ruined them so Jennifer made sure to get another set made for him. Spicier. that's my story.)

Now I would very much like to hear from my ducklings. When the stories are fresh and the episodes are new, they hit different . Indulge me. ;) @andallthatmishigas @blossom--of--snow @glittermermaid18

[bnha-dumpster]

Hear me out

Step-brother Shigaraki shoving a vibe in (male) reader during a dinner and Shigaraki is controlling the vibrator and then after dinner Shigaraki fucks the life out of Reader

i was gonna work on monster stuff but this is just *chef's kiss* i think i'm going down the road of a pseudo-incest kink whoops and laughs at myself as i add plot for no reason (also gives you guys a visual reference of the toy in the fic)

pairing: step-brother shigaraki x male reader content tags/warnings: dub-con, pseudo-incest, mild exhibitionism, choking, sex toys, degradation, mind break word count: 2.1k

Things around the household have changed drastically since your mother remarried. You love your mother and want her to be happy, but you feel that things have changed far too fast and far too much.

You had been told that your step-father wanted you to move in with him for two reasons. One; you don't have a job since you're attending university full-time and two; his house is pretty close to your university. You've seen his house from the outside and you can't deny the thought of living in such a large house is pleasant. It's a good deal. But if you had been told that your step-father has a shut-in son that lives with him before moving in, you might've reconsidered it.

Shigaraki is rude and has zero social skills. While you don't actually mind people that don't have social skills- it's often times not their fault- there's something about your step-brother that just unnerves you. You see him and alarm bells go off in your mind.

He likes to catch you off guard. Coming into your room to watch you, pinning you to surfaces, groping you, watching you shower- there's something really wrong with him.

"Tomu-"

You're trying to walk downstairs to go eat dinner with your mother and step-father. Trying, being the keyword. Shigaraki has you pinned to the wall once again. One of his hands is able to completely hold both your wrists- he's not even that much bigger than you! He's using his free hand to tug your sweatpants down to your knees. The pinning isn't exactly new, but he's never actually pulled your clothes off.

"I bought something for you. It's a little present for having such a cute brother." His voice makes you shudder, but the item he holds up next to your face makes you tense up. It's a brand new, probably expensive, sex toy.

"Tomura- hey- let's not-" You squirm and shake your head.

"Don't cause a fuss. Just let me do this, 'kay?"

The lube on the toy is your only saving grace as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and tries to put it on you. It doesn't work very well, the lubed up toy sliding against your limp cock a few times before Shigaraki growls lowly.

"I'm taking my hand off and I expect you to stay still." True to his word, the hand on your wrists disappears. If this were the first time he tried to do something like this, then you might've run away. But you've unfortunately learned through experience that your step-brother is far stronger than he seems. It's only because of your knowledge do you stay.

His hand is cold and calloused, an uncomfortable feeling against your skin. You grimace as he grabs your cock to slip the ring over it, making sure it’s snug against the base before he pushes the vibrating part of the toy into you. It doesn’t actually seem that bad until he turns the toy on. 

“Shit-” You’re not oblivious to the toy’s function but you didn’t expect it to be so snug against that spot inside you. Shigaraki grabs you before your legs buckle, laughing at your state. 

“Wow, you’re that sensitive?” He’s taunting you, making fun of you. “Is my little brother just a slut in disguise?” 

Your pants are pulled up and a small slap is given to your ass. It brings a small yelp out of you, making you turn around to glare at him. He doesn’t seemed fazed by it. Instead, it spurs him on and you can feel him grind against your ass. Even through the fabric of both of your sweatpants, you can feel how hot and heavy his cock is. You can tell it’s thick and that’s barely hard. 

A sliver of arousal makes itself known with a twitch of your cock. The realization makes you stand up straight and shove your step-brother away, adjusting your clothes to hide the erection beginning to strain underneath your pants. 

It’s difficult to sit down at the dinner table and act normal. You give your mother a small smile as you squirm in your seat for a moment. The toy’s low vibration stimulating every part of you- the base of your cock being teased, vibrations going through your balls and taint, the dildo pressing snugly against your prostate- and it’s difficult to hold your composure. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Your mother is looking at you with concern.

“O-oh, I’m alright, mom.” You force another smile.

“Go lay down after dinner, okay?” 

You give a small nod before you start eating, not waiting for your step-brother to sit down. He’s probably snickering to himself and thinking of what he should do. The sudden increase of vibrations of the toy surprises you and you choke on a piece of food. 

“Honey?” 

“Don’t worry, he’s just a little out of it, right lil bro?” A large hand comes to rest on your shoulder. As you turn to look over your shoulder, Shigaraki stares down at you with a small smirk. You can see the small remote in his hand and you almost want to reach out and grab it. But that’d cause a scene- the last thing you want at the dinner table.

He slides into his seat, not bothering to eat. All he’s doing is staring at you and analyzing your reactions as he plays with the remote in his pocket. 

“Yeah, j-just a little bit out of it.” You try your best to keep yourself together. Eating your dinner as fast as possible is your goal, hoping that this torture is only for the sake of humiliating you in front of your mother. 

The vibrations of the toy change rapidly. It seems like Shigaraki’s just cycling through them for the first time, gauging your reactions as he does so. He’s trying to find the best setting for you right now, surely. The one that does you in is the low and slow pulsing of the toy. 

He’s learning so much about you. You’re smart enough not to fight him physically but still have the guts to snap at him with your words. You prefer to be teased with a lack of stimulation rather than overstimulation. You won’t tell your mother about anything he does so she’ll stay happy. The best part... You’re easy to read.

Now that it’s been a few minutes of dealing with the toy, you’re settling down. It’s still uncomfortable, the low stimulation keeping your cock hard, but you’re able to eat your dinner for the most part. You’re eating quicker than normal just so this can end. 

“Thanks for dinner, mom.” As you stand from the table, Shigaraki cycles through the toy quickly to put the vibrations at its most intense setting. You curl in on yourself and groan, facing contorting. 

“Dear?” 

You give her a reassuring smile despite the heat pooling in your stomach. As much as you want to leave the table, you’re not sure you can do it yourself. It seems to be part of your step-brother’s plan. He puts his arm under yours, holding you up to help you shuffle back upstairs.

“I’ll make sure he’s alright, don’t worry.” 

They can’t see it, but you’re glaring at him as he helps you up. With him being the only reason you’re still standing however, that’s all you can manage to do. You hold onto his torso as he takes you up the stairs and opens the door of your room. 

“You’re close, huh? You were about to cum in front of our parents, weren’t you?” Shigaraki throws you onto the floor of your room with a thud, using his foot to turn you onto your back. He stares down at you and steps on your cock, moving it back and forth. 

“Alright little bro, cum for me.” 

With a particularly large amount of pressure, almost painful, you tense and spurt ropes of cum inside your pants. A stain begins to seep into the fabric and Shigaraki looks down at you with a sneer. You’re squirming under his foot, the toy still vibrating aggressively inside you and around the base of your cock. 

He picks you up by the hair and drags you to your bed, manhandling you so your face is against the comforter and your ass is in the air. He doesn’t even bother turning the toy off as he takes it out of you and slides your cock out of the ring. Your ass clenches around the air pathetically, teasing Shigaraki. Even with something inside you, stretching you out, your ass still looks tight and almost untouched. The only thing eluding to its use is the lube smeared around it. 

You’re given no warning when your step-brother grabs your hips and slams his cock inside you. When did he take it out? You don’t know.

“Shiiiiiit- Do you know how tight you are?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Shigaraki begins to fuck you with abandon, thrusting into you with no care for your comfort. The stretch of his cock, how it reaches almost too deep inside you- it’s horribly uncomfortable. There’s a tinge of pleasure from the stretch of his cock pressing against your prostate almost constantly, but not much else. 

His balls slap against your ass with every heavy thrust and the grip on your hips is bruising. You can feel his nails digging into the skin and you’re sure they’ll leave marks. He’s leaving reminders of this.

A hand leaves your hip to hold your limp cock, pumping it aggressively. The sudden stimulation is painful and you squirm. 

“Now, now, little bro. Be a good slut for me and let me play with you.” Shigaraki sneers at the way you stop squirming at his words. “There... See, you’re a pathetic little slut for your big bro, aren’t you?” 

You refuse to answer, only burying your face into the sheets to hide your humiliated tears. It’s not like it matters. He continues to pump your cock at a fast pace, enjoying the way your walls twitch and tighten because of it. Even if you’re not feeling anything, he is. Your pleasure is more of an afterthought, a bonus. Then your cock begins to twitch back to life. 

“Seriously? You’re feeling good?” Shigaraki leans against you, biting your ear. “Getting off from your step bro treating you like a whore and fucking you? You really must be one if you like this.”

“I’m not!” You protest, turning to look at him. Tears are falling down your face, cheeks red from the embarrassment. “It’s your fault! You’re forcing my body to feel like this!”

Both of you know it’s a lie. You’re definitely enjoying it. As cute as your denial is to your step-brother, he isn’t in the mood for you being like this the whole time. He wants to have to shut you up so your parents won’t hear you begging for his cock. 

With a bit of reluctance, he pulls out of you. You’re allowed a brief moment of confusion as he decides how he wants to position you. Once he decides, he flips you onto your back and hikes your legs over his shoulders. In this position, he rubs your cocks together. His is undeniably thicker than yours, but your length isn’t too drastically different. There’s only a few seconds of rutting them together before he lines his cock up with your ass and slams back in.

Much to his surprise and amusement, you let out a confused moan. The new position must feel good. Your face contorting into pleasure with a mix of self-disgust is beautiful to him.

“Little bro, come on. Just let yourself feel good.” His thrusts slow and he reaches for your neck. The grip on your throat is intense and you can feel yourself becoming lightheaded almost instantly. It’s an intense feeling that mixes with pleasure, clouding your senses. 

Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or just you giving up, but you begin to buck your hips against Shigaraki’s. Your jaw goes slack and your mouth is open, eyes rolling back into your head. The choking keeps you from making much noise so all you can let out are strangled groans. 

“Finally. Let yourself go. Become my whore, my pathetic cumdump of a little brother. Just be my personal cock sleeve, yeah?” 

The words go in one ear and out the other and you let out a string of agreements. Your back arches, cock twitching and covering your stomach in your own cum. It’s the sudden tightness around him that pushes Shigaraki over the edge. He stills inside you as deep as he can and cums, filling your ass. As he comes down from his high, he lets go of your throat. 

“Good boy.” He smacks your face gently and chuckles at your lack of response. “Gone already? Come on, we’ve barely started.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape. 

[lee--felix]

Headcanons

When they make breakfast for you - requested by @hopexclouds 

Hongjoong

Literally can’t cook to save his life

You’re very concerned that he’s going to set your kitchen on fire

He wants to do something nice for you since you always cook for him but he’s absolutely clueless

Wakes you up with the smell of smoke coming from your good cast iron pan

You rush into the kitchen where he’s nervously poking at a now unidentifiable food

“Oh, honey, let me help you” you insist, turning the burner off and moving the pan aside

He looks like a kicked puppy until you put a spatula in his hand

“Will you teach me how to cook?” he asks you sheepishly

You stand behind him the whole time, giving detailed explanations of how to make the food but letting him do everything himself

He’s so proud of himself by the end of it that he tries to take all the credit

You just smile and tell him how good the food is and how great of a job he did cooking it all on his own

Wooyoung

Secretly a really good cook but he’s always too distracted

Refuses to let you into the kitchen until he’s done cooking because he wants to surprise you but you woke up before he thought you would

Dancing in the kitchen

You try to join him dancing but he hugs you and insists that you have to wait until the food is done

Playfighting over the boundary between the kitchen and the living room

Nearly burns the food because he’s trying to keep you out of the kitchen

Plates your food like a chaotic toddler

Has to watch you take a bite to make sure you like it

It’s actually delicious and you’re surprised by his skill

You tell him he’s in charge of breakfast from now on

Yunho

5 star chef in disguise

Like wow if he wasn’t an idol he would be a famous chef

Wakes you up with a plate of food brought directly to you in bed

“All your favorites, I hope I remembered everything”

Heart shaped food, perfectly plated

Looks like it came from a restaurant

You accuse him of ordering takeout and claiming it as his own

He laughs and tells you that you can do the dishes if you don’t believe him

Whole house smells like delicious food for the rest of the day

Eats in bed with you so you don’t have to get up

Yeosang

Absolutely asked for Wooyoung’s help but will never admit it

Cupboards are now a mess because he couldn’t remember where you stored everything but he didn’t want to wake you up to ask you

You get woken up anyways by rattling pans and dishes

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

Is very careful not to burn anything

Really wants you to sit in the kitchen with him but is too shy to say it

Super focused on cooking

Tries to be cute and cheesy by putting a little flower on the table between you

Hands you your plate by wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing the top of your head

Immediately blushes and hides his face

Can’t stop giggling because ~nervous~

You tell him the food is perfect and you really appreciate him making breakfast for you

More giggling and hiding his face because now you’ve flustered him

Seongwha

Intently watching YouTube videos on how to cook while cooking

Did not do any preparation for this, absolutely clueless

Doing a surprisingly good job and not burning anything

Adorable smile the whole time because he never realized how easy this was

Kitchen is a hot mess when you wake up

Like seriously what did you even use this pan for?? Where are half the dishes?? Sir you are destroying my kitchen right now

Refuses to accept your help because he wants to do it himself

Table is covered in your favorite candies and chocolates but he asks you not to ruin your breakfast with them

Tries to pick a piece of egg shell out of the pan with his fingers and burns himself

Plays it off like it doesn’t hurt

Apologizes for every mistake he made while cooking even though the food is delicious

You keep telling him to stop apologizing because you really enjoyed your breakfast

Mingi

Who allowed this man in the kitchen?

Seriously if him and Hongjoong were cooking together, you’d have the fire department on standby

Imitating animal noises when he uses any animal based food

Sets off the smoke alarm multiple times

“Please don’t set my kitchen on fire, be careful!”

“I’m not gonna start a fire I just... oh, how do I put that out?”

Lots of playful yelling and laughing

Burns everything, even things you thought were impossible to burn

You poke at a completely burned and black egg and he quietly goes “bock bock” like a chicken

You both crack up

You decide to cuddle on the couch and order takeout instead

San

Absolutely cocky about his cooking skills even though they’re not great

Tries to look attractive while cooking and ends up fumbling everything

He scoffs every time you laugh at him fumbling a spatula or a fork

“If it’s so easy then you do it!” He says playfully

You grab the spatula and get to work

He grabs your waist from behind and clings to you the entire time

“I thought you wanted to make breakfast for me, here you are making me do it!”

He smiles and kisses your neck, trying to distract you from the fact that you just got tricked into doing the cooking again

You playfully shove him and hand him the spatula back

He makes silly faces at you the entire time

Gets food all over the stove because he’s only halfway paying attention

Makes an entire mess of your plate but the food is so good

Tries to take credit for the things you cooked and you flick his forehead

Pouting puppy San

Jongho

Halfway decent cook but really only cooks for himself

Sings while he’s cooking and attempts to break your eardrums with his high notes

Keeps trying to get you to do high notes with him until your voice cracks

He laughs and apologizes for making you embarrass yourself even though it made you both laugh

Breaking fruit because it’s his signature move

Keeps asking if you think he’s making enough food because he used to only cooking for one person

Washing dishes while he’s cooking so there’s less dishes at the end because big brain

Heart shaped food but it’s a lil lopsided

Keeps wanting to wrap his arm around you and pull you close while he’s cooking

Won’t give you your food until you give him a kiss

Wants to hold your pinky finger with his the whole time you’re eating

Actually really good food wow he should teach Mingi and Hongjoong to cook

[allhailthewicked]

Random JATP Headcannon: The Wilson’s and Street Food

Do you ever think about how after the boy’s death Bobby was probably extremely weary of all take-out, street food, and basically all food that he can’t see how it is prepared? Because I do! SO I decided to write a headcannon about it.

I mean my man watched his three brothers die a horribly painful death because they wanted to have a quick bite to eat. Don’t think about how he was probably the person who found them dying from food poisoning, in excruciating pain probably scared out of their goddamn minds. Don’t think about him clutching their bodies sobbing. Don’t think about how Bobby 100% most definitely didn’t eat anything for the next few days after the guys’ death. Don’t think about how he was probably too scared to trust any foods that he doesn’t make himself. But honestly, he is terrible at cooking that was Reggie’s and Alex’s jobs. I mean he can make a couple of Filipino recipes that his Lola taught him how to make like halo-halo, adobo, liempo sinigang rice.

Then eventually, he started to eat again, well not exactly, I mean Dr. Crystal seemed hopeful. But like he would go to restaurants with like multiple EFFING Michelin Stars and like refuse the food because he’s so scared that he might choke, or get food poisoning and die like the others. Like he low-key throws a tantrum because he is freaking and upsets the chef, but can you blame him?

Without any contexts the public and gossip magazines were like:

 “woah I know he’s a rock star but what a spoiled brat”

“TREVOR WILSON: A FOOD SNOB?!?!”

 “I Can’t Believe (It’s Not Butter sorry back to the headcannon lol) That This Rising Star Threw His Soup at the Chef a Michelin Star Restaurant”

(It was completely by accident btw!!! The matching friendship ring with the guys fell in the soup and he didn’t want to lose another part of his friends. So he started to rush to the bathroom with the soup to find the ring and fix it. .....and the chef just happened to be right behind.....and the gazpacho just happened to spill all over him. But he did get the ring so..... that’s good!!! But he also cried a bunch washing the tomato off of it tho)

Rose started to swing by his house every couple of days with bags full of ingredients and she checks in with him as she is making classic Puerto Rican comfort foods. She quickly realized that his vegetarianism wasn’t a lie and adjusted the recipes that she grew up with to suit his needs. Rose also realizes that if Bobby doesn’t know how a certain food is made and if he can’t see all the ingredients that went into it then he would refuse to eat it. So she fell into a pattern where she would cook at his mansion as he looks over her shoulder seeing how she make the dishes, sadly laughing at the terrible dad jokes she makes. (The jokes remind him of the one Reggie use to make)

Rose “The Queen of Meal Prepping Before Meal Prepping was Popular” makes enough food the next couple of days. Together they would sit down together to enjoy a meal. Rose just tells him it was to  make sure that she made the recipe correctly. But really it was to ease his anxiety about eating and to prove that the food isn’t poison. However, deep down it was to also show him that it is okay to make new friends and the boys probably would have wanted him to at least try to move on a little. Quickly Rose discovered that his favorite dishes are arroz con gandules (basically white rice with peas and olives), mofongo (think like mashed potatoes but with plantains), and some many pasteles and empanadas. And even after Julie and Carrie were born they have family dinners once per week that Rose cooked.

Well I mean until her chemo started of course because that when the roles started to reverse..... (but I’ve given y’all enough angst today, so that’s a story for another time)

I mean at some point he probably had to learn how to cook for himself and Carrie or at the very least he goes to a restaurant that personally shows him how the food is prepared/ he can see most of the steps on how it is prepared. Like one time The number of professional chefs my manz personally knows is ridiculous!!! I mean once he became FILTHY LIKE DIRTY LIKE I WOULD EAT HIM rich he definitely got a personal chef to either meal prep or cooks meals for both him and Carrie.

Bobby had one of the worst anxiety attacks of his life (I mean other than when he found out the guys died) when Carrie was 7. She went to Flynn’s birthday party at an arcade and found out that she ate cheese pizza and hot dogs (I mean Lukie, Lexington, and Reg died from street glizzies for fuck’s sake). Sobbing he called Rose freaking out as he drove Carrie (who was blissfully ignorant singing along to the Kidz Bop CD she got from the party favor) to the ER. “Rose I can’t lose another person who I love” Rose right before she had to perform at a gig she convinced him to turn around and go back home.

This is @iamthefryiestfrench-blog genius idea and I love it so, so much but Carrie and Bobby definitely started to cook dinner together like a couple times a week as Father-Daughter bonding time. Well until Carrie started to get super busy with Dirty Candy and before Trevor started touring again at that point they started to drift away. Fights started to happen more frequently. Carrie started to get more and more take-out to spite Trevor, but she didn’t realize that Trevor stopped eating again. A major fight erupted after Trevor passed out from hunger a couple of weeks after the Orphuem concert.

 “Carrie sweetie it is NOT DRUGS”

“Then why did I walk in to you knocked out on the floor” 

“I just hadn’t had time to eat today mahal”

“Dad do not lie to me! I cannot lose another person who I love. I can’t Dad. I’m going to call Dr. Crystal!!!”

And that was when the truth was revealed...

Carrie’s channel is slowly started to be sponsored by hello fresh, cookunity, or blue apron every single week without fail. Both of them wouldn’t admit it, but this was her offering the olive branch and Trevor took it IMMEDIATELY. (He missed cooking with his little girl). And in the sponsorship ad you would see Trevor cooking a meal with his hair in little pigtails with pink scrunchies.

Of course, they get the vegetarian meals and if you use here promo code “DIRTYCANDI10” then you can get up to 10 meals for free!!! So thank you so much Hello Fresh for sponsering today’s video!!!

It took almost 25 years but cooking with Carrie again made things feel almost alright again and that’s all Bobby could have asked for.

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading this it was really fun to write :) (because I love to write pain lmao) But please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist down below by either replying to this post, reblogging this post, or sending me an ask! I would appreciate reblogs and feedback because I love reading your guy's comments and tags they seriously make my day but it's fine if you don't want to :)!!!

~✨My Taglist is Under the Cut Lol✨~

@poppin-peters, @sunset-bobby, @theobligatedklutz, @soupforfree, @iamthefryiestfrench-blog

[huangbae]

oo can i please request nct dreams reaction to their s/o denying them cuddles and kisses?

a/n: thank you sm for requesting !! :) hope you enjoy <33 btw i didn’t proofread so if there’s any errors i’m sorry D:

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

˗ˏˋNct Dream’s Reactions To... ´ˎ˗

you denying them kisses/cuddles <3

< mark >

you and mark were cooking because your mom was coming to meet him

he was flipping through the recipe book and giving you instructions

he was taking the whole thing very seriously

he was wearing an apron and one of those white chef hats

even though he refused to touch what you were making it because he didn’t wanna mess anything up

you thought his dedication to this whole thing was cute

so after you finished making dinner

and you both got dressed for the occasion

“so, how about a celebratory kiss?”

you laughed at his attempt and told him to wait after your mom left

he was pouting the whole time

even when your mom came by

but you made sure to kiss him after she left so

thumbs up emoji

< renjun >

both of you were attending a party being held by chenle

it was 2 am and you were ready to go home

but renjun was having a good time

so you didn’t wanna ruin his fun so

you tried staying up

a notification from your phone made you jump in your seat a little bit

so you checked it

and it was a text from renjun telling you to meet him in the kitchen

so you got up and walked groggily to the kitchen

the loud music blasting into your ears

which made you kind of annoyed

when you saw renjun he grabbed your hand and asked you for a kiss

you rolled your eyes and started walking back to your seat

but renjun caught up to you and complained to chenle

“my s/o is getting cranky, they don’t even wanna kiss me anymore, i think they’re ready to go”

classic sassy renjun

10/10 would recommend good job y/n

< jeno >

jeno was playing with his cats the whole day

and you were bored

and cuddle-deprived

so you were just a little bit sad

jeno noticed and try to crack some jokes every now and then

to no avail

while you were grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen

he walked up behind you and back hugged you

“stop ignoring me :(“

you rolled your eyes playfully

and told him to get off

he didn’t

so you gave him a quick kiss and ran off into jeno’s room again

he just stood in the kitchen

shocked

for a good 2 minutes

until he ran to his room

and begged you to do it again

< haechan >

after a day of walking through the park with you

his legs were tired

so while you guys were sitting on a bench waiting for the bus to come pick you guys up

he sits on your lap

and grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist himself

he gets mad when you take them off his waist

turns his head around and starts complaining

he took what you did personally

“if you want to break up, just tell me now, y/n D:”

starts fake crying

even though theres other people at the bus stop

and when you get embarrassed he gets even more dramatic

“oh wow. now i’m embarrassing. i can’t believe you’d do this to me, y/n.”

doesn’t speak abt it after you guys get on the bus

lesson learned

don’t mess w haechan

< jaemin >

ever since jaemin got a new job he’s been so preoccupied

you’ve been doing school too so its not like he has nothing to complain about

but still you guys missed each other

you’ve been sitting at your desk the whole day

clicking the keys on your keyboard

but then you heard the door open

and footsteps towards the office you were in

before you could even think about it

jaemin crashed through the door

you don’t know how he has so much energy after working 12 hours at a tiring retail job

but he kneeled down to the chair

hugging your knees and placing his head on your lap

“y/n, i demand attention.”

you declined, saying you needed to finish a paper for your history class

but before you got to finish

he started pulling your swiveling office chair out of the room

and into your shared bedroom

he’s so extra all he wanted was some attention from his favorite person

he’s so pouty though how could you resist

< chenle >

you were scrolling through his instagram

more specifically

the pictures he posted of the both of you

you also looked through the pics he posted of himself

he was already behind you

waiting for the perfect moment to catch you in the act

he put his hands on either of your shoulders

“BOO”

started laughing at how scared you got

you pouted and told him that the pictures were special to you

he looked at you and smiled

“come here, you sentimental idi—”

he comes closer to you with his lips puckered up

you stop him by holding a hand up to his face

and you start running away from him

“this is what you get for making fun of me, zhong chenle.”

chases after you

rolls his eyes

he catches up to you

makes you kiss him

but actually this time

< jisung >

you and jisung were watching a movie on netflix

his head was on your lap

and you were playing with his hair

you could tell he was blushing

a few minutes later

he turned his head and asked if he could kiss you

you decline just because you wanted to pay attention to the movie

you felt bad though bcs jisung looked embarrassed

he even apologized which made you feel even worse

so you tapped his shoulder

and kissed him on the cheek

he covered his face and didn’t talk to you for like a solid 20 minutes

the cheek kiss + the hair play literally rendered him speechless

you called him cute and he literally had to excuse himself

jisung has to be so cute when he’s flustered

man.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

thank you sm for reading !! i hope you enjoyed :D feel free to request something if you’d like :]

~ with love, huangbae :)

[twistedtranslations]

Jack Howl - A bit troubled

You can unlock this story by getting Jack’s SR Scary Dress

Translation under the cut

Chapter 1

Savanaclaw Dorm Lounge

Jack: Even when we warned them, they touched the items on display. They trespassed even when we said that they’d get hurt and that it was dangerous. At this rate, those annoying visitors will cancel our party that started on the 31th… In any case, the visitors that won't listen… also known as the Magicam monsters, I plan to terrify them so they run away…

Ruggie: That group’s a bunch of trouble. I don't feel like scarin' the hell out of 'em will help, though. Leona blew up and said he’d "turn the entire set into sand so no one comes," but they didn’t care.

Leona: At least I'm not turning the visitors into sand, so I'm being quite gentle here. But Jack, do you have a concrete plan? These are brats with nerves of steel, a much different breed from those thomson gazelles that run away at the swaying of grass.

Jack: Yes. My strategy is… yelling out "Magicam Monsters". I think that should scare them!

Ruggie/Leona:… Seriously?

Jack: It fits the powerful image of Savanaclaw. Like this…. HEY YOU! … Those guys won't stand a chance if we jump out at them one by one and then glare at them.

Leona: Hah, wouldn't that be a spectacle? Look at this earnest doggy yelping and howling.

Ruggie: Shshshs! You're Talkin' about it as if it's not your business, but he's gonna make you do that too, Leona.

Leona: I'm not imitating that stupidity.

Jack: Stupidity… I think our glares are pretty forceful, though.

Leona: We will probably look threatening. But if you're all bark and no bite, who gives?

Ruggie: Jack's plan is like… a "Jack" in the box. If you’re gonna do that, you gotta make it real scary.

Jack: What else can I do?

Leona: That's your job to think about as the leader. Use your head. Otherwise, the Savanaclaw dorm students won't obey you.

Jack:… Right. I'll try thinking it over.

Main Street

Jack: (I said that, but what else can I do? Isn't just jumping out at them enough to scare them and make them flee? I thought taking in a breath of fresh air would bring me new ideas, but it's hopeless…)

Deuce: What’re you doing here, Jack? You seem troubled… are you hungry?

Jack: So you're not with Grim and the guys. But I guess. I'm in a stump...

Deuce:… Is it about “that”?

Jack: Yeah.

Deuce: It'd be bad if the teachers heard us. Let's move to the side and talk about it.

/

Deuce: So, what troubles you?

Jack: I can't think of a good way to scare off the Magicam monsters. My seniors shot my plan of jumping at the annoying visitors down… I actually showed them to scare them, but they just snorted.

Deuce: Well, I think that's a great idea. I think that’s the fastest way to make minced meat outta them. It's not like we can resolve this with fisticuffs.

Jack: Yeah. The party would be cancelled because of us if we committed acts of violence.

Deuce: Yeah… Savanaclaw is dressed as pirates this year, right?

Jack: What about that?

Deuce: It seems Heartslabyul was dressed as pirates last year.

Jack: ...Now that you say it, Cater mentioned that.

Deuce: Why don't you try talking to our seniors to see if you can get any nice ideas out of it?

Jack: Troubling you guys with our dorm problems is a bit…

Deuce: I understand what you mean. But this is our first Halloween party at the college. I think it's better to consult our seniors instead of haphazardly running with whatever you want.

Jack: Being told by you of all people to stop and think... That’s pretty convincing. If I could, I’d want to solve this myself but I have no time to plan for the big day… Okay, I'm going to have a talk with them.

Deuce: I think that's great.

Jack: But who should I talk to? Is there anyone I can consult at Heartslabyul…

Deuce: What about Clover? He's good at taking care of people and he also looks over my studies frequently.

Jack: Trey. I'm guessing there's no one else… But let's visit him first.

Chapter 2

Heartslabyul Dorm Lounge

Trey: My bad, I kept you waiting. However, I didn't think Jack would come to pay me a visit. What a surprise.

Jack: Sorry for the brief notice. Deuce told me I should try talking with you... Please help me! I need to find a way to scare the visitors.

Trey: Hey hey, Savanaclaw is outside of my jurisdiction. Is what I want to say, but it's for the party’s enactment. And I can't really besmirch the reputation of my junior who referred you to me. I’ll hear you out this time.

Jack: Okay. I wanted to jump out forcefully at the visitors when they let their guard down and then glare at them. I think that's a straightforward way to scare them but… Leona and Ruggie told me that wasn't scary and I can't think of other tactics.

Trey: Haha… as expected. For most people, being leaped upon by you would be quite scary. What would the other members of Savanaclaw do?

Jack: They're supposed to intimidate them likewise. Our dorm has a forceful image and I want to bring that to life.

Trey: I see. Now I understand why Leona would say that isn't scary.

Jack: Huh?… Why is that?

Trey: The first time you surprise them, it'll be scary. But if you keep doing that, they'll get used to it.

Jack: I see… That might be what my seniors meant.

Trey: But I don't think your strategy is bad or anything. The most important thing is the effectiveness of that one scare.

Jack: …

Trey: It doesn't seem to ring a bell with you?

Jack:… No.

Trey: Okay.… Suppose you were to go out to eat a very delicious fillet steak as the main course?

Jack: (Why did he suddenly start talking about food? Or is he trying to hint at something…)

Jack: Yeah.

Trey: If you had a boiled beef salad, calf tail soup and more additional meat dishes as the appetizer… What would you think about the main dish, the beefsteak?

Jack: I like meat so I wouldn't be disappointed but… I would probably think "Meat again?". I wouldn't look forward to it.

Trey: Right? If you got meat dishes from the start, you won't look forward to the taste of the main dish. If you were the chef, what kind of course would you make so that the steak would taste the best?

Jack: To make the steak taste the best… Ah, I see! I don't want them to get bored with meat, so I'd use vegetables and fish for the appetizers! I think they'd be the most excited if they’re unsatisfied, so they can feel the spirit of the steak.

Trey; Well done. You'd feel the most satisfied if you were to follow a light dish up with the steak.

Jack: Yes. I think it's good if I could transpose this on our pirate theme. The appetizer should be light… and insufficient… like the calm before a storm? In the movie, they talk about the curse of the ghost ship, whose rudder steers despite there being no wind…

Trey: (It seems like his gears are working. Seems I don’t have to talk in metaphors anymore.)

Jack: So if we do this, and then that… and then leap at them with this timing. I got it!

Trey: Did you figure it out?

Jack: Yes! I'm sure my seniors won't refuse this plan. Thank you very much!

Savanaclaw Dorm Lounge

Ruggie: Look, Jack's back.

Leona: … Seems like he wants to tell us something about his plans.

Jack: Yes! IT'S ABOUT FILLET STEAKS!

Ruggie/Leona: …What?

Ruggie: What's that? You talkin' about Leona's dinner?

Leona: I don't remember telling you you had to think about our dinner menu.

Jack: Ah… Sorry! I got ahead of myself. The most important thing to scare someone is the direction. Scare them gradually until they let down their guard and then terrify them with a bang! I think that's the best way. You start with a light appetizer like a soup and then bring out the main dish… it's like a course menu!

Leona: Heh, this is much better than your previous plan.

Jack: Please let me be in charge of managing the members who will deliver the finishing blow! That's why… won't you help liven up the place so my final scare will be the most effective?

Ruggie: Shshshs! So our main dish is Jack.

Leona: You have some nerve to ask us to cook up the appetizer. But that's fine, Jack. I'll give you something so the main dish will stand out, so you better use it.

Jack: Leave it to me! I'll scare them with all my might.

Coliseum Special stage

Ruggie: .Our mark this evening… isn't here yet. It seems they're coming outside.

Leona: Hah. Show us what you’ve got. Jack.

Jack: (Calm down and take a deep breath. Just do as you imagined it.)

Jack: … LET'S GO AS THE STEAK!

[rapspud]

Bittersweet

Bittersweet    A/N: Decided to rewrite this one. Please enjoy.

Yoongi looked at your friends as he sneered at your prone form sprawled out on the ground, your fingers scrambling to find your glasses.

“Aw what’s the matter? The poor baby can't see?” He purred as he picked up your glasses and dangled them in front of your face before throwing them into the dumpster. “Have fun diving!” He cackles as he slides past your prone figure, cruelly stepping on your hand as he passes.

You could hear the snickers of his friends behind you. You watched as his best friend, Seokjin clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, and whispered, “Oi, I get the whole I hate “y/n” thing but seriously—that was a bit much don’t you think?”

Yoongi  couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “She ratted us out! So I fixed it-and now she can’t see to snitch! And shouldn’t you be on my side? You’re in just as much trouble as I am!”

Seokjin could only look at Yoongi like he had a third head, “ Yeah I guess, but still...there is-” at Yoongi’s raised eyebrow he swallowed what he wanted to say, instead choosing to leave rather than to help Yoongi’s victim, “Hey I gotta go I’ll catch you later okay?”

Yoongi smiled and waved good-bye before walking away from the group. How could he possibly explain how much he hated Y/N? No one here knew the truth about your families-how he had to share a home with you,  your family serving his. He had no respite from you. Yeah, Y/N deserved everything she got, he thought as he got into his car. Plus it's not like you wouldn’t rat him out when you got home about what happened. This time as he drove past you and saw you hunched in on yourself, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he saw you clutching your injured hand, staring resolute at the dumpster, knowing full well that you would go in after the glasses. After all, he knew how hard your mother worked to buy them for you, he knew how you worked 2 jobs and also kept track of your younger brothers. Deep down, he really hoped that maybe this time you would finally explode and tell everyone about all the horrid acts he committed against you. 

Except that you never did tell on him. 

In fact, you avoid Yoongi like the plague.  After finally scrambling into the dumpster and reclaiming your glasses, you clambored back out, hand still screaming in pain. As you stand there wiping the garbage from the lenses and picking off random refuse from your clothes you honestly don’t think you can sink any lower than this. You swipe grimey hands at your cheeks as hot tears run down them, thankful that you are alone. And as you walk away you begin to make plans. You couldn’t keep doing this. And with renewed energy you begin walking home, not didn’t looking back choosing instead to forge ahead, putting one foot in front of another until finally you were in your mid=twenties, and had your own little place. You were happy with your life. But you should have known. All good things must come to an end eventually. You hadn’t thought about him in years, attending school, graduating, opening up a bakery with your best friend. Essentially you were hiding, but not really. 

And then by some ill stroke of luck, he found you.

You awaken to the blaring of your alarm with a groan. Was it really 8 am? The flashing numbers of your clock inform you that it was in fact 8:59. Shit you were late. Cursing your snooze butten, you scrambled out of your bed and grabbed the cleanest clothes you could find off the floor and stumble as you attempt a whole new balancing act: pulling up your pants while holding a hot cup of coffee and a piece of toast dangling precariously from your teeth. As you run down the street towards the bus, slinging your backpack over your shoulder while you scramble to tuck your shirt in you promptly run into a solid wall and fall on your ass. Your hair is covering your face as you look up at  what you had plowed into, an apology already leaving your mouth when you got to the face. “Um…hi, uh…sorry about that.”

“Y/N. From YHSN?”

“Yes?” you become wary, no one around here really knows you as you chose to keep to yourself…“Do I know you?”

The grin that spread across the man’s face could be described as nothing less than cruel and vicious. “Yeah, Y/N L/N right? I am here to inform you that you have 24 hours to vacate the premises. Good luck.” He stated before unceremoniously dropping an envelope onto your lap and turning on her heel to leave you in a stunned heap on the floor.

What the hell had just happened? Maybe you were still dreaming?

You were dazed for a moment as your brain tried to compute the absolute absurdity of what had just happened and then you were on your feet chasing the man, yelling at him to stop but he just kept on walking.

Finally catching up to the man, you grab her arm, “What the fuck man?” you yell, “this is illegal as hell! Thirty days is the minimum!” You shove the notice back at the man, hitting him in her (very solid) chest hard.

“Y/n, Y/n, I see you're still full of venom huh? It’s completely legal actually-you see I” he leaned forward, “own the building now. And to my delight, what do I learn? I find out that Y/N L/N happens to be a tenant! Guess how happy I was to finally find you again after all these years and then get to have you vacate your home.” he laughs as you gape at him like a fish.

“Min fucking Yoongi, I do not have time for your petty ass childish bullshit! ” you hers, voice laced with venom.

“Aw kitten you remembered! I am truly honored! But alas I cant stay and chit-chat, and well, neither can you. Tata chica!” With that he jerks her arm from your grasp, sending you back to the ground in shock for the second time that morning, before climbing into an expensive black car and driving away.

You scream curses to the sky, because after 8 peaceful years, the man you had spent so long  running from and then finally forgetting, had found you. But of course, the sky only decides to rain. And as you trudge back home to call into work, (because seriously fuck this day) you can’t help but wonder how everything came to this moment. After a shower and change of clothes, you fall into your bed, allowing yourself one moment of respite before you begin to tackle this new problem, closing your eyes.

You were back there again, trapped both in a small body and the cave that haunts you as you watch helplessly at the rising water. Your tiny voice is raised, tinted with fear, “I told you we shouldn’t come here! My mama said-“

The boy next to you cut you off, “Crying ain’t gonna fix it, I will save us”

“You can't even swim,” You yell, unable to remain calm. 

“I AM GONNA SAVE US!” the small boy shouted, “so don’t cry Y/N.” He gave you a small smile, one that made you feel slightly safer and he took hold of your hand. “Follow me and don’t let go no matter what.”

“Okay,” you say, for some reason feeling braver after placing your faith along with your hand into the boy’s hand. He said he would, so of course he would save both of you. After all, he was your best friend and you don’t pick losers.

It was a lot harder though, when all was said and done. Yes, the two of you made it out of the cave alive, but not without nearly drowning, and you had slipped and injured your ankle along the way. Luckily, you did make it out, and while the two of you spent a cold wet night huddled together on the beach, you were alive. In the morning, you were rescued further as the search teams found. And while your mother had you wrapped up in her warmth and was crying and thanking the people over and over that had saved you, the same welcoming was not happening to the young boy. You could hear screaming as a woman in a fine dress and her husband yelled at the boy, your tiny hero, before there was a loud smack. You watch as the boy falls, hand clenched to her face, tears streaming down her face as her mother continues to land hard blows upon her body until she is dragged away. You cried out for you friend and as the two of you met eyes, for the first time you saw hatred reflected back at you. That was the day Min Yoongi stopped being your friend and became your tormentor.

He followed you everywhere, taunting you, breaking your things, and ultimately breaking you. Your mother finally quit working for her house the day he’d thrown your glasses into the garbage and you had come home, broken glasses in hand, face streaked with tears and reeking of garbage -you had finally confessed what had happened, what all had been happening. You had moved away, your mom working several jobs and then as well as yourself working, then you working to  pay your way through chef school and finally moving out into your own place. And all of it had just been destroyed because he found you.

You sigh looking up at your ceiling letting your anger consume you as you curse Min Yoongi to a lifetime of diarrhea. And an itchy butt. And you hoped her eyebrows fell out, just for good measure.

You look around your apartment one last time before closing the door with finality. this asshole, you think to yourself. “Just wait” you say as you look down at the address your brother had just texted you.

An hour later you stand before a gated house and ring the doorbell. And ring it. And ring it. And continue ringing it (after all it was nearly 6 am, and as you had learned that morning, if you want to ruin someone's day, do it first thing in the morning) until a sleepy figure stumbles outside and smacks your hand away. You take this opportunity to dart inside the gate and into the house carrying your things with you.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Yoongi yells at you from outside, beginning to stomp back to her front door. You could only grin as you take in the pajama bottoms and robe, while you stand there like a goddamn Amazonian queen, “You took my home. this is payback.” and then you dialed the police, “Yes? Officer? There’s a half naked man on my lawn, please send help! I’m so scared”

You couldn’t help the grin that covers your face as you smile at Yoongi, “Good luck asshole.” You say sweetly, before slamming the door in her face. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet as the sound of the lock turning over, followed a second later by desperate pounding at the door. And Yoongi could only pound on the door until the cops showed up and he explained that this was, in fact, her home, as well as that the intruder was actually you. The officers had asked him if he wanted you arrested and for once he let it go, telling them that you were having a lovers quarrel and apologizing that they had to come out over something so silly. As the cops pulled away, he went to the back of the house and slammed the sliding glass door open only to find the house seemingly empty. As he walked from room to room he couldn’t help but get angrier and angrier. But when he found you passed out on her bed, he paused, somehow her anger dissipating instantly. He stood there, looking at your sleeping body and wondered if you would ever know her real feelings for you. If he would ever be able to tell you. And the real question: could you forgive him? He knew it was asking a lot, but he could only hope. He sat and thought about how to express to you the things he needed to say. He wondered how exactly did one explain how guilty he felt about how he treated you, how he didn’t really understand why he went out of her way to make your life miserable back then…and then you had left him. How, when you left he realized just how broken he was inside. When he bought the building he couldn’t believe her luck when he saw your name as one of the tenants, but her old ways came back hard and for some ungodly childish reason he couldn’t control himself. That he should have been apologizing that morning and telling you how thankful he was that it had also brought you back to him. He guessed that it was far too late for him to ever have your forgiveness and he couldn’t help the smile that played on her mouth as he approached the bed. He reached out a hand to smooth back some hair that covered your face when you wherpered, “Yoongi...” he stilled, “…I’m sorry” you mumbled. What could you possibly be sorry for? He couldn’t help it, but it made him angry that you would apologize to him after everything he’d done and especially while in such a vulnerable state that the next thing he knew he was grabbing the blanket and ripping it away from your curled form. It’s momentum  sends you over the edge of the bed to land in a heap on the floor. You sit up cursing her very existence,

 “What the hell Y/N?!” He yells right back, while you could only manage to stare up at him from where you sat on the floor. But this time you weren’t having any of her bullshit. You jump up and get in her face “ What the hell? What do YOU mean what the hell? Who the hell buys a building solely to evict one person?! Are you that rich? Do you hate me that much?”

Yoongi yelled back, “Hell yeah I do!“ 

"You have issues, Min Yoongi! I did nothing to you except be born! Do you know how hard I worked to forget what you did to me? And you come just back,” you pause, swallowing thickly, you would not cry. Not here. Not now, “But not anymore! I won't let you break me again Yoongi. I am worth so much more than that!”

Exhausted, you  move to push around him but he grabs your wrists instead and pins you against the wall.

“Let me go you asshole!” you yell at him fighting back for once in your life, all while trying to hide your face and the tears that were no longer just threatening to spill over. “Can't you just hate me from a distance? I’m sorry your mom was a horrid cunt to you! I’m sorry, okay! But please, just let me go! Leave me alone” And then her hands were gone, and you were free. You couldn’t help it, you looked up and stared him in the eyes, for once determined to make him see how he wrecked you.

Yoongi could only stare at you, watching as the tears fell, tears once again caused by him, and then he heard the five words that ripped open her wounds, words he knew he deserved, said in a voice so broken he didn’t know where he should start to even attempt to repair it.

“I hate you Min Yoongi.“

He couldn’t stand it, he knew he deserved them but he just couldn’t stand there and just accept them. Accepting those words would be like giving up, and giving up probably the only pure thing he still had in her life. Had. And so he moved, not thinking about consequences, only a desire to cleanse those words from the air around him. He grabs you again, pushing you against the wall, capturing your face in one hand, forcing you to meet her eyes, while he brushes your hair away with the other, "Good. Never forget it.”

And then he crashes her mouth against yours.

You didn’t know how what was happening was happening and some stupid part of you was excited to have him pressed against you,  mouth was moving against yours and then you were responding and for some reason it felt so good–like coming home. It was like your body suddenly was against everything you wanted-you found yourself wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, a giggle bubbling up when you nipped at her lip and he groaned. and then you both were tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. And then the world stops making sense. You and Min Yoongi, enemy of the state #1 were having sex. And it was good. It felt so right, like you two had been made to fit each other only. When it was over he lay behind you, placing gentle kisses along your neck and down your collar bone. The last thing you remember before falling asleep in your enemy’s arms was Yoongi gently wherpering a muffled “I’m sorry” into your ear over and over.

When you wake, you are surprised to find an arm wrapped around your waist and you freeze as the memories of the night before come rushing back and you begin to mentally beat yourself up as you carefully slide out of the bed and grab your clothes, making a mad dash out of the house, dressing yourself along the way.

No way had you slept with Yoongi and enjoyed it. You were an idiot of the highest order. You slept with the man who wanted you homeless because he hated you.

You let out a deep sigh as you did a very new special walk of shame to your job, where your boss, Mandi greeted you by yelling, “Oi ! What cat pissed in your cheerios?”

Causing the other workers to laugh until you pinned them with your patented Crazy-eye ™, at which point they scurried away except for that moron Seokjin who slung his arm around your shoulders jovially, “So why is my favorite girl doing the walk of shame?”

You glare and shrug his arm off, “None of your business.” 

“Dude its obs-you’re like a whole 4 hours late-and you are never late. So what happened? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll just call me an idiot if I tell you.”

“I swear on cake I won't.”

You raise an eyebrow before saying a name you never thought you’d say just to see him eat his words. “Min Yoongi.”

“Shut the front door! You’re an idiot”

“The cake is ashamed of you and asks that you keep your distance.” You say as you move to the back rooms to put away your belongings.

Not giving up, Seokjin follows you, even going so far as to hand you your apron, “Seriously? Didn’t he like-”

“Terrorize me to the point of moving? Then find me years later and evict me? Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” Seokjin asked worriedly, For the shit talking between the two of you, you smile to know he does really care.

“I have to be.”

“Did you at least use a condom?” He asks.

“Oh my god.”

“You really are an idiot. But don’t worry…you know I’ve got your back right? Well, we’ve got your back.”

You could only stare at Seokjin as your mind whirls through the consequences of last night, “It should be fine right?” you ask.

“Sure, cupcake. Keep telling yourself that”

There is a ding from the door and you see your brother Jungkook shuffles in with your other brother Namjoon, and giving Seokjin a look that clearly says “Keep your mouth shut if you want to live” you take a deep breath and head behind the counter to wash your hands, greeting them as you go.

“COFFEE. COFFEE NOW.” Namjoon grunts demandingly, taking a seat and burying her head in her hands,  while Jungkook adds a half-hearted “Please…and a raspberry jelly for me.”

“Rough night?” You ask as you pour the two men coffee and grab Jungkook her donut and slide it in front of them.

Jungkook grins, “Nah, Joon thought he could out drink me. He thought wrong.”

“Shhhhhhhhh!! You’re so loud,” hersed Namjoon, shoving a hand at Jungkook’s face and missing entirely.

You grin and speak extra loud, “Shouldn’t you know by now to let the kids drink and you go home and sleep?”

Namjoon just glares at you, “I have a gun.”

“I aint scared of you.”

The shop bursts into laughter as Namjoon buries her head in her arms on the counter, “Why do you hate me so much?” He whines.

“Mom likes you more, and I’m a petty bitch.”

Jungkook grins, “But she likes me most!”

Both you and Namjoon glare at him, “Shut up!”

Yoongi wakes up to an empty bed and he frowns, crawling out of bed and pulling on her boxers. He wanders around the house looking for you, hoping that you haven't run away and when he can’t find you, her heart sinks. Was he that awful that you would still run away from him even after what you had shared? And worse, what if he had gone too far this time?

He makes her way back to her room and grabs her phone, calling her secretary.

“Yo.” Answered Hoseok.

“Really that’s how you answer the phone? You do know that I am your boss right?”

“Debatable today.”

Yoongi rolls her eyes, “Anyways, I need you to find someone…”

“Well you know Imma need a little more…”

“Y/N. You remember her right?”

“You mean the girl you tortured in school because you didn’t have the balls to tell her how you lurrrrrrrved her.”

“I see you wish to die today.”

“No, not today. So you wish for me to find your wayward love?”

“Yeah.”

“Mandi’s shop.” Hoseok cheerfully replied, as if this should be common knowledge. 

“Oh yeah, great idea bring me some coffee please?”

“No, you idiot, Y/N works there. She is actually her partner” Hosoek irritatingly says matter of factly.

“The hell?! Why do you know this but I don’t?”

“Dude, seriously? You do know they were friends growing up and just because you made her run away by being a complete ass doesn’t mean they stopped being friends.”

“My best friend and my sister have been lying to me.” 

“It’s not lying when you never asked. But Yoongi…you should let her go. It’s been a long time and I know you had feelings but with how you treated her–“

"She was here.” Yoongi grunted, running a hand over her face as he stood in her closet trying to think of what to wear. What says “I come in peace”? Maybe he could get Hoseok to dress up as Spock and talk to Y/N before he does. 

“What? And you’re alive?”

“Yeah. We…um…she was gone this morning,” Yoongi sits down on her bed, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh…” and as realization hits, Hoseok intones sagely,” ...oh my god you’re fucking moron.”

“You know I can fire you.”

“Please bitch, I know all your deepest darkest secrets you ain’t gonna fire me.”

“Just…shit…what should I do?” Yoongi asks, finally letting go of her big bad boss act.

“Dude, I don’t know. You slept with her…maybe you should just…”

“I um…fucked up more than that…” He thinks about how you had felt, how he had felt...how absolutely perfect it had been for just one night, A flicker of fear strums through her heart at the thought that this was not salvageable at all. 

“No. no way. Our friendship is over.” Hoseok cracks from the other side of the phone.

“Just help me okay?” 

There was a long pause before he heard a heavy sigh, “Fine, but no games. She has a good thing going on and you-”

“I swear it's different this time!” Yoongi pleads. 

“Whatever. I should warn you though.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Her brothers.”

“Namjoon and Jungkook? We were old friends, what about them?”

“You were old friends until they found out how you treated her. And bonus points-they are both cops now. Partners even, so you should probably pray for your soul.”

With a groan, Yoongi finally gets up and begins to get dressed putting Hoseok on speakerphone. “I’m so dead.”  

“Yep,” affirms Hoseok, “So does that mean I can have your stuff?” 

Rolling her eyes and thinking he really needs a new assistant, Yoongi growls out“See you at the office.” only to hear Hoseok laughing before he hangs up the phone. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed, and running a hand over her face as he contemplates this new information. You’d been right under her nose the entire time and everyone had kept it a secret. He guessed he deserved it though, he was a complete and utter ass to you. He also guesses it’s time to make it up to you and hopefully, you would forgive him and let him into your heart, where he belonged. After all, you’d always been in his.

2 months later

Yoongi stands outside her (former) sister’s shop watching as you serve your customers, and realizes sadly that it was the first time in a long time that  he’d really ever seen you smile. He wanted that smile for himself and himself alone, but he wasn’t sure how to get it. When he had remodeled your former apartment, expanding it through the two vacant units on either side of you, you just got mad at him for evicting you, when he was just redoing the apartment and you claimed it was far too large for you by yourself now. But that was the point wasn't it? He was hoping that somehow you would just...come back to him on your own and he wouldn’t really have to put any work in. Yoongi realizes then that he is an absolute dumbass.

After all, nothing he’d done so far had managed to make you smile at him or hell just give him the time of day and he was beyond frustrated. Couldn’t you see how hard he was trying for you?

Mandi pokes her head out of the shop interrupting his train of thought,

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps at him.

“Wow, do you greet all your customers like this?”

“Yoongi. Listen. Whatever it this is about now isn’t–”

Realization hits for the second time that morning, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Mandi pauses, looking him up and down, “There’s nothing to tell if you already know.”

He could almost feel the metaphorical walls slamming down around him as Mandi went on guard. “Mandi!”

“No. Not about ther.”

“I’ve known for almost a month.”

“Then you should go know somewhere else.”  Mandi stepped outside, becoming a most effective blockade. If someone was to ever wage war against his sister, his money, hell, his entire fortune would be on Mandi.

“Listen, you’re my brother and I love you and I know you know what you did wrong, and really it's sweet you want to make amends but …Yoongi, sometimes things…”

“I slept with her.”

“Do you want a trophy?” Mandi snapped, her fists clenched, before she  shook her head, “you have five seconds or I’m opening ther door and I’m calling her brothers out here.”

“We didn’t use protection.”

“Well then I guess today you die you little fucking weasel.”

“I love her.”

That’s when he remembered his sister’s left hook and then the lights went out.

Mandi stomps into the store grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs ignoring your protests, shoving you into the bedroom and giving you a look reserved for her son’s Taehyung and Jimin when they are acting up. “Stay.”

Mandi goes back downstairs and motions Namjoon and Kookie over, “Listen, I know you hate Min Yoongi with like the passion of 7 fiery suns but I need you to hold that rage in and help me get his ass inside.”

Namjoon was already up and out the door at the sound of Min Yoongi’s name, and seconds later was dragging a barely conscious Yoongi in by the collar. While Kookie held open the door, Namjoon made sure Yoongi purposely whacked his head on the door frame and when Mandi winced he gave her a look that clearly said “sorry not sorry” before dropping Yoongi on the shop floor like the sorry sack of shit he thought he was.

“I’m sorry folks,” Mandi announces, “due to my crazy family, the shop will be closing early.”

The patrons all scrambled out of the shop while Jungkook handcuffed Yoongi to a chair and dumped a cup of ice water on him.

Yoongi jerked back, fully awake now and met by 3 pairs of eyes. 3 very angry pairs of eyes. He shook his head and tried to move but found himself handcuffed to the chair and he gives Mandi a look that says “Really?”

“Kook uncuff him. Seriously. And you and Joon leave.”

“No.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Okay, but we get dibs if you decide to kill him.” Jungkook, grumbles as he undoes the handcuffs.

“I’m not going to kill him. Today.”

“Fine.”

Jungkook finishes unlocking the cuffs and Yoongi immediately rubs at his wrists and watches warily as Jungkook and Namjoon leaves the shop, rolling his eyes when Jungkook gives him the international sign for “I’m watching you” while Joon drew his thumb across his neck. They were dramatic as fuck, but then again he might just be dramatically fucked.

Mandi pulls up a chair and sits across from Yoongi and stares at him for several long moments until Yoongi breaks the silence, “Just say it.”

“Why?”

“It just happened like that.”

“Bullshit.”

Yoongi sighed, “I’ve grown up since then. I no longer want to pull her hair.”

“Clearly. And you didn’t just pull her hair, you did a lot worse.”

“Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

“I am fucking Switzerland.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the anger that swelled up and choked him, “Clearly not. You knew where she was all these years and you never said anything. This is why you never let me come to the shop then? You knew I was looking for her, that I wanted-”

“Of course,” interrupted Mandi. 

“Why?”

“Because you are an idiot who doesn’t know how to communicate. Look at what happened--when you did find her, your first action was to take her home. Who fucking does that shit?”

“You’re right, I was. I was cruel and spiteful. Keyword: was.”

“Bullshit. Taking away her home wasn’t because you were being spiteful. You wanted what she had. That’s called envy. She left because she wanted to live, and the only way she could was to leave. You made it like this. I almost lost my friend. So of course I kept it a secret.” Mandi sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “Look I know. I know what y

our mom and dad did. How they treated us. We were mere points on a checklist of creating a picture perfect family. But you had no right-”

“I was stupid. You think I don’t know? That I don’t regret it? I love her. I always have.”

“Actions-”

“Speak louder than words I know. I’m trying to fix that now!”

Mandi closes her eyes, debating her next few words  "Can I trust you? That’s the-“ ”

“Yes. I swear I'll spend my life…”

“Doing what?” You interrupt, “Sorry, since you seem to be discussing me I couldn’t stay put,” you say to Mandi. “Yoongi I don’t want your money and if you are worried because we didn’t…,” you swallow before continuing with a brave face, “....I’ll be fine. but you really have to stop sending me presents. I don’t want them. Can’t you just stay…”

“Y/N I’m sorry. I was an ass.”

“Still an ass.” Mandi interrupts, “Look, you two clearly need to talk this out so I’m out. Come on Seokjin, let’s go see a movie.”

With that Seokjin and Mandi beat a hasty retreat leaving the two of you alone.

“Your jaw is swelling.” You say after noticing the blossoming bruise that marred his handsome face. Handsome? What the hell were you even thinking?

“Mandi hit me.”

“Why?”

“I told her what happened. She’s very protective of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…that night…I shouldn’t have that.”

“I let you. It wasn’t just you alone.”

“Please, just listen. I’m sorry. For everything. And I’m sorry for not saying that when we met again. It's just…”

“It's just..what?” You questioned, meeting his eyes. 

“I don’t know. When I look at you I want you. You are so good and pure and you deserve the world. I wanted you to myself but I was scared…”

“Scared of?”

“You.”

“Me?” You scoff at the idea of anyone being afraid of you.

“Yeah,” Yoongi stood and walked over to you. “You had everything even though you had nothing. Brothers who worshiped you, a mother who did everything for you…what if I ruined that? What if my mother-”

“How would you ruin that?” You ask, finding patience from who knows where.

“I was messed up…and the older I got the worse…things got worse. You saw, you can’t pretend you didn’t. I took out my suffering on you because nothing good could possibly exist and you were just hiding your real nature. But you never retaliated. You kept reaching out to me over and over again. ”

“But I did retaliate.”

“By locking me out of my house after I took yours? Not really. I mean…I deserve far worse,” chucked Yoongi. He wanted so badly to touch you, to pull you into his arms and just...feel you. 

You stare at Yoongi. This broken version of Yoongi with tears in his eyes. Could you trust him? You wanted to give him a chance.

“Let’s….go on a date.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What?”

“You like me right?”

“Well–I mean–I did when I was—I do”

“Take me on a date, final offer going in one–two..”

“Fine! I’ll take you on a damn date,” Yoongi smiles.

“No fancy shit tho. $100 limit.”

“I’ll take you on the best damn date of your life!”

“Good.”

Yoongi didn’t know why he was being snippy now, but as he left the shop he couldn’t help but do a little cheer when he got into his car. Hoseok rolled his eyes and politely ignored him.

Yoongi stood at the door of your apartment, and for the first time in his life he hesitated, hand poised to ring the doorbell, and then you swung open the door and suddenly the world stopped. You looked amazing. Your hair was curled, makeup accenting your eyes perfectly, wearing black skinny slacks, a hound’s-tooth patterned sweater over a white button down and pink heels. He took in the perfection that was you and thought, “She was made for me.”

And the fear was gone as he smiled at you and he took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah let me grab my purse,” you say as you try to let go of his hand to grab the bag on the chair beside your front door but he wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t help the blush that blossomed over your cheeks as he stepped inside and grabbed the bag for you and waited for you to lock up so you both could leave.

He pulled you along, never letting go, until he reached his car and opened the door. It was only enough time for him to run around and get the car moving before he was locking fingers with you again.

“What’s up with you?” You smirk.

“Just…making up for lost time.”

“What?”

“I just…I should have been doing this for years now.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “So…are you always this cheesy?”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide, “I mean…I’m not…no…,” Yoongi stuttered and then stopped, “I guess I am cheesy it's just…I can tell you I’m sorry but…”

“Actions speak louder than words?”

“I see you have met my sister,” he joked softly, “And we’re here.”

“A movie? Really?”

“I always had wished to take you…”

Yoongi’s eyes stared into yours, “Yoongi…” you say timidly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not her anymore you know? I grew up…you grew up…let’s leave it behind us and start fresh yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

You stick your hand out, “Hi, my name is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yoongi stared at you you’d suddenly sprouted a third eye on your nose before awkwardly taking your hand and shaking it, “Min Yoongi…the pleasure is all mine.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stunned expression, not knowing he was just in shock from receiving your smile. To him, your smile in that moment could have powered a thousand suns. 

Yoongi was quiet but still took your hand and you entered the theater with a smile on your face, happy that things were getting better, that you could almost believe you had your first love back.

2 hours later.

“Yoongi,  why are you pouting?” You ask as you take his hand.

“Look no matter how I look at it, it's just not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“Mandi. Seokjin. They have spent years with you…years that should have been with me.”

“I thought we were moving forward.”

“But.”

You sighed. “Look. You want to know the truth?”

Yoongi stopped and stared at you, “yes.”

“Okay then.” You face him, “You crushed me in every way possible. You were my world. I followed you everywhere. I trusted you, and you were always there and then you weren’t. The night we got stuck in the cave I gave you my faith—but it also is and was the moment I gave my whole heart to you, willingly, without any doubt. And the next day when we were found…you stomped on it. And you continued to stomp on it. I cried so many tears everyday because I hoped that one day my hero would come back. But he never did. He became a villain.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, “And even through all that I still…” you sighed. “I can't do this Yoongi. I can't. I’m sorry,  I was wrong to try.” You turned on your heel and ran away, ignoring him yelling after you, you just ran until you couldn’t hear him anymore. 

And then you found the alcohol.

You sat at the outside bar drinking as you thought about the past two months. All the things you had done with Yoongi , and how disgusted you were with yourself for letting your old feelings come back so easily. You knew it wasn’t the right choice, but it was the one you wanted. You had decided to drown yourself in alcohol,  and you were on your third bottle when the object of your conflicting emotions, sat down across from you.

“Y/N.”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking!” Your giggle turns to a frown when you hear the heavy sigh come across from you, “Are you judging me? It’s not nice to judge you know! “

“Why are you drinking Y/N?”

“Because,” you leaned forward, whispering conspiratively, “I’ve been bad.”

“Bad? How so?”

You sigh dreamily, a wistful smile playing upon your lips, “There’s this guy…”

“There always is.”

“Shhh! This is my story!” You shout.

“Sorry.”

“Where was I?” 

“Something about a guy…”

“SHHHHHH! So rude interrupting me! Anyways…I’m supposed to hate him but…” you thump your chest hard as tears prick your eyes, “But…”

“But what?”

“I can't…I remember him before…and the him that I remember…he’s still there…and all the warning alarms are going off and I’m so scared to love him but I…I think…”

“You think?”

You lay your head on the table, mumbling, “Think it’s too late…think I love him. Think it has always been too late for me. Even after all the bullshit…you see…he’s still here” You thump your chest hard and sigh as you feel the tears slide down your cheek to land on the table, “ I love him and I don’t want to…I didn’t mean too…”

“Mean to what?” 

“To love him, but…”

“You do.”

“Yeah” you whisper softly.

“Yoongi…” you can feel the man smile, you don’t know how you know but you do, “why do I have to love you?”

“You love me?” He asks, the hope wrapped in fear in his voice twisting your heart even more than all the past crap that had happened. You wanted to let it go. You wanted to love him. You can only nod your head as your eyes slide close, and you struggle against the darkness when you hear him whisper, “I love you too Y/N…I’m just scared…I’m not good enough…I was such an ass…and I know you said to let it go…but God Y/N…I should have treated you like a princess…because the truth is…”

Those words cause you to sit up, eyes squinting hard as you try to make out his face, “Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

You lean forward and his face comes into focus, a smile spreads on your face and you lean forward to press your lips to his, softly at first, and then he responds, a hand sliding up your arm to cup your neck as you express to him what you can’t say in words. This was so much better than petty arguments and revenge pranks.  

You pull away, breathing heavy as you rest your forehead against his, “Yoongi,” you whimper, keeping your eyes firmly on the buttons of his shirt, scared to look up, scared to see the fear in his eyes. Does he not know?  “Can I…can I be yours?“ You ask in a voice so quiet it is almost lost in the noise of the world that surrounds you. 

"Can you forgive me?” The pain in his voice was sharp. “I forgive you.” You whisper into his mouth as you make promises with your lips.

He pulls away for a moment, and you lock eyes finally. “Then believe me when I say, I was always yours, and you were always mine.” 

“I was?”

The amount of disbelief in your voice causes Yoongi to tear up as he pulls you into his arms, “Kitten?”

“Yeah,” you say as you rest your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

This time it was his turn to ask, “Am I yours?”

“You always were Yoongi. I was just waiting for you to remember where home was.”

Yoongi places the softest of kisses on each of your eyelids, and then he kisses away your tears and finally his mouth was on yours, and the kiss was full of yearning. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” You ask, sad he had pulled away. 

“Don’t leave me again…I love you too.”

“Okay.”

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

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[bbugyu]

hi can i request a wonwoo friends to lovers!!

abso-fuckin-tutely! since you were a lil vague, i asked my friendly neighborhood wonwoorideul for a prompt and she shouted out the song nothing by bruno major (aka one of the sweetest songs on wonwoo's spotify playlist)!

nothing + jeon wonwoo

moving in with your best friend was the best idea you ever had, even if he claimed it was his.

wc.3707 | fluff, angst, roommates/friends to lovers au, gn reader, like one swear and it barely counts bc it was hoshi, slowburn pining, wonwoo sees you and his mind is full of poetry, happy ending! (jp ver.)

thank you so much for my very first request! i tried to post this quickly, so i’m sorry if it’s not as polished as my other pieces. i was so impatient to get this out hahah. i love me some domestic wonwoo

*

wonwoo wasn't just your roommate, to be perfectly frank. the lanky guy had wormed his way into your close circle when you had worked part time together at a grocery store fresh out of high school, and when you both decided you needed to be closer to the big city, it just made sense to go together. you had never lived alone before, and your mother had said she would feel better if you had someone she knew around, someone to take care of you for her, even though you insisted you would be fine. she tried to get you to move in with your auntie, and while eating her food would be a definite plus, you absolutely despised the idea of living under the same roof as your chaotic cousin. so, when wonwoo mentioned wanting to get out of your podunk village, you excitedly told him you wanted to move to seoul.

"okay," he had said, looking at you over his comic book as he lounged on your family's couch. "let's go, then."

two months later, his dad was helping the two of you move into a tiny two bedroom apartment in a neighborhood of seoul that housed mostly old married couples, but you liked that it was a little more quiet than downtown. it felt more like home, but busy enough to give you your fill of the city. you could walk down the street to a cafe every morning on your way to the station, headed to your shitty temp desk job that you had just to pay bills. wonwoo was able to transfer to the main seoul office of his existing job as a software engineer, and was even able to work from home most days. you were forever jealous that he could hop onto remote meetings wearing a tie and button up over a pair of sweats. on days that he had to go into the office, though, he would walk with you and point out shops that you had yet to visit in your few months of living in the city.

"since when are you a flowers kinda guy?" you asked, gaze following his finger to the florist shop he pointed out.

he shrugged, adjusting his backpack straps over the blazer he wore. "might be nice for the apartment."

you eyed him. despite knowing him for years, sometimes he still surprised you.

on days that he didn't ride the subway with you, you would come home to find him sitting on the couch, swinging around a digital new york city from a web on the tv. you noticed the potted plant on the kitchen counter when you dropped your keys off in their designated tray. they were red, with tight round petals. you thought they almost looked like roses, but you knew that wasn't right. peonies? begonias? you didn't know enough about flowers to recognize them, but you figured he went to the florist in your neighborhood while you were at work.

he paused his game after landing on a roof somewhere. "how was your day?"

"good," you said, pulling off your light jacket and standing by the couch. "what's with the flowers?"

wonwoo looked around you to the yellow ceramic and red blooms, both colors that suited the other few colorful items in your minimalistic (mostly from having only lived there a few short months) white kitchen. "camellias. i thought they looked nice."

you nodded, thinking that he had more to say, but decided not to press. "have you eaten?"

he stretched on the couch, hands falling to the back of his beanie clad head as he let out a strangled noise. "do i ever eat without you?"

that made you smile. "any thoughts on dinner?"

wonwoo shook his head, settling back into the couch. "what do you feel like?"

"i'm craving pizza."

wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted to fish his phone out of the pocket of his favorite track pants. "go take a shower, i'll order."

you grinned. "you are such a good roommate."

"correction, i'm the best roommate. oh, also," he pointed towards the fridge in the kitchen. "soonyoung came by with side dishes from your aunt."

"oh, thank god," you said, walking over to wash your hands quickly and check the haul. "i was worried we were gonna have to buy kimchi this week. he wasn't annoying, was he?"

wonwoo shook his head, chuckling at the way you talked about your cousin as he tapped through menus on his phone. "he was fine. complained that you weren't here."

"doesn't he have a job?" you opened a plastic container and popped a sweet braised potato into your mouth. your voice was muffled as you chewed. "he knows i get off at five. if he wants to see me he should come when he knows i'll be home."

the small smile on wonwoo's face never left as you rambled about soonyoung, then your fantastic chef of an aunt, and then the new guy that sat at the desk next to you that microwaved fish for lunch. seriously, who microwaves fish? in an office?

wonwoo commiserated with you, then told you to hurry and go wash up, because he had just submitted the pizza order, to which you responded "okay, okay, i'm going. i'll be back in a minute."

after a steam filled shower, you left the bathroom while toweling your damp hair, sporting a plain black v-neck with your, similar to wonwoo's, favorite track pants.

wonwoo looked up and laughed, tugging on the hem of his shirt. "we match."

you eyed one of the several black muscle tanks wonwoo sports regularly and giggled, pulling at the stripes down your pants. "we do. you want wine?"

"hell yeah. friday night, baby."

you laughed, returning to the bathroom to hang your towel before making your way to the kitchen, pulling a couple of stemless wine glasses out of your cabinet. they were the only glasses in the apartment because, as wonwoo had said, your priorities are notoriously bad. but, you reminded him, they worked just fine with water too, so you convinced him that buying real glasses could wait until you were both slightly less busy. you grabbed the bottle of red wine off the counter and looked at the seal. "wonwoo."

"yeah?" he paused his game and looked at you over the small kitchen cart that acted as an island. you held up the wine.

"new bottle."

he sighed dramatically. "what would you do without me?"

you grinned happily as you got the wine opener out of a drawer, holding it out for him. he snatched the bottle and opener from your hands and made a face, but began twisting the corkscrew into the cork nonetheless. you planted your elbow on the wood topped cart and watched him as he tugged out the cork, decidedly ignoring the fact that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and he definitely looked like he had taken a trip to the gym today. 

"you pour, i always miss."

you laughed, pulling at the shrapnel of the seal that wonwoo always refused to cut away before removing the cork. "maybe if you didn't make the neck such a mess it wouldn't go everywhere when we pour it."

"unnecessary step," he retorted, watching you as you poured the wine into the two glasses. he took the one closest to him as you finished. "cheers."

"cheers," you repeated, clinking your glass against his and taking a gulp. you let out a noise of approval. "happy friday."

wonwoo was smiling as he took a sip. "happy friday."

"where's the pizza?"

"uh," he patted his empty pockets, then put down his wine glass to retrieve his phone from the couch. "down the street."

wonwoo had to shove his feet into a pair of slides to meet the delivery person at the entrance of your building, and when he returned, you were giggling into your glass at your sns feed. the wine hit maybe a little too hard, but you hadn't eaten in too long for you to have almost polished off a glass already.

wonwoo gestured for you to join him on the couch, so you grabbed the bottle of wine and tucked it under your arm, carrying the two glasses over to where he was shutting off his game.

you ate merrily, and then you talked. about nothing and everything all at the same time. this happened more often than you ever thought it would, but a week into living in the city, wonwoo had come home from hanging out with some old friends to you crying on the couch with a show on that was far too comical to be the source of your tears. that night, he stayed up with you until the sun was peeking up over the buildings, listening to your worries and struggles. he shared his own fears. you were a blubbering mess. he kept sniffling his nose, acting like the tears welling up in his eyes weren't there when you laughed, despite yourself. wonwoo and you had always been close, or as close as past coworkers that had the same friend circle could be, but this was different. you couldn't remember the last time you had cried like that in front of anyone, much less someone who wasn't your mother.

when you woke up on the couch past noon, your sunday to a late start, your arms were wrapped around wonwoo's torso as he slept, one hand tucked behind his head and the other on your back. his face was inches from yours. your cheeks were pink and you suddenly felt hot, trying as gently as you could to escape without waking him. he stirred, but only to readjust as you snuck away.

he said nothing about the cuddling when he woke to the sound of you closing the front door, and you smiled as you held out the iced americano you got him at the cafe down the street. he squinted at you and scratched his head, taking the drink and sipping it before even testing his voice.

"thanks."

he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. "what? you bought coffee. thank you."

you sat next to him and swirling the straw in your own drink. "no, i mean for staying up with me. sorry i was a mess."

there was a pause, and your heart almost stopped when he put an arm over your shoulder. "you weren't. and i'll stay up with you whenever you want."

wonwoo sipped at his drink again, giving you a light squeeze when a tear fell down your cheek.

living together meant you saw a side of him you had never seen before. the little things he did throughout his day, when he wasn't even particularly conscious that you were in the same room as him. he always bit at his thumb when he was working, and he had a habit of leaving the milk carton open in the fridge. he always made you smile when he emerged from his room with his headphones loud enough for you to hear them from across the room, and he cluelessly bobbed his head to whatever he was listening to while he refilled a water bottle, waving and smiling before he returned to his room. when your mom asked you how living with wonwoo was, you told her he was great. clean, respectful, and quiet. that you had never been closer. that he made you feel safer so far from home. you didn't, however, tell her that you discovered that he liked running home from the gym at 2 pm on the weekends, laying out on the floor with his shirt over his head before he convinced himself to take a shower.

you had always thought wonwoo was cute. how could you not? he was a handsome guy, but you had accepted your place as a friend to him and happily let it progress no further. but, now that you spent your afternoons off arguing with him on whether or not showering was even worth the trouble, you couldn't help but stare at him. watching his toned chest rise and fall as you thought about how he had admitted his crippling fear of failure to you at three in the morning when your face was puffier than a padded jacket.

you never noticed, but wonwoo watched you closer than he did anything in his life. that night, when he found you crying, he felt his heart clench as you told him all your insecurities. when he had pulled you into his chest and held you tight as you questioned whether moving so far from home was a mistake, he patted your hair and told you that it was going to be fine. you had him, afterall. he had you. the two of you could make it out here. and if you still wanted to go home when the lease was up in six months, he would be there to help you move back.

he didn't stop holding you until your breathing settled, your shoulders stopped shaking. he leaned back into the couch, bringing you with him, and you didn't protest when he ran his hand up and down your back, coaxing you to sleep.

since then, every time you spoke to him, he couldn't help but stare at you intently. he watched your eyes light up while you talked about something you loved. he watched you scrunch your nose as you talked about your new desk neighbor. he watched your lips push into a pout when he said he should go get some work done. he wondered if anyone else noticed the way you sucked on your teeth while you thought up a witty comeback, or the way you carded your fingers through your still wet hair. or the way your eyes creased into a laugh, your hand coming up to block your open mouth. or the way you chewed on your red wine stained lip while he tried to form a sentence in response, when all he wanted to do was put those lips on his.

wonwoo had been stewing with these feelings far longer than he thought bearable, but stuffed it down in fear that he might lose you altogether. he didn't want to lose you altogether. he had gone on a walk halfway through his workday at home, feeling antsy for no particular reason, though if he thought about it long enough he would have realised it was because you had said something about feeling lonely lately that morning. he saw the florist he had pointed out the week before, and his feet brought him through the door.

"hi!" he looked up from the colorful display by the door to the person behind the counter and smiled politely. "did you need help finding something?"

"um," wonwoo blinked and looked around for a moment, then moved towards the counter. "i need a gift, i think."

the florist's eyebrows quirked curiously. "you think?"

he nodded, eyes flicking down to the nametag on his chest. he wondered if he was a foreigner with his three character name, but didn't mention it. "yeah. housewarming. for my, uh-" wonwoo paused, catching himself not knowing how to describe his relationship to you. roommate? wannabe lover? he bit his cheek. "my friend."

joshua nodded slowly, watching wonwoo's eyes as he worked his way through the sentence. "just friend?"

wonwoo stared at a flower arrangement to his right. "something like that."

"got it." joshua walked around the counter and gestured for wonwoo to follow him deeper into the store. "since it's a housewarming, how about a potted plant? something to brighten up the space for a long time. they'll think about you every time they see it."

wonwoo nodded, not saying anything about how funny he thought it was that he said he was getting his own roommate a housewarming gift. "that sounds nice."

"now, i'm not gonna claim to know you," the florist started, putting up his hands to exaggerate his words, they kept moving as he pushed and pulled pots, looking for one in particular. "you've said, like, maybe a full sentence to me, but those were some complex emotions when you called them a friend, so i'm gonna assume i know the situation. i think you should get camellias. specifically red ones."

wonwoo looked at the sunshine yellow pot in the soft featured man's hands. the petals of the flower were round and delicate, and he thought about how you said the color yellow made you happy. "why's that?"

"i think you should look up the meaning when you give them this," joshua said, and for some reason, wonwoo trusted him.

he came back to the apartment thinking about how he might have just gotten scammed into buying the potted flowers in his hands, only to find soonyoung about to hit the buzzer to call your unit, a far too large cooler bag sitting on the bench by the entrance of your building.

"is y/n around?" soonyoung asked, trailing behind wonwoo as they walked up the stairs, struggling slightly with the overpacked bag. "they didn't respond to my kakao."

"they're at work," he replied, flipping his keys over in his hands to find the one for your front door. "they'll be home around six."

"ah, shit," soonyoung laughed. "i always forget you guys have adult jobs. i would kill for a monday through friday."

wonwoo almost laughed, but left the smile on his face. "weekends are kind of overrated, anyways."

the shorter hoisted the bag of dishes onto the kitchen cart while wonwoo closed the door. "who're the flowers for?"

wonwoo stared at the pot in his arm as if it was the first time he had seen it. "oh, uh. just the place."

"for y/n?"

he looked at soonyoung, who had his chin in his palms, elbows planted on the counter as he smiled. he knew he was right when wonwoo didn't respond.

"i think they'll like them," he said, unzipping the top of the bag and starting to unload his mother's packaged dishes for his cousin. "they like the color yellow."

wonwoo just said "i know," before he opened the fridge and started rearranging things to fit the new food.

according to soonyoung, wonwoo was painfully obvious. when he had come by a couple weeks prior, you were arguing with him about some ridiculous childhood memory at your grandparents' home, and while soonyoung laughed, he noticed the smile on wonwoo's face when he watched you. he also noticed the way he instinctively put a hand on your back when you sighed about your newest temp gig, and soonyoung pulled on his ear as he looked at the ceiling, leaning against the kitchen cart much like he was today as he told wonwoo about how oblivious his cousin must be.

you pulled your knees to your chest as you sipped at your wine, the pizza box almost completely polished off by the two of you sitting on the floor in front of your couch. you stare at the pot of flowers.

"they're pretty," you said finally.

you too, wonwoo thought.

"camellias, right?" you turned back to him. "i like them."

i like you, wonwoo thought. "i went to that place down the street. the guy working was nice."

you nodded, sipping again. "any reason in particular?"

"i-" wonwoo paused, staring at his glass. he finished the last gulp in it and put it on the floor next to the pizza box. "you said something about being down recently," he said, folding his fingers together as he leaned back against the couch. "i wanted to get you something, i guess."

you watched his fingers as they pushed his glasses up his nose again, and your heart fluttered at the idea of wonwoo thinking about you when you weren't around. "really? that's so nice," you pouted, shoving his knee.

he laughed, pulling his knee onto the couch to face you. "the guy there - the florist, i guess? his name was joshua. he seemed to really know flowers." he knitted his brows together when he realized he was procrastinating on saying what he was nervous to. he put his arm on the back of the couch, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm before continuing. "he said i should look up what they mean when i give them to you. red ones, specifically."

you perked up, heart racing. "what they mean? they have meaning?"

"y-yeah, i guess so," wonwoo said, then cleared his throat. 

"hey google!" you looked over to where the device sat by your tv. "what to red camellias mean?"

wonwoo stared at your profile as you watched the device think before its automated voice piped up.

"camellia flowers are available in white, pink, and red, with each color having its own unique symbolism."

you looked over to him, excitedly putting your glass to your lips as the voice continued.

"pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone, and is given to people who are missed."

wonwoo swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting against his temple.

"red camellias symbolize love, passion, and a deep desire."

your eyes widened slightly as the device shut off, glass still to your lips and eyes still on wonwoo's. he stared back at you, and you wondered if he meant it. but he never claimed that he didn't feel those things for you.

before you could think, you clumsily put your glass on the floor and moved. you didn't stop moving until your lips were on wonwoo's, pushing him back into the arm of the couch as you practically crawled into his lap.

his hands found your hips and he helped you settle into him, your fingers tracing his jawline as it worked against yours. you sighed into his lips as his hand slid up under your shirt, placed gently on the small of your back. pulling you into him. when you paused for a moment, you thought about waking up to this exact same view, that day after you had cried all night. but this time, his other hand pulled your jaw back to kiss him again, and you happily complied.

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 6: I’ve Got a Bad Queso Loving You

Pining. Food that may or may not be a disaster. The end of an era.

Also people actually wanted to be tagged for updates?? That makes my heart so happy <3

Tag List: @heyoitslysso @unknown-and-invisible

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

@lumosinlove

  It was weird, walking into the studio by himself for the first time. Finn kept expecting Logan to be right by his side like always and it hurt a little every time Finn remembered. He walked into the kitchens where he was greeted by a sunny smile and kind eyes and dimples.

He still missed Logan, but it was hard to mope with Leo Knut around.

“Hey,” Leo greeted, motioning for Finn to join him at the station. “Welcome to the final four.”

“Thanks. It feels weird here.”

Leo hummed. “Quiet, right?”

“Definitely less hectic.” Finn agreed, leaning his hip against the counter. “So what are we cooking today?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me? We’re cooking for someone special to you. I’m assuming that’s Logan, right?” At Finn’s nod a strange, unreadable expression flashed across Leo’s face before he continued. “Okay, so what types of food do you think of when you think of him?”

Finn thought about it, then smiled. “Our first date – after years and years of being friends and crushing on each other but refusing to do anything about it – was at a Mexican restaurant. We were on a roadie and went to go get dinner together and I was so frustrated at this point that I kind of just blurted, ‘Is this a date?’” Finn laughed a little at the memory. “And Lo, he just stared at me with those big green eyes of his for a moment and said, ‘I sure hope so.’ And that was it. No more drama, no more fuss. Just those two sentences – that was all we needed.”

The look from earlier was back on Leo’s face. Finn still didn’t know what it meant.

“I think we can definitely work with that.” He said finally. “How about we elevate a Mexican dish? Something to be meaningful but to also showcase your cooking? I've got a few recipes in mind. What about grilled citrus-marinated chicken?”

Finn wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“Alright. Pulled pork tamales with corn salsa? Polenta stacks? Chipotle Mahi Mahi burrito bowl?”

“Oh!” Finn said excitedly. “I like that one. Logan calls me Fish sometimes.”

Leo laughed. “Why?”

“Nicknames are kind of a thing in hockey. It’s considered weird if you don’t have one. I’m Harzy, Harz, Fish, and probably a few more that I’m forgetting.”

“And Logan?”

“He’s Tremz or Tremzy, usually.” He looked over at the blond, propping his chin in his hand and smiling. “You want a nickname?”

“Oh, god. With a last name like Knut, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to go off of.” He laughed, turning to head towards the pantry. Finn followed after him like the love-struck puppy he was.

“Nut. Nutty. Peanut. Peanut butter. Nutter Butter. Honey bunches of nut – “

“How have you already come up with so many?” Leo stretched to grab a bowl off the top shelf, his t-shirt shifting up to reveal pale skin Finn desperately wanted to reach out and touch.

“I’m a professional hockey player.”

“Fair enough. Can you head to the spices and grab smoked paprika, chili powder, cumin, salt, pepper and onion powder?”

Finn grabbed the ingredients and met Leo back at the station. “Ready to get started? You’ll get the printed recipe and you can take as many notes as you want now and use them tonight.”

Finn clicked his pen in response, earning another smile. “Let’s do this.”

“So we’re going to combine olive oil, chipotle chiles, garlic, smoked paprika, chili powder, cumin, salt, pepper and onion powder into a bowl and whisk it really good. Then you can add the mahi mahi and toss it in there. Next we’re going to place it in the fridge while we start the rice.” Leo covered the bowl and set it in the fridge before reaching for a pot and turning the stove on.

“Add coconut milk and some coconut water to a pot and bring it to a low boil before adding rice, salt, unsweetened coconut and coconut oil. Stir to combine, then place the lid on the pot and turn the heat down to the lowest setting possible. Following so far?”

Finn nodded, definitely feeling a little overwhelmed.

Leo gave him a reassuring smile. “You got this. Next, let the rice to cook for ten minutes then turn the heat off completely. Let the rice sit on the stove, covered for another 20 minutes, then remove the lid and fluff the rice with a fork. Add the cilantro and lime juice – “

“No cilantro.”

Leo looked up from his pot. “What?”

“No cilantro.” Finn repeated. “Lo doesn’t like cilantro.”

“Got it. No cilantro. I think we’ve got enough seasoning without it.” Leo grabbed another bowl and pushed some ingredients towards him on the counter.

“Now we’re going to make the salsa. Add the diced mango, chopped strawberries, jalapeño, lime juice, pinch of cayenne and a pinch of salt to a bowl. Toss it, cover it, and keep it in the fridge until ready to serve. Now we’re going to cook that fish.” Leo grabbed the fish out of the fridge and sent him a sly look. “Hopefully this doesn’t count as cannibalism.”

Finn laughed loudly. “Oh man, wait until Logan hears that.”

Leo fiddled with the settings on the grill, which made Finn a little nervous. As seen in the build your own burger competition, he wasn’t the best with grills. He’d scared away all the ducks with how loud he screamed when he turned the grill on too high and flames erupted from it.

“You’re going to want a medium heat to cook this fish. Once the grill is nice and hot, add the mahi mahi, skin side facing up. Cook these for about 4-5 minutes and then flip them and cook until they’re crisp and mostly cooked through. This is super important: remove the skin.  We’re going to be cutting this fish into chunks and having pieces of fish skin in there would be really gross.

“Last thing is to plate these. All you’re going to do is divide the rice among your tortilla bowls and add the lettuce, black beans, and corn. Divide up the fish and then top each bowl with salsa, queso, and a dollop of sour cream. And you’re done!” Leo looked over at Finn, who was still writing notes. “Not so bad, right?”

Finn gave him a blank stare, then ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Go over it again one more time?”

“Sure.” Leo pushed one of the plates over to Finn. “Want to try some first?”

“Fuck yes.”

***

Logan stood in the studio hallway yet again, waiting with the rest of the families the final four contestants were cooking for tonight. It was going to be weird, being on the opposite side of the judging table. But at least he wasn’t cooking.

They finally got the cue to enter the kitchen and his eyes immediately found Finn, who was grinning madly and running right at him – whether he was allowed to or not. Logan laughed as Finn collided with him, hugging him close. “You just saw me this morning.”

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

Logan melted a little at that and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Did you have a good day?”

Finn whined, shooting a longing look over at Leo. “Lo, you would not believe – “

“Please head back to your stations, recruits!” Dorcas called.

“Gotta go.” Finn sighed, taking a step back. Logan gave his hand a squeeze.

“You’ve got this.”

“Recruits, tonight you’ll be creating dishes for your loved ones. And your team leaders, of course. You can use any notes you’ve taken. You have an hour to complete this task and your time starts… now!”

Logan took his seat at the judges table (weird) and watched as Finn dashed off to the pantry. He made small talk with the other family members as time began to tick down much slower than he remembered from his time on the show. He turned his head when Leo sat down next to him and smiled almost nervously.

“I hope you’re not too mad at me for last week.”

“Nah,” Logan said with a shrug, doing everything he could think of to slow his heartrate down. “I deserved it. I served you guys raw pizza dough.”

“Only because I suggested you start over.”

Logan laughed incredulously. “Because my pizza wasn’t a pizza! Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He looked over at Finn, who was shying away from the grill as he threw the fish on it. “I’m glad he made it instead of me. He’s been so excited to be on this show.”

“He’s really improved a lot. You both did.”

“I’m still not sure I trust either of us in the kitchen.”

“Baby steps.” Leo said with a smile. “You’re more capable than you think.”

He glanced at the clock and let his voice carry to the contestants. “One minute left, recruits!”

Finn glanced up from his plating, cursed, and started working faster.

“Five, four, three, two, one, time’s up! Stop what you’re doing and step away from your plates!”

“I can see why you like this so much.” Logan said, eyes still on Finn as he looked down at his plates critically. “You get to sit here, no stress, and eat people’s food. This is the dream.”

“Not on this show. You should’ve tried some of the earlier dishes this season. I got food poisoning twice.”

“You did what?”

“It might’ve been three times if I’d eaten that chicken you tried to serve in the first challenge.” Leo teased.

“Why isn’t giving a chef food poisoning an immediate elimination?”

“Because then we’d have very few recruits left, and that would be a very short season.”

Finn set down his plates, smiling nervously. Logan looked down and smiled softly. “Mexican food.”

“No cilantro, just how you like it.”

God, Logan didn’t deserve him.

“Let’s see how this tastes.” Leo said, looking down at his plate. “The presentation is really nice.”

They both took bites of their food. The fish was dry, but Logan thought the rest of it was really good.

“It’s under-seasoned a little bit,” Leo commented. “And the fish is a little dry, but your salsa is perfect and the ratios of everything else in the bowl is very nice.”

Logan grinned up at Finn. “I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to you bringing this recipe home.”

“We need move on to the next contestant. Nice job, Finn.”

Finn beamed and grabbed his plates back.

***

“And the chef who will be leaving us tonight is…” Logan held Finn’s hand and waited for Leo to finish.

“Finn. I’m sorry, your time as a recruit is over. Please turn in your apron.”

Finn sighed, squeezed Logan’s hand, and stepped forward.

“It was really close, but in the end the under-seasoned and overcooked fish did you in.” Leo said, looking apologetic. “I’ve really enjoyed having you on the show. You’ve been a joy to teach.”

“Thanks for having me.” Finn said, trying to be cheerful as he handed over his apron. “I had a blast.”

After the cameras stopped rolling, Logan and Finn made sure to find Leo before they left. He was scrubbing down the grill and looked up when he noticed them. “So this is goodbye, huh?”

“Looks like it.” Logan replied, unabashedly staring and trying to memorize everything he could. Was it weird to miss someone when you hadn’t even said goodbye yet? When they were standing right in front of you? 

Finn piped up, “If you’re ever in Gryffindor, look us up. We’d love to see you.”

“Same for when you come to New York for games.” Leo smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Here,” Finn grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number? We can send you our team schedule when we get it.”

Finn, you’re a genius.

“That would be great! I, uh, I really liked having y’all on the show. It’d be nice to see each other again.” His cheeks were red again, and Logan had to bite back a whine. He wanted to kiss those red spots so badly.

But this definitely wasn’t the time. There were people everywhere, two of them were probably leaving in the morning, and they didn’t know when they’d see him again. Or if he even liked them back.

Fuck.

Both Logan and Finn had forgotten just how awful the guessing game really was.

[sugurus-slxt]

Hiya! May I request a matchup (Ruby) for Jujutsu Kaisen for the follower event? I just stumbled onto your blog; congratulations on getting 100 followers! Let’s see…I’m 5’9” and 25 years old, I have shoulder length wavy light blonde hair (bleached), hazel eyes, pale-ish skin, and kind of an athletic body type (with a little bit of chub). I’m pretty quiet and tend to keep to myself, but if I’m around friends or anyone that I’m comfortable with, I can be pretty loud. I have been told that when I laugh, I can be heard from several rooms over. I don’t really take life too seriously, I mostly just go with the flow. I’m a pacifist; I don’t like to start arguments or fights and I HATE confrontation. However, if someone genuinely pisses me off, I will not hesitate to call them out. I get rather shaky and anxious when doing so though, as I’m not used to it. I’m also pretty open minded and I try to see things from everyone’s point of view.

I love to hike, go running, read, bake/cook, play video games (occasionally), and listen to music! I like EDM; drum & bass, electronica, trance, chill etc. I listen to other stuff besides that, if it’s pleasing to my ears, I will listen to it. I generally read stuff on tumblr, but if it’s a book I gravitate towards fiction! I’m a Libra, and my mbti type is ISFP (though some other tests I’ve taken have typed me as an ISTP, I’m in the middle with thinking and feeling). I like to stay active, as I get bored if I’m not. I mainly do trail running since I love being outside! I have an appreciation for art in any form, and I enjoy looking at what others have created. My favorite types of video games are RPGS, or anything I can get lost in. I also have a weakness for horror games, or anything horror related. I like to listen to horror podcasts, and research urban legends and creatures. I honestly would love to go urban exploring, but I don’t want to risk getting caught trespassing on private property! I also have a pretty big sweet tooth, I have practically zero willpower when it comes to desserts.

Ok, some of these are oddly specific, but some things I dislike are closed minded people, people getting in my personal space, public speaking (I would rather throw myself off a cliff), the colors orange and yellow, deviled eggs, and country music (sorry to the people who love it, ya’ll are still great, keep doing your thing 😆). I’ve had sensory issues ever since I was little (I was always over sensitive), and people getting close to me or touching me has always made me feel very uncomfortable/nervous. I struggle with showing affection, so I can be seen as rather detached or aloof at times. I’m not a very clingy or needy person; I prefer being independent. Also, I can get somewhat irritated if a person keeps offering to help me with something I can easily do on my own. As silly as this sounds, even if their intentions are pure, I feel as though they are saying that I’m incapable. Unsurprisingly, I have a lot of trouble asking for help. I prefer to work things out on my own. I prefer to stay in my comfort zone, and I rarely move out of it. However, deep down inside, I’m craving an adventure.

My style varies; I can go from looking like an up and coming professional runner to a troll that lives underneath a nearby bridge. I tend to favor a lot of darker colors, black is my number one go-to! I wear a lot of athletic leggings and sweatshirts/oversized t-shirts. Mostly because they’re comfy. I do love the cottage core aesthetic, though my clothing/room doesn’t reflect that. For who I seek, I suppose I’m looking for someone who is similar to me! Someone who I can feel comfortable with, and someone who isn’t super into PDA (or too clingy). I can be kind of goofy at times, so a sense of humor would be nice too. Some other things real quick, my dream vacation(s) would be going to Oregon or visiting the Netherlands! My dream jobs would be either a pastry chef (hell just put me in the kitchen in a bakery and let me bake), or working at a nursery/greenhouse. I like to work with my hands, so I would love either one!

I don’t exactly have any characters that I don’t want, I’m just curious as to who I will be matched with! Take your time and have a wonderful day 🙂

Personality Matchup

One 𝑅𝓊𝒷𝓎 coming right up for anon

A/Note: Hey thank you so very much for visiting THE VAULT. I hope you like your match up :) Sorry that I’ve taken so long, I’ve been preoccupied with school, and even though you said to take my time I think I took way too much. I hope you enjoy this. Love <3 ~ Sar-chan

I match you with...

Runner Up: Inumaki Toge

Here are some HCs:

Nanami definitely loves your loud side though he often comes off as reserved I think he really likes how from being super quiet outside or in a meeting to just saying what you’ve been holding back from saying. He loves hearing you talk and every time you shift from quiet to loud he lets out a soft chuckle and a smile he’ll hide away from you.

I think when Nanami is with you he’d find ways to crack jokes just to hear you laugh and he often has this running line, “I’d say I wish your laughs were all mine but I’m sure the neighbour heard it dear,” and finish off with, “I’m joking it’d be a crime not to share your laugh with the world. You and your laugh are far too beautiful to keep hidden.”

I think your personalities and natures would compliment each other nicely. I feel like both of you give a very “it” couple vibe.

Regardless of the suit Nanami wears, I think he dresses more comfortably in his free time. Larger more oversized clothes specifically sweaters and looser pants. He often lends you his sweater, he was a bit hesitant at first but seeing you in his clothes makes his lips quirk into a smile he won’t let you see.

I think Nanami enjoys reading for you especially if you lay against him (if you’re up for it) as both of you get settled for bed. If you fall asleep while he’s writing he’ll place a soft kiss on your forehead and whisper ‘I love you’ as he places the book to the side and repositions you to lay down.

If an argument ever happens to break out between you and Nanami he’ll try his best to bring it to more of a conversation he doesn’t like yelling and he doesn’t want to make you anxious.

He often accompanies you on hikes but almost always on runs because it’s also good for his physique and he gets to spend a bit of extra time with you.

Nanami favourite moments are when he gets to hear you talk about your day in the evening but he also appreciates the quiet moments where you both are just anywhere in the same room doing your own thing, he likes your presence and if the other sees something interesting and just points it out.

He isn’t clingy but Nanami gets touchy on mornings if he’s had a nightmare about you or he’s had an extremely bad day. He likes when you smiley hold him and run your fingers through his hair. He just likes knowing you're there.

I feel like you’d buy Nanami a nicer tie and though he loves you he just might refuse because he’s very accustomed to them and they are in a way essential.

Nanami isn’t the video game type but I think there might be a few select ones he’ll try out with you on the weekends and he just might get pretty addicted to one.

If you ask Nanami he might just take you to some of the places he’s exorcized curses from and as put together as he looks, he’s definitely trespassed. He’ll take you to some quite chilling places and he’ll be keeping an eye on you, however, if you do happen to get scared he will snicker just a bit. He’ll probably take you to a bakery or a coffee shop after to make up for it.

Nanami likes to watch you work in the kitchen if you’re baking up a storm he’ll probably be nearby reading a book but sometimes he’ll leave you to it because he knows you like pace as well.

EXTRA:

I hope you liked it, I apologize for taking such a long time.

THE VAULT IS NOW CLOSED, THANK YOU :)

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 18

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More Patton today! I wasn’t a big fan of writing Pat before this fic lol, now I love seeing him. Hope you enjoy!

cw: hospitals, angst

~

“Say it again.”

Logan sighed. “Patton broke the Prophet's nose.”

“He had it coming!” Remus crowed. Logan tried to not smile, but judging by Remus's continued snorts of laughter, he failed.

It was two days after the successful mission that resulted in the takedown of the Haven. Patton was asleep, still in the hospital. The doctors were mostly concerned about what seemed to be melted portions of his ear canals, once they were certain that he was going to recover from his starvation.

Patton was dreadfully thin, little more than skin and bones, and yet he still smiled whenever he was awake, conversed excitedly with him, exchanged a few stilted signs with Remus, who was only just learning ASL. Right now though, in his sleep, he seemed less than content. He shifted regularly, the blanket curled in his fists, his brows drawn in a frown. The jacket he refused to let leave his sight was draped over the foot of the bed, smelling much nicer than it had earlier—Remus had taken it upon himself to smuggle it out of the hospital and wash it, only having just returned.

This was only Remus's second visit with Patton. Patton recognized him from the cult, and was thus not incredibly open to him, but he was polite, which was more than Logan could hope for. Patton being here, being alive, was more than Logan could hope for.

-

The mission had been stressful. Logan had been prepared to leave with two day's notice, yet it seemed that everything that could go wrong did. Logan wasn't superstitious, but he found himself thinking back to the night before leaving, when he'd told Remus that the plan was simple, and that they would have to try to mess it up. He should have knocked on wood.

First, nobody had bothered to tell him that they were fairly certain the cult had been relocating for the past couple of weeks. In small groups, people were exiting the settlement and only one person was coming back. Nobody had set foot inside the laboratory for days, instead, all residents were meeting in the communal dining area in the morning, and randomly moving to the church. For all anyone knew, Patton was no longer even in the Haven—and Logan knew, perhaps better than anyone, just how possible it was that the cult had 'disposed of the latest experiment'.

There was an entire squad sent by the FBI, as well as far too police and forensics workers, a handful of lawyers, two detectives, and several rubberneckers. For a stealth takedown, that was not exactly the team that Logan would have brought. They were too noisy, and visible from a mile away.

When they were halfway to the settlement, two tires blew. Logan had had to bite his tongue in order to not scream in frustration, but there was nothing to be done. Forty minutes later, they were back on the road.

Until a civilian's engine stopped.

Two hours later, they reached the Haven. It looked much like Logan remembered, except with the beginnings of a paving project for walks up to houses. There wasn't time to look around, though—Patton was possibly somewhere around, and he had to be found as soon as possible.

That ambition was quickly shut down, however, when they were confronted by the Prophets, backed by what seemed to be half the men in the Haven. What followed was a long discussion of rights, which only served to make Logan more and more anxious. He happened to know quite a bit about laws and rights, having been studying them over the past year—he was back in school part-time as a law major. He shared his insights and opinions with the only person he knew here: the detective who had been handling the case since the beginning. The man brought Logan's words into the argument, which, against his hopes, did not speed up the process.

Eventually, the Prophets became hostile, and some of the Haven men began to threaten with physical violence, which gave the police officers more than enough reason to arrest them. Logan was honestly surprised they hadn't acted immediately. He'd received the impression that the police force acted with very little (if any at all) evidence and responded violently to retaliation.

It didn't take too long to find Patton. Remus had told him in advance (rather sorrowfully, knowing he wouldn't be able to accompany the group) what cell his son was in, and Logan knew the halls of the laboratory very well. He'd been rather detached from his actions all day, even more so when they entered the Haven, and he finally realized that he was disconnected so as to not become violently ill. This was where he'd lived, imprisoned, for years. The people here had caused the death of his wife, had tortured his son. Logan was barely holding himself back from destroying everything he passed.

Once found, Logan didn't let go of Patton for an hour at least. The boy was shaking, his skin was cold to the touch, the bones that formed his face were clearly visible under taut skin. Still, he was alive, and Logan couldn't be happier.

The scientists hadn't stopped feeding Patton out of any seriously malicious intent. The cultists had abandoned all work in the lab in their preparations for escape, neglecting every experiment—including Patton, the only human experiment there.

Patton could walk, by some miracle, and was finally able to leave the building, Logan just behind him to catch him if he faltered. His son looked so happy, letting the sun hit his face. A lump formed in Logan’s throat, and he looked away from his bright eyes after ruffling his hair lightly, marveling at how long it was.

Seeing Patton punch the Prophet brought a smile so wide to Logan's face that he'd had to pull his bandanna back up, chuckling lightly in a way he thought he could pass off as a cough. All mirth vanished, though, when Patton's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

There was a flurry of activity, but Logan was the first to reach Patton. He gripped his son tightly, pretending that a tear did not slip out of the corner of his eye. He was going to be okay, he had to be okay, they had just been reunited!

Patton didn't respond to Logan's shaking of him. An animalistic sound tore from Logan's throat as he let the tears fall. The world closed in, smaller and smaller, until all that existed was him and his unconscious son who was certainly dying. Logan's hands were fists curled into the back of Patton's faded blue shirt, and he hugged his son to his chest, shaking off anyone who got too near.

Someone managed to tear them apart, and Logan fought. He kicked and yelled, tearing at their skin with his fingernails, trying to keep Patton is his sight as he watched several people lift him onto a stretcher and place him in the back of a van, before driving away.

Logan slumped against the officer holding him, hearing the man say something about stress and trauma to someone else. He managed to get control of his tears after a few minutes, sniffing and wiping his eyes on the inside of his sleeve. The detective was watching him pityingly, and Logan rolled his aching eyes. He didn't need this, these feelings. He had to focus.

The detective approached him cautiously, asking if he needed to leave to be with Patton sooner. Logan waved him off. They needed him here, he was the only one with insider expertise.

As he provided his opinions and knowledge, though, his thoughts were with a black van, speeding across a dusty desert to the nearest hospital.

-

Patton was still on oxygen, but it was no longer a tube down his throat. Just a small tube poking into his nostrils, and it looked like he would be off it very soon. He was going to need to meet with a psychiatrist, a physical therapist, and a nutritionist for at least the next six months, likely extending to a year. Patton was severely underweight and was having trouble keeping down food at the moment, but the doctors were all hopeful for a full recovery. In fact, they thought he would be able to go home within the week.

Logan had been busy prepping a space for him in the spare bedroom of his apartment. Remus had graciously offered to move to a sleeping bag on the living room floor—not that Logan was going to let him stay in the bed once Patton was home.

Remus eventually left the hospital room, muttering something about work. Logan continued to stare at his boy, constantly reassuring himself that Patton was indeed still there, and was not going to disappear.

They'd have to look into school, and Patton would be so confused. Of course, he did not need a higher education, but Logan had always had aspirations of any child of his becoming wildly successful. His love did not depend on this, though. As long as Patton was happy, he would be.

Still, if Patton desired to attend university. . . . Logan had homeschooled him as well as he could, and Patton could almost certainly attain a high school diploma. After that, what were Patton's interests? Helping people? He could become a teacher—it would be hard, but perhaps at a school for the deaf? Patton had always enjoyed his job working in the Haven kitchens, so perhaps a chef or a baker? Logan's mind spun as he thought of all the things Patton could do, a pleasure he'd always denied himself of in the past. Patton's world was open now, he could move up, he could do whatever he wanted. He was no longer restrained by the cult's strict set of rules and limited options.

Logan felt like a new father all over again—Patton's liberation seemed to have led to his rebirth. All the joys that had been missing from watching a baby grow up were now available, and Logan wiped away a tear as he imagined all the things his baby boy would grow up to be.

-

Patton woke with a start, pulling Logan out of his thoughts. Patton looked around frantically, only calming when his eyes fell on the purple-patched jacket laying at his feet. Before he could even ask for it, Logan had leaned over and handed it to him.

Patton pressed the jacket to his face, then froze. Logan waited patiently for him to bring it down, his veins filling with ice. Was there something wrong with it? Was Patton recalling something traumatic? What was wrong?

Patton sniffled, then let the jacket fall to his lap. His lip trembled as he clumsily signed, impeded by the IV in his hand, “Did you wash it?”

“Remus did.” Logan was still not sure what was wrong, but knew he did not want to have Patton upset with him already. “Is something wrong?”

Patton shook his head, but his face crumpled. It had to have something to do with the quality of the jacket before it was washed.

“Patton,” Logan tried to reason, “It smelled like that place.”

Patton shook his head more fiercely, tears spilling from his eyes. “It smelled like him!” he insisted. His hands shook as he signed.  “It was the only thing left! You took it away!”

The heart monitor beeped as Patton cried harder. Logan was frozen, not sure what to do. Should he hug him? Turn away and let him cry? He still felt that he was right to wash it—it had smelled horrible—but he felt inexplicably guilty. He didn't want to see his baby boy cry, especially over something he'd done.

A nurse bustled in, and Logan stepped back hurriedly. The nurse checked Patton's vitals, tried to get him to calm down; Patton sobbed into the jacket, which he had brought back to his face, as if to try and find vestiges of the old scent. Logan felt utterly helpless as another of the hospital staff entered. He tried to look anywhere but at Patton's watery, accusing eyes, his own eyes falling instead down. As they were kept trained on the floor, he saw in his peripheral vision Patton tracing something, over and over, into his own arm.

Somewhere, deep down, Logan's healing heart broke a tiny bit more.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pens @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides

[lesserfandomappreciation]

Hello! I saw you wrote for Toriko and nearly went wild. Can I request headcanons for Coco dating a blind, semi-feral chef who’s just not scared of him? Kinda like the “extrovert adopts introvert” thing. SFW and NSFW please! (Coco is a bottom and no one can convince me otherwise)

“Kinda”? This is absolutely an extrovert adopting an introvert. Always glad for Toriko!

Also this wound up being a partial scenario - the feral chef demanded a short story.

Coco and the blind, feral chef with 0 self-preservation skills (Toriko)

The 4 Heavenly Kings. Throughout the world of gourmet, there are no finer Gourmet Hunters to partner with. For years Chefs from around the world have been unable to do so. The walls around the 4 Heavenly Kings were tall and strong - those that didn’t live in self-imposed isolation were in jail. It was a tragedy Chefs had to accept - some partnering with lesser Gourmet Hunters in an attempt to cover the wound, others refusing partnership in it’s entirety. 

Then. Toriko, one of the Heavenly Kings, Gourmet Hunter Extraordinaire, self-isolated due to boredom. Befriends a chef. 

A world of opportunities opened. 

“There’s a thousand things I want to cook. Everyone wants to cook safe, little things - who the hell wants that?! We live in a world where there’s a mountain giant made of sugar rocks - why would you settle for some fruit when that’s right there?!” S/o threw hands up in the air, aggravation etched onto their face. “But there’s a problem - I’m a chef. Not a Hunter. Half the stuff I wanna cook is too dangerous to hunt on my own! Sure, it’s not done much to stop me so far but the very nice Government agent was pretty firm about me attempting to break in again instead of hiring a Gourmet Hunter would mean getting arrested, and like, there’s nothing in prison worth cooking?! Ya’ know?!”

Coco nodded along at their explanation with a blank look on his face, not getting any of this. At all. They’re going to spill the tea he poured for them if they keep gesturing so wildly. Should he stop them?

Frankly he had no idea how they got up here. Well, he does but he has no idea what logic was driving them. The sun usually woke him up first thing in the morning. A cheery chef grinning ear to ear, dirt under their nails from scaling up his mountain, demanding to speak to him about ‘a hell of a deal that you’re lucky to be getting’ was a new alarm clock he wasn’t aiming at getting. Especially one that went around knocking on self-imposed hermits minding their own business’ doors at 4:00 AM in the gods-damned morning. 

S/o slammed down more tea before clacking the cup against the table. “That got me to thinkin’ - every sissy Gourmet Hunters run for the damn hills when I mention some of the weaker stuff I wanna cook. The Government Agents insist I get one every time they send me a notice-” Coco closed his eyes, quietly offering a prayer of patience for those poor souls. “-everybody says they’re not strong enough. SO! Why not go for a Gourmet Hunter who is known for being stupid strong? It only makes sense! I got a ticket, got directions, realized you had no stairs -very rude by the way, at least make in handicap accessible you ass - and here I am! What do you think?”

“I think you certainly are a very determined spirit.” He smiled at them grinning at the compliment. Their passion was to be commended. As... strangely as it manifested in their actions. “You want to hire me as a Gourmet Hunter then?”

“As my Gourmet Hunter.”

He chuckled. “Ah. Of course. Your Gourmet Hunter.” He drummed his fingers against his cup. He let out a pensive hum. “Certainly a tempting offer. I imagine my brothers have received a similar offer?”

“Fuck no.” Coco caught his dropped cup. “Why the fuck would I ask for their help?”

Coco coughed to keep the tea inside. “Forg- guh, -forgive me, I choked on my tea,” why the ...what they said.. wouldn’t they ask for their help?! “Why would you not? They are equally talented hunters.” If not more so - said his inner voice. A poison Gourmet Hunter was not exactly popular - though he did have his fair share of requests, Coco’s abilities made him a difficult Gourmet Hunter to request. And the others (two of the others, anyways) were more amiable to the idea of requests from such a unique character as the one in front of him. “They would certainly be able to do the same as myself-”

“But they’re not YOU!” S/o’s hands slammed against the table, their face dangerously close when they leaned forward. “...I know I look like a mess of a chef. People act like I’m either too wild or too unable to take me seriously. I’ve never met anyone able to keep up with me. BUT!” They stuck out their hand, pointing at his chest. “You can! You’re amazing - you do amazing shit as if it was nothing, you’re humble, you understand how tough it is out here. And I know you can be more amazing when we work together.”

With a huff they leaned back, stretching out their hand to him. “I want to work with you. Got a problem with that?”

Coco blinked blankly at them. At the dirt-covered hands that had clawed their way to be there. And smiled. 

“No,” he said, clasping their hand with his own. “None at all. Where do we start?”

SFW

Coco is mostly in awe of their extroverted nature. This is a person who has likely faced extra challenges (due to both their blindness and their... unique approach to life) to get in their profession on top of the standard tests every chef must face and still, still keeps themselves entirely up-beat and unafraid of the world. They remind him a bit of a younger Toriko, only somehow more wild than him (what a frightening thought..). He can’t help but enjoy some of their crazier antics.

He does however have the foresight to pick them up by the back of the shirt in several instances. S/o is a feral kitten, and Coco is a resigned mother cat stuck getting them out of trouble.

This is a couple that talks a lot. S/o is certainly a talker just out of their very nature of being, happily ranting about new recipes, ideas, what they experienced that day, or even the must random question out there. Coco is just as much a talker, only with certain people. Once their connection is established they have a lot of long-winding conversations. Some of them get to be pretty deep! 

He does however wish they would save the deep questions for when there’s sunlight rather than 3 minutes after minutes when he wants to sleep.

“Do animals hunt Gourmet Hunters? Are there Gourmet Hunters Hunters? Hm? Coco why do I hear your sleeping bag being dragged away?”

Coco falls for them first. He already likes them from their straight-forward nature, but their continued (much-neeed) positivity in his life just cements that into romantic affection. He pines for a while about it - it’s up to s/o to figure out he likes them.

...Which granted is a little hard since he doesn’t act on it and when he talks about it he’s incredibly cryptic about his feelings. Good luck!

When they do get together, touch is something they’re going to have to be patient with. Because of his powers he is wary of letting his emotions get the best of him in the wrong time, so slowly adjusting to getting more affection is a requirement. 

Once he is used to it, any affection S/o has given him will be returned 10 fold. Not in public but they will be dragged into his lap when he’s reading something. 

NSFW

You’re not wrong about him being a bottom, though I will say he’s also a service top. He wants to please them so so so badly. 

He does however prefer for them to take the lead. Coco does not strike me as someone experienced. Makes sense, considering his abilities - I too wouldn’t be confident enough to even hold a hand, much less have sex, if my touch could wilt a mammoth. Having his partner on top of his, breathing into his ear sweet teasing words while their hands wander around his body. Gently dom him and he’s like puddy in one’s hand.

If his partner wants him on top, they can order him to please them by any means necessary - drive them crazy the way they know he can. Coco will be undone by this, and while he adores the gentleness of lovemaking, these orders will bring out a more rugged side of sexual appetite. 

Coco has a very low sex drive so it is rare he wants sex. That said, all his s/o has to do is tell him they “want something special” from him and he’s down to serve their needs. Just because he’s not hard for sex at that moment doesn’t mean his hands and tongue are unable to get the job done. 

Fingering master. His oral/blow techniques are fine, but his fingers- holy shit are they dexterous little bastards. There is no sight lovelier to Coco than his partner ordering him to keep going as his fingers make them lose their mind.