#there was going to be more to this (in which they finally actually bang) alas... not this time around.

[kimberbohwrites]

Prompts for a story? How about - Rolan, hot for older Tav (elf or whatever really), thinks she (AFAB but totally fine with whatever you feel) hates him but she's working up the courage to ask him out and bang the fuck out of him. He thinks she hates him cause she clams up when he's around - she finds him that sexy/intelligent/edible...

Well your patience has been rewarded my friends, I ended up smooshing these two prompts together and what they caused was thousands of words of hot smut. Please enjoy Chapter One, Chapter Two is almost done and ready. Thanks for your prompts @crowwolf, also shoutouts to @lemonsrosesandlavender for always encouraging me to dom that wizard.

Ma’am

Rolan has been pining for an older Tav for some time now. They both think they other hates them and when they realize their error, smut ensues.

Rated: Explicit, MDNI, Smut

Word Count: 2272

Chapter 1/2

READ ON AO3 (also continued below the line)

Please note: In this I’m writing as Rolan in his 30s and Tav in her 40s with a 10 year age difference.

If there was a spell he could do to reset time, Rolan would reset back to the very first moment he’d met you at the Druid grove. He’d leave a note in his pocket for his past self to not be a total ass when the beautiful woman comes to save the day and to go easy on the drink. But he had no such spell available and the damage was already done. 

She can’t stand you and you deserve it, he tells himself. It’s hopeless, why would an accomplished older woman like you be interested in him? 

Not that you were old, you were only 10 years older than him or so which as a human put you around middle aged if his judgement was correct. As a tiefling he understood that beauty really was only skin deep better than most, for what many believed ugly was actually beautiful, but feared. Not that it mattered with you — age had only made you more lovely. You were confident and graceful in nearly everything you did, the awkwardness of youth long behind you. He found himself too often wondering if that sureness extended to everything you did. Inevitably,  his mind would then wander to musings of your strong hands on his body, pressing him up against the nearest wall and putting your mouth to his. 

Get it together Rolan, he chided himself again and shaking his head like it would clear the vision from his mind. 

After all he’d done to you — the terrible impression he’d made, you were so shy with him that it was silly of him to think of you this way, you weren’t even friends. Every romantic interaction he’d known had been the same, they were both too shy and eventually things just fizzled out. There was never the passion or the fire that he wanted to feel. He felt like you would be different, he’d pined for you for months and months with no end in sight. If anything, his desire for you only grew stronger with the passage of time. But alas, every time he was near you seemed to focus on everything but him, always avoiding him.

With a final shake of his head, he rubbed his eyes and refocused his tired brain back on reality. It was late and near time to close up the shop for the day. Cal and Lia had long since set off to meet their friends at the tavern. He was grateful they were already gone so he wasn’t caught staring off contemplating his feelings for you, again. Daydreaming, his siblings had called it as they mocked him. 

Insulting really, wizards don’t daydream, he huffed to himself. 

The sound of the door gave him a start. Maybe it was his truly terrible luck or maybe his contemplations of you had simply plucked you from the weave by magic, he’d never know. Either way you strolled through the door of Sorcerous Sundries just a few minutes before close with bleary eyes and a nervous look. Upon spotting him you looked around to see if there was anyone else available, he tried to ignore that and focus on the papers in front of him that were very important. 

He could hear you sigh deeply as you turned back toward the door to leave, moving quietly like you might still pass unnoticed. 

“Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to look interested or offended by the fact you were leaving without so much as a word to him. 

“No, sorry,” You sniffed, your eyes looked puffy like you’d been crying. 

“Really?” 

“Fine… I was hoping to talk to Cal and Lia, I could use a friend is all,” 

“They’re gone for the night, the tavern I believe” 

“I see, well, thank you Rolan” 

You turned again to leave and he felt an anxious energy well up in him, he wanted to check on you but he didn’t know how to and you were leaving. It was now or never. He’d like to believe that’s why he said it. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?” He winced as soon as he heard the last word out of his mouth. 

“Ma’am?” You reacted immediately, turning back around. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just nerv—“ 

“As if today wasn’t bad enough, having someone walk out halfway through a date because I have the audacity to be the same age as them and not some young little thing, now I have to have YOU of all people calling me ma’am! Great!” 

Fresh tears streamed down your face and Rolan found himself wishing the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. 

“Gods! I’m sorry! This is why you hate me, I’m such an ass!” Rolan came out and around from behind the counter. He hesitatingly approached you, stopping several feet away. 

What happened next truly surprised him, you laughed, even with tears in your eyes. The way your laugh made him feel, he was sure in that moment that he’d do anything to make you laugh again.  

“I don’t hate you Rolan,” You sniffed and wiped the fresh tears away through a dazzling smile.

“What?! Of course you do, you and I never talk, because I was rude to you,” 

“Lots of people are rude to me Rolan, I don’t go around hating everyone for it” 

“Then why… why aren’t we friends?” 

You sigh and run a hand through your beautiful hair. Gods how he has to fight to not whimper at the thought of you running your hands through his hair, grabbing a handful as you guided his head to where you wanted him. 

“Because, Rolan…Gods… Why is this so hard, I faced down the chosen of Bhaal, okay” You take a few deep breaths like you’re bracing for something. 

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have pried,” He says trying to deescalate the situation, “I don’t want to upset you it’s just… I’m sorry about your date. I… I don’t know how any one could walk away from you…”

Your eyes snap up to his and he covers his mouth with his hand quickly like he can stop the words but it’s too late. 

“Rolan, you don’t mean that “ 

He dropped his hands to his sides stubbornly, drawing his gaze up to yours — he wasn’t exactly brave in this moment but he was unwilling to cower before you 

“I do,” 

“Rolan you don’t even like me,” You interject 

He is shocked at your words, him not like you? Wasn’t the opposite true, he sputters and starts before he manages to get out the words, 

“No — it’s YOU who doesn’t like ME!” 

His cheeks are flushed with anger and nerves, he can feel it. There is a little smile playing at the corner of your lips as he grows more exasperated by the moment. Are you actually enjoying how frustrated he is? He thinks as he reminds himself to stop looking at your lips in time to notice you’re staring at his mouth as well. It’s only been a split second since he spoke, but the moment feels like it’s drawn on for minutes. 

Suddenly time catches back up all at once as you close the distance and grab the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him hard. The rush that runs through him in the moment threatens to bring him to his knees and he actually has to fight his wobbling legs to stay standing. But as suddenly as it’s started it’s over and you pull away looking guilty. 

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have, I should have asked, I’m so sorry!”

There is a blush on your cheeks that he’s never seen before, like he might be affecting you the same way you affect him. The feeling it fills him with is something like desire and it runs through his body like electricity. 

“Don’t be s-“ He tries to tell you it’s okay but you are rushing to explain yourself and continue apologizing. 

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, it’s just so hard to think when you’re around but that is no excuse. That’s why I have just been avoiding you and I don’t know what came over me, I’m terribly sorry” 

He approaches you slowly as you ramble on your apologies. Gently he places a hand on your arm and with the other he takes your chin in hand gently drawing your face to his.

“It’s okay, I liked it,” He says softly, “and… and I wish you wouldn’t avoid me.” 

Your eyes widen in shock at his words and your mouth opens ever so slightly. His eyes dip down quickly at the sight, wanting to feel your lips on his once more. 

“But why? You’re so handsome and smart Rolan — there are so many girls your own age out there. Unless… do you just like older women?” 

You sound almost scandalized at the thought but a small grin gives you away. 

“No it’s nothing like that,” He grows nervous once more in your presence. Dropping his hands from you and clutching at his own arms nervously as his tail coils tightly around his leg for comfort. Feeling so close to being seen in this moment he is filled with dread and a heady anticipation. 

You pause to think for a moment as you take him in, clearly sizing him up. Your instincts always keen, always sharp, much to his chagrin.  

“Is it because you like when other people are in charge… Rolan?” 

You ask the question innocently enough but it’s far too late. His tail coils so tightly around him that he prays to any god available that you won’t notice. On his cheeks he can feel the burning sensation of the deepest blush rising and his gaze shifts to the ground. He wills himself to answer you. 

“I… I’ve never tried it before,” 

Your mannerism changes almost immediately at his answer, the smile that has only been forming in the corners of your mouths grows to a grin and your eyes light up with mischief and excitement. Gone are the tears that you’d come in here crying, your gaze is singularly focused on him now. In his anxiety-addled mind he feels the need to defend himself lest you to think he’s some sort of pervert. 

“It’s not just that… I also think you’re smart and beautiful and—“ 

“Shhh, It’s okay Rolan.” 

You approach him and gently place a finger over his lips. 

“Do you want me to be in charge?” You ask firmly but softly and then remove your finger only a bit so he can answer you. 

It’s unnecessary because at the moment he can’t speak. He just gives a slight nod in response while nervously looking away. 

“Good boy” you murmur while turning his head back to you and leaving a soft kiss on his lips. 

The response is immediate; a desperate whine from the back of his throat. It’s a sound he’s sure he’s never made before and he would wonder what the cause was if he wasn’t immediately half hard at your praise. You notice immediately, your smile growing even larger like a fox that’s cornered its prey. 

“Alright, I’ll be gentle with you. Your safe word is ‘Wulbren’ if you say that I will stop immediately, no questions asked. Understand?” 

You instruct him in between pressing soft kisses to his jaw and throat. His heart is thundering in his chest as all the blood in his body rushes down to his cock. He nods eagerly. 

“No, no, I need you to say it,” you say as you give a little nip right where his neck and shoulder meet, having pushed his robes aside. 

“Yes! Please! I understand, just please!” He blurts out all at once and he would be humiliated if he wasn’t the most turned on he’d ever been in his life. His knees wobble again under your touch. He is clay ready to be molded in your hands. 

You kiss him hard on the lips in reward and he whimpers in to the kiss, feeling himself get walked backward in the process. 

Before too long his back finds a column near the counter at the Sundries and he remembers all at once where he is. His hand shoots out quickly to cast arcane lock on the front doors of the shop, making sure that not a single soul can interrupt a moment he had dreamt about for some time. 

You smile at the spell and then press him flush against the column. The air nearly crackles with anticipation he feels as you survey him like a prize. That unmistakable authority about you that has always attracted him is returned and he is eager to be the subject of it. 

He keeps trying to lean forward to kiss you but you keep him firm against the column. Now he’s desperate, nearly driven mad with need. 

“Please,” he whines.

You shush him again and he tries not to whine again in response. 

“I think you should be more respectful when addressing me… you can call me…” 

You trail off to think and then that glint of mischief returns in your eyes. 

“You can call me ‘Ma’am’” 

Rolan can’t help but blush in embarrassment at the reminder of his own mistake. He nods quickly. 

“Yes ma’am” 

“Good boy” 

Rolan groans again, now he’s so hard it’s become almost painful. 

“Now, let’s take this upstairs,” You say sweetly as you brush a lock of hair behind one of his ears. His head tilts into your touch almost instinctively. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thanks for the tag @busy-baker 😁

Excerpt from chapter 16 of “Heart of the Weave” on AO3:

After about an hour of Gale and I enjoying each other’s company, we hear baby Jenevelle wake up from her nap. Rather than being fussy, she seems happy and full of life. Gale gets her a warm bottle ready while I get her dressed and ready to hang out with Karlach. I hand her to Gale so he can feed her while I finish getting ready for our outing tonight. I put on my maroon dress with gold braces on my arms, feeling dapper and delicate, actually rather happy with how I look tonight. My dark hair is pinned up, and I decide to actually have my bangs pushed out of my face for once.

I’m finally done getting ready and walk into the baby’s room, noticing Gale burping her and snuggling her against his chest. He is speaking to her in such a soft voice.

“Your mother is something special to me,” he murmurs. “Oh, how I’m glad I chose her. How I fell for her. How she swayed me away from trying to please Mystra. One day, when you’re much older, I’m sure you’ll find that person. When you do, never let them go. You’ll know.” He kisses her forehead as she stares up at him with sincere eyes. “I am so glad we have you. I am so happy to be your father.” I smile as I watch them both, and notice him stand up with her in his arms. He turns around, noticing me standing by the door. He blushes, then stares at his feet for a moment.

“Hi,” I say, still smiling at him.

“Oh, you heard me. Well, I meant what I said, by the way.” I laugh lightly, approaching him with a soft kiss on his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Why thank you. Your words… They make me so happy. Thank you.” A sudden loud knock at the front door startles the shit out of me, which means Karlach has arrived. Leave it to me to be easily spooked, even when I knew it was going to happen. We walk to the living area to open the door and not only is Karlach there, but so is Shadowheart and Astarion. This could make for a rather interesting evening.

“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Where’s Wyll?’ He went to visit with his father, so it’s just us three. Yeah!” Karlach says, trying to contain her voice volume. I roll my eyes and smile. “I hope that’s alright. Sorry for the unexpected visitors.”

“I’m not opposed at all, I’m just curious why all three of you are here. Like I said, I don’t mind,” Gale says. “Just don’t destroy the tower and keep the baby safe at all costs. Which I imagine you’ll do.”

“Well, Astarion and I… We’re going to adopt and could use the practice,” Shadowheart chimes in. What? They’re together? I think another important question would be: Since when did Astarion want children?

“Emmy, you look just as surprised as I do. I didn’t even know these fuckers were together until a couple hours ago when I went to snatch them from their house.” I can’t help but chuckle at Karlach’s words, but I’m also glad I’m not the only one in shock at this news. We knew Shadowheart was planning on adopting, but had no idea her and Astarion were even together. They’re good at keeping situations private, I’ll give them that.

“That’s so exciting! Wow! Congrats, you two. I’d have more input but alas I’m at a loss for words. In a good way,” I mention.

“Completely understandable,” Shadowheart says with her soft voice.

[boba-at-323]

It was raining… 

You were all alone on a cold December evening in the streets of Paris with only your camera to accompany you.

Why did I even come here alone? You thought to yourself, shuddering under the pouring rain

Cursing at yourself for all the decisions you’ve ever made, you sigh as you look around for some sort of shelter to protect you from the rain. This was the point where you started to re-evaluate your choices. Each time you made a decision for yourself, this was usually how it ended up. The biggest problem, however, was that you had forgotten to charge your phone the other night. Otherwise, you would’ve called an Uber or your friends who had been staying at the same hotel to come get you. No one likes to get soaked to the bone in such rainy weather.

When the bus stop came into your view, you dashed towards it, covering your head with your arms before you got even more drenched than you were. Alas, the bus stop was an old one which had a broken roof, so sitting there wasn’t of much help, but it was better than standing under the open sky like some fool.

Because of the rain, hardly anyone was to be seen. Your hopes had started to fade away when the streets got emptier by every passing second and that had started to scare you. On top of that, the rain started to pour heavier, like someone was emptying buckets from the sky. The cold along with your drenched outfit made you very sure that you were going to catch a cold anytime soon. Hopelessness overcoming you, you closed your eyes and sat on the freezing, wet bench of the bus stop.

Your train of depressing thoughts came to a sudden halt as it miraculously stopped raining. But how can you still hear it if it had stopped? 

You opened your eyes to a black umbrella hovering over your head. 

“Are you okay, miss?" a voice asked. 

As your eyes trailed to find the owner of the umbrella, there stood in front of you the most handsome stranger you had seen in... Well, probably your whole life. His eyes were sparkling with his bangs covering them slightly. The concern on his face for the stranger he had just met was clearly visible. After all, no sane person would be sitting in an abandoned bus stop in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Oh— yeah I'm fine!" You replied to him in an instant. 

"You don’t seem fine though." He was right.

"I was waiting for a taxi. My phone’s battery had died out too, so I left it behind at my hotel. Plus, I didn't bring my umbrella even though I should’ve listened to the weather lady." You sighed, embarrassed about how stupid you might be sounding right now.

He chuckled, "I see… Happens to the best of us. Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll stay here with you till a Taxi comes over."

“Oh no you really don’t have to! I’m sure you have business to tend to.” You told him, but you really hoped he would because anything was better than being alone in such gloomy weather.

“No, actually,” he smiled at you, “and besides, I insist.”

"O-Oh. Thank you kind sir.” A feeling of relief took over your body. Angels really are sent to Earth to help the miserable.

As he sat beside, awkward silence took over for quite a while. You were still thinking about how stupid you were to ignore what the weather forecast had said, even if the sky had been clear earlier. If you had listened, you might have been in your hotel by now, reading some book or having a warm cup of tea and actually enjoying the rain, rather than loathing it by getting drenched in the middle of nowhere all alone.

"So… um, May I ask your name?" He finally broke the silence, bringing you back to the real world.

"Oh, I’m y/n… l/n y/n. I didn’t quite catch yours." 

"It’s Lee Chittaphon, but you can call me Ten, that’s just what everyone calls me!”

Chittaphon, you thought to yourself. Such a unique name…

“I don’t think you’re from here. Right?” He questioned.

“Quite correct,” you stated, “I was on tour with my friend group. I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, it’s such a lovely city!”

“Then you must have some tour guide? What about them?”

A bitter chuckle left your mouth, “I thought I should stay behind to take some pictures of the places I’ve wanted to visit, but I didn’t realise that I had taken way too long. Of course, the typical drama scene was to happen with me out of the 30 people in our tour group. And then, well… Here I am”

“I’m sorry that happened,” He sympathised, “But hey it’s okay! Everything happens for the better. Maybe destiny had planned something else for you.”

“Oh really? I, for one, don’t see any good in this situation.” You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe you were destined to meet me?” He joked as he laughed.

But what he didn’t know was how that specific question made you feel. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Something about him being there was very… comforting. From his reassuring smile to his attractive, sweet voice, everything about him made you calm down bit by bit. He was so polite and gentle, speaking in such a soft tone. He really did make you forget your worries for a while.

Both of you didn’t realise how fast time flew by as you continued sharing past experiences and exchanging.  

"Hey, a taxi is here!" Ten interrupted as he signaled it to stop. 

"O-oh— yeah,” You say half-heartedly.

Moments ago you were trying to escape from this misery of a day, and here you were now wanting to spend more time with Ten, you were actually enjoying his company a lot more than you had expected.

“I guess I'll get going," your tone hinted sorrow, “Thank you once again for taking out your time for me. I’ll never forget your kindness.”

"Anytime, y/n." He beamed at you.

You reluctantly got into the taxi, but before you got to close the door, he called out to you. 

"Hey!! I almost forgot to ask!” There was a pink tint dusted on his cheeks. It could’ve been either because of the cold or his next step. 

"May I have your number?"

Title : A Stranger in the rain || Word count: 1.85K || Genre: Fluff, Angst || Pairing: Ten x Reader (I didn't notice when I wrote it but I dont think it's specifically female reader)

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

Was gonna share this yesterday before I got hit with the "five chapters remaining news" so since we're either gonna go out with a bang for good or possibly get a sequel (not too confident but hey Dr. Stone, CSM and Naruto are a thing who knows), might as well-

I get that lightning is more catching to the eye aesthetically-wise but I've been struck with an idea of OFA's embers/reset factory mode taking the shape of actual fire if Izuku used it, and here's my reasons why:

Retroactive symbolism; lightning-shaped OFA could be interpreted as instability, lightning in a water cup (which would fit, considering water is a constant motif in Izuku's story); or it's something about to break him, since OFA did look like Lichtenberg Figures. Plus, look at the scars he had, it was already cracking.

Izuku having green flames would've been visually combining the Quirks he could've been born with if life was kinder to him; flames coming out of him and surrounding his body, but not actually touching it; Inko's weak telekineses and Hisashi's flames. Bonus if it pulses to the beat of his heart.

A more obvious one: callback to Kamino; Toshinori trying to keep the embers going vs. Izuku igniting sparks into a flame. Each panel Toshinori looks up at the future and sees Izuku, means Izuku already became the flame.

This one's very out there: OFA is represented by stars. Stars look like they're on fire, but it isn't. Fire, with proper, higher heat, can be ionized to turn into plasma, matter found in stars and (partially ionized) lightning. It's a stretch, but it wouldn't be too out there.

Something something supernova is the result of a star's last evolutionary state which collapses the original white dwarf into either a neutral star or a black hole, or is destroyed leaving behind a nebula. And when it does, it's a giant explosion. You know. Heroes: Rising. Chapter 362. Handhold. Plus OFA is reactionary to emotions especially in regards to him, and Izuku is this close to entering in collapse. (call it cringe the power of love but farfetched it is not.)

When Izuku went 100% his eyes were reminiscent of a Wiil-o'-the-Wisp, you know, that light/fire representing goals and hopes or sinister and dangerous thing in literature. Japan has their mythological take on it; hitodama, a ball of flame representing a human soul. So, if we refer Quirks as the actual meaning of Kosei; Individuality, and recall Izuku has self worth issues tied to the fact he wasn't born with an Individuality and he doesn't consider OFA as his Quirk but rather a borrowed power/gift, then it'd make sense the time he does, it'd take the shape of his soul, his individuality.

Anyways these are my reasonings for OFA's embers or reset mode taking the shape of flames instead of lightning, if Izuku ever got it back or used his embers at anytime.

Not that I dislike the lightning, but imagine if he finally realized having all those Quirks or not wouldn't mattered because at the end of the day he was still a hero in his own rights, and it'd turn into something he can call his own and still acknowledge he was helped by people believing in him. Alas, it is what it is, I suppose.

[kanouseis]

Top 5 Kamen Riders! (adaptations included)

okay so im gonna do this both ways as in favorite riders the shows and favorite riders the characters

for shows:

1. kamen rider w (wbk, my forever beloved, i dont think this will stop being my favorite soon. the fucking detective show. DUB E X crime and the city. fucking found family. hidari shotaro MY GUY. so much insanity just look at my header on here. phillip :')))) i have so many feelings and im forcing myself to stop here. ryu voice Dont Ask Me Questions.)

2. kamen rider ex aid (my first rider and yknow you dont forget your first rider. the gamer doctors are my beloved. the suits are so cool (taddle legacy!!!) kiriya is here AND HANAYA TAIGA. WHY IS HE LIKE THIS. taihii the most insane ship dynamic ever. POPPY MY BELOVED <33333 the character songs are So Good. i like real game and the taddle legacy theme a normal amount. EXCITE EXCITE ALL I GOTTA DO IS LIVE ON)

3. kamen rider ghost (big part of this is takeru which ill get to later. but goood theres so much good in this show. warera omou yue ni warera ari!!!! its literally so fun. and the messages are so good!!! life is beautiful and i never want to die. makoala and takekari marriages happened and nothing else is canon. THE BELT NOISE THE BELT NOISES. mugen ghost is my fav final form ever. that one henshin scene from the summer movie kills me. keep going go go go go go go gotta ghost!!!!!)

4. everything else ive watched so ooo and revice (ooo: i need to rewatch this one actually bc it made me feel so much but then i watched w next so yeah. ANKHEIJI LEGENDARY GAY OF ALL TIME. i love all the characters so so so fucking much but especially eiji this fucking guy. the greeed my beloved... the insert songs!!! so many times you can find me singing SONO SHUNKAN NOMIKOMARERU DAAKU SAIDO NO KIKEN NA YOUKUBO. so yeah you count the medals one two and three anything goes life goes on coming up ooo :')) (revice: free theraphy show fr fr. like just good vibes all around. loved this one so much. there is tragedy but we prevail. the music is fucking amazing i have listened to mirage mirror 73 times within a single month of discovering it. the suits!!! daiji and ikki and sakura the siblings ever. hana makes me emotional and also hanasaku oh my god heated drama between women. deep drop danger kamen rider demons INSANE belt noises in general. THE THEMES IN THIS SHOW YES I WILL LOVE MYSELF.)

and im not ranking gaim & gotchard since i havent finished them

now for rider characters:

1. shotaro/kamen rider w & kamen rider joker (the fucking guy ever. god. i like him so much its a little distressing. hes my best friend. i want to dress like him sort of unironically. i am feverishly waiting for my joker memory to arrive. HIS BACKSTORY MAKES ME SO SAD. LIKE I CAN EMPATHISE. SO MUCH. and his dynamic with phillip akiko ryu i :'))) the found family ever. yeah. i often rewatch w ep49 just for the joker scenes. i have his birthday as per my headcanon in my calendar. i am not normal)

2. taiga/kamen rider snipe (so. hes my type of character so fucking much. broken sad lonely fucker of a guy. i want to kill i also want to hug him and i want to make him kiss hiiro. saving people to save yourself,,,,, yeah. NICO TAIGA THE SIBLINGS EVER. babang bang bang babang bang shooting uh. his fucking emo fringe neon suit. the dog tags he wears for no reason. THE SNIPE PREQUELLLLL im gonna stop here before it derails but oh my fucking lord)

3. takeru/kamen rider ghost (YEAH SO. tied for my fav main rider with eiji. takeru is incredibly important to me if he werent the same age as my brother id call him son but alas. i want a hug from him i think it would fix me. his fucking journey as a character..... he makes me sad but like happy sad. like i appreciate life more when im sad about him. his scenes in the pacman movie literally kill me. you always gotta keep going chasing after life its the only way you can live. go go go ghost [i start crying uncontrollably])

4. daiji/kamen rider live (bonded with this guy 6 episodes into revice its insane. this character is insane. i need to hug him. his fucking character song is therapy for me. KAGERO YOU FUCKING EMO EBOY. daijis vcinema is so good and i felt so much. i love the evililtylive suit despite the stupid name. i just love daiji in general and i dont ever think about how his actor is the same age as me <3)

5. eiji/kamen rider ooo (MY GUY MY GUY MY GUUUUUUY. i need to give him a hug. hes been through so much. but he still. he still is Like this. like what the fuck genuinely. the scene from ep30 is in my head constantly. tied for my fav main rider with takeru bc god does eiji make me feel things. but this is so fucking long already if you need to hear me cry about him send me an ask bc. ohmygod. HINO FUCKING EIJI. i dont Ever think about him in zi-o. and ooo 10th is not real)

[ignoringdummiesfordummies]

Zeros And Ones

A reupload of a fic created for @askdarksidelogan, based on a prompt for their first 1,000 followers... yeah, read mores break if you delete the original post, and we changed our sanders sides blog a long time ago.

Ships: Janus/Remus, oblivious!Logan/Janus/Remus

-----

"Close your eyes," Deceit whispered sweetly before cupping his hands over Logan's eyes, "What do you see?"

Logan wished he could respond with something mystical such as a foggy forest or all of the dark sides together and happy.

But it wasn't...

"Nothing."

-----

Logan had been so busy lately.

For the most part, it almost seemed as if he’d been trying to play catch up over missed time when he’d been... ‘visiting’ the others. Which, in the long run, hadn’t actually taken that long. He’d been asleep for most of it. And yet here he was, throwing himself headfirst into his experiments and data, into sorting and reorganizing his entire room, even going so far as to rebuild his body-  almost as if he’d he’d been grounding himself in the present, as if he was attempting to assure himself that he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

Janus could help with that. New form. new start. New chance at... them? Possibly? Janus could dream, at least.

Still, when Janus caught Logan’s arm when the second finally stepped foot outside his room, mid-sigh as he’d stretched metal joints and pushed his goggles up into his mess of- was that hair? Janus had given him quite the shock, which was only partly literal, as he half-led and half-dragged the logi- Logan down the hall. Thankfully, Logan trusted him enough not to resist the guidance.

(Also, he took the chance to glance back at Logan’s head and take a closer look at the metal atop his head- at a closer inspection, it appeared to be made of of metal strips- not quite thin enough to be strands, but from afar appeared as one big chunk of metal atop his head. Huh.)

“Deceit.” Logan said, after a few moments of utter silence as his CPU caught up on what was happening. He’d been overworking it lately, and needed a break before he overheated or shut down. “I didn’t see you there. Where are we... do you need something?” he asked, a notable degree of confusion leaking into his voice as he was lead now-familiar halls. If he was guessing right, they were headed towards-

“We’ve got a surprise for you.” Deceit said, a smug smile settling on his lips as he was deliberately cryptic. Not that there were many other Sides he could be referring to as ‘we’. “And alas, we need you there for it too work.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but his ever-present smile came naturally to him, in the moment. His hunch, as it turned out, proved to be correct when Deceit lead him to the doors to Remus’s room- they were never the same twice, and today they were a pair of grand blackwood doors, with intricate wrought iron swirls built across the front. Deceit had barely placed his hand upon one when they both swung open, banging against the inside of the room and occupied by a strong breeze that smelt vaguely of rotting fish.

Ah, Remus.

Turning off his olfaction, Logan stepped into the room on his own accord, now side by side with Deceit. Despite the the aesthetics of the door, the inside of Remus’s room looked like someone had flooded Thomas’s apartment and filled it with all manor of deep sea creepy-crawlies. A handful of yeti crabs scurried away when they entered, disturbing the giant tube worms growing from the corners of the room and sending a gulper eel zig-zaging towards the stairs. A long tentacle- bigger than Logan was, as a matter of fact, neon green and black, lashed out from the darkness from atop the stairs and snatched the eel, pulling it back towards where Logan could catch a glimpse of jagged teeth. Logan made a note to ask Remus if he could run some experiments in his room, in the near future.

Speaking of which- Remus was waiting in the center of his room, sitting cross-legged atop a pillow that seemed oddly out of place amongst the rest of his room. He was able to tell that Remus was smiling at him, despite the fact that there was currently a dumbo octopus sitting on his head, obscuring the upper half of his face. Deceit made his way over to a second pillow, sitting atop it, than patted the ground next to him, where a third pillow awaited.

Logan walked across the room- which was an experience in itself, as his vision was saying he was underwater, but the sensors built along his body were telling him he was touching air. Nether Deceit nor Remus seemed to need to breathe, nor was Logan short-circuiting from all the water. So, win-win all around.

Once Logan finally had sat down and settled, Remus peeled the octopus off his head and chucked it behind him, where it swam off, as Remus clapped his hands excitedly. “Ready?” Remus asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye that Logan had been seeing alot of, lately.

“You still haven't told me what’s going on.” Logan said, in way of an answer.

“Right.” Deceit said, laughing slightly to himself. “Why don’t I go first and demonstrate?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction of the duke. Before getting any response, Deceit closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, seemingly losing himself in some thought. And around them, the room began to change.

The water was washed away, replaced by admittedly somewhat stuffy air and a warmth that settled onto his shoulders. The dark corners from before were replaced by dim lightening, illuminating dark oak walls, aided by the stone fireplace off to one side of the room. More furniture scattered along the walls- a bookshelf here, a desk there, what looked to be a pile of flat rocks off in one corner of the room. He noted Janus and Remus both taking a deep breath, and after hesitating only a few moments, turned his olfaction back onto hit with the scents of nutmeg and pinaceae pinus and ginger. He didn’t realize Deceit was the sentimental type.

Speaking of which, Deceit reopened his eyes and sighed contently, letting himself flop backwards onto a now carpeted floor. While Deceit may not have been actually cold-blooded, but he still seemed to prefer the warmth of the room to the alternative. Thankfully, he wasn’t real, or the thick layers of clothing he wore would have begun to run him into the risk of heat stroke.

“Wadda ya think?” Remus asked, gesturing around them. “Wanna give it a try?”

“You want me to...” Logan paused, glancing around the room once again. It was... nice. Very much suited for Deceit’s tastes. “Redecorate your room?”

Remus giggled, shaking his head, but it was Deceit who clarified from his spot on the floor. “Remus is lending us his portion of the Imagination.” he explained, pushing himself himself up onto his elbows to send a grin Logan’s way. “You can make- well. Anything.”

Ah.

Logan cast another glance around the room, his thoughts faltering for a moment or two as he tried to picture something that he’d want. Briefly, he was reminded of an old study- if you put a hundred choices in front of someone, of... anything, really, let’s say soap, they’d get overwhelmed by the choices and be unable to make any. Most often they’d take the first brand they recognized and stick with it, even if there were potentially better brands out there.

“Maybe if you closed your eyes, it could help?” Remus suggested, breaking Logan out of his thoughts. After looking at Remus blankly for a few moments, Logan raised a hand to his face and waved it back and forth. “Ah, right.” Remus said, catching on after a few moments. “No eyelids. Wanna burrow mine?”

“That won’t be necessary, Remus.” Deceit said, before Remus could finish reaching towards his eyes. Deceit stood up, crossed the few steps separating him from Logan, and knelt behind him. Placing his hands on Logan’s shoulders, he leaned forward slightly so that Logan knew he was there. “Okay,” Deceit began, his voice barley a whisper, drifting between the two of them and landing gently within Logan’s hearing. He cupped his hands over Logan’s eyes, blocking out the light ad the image of Remus watching him with a nervous grin. “Close your eyes. What do you see?"

Logan wished he could respond with something mystical such as a foggy forest or all of the dark sides together and happy. He wished he could conjure up imagery of a gentle fog that licked at their heels and swirled around them, or the sounds of life- crickets or owls or ravens singing from within the canopy of a forest. He could feel Remus’s contention to the imagination at his fingertips, ready and waiting to be called upon. He wished he could envision the three of them, happy, laughing, smiling, together-

He wished he could see a lot of things.

But it wasn’t...

“Nothing. The inside of your hands.” Logan answered.

Deceit shushed him gently. “Oh, hush. I know you’re more creative than that, darling. I’ve seen the things you come up with in that lab of yours. How about this, to start with- why not imagine yourself a jar of Crofters?”

Crofters. Jam. Red. Blood.

Logan hated word association games.

Logan’s hands tightened, ever so slightly, as he clamped down on the thoughts and refused to allow them outside his head. Half-formed, hazy flashes, hitting, tearing, blood spilling from his touch. Weak organic tissue under the pressure of metal and steel, an anger that rolled deep in his gut and roared in his head. Making them pay- for- for-

(If Logan’s eyes changed color and back again, nobody could tell from behind Deceit’s hands).

He was so angry, and he didn’t know why. He was safe. He was home. He was allowed to be here. Nobody could touch him. Nobody could hurt him, they couldn’t keep ignoring him if he ignored their voices in his head, chipping away in the back of his head, reminding him of a thousand little jabs he was never admit got under his skin-

He loved them. He wanted to hurt them. Why couldn’t he just move on-

“Nothing?” Remus asked.

“Nothing.” Logan echoed, his voice coming out a little sharper than intended, as he waved Deceit’s hands away. “I... I think I need to rest. I have been online for far too continuous a time without a proper break.”

Logan didn’t allow himself to look back as he stood and swept past Deceit, out the doors and back the doors, his footsteps falling heavier and heavier. Then he was running, his internal fans working overtime to bring air into his system, but he wasn’t overheating, he didn’t need, he didn’t- he needed-

Bursting into his room, Logan smashed the first glass object he could get his hands on, sending shards scattering across the floor like a thousand twinkling stars.

[adultswim2021]

Tim & Eric Nite Live #12: “Return of the Eric” | March 4, 2008 | S01E12

What turned out to be the final episode of Tim & Eric Nite Live (and indeed it’s announced as the season finale despite being promised a March 11 installment) ends on a high note. But, it also unfortunately ends on a cliffhanger that can’t be resolved. 

This one begins like episode 11, with a distraught Tim with a somber apology. Tim can’t keep up the facade for long; he’s pretending that Eric and him are still estranged, but his in-character bad acting betrays him. He begins laughing and announces that Eric is back! Eric enters with a parade procession in his honor with various members of Tim & Eric’s crew of misfits escorting him. Thank goodness! We get the opening sequence one last time, and it’s a good one: the celebrity AND musical guests are announced as Lindsay Lohan, and we get to see two different pictures of her, which is good because she’s maybe one of the hottest women to ever be alive. You gotta see these pics, TRUST ME.

Tim & Eric interview Dr. Linda, played by A.D. Miles, a therapist who helped Tim & Eric get back together through scream therapy. Dr. Linda has a lot of aggression bubbling under the surface. He gets increasingly annoyed when David Liebe Hart constantly interrupts with nonsense. Tim & Eric try to excuse the doctor so they can move onto other things and he refuses to leave, insisting that Tim & Eric require more work to be done. Somebody eventually removes him physically while DLH repeats “it’s over Grover, but thanks for helpin’!” Which is maybe one of the single most quotable lines from him. 

In the spirit of compromise, Eric is allowed to show a video he prepared. It turns out to be the gorilla video he showed us in episode 10, with cartoon noises and audience laughter added to it. We get a little picture-in-picture of Tim and Eric’s reactions to the video. Eric is having a ball. Tim can’t hide his disdain. Before going into the next segment, Tim & Eric announce that later in the show there’s going to be a “fake quake”, where the crew pretend to be in an earthquake. DLH gets out of his seat to walk in front of them and perform his fake quake shake in a clearly unplanned moment. It’s insane how much attention this guy needs. 

Coming up next is Pound for Pound with DJ Douggpound going up against a mustachioed comedian. The winner of this particular joke-off is a spin-off program on Super Deluxe. The Judges are asked to vote by either using their hands to make a mustache (to vote for the other dude) or a pair of glasses (to vote for Douggpound). Douggpound going on his extended DJ sound drop riff after delivering a mediocre joke is really funny, with the other comic sorta furrowing his brow, not sure what to make of it. Douggpound wins, and he receives his own show!!! He’s going to call it The Poundcast!!!

Just as the winner is announced, the fake quake starts. Everyone’s shaking and sliding around, but then the lights go out. We hear a gunshot. As the lights come on, we already hear DLH ruining the bit by asking if we need an “emergency prayer” and getting shushed. He won’t take the hint the first time, and actually starts banging this drum again, ruining the moment. What moment? Richard Dunn is lying dead on the ground, having been shot. There’s tense music, and shots of each cast member looking shocked. We segue into a pre-produced ending video of Richard Dunn talking to the camera, announcing that he’s been shot, inviting the viewers to ponder “who Dunn it” and that the culprit would be revealed next season. Alas, there was no next season. Nite Live’s own Richard Dunn’s murder would go unavenged, and the real-life Richard Dunn would pass away in 2010. 

This concludes my coverage of Tim & Eric Nite Live. This is a great episode, and it’s good that the show roughly maintained its formula of planned-chaos and actual-train-wreck. I forgot to talk about this with the previous week’s episode, which would have been good because it was so gosh darn short; but here it goes: I’ve pointed out that this show shares DNA with On Cinema, especially in Tim playing a arrogantly buffoonish anger-prone host with a put-upon co-host. Eric isn’t too much of a Gregg, but I always had this mildly embarrassing idea about this show, which I’m going to describe in the next paragraph. 

I’m a middle-aged man. I should be using my mind to imagine things like what it would be like to save money for retirement or plan for what will certainly be a diabetes-filled future, or save up for a gun for when the climate apocalypse happens and I can’t afford to move underground. But instead, I think of stuff like this: It’s mostly been stated that Tim Heidecker, the On Cinema character, is an alternate-reality Tim that never got into comedy. In my head-canon; Tim DID perform comedy with Eric Wareheim, but it all fell apart with Tim & Eric Nite Live. Episode 11 represents a branching timeline; one where Tim either reconciles with Eric (which results in this episode), or doesn’t, so this episode never happens and Tim goes onto a new racket and becomes his On Cinema self.

I’m not steeped in the On Cinema lore enough to know if they ever expressed backstory that would negate this idea. Indeed, it does make MORE sense if Tim Heidecker’s On Cinema persona never made Tim & Eric Awesome Show seasons one & two. I also wouldn’t want this to be adopted into future On Cinema storylines at all. But to me it makes enough sense, and I like the “alternate history” angle, personally. But it’s also really embarrassing to have fan theories about this shit.

EPHEMERA CORNER

The Poundcast: In the Mix (2008)

This debuted a day after this aired, so obviously the fix was in for Douggpound’s joke-off. Hey! Did you know that this is on YouTube? It looks like at one point it was made available through Super Deluxe when they attempted to revive themselves, and it’s labeled a “Super Deluxe Classic”. Anyway, this is all 5 or 6 episodes of Douggpound’s very own show. I think he’d do a better, funnier version of this later on, but I’m not sure I’ll cover all that. Nite Live is already an off-Adult Swim spin-off, and this is a spin-off of that, sorta. 

I went through the trouble of finding the dates and times these were originally uploaded to the Super Deluxe website. The sixth installment might’ve been a standalone video or originally unaired or something, but I couldn’t find it on the series page on the webcrawled version of Super Deluxe I looked at. But here’s a guide as best as I can cobble together: 

"Meddlers" (March 5, 2008 - 8:46AM)

"I Don't Get It" (March 12, 2008 - 8:50AM)

"M.C. World" (April 15, 2008 - 8:53AM)

"Sponsor Me Skate Video" (April 22, 2008 - 8:51AM)

"No" (April 30, 2008 - 9:12AM)

“D.J. Douggpound: The Unauthorized Love Tape” (Unknown; 2008?)

[wroteonedad]

Sims 2 DS Is GOATED

Just before Christmas, I decided to purchase a 2DS. A pink one to be exact, I've been looking for one in pink for what felt like the longest time. I thought most of the other colour combinations of the 2DS weren't cute, but the pink one??? Slay. I bought it for two reasons. The first reason being my beloved DSi that I've had for 12 years finally decided to pass away and never turn on again and secondly because I never got to play the 3D games that came out because I never had the model. This console was on Facebook Marketplace for a mere £30 and so I bought it. Though it was a little embarrassing because I sent my grandparents to collect it for me and I got a message from the lady that said 'I hope your daughter uses it more than mine.' It's me, I am the daughter. But since I got the 2DS, I've been spending some time playing my old DS games, and I can't get over how good Sims 2 actually was. The card stopped reading in my DSi and I thought that meant I was going to have to go and buy another game, but thankfully it was just the console itself.

Here's how the story of Sims 2 DS goes because it's nothing like the life simulation game we're used to on PC and other consoles. Your car breaks down in this dead end village, you run a few errands and suddenly you find out the old hotel manager has conveniently just walked out and alas you are left to run this hotel and get to know the people of Strangetown.

After you've built a casino aka the first room you need in your hotel and killed Emperor Xizzle by spraying water on him, you start earning money to build more rooms in your hotel. These include lounges to go DJ mode, a gym where you can tan until you become a different race ??? the art gallery where you can paint to your hearts content and learn whether or not your work is garbage or if you've just created your magnum opus. My personal favourite room has to be the secret warehouse purely on the grounds that you walk into there and Bigfoot is living in there. All you need to do is feed my man every day until he becomes your best friend and then he leaves the basement and sort of just resides somewhere in your hotel until the end of time. The entire hotel is like a giant tardis, the size of this hotel from the inside simply is not correct if you are looking at it from the outside.

Some of the music is really creepy. I remember being scared to leave my hotel to defeat the aliens in the square just because of the alien song that plays and how the game drops to 2 framerates per second. Seriously. This was the same with the goons and the sudden robot invasions that would happen. You couldn't make up how insane this game was. I want to know what the game developers were on when they created this game and the narrative because I want what they're having. The game almost felt creepy and eerie. How was the town full of NPCs but how did the town look empty the whole time? Why was I completing a mission for a creepy mobster who wanted me to plant a bomb in the town hall? And why can you dig up alien mummies in the desert and then perform surgeries on them in your government base room that is just placed randomly in the basement of your hotel? To add to this, how did this small little town come to light when it is literally smack bang in the middle of this endless desert, and people never leave. You check them into your hotel, they check out say 2 days later and then you come back to your hotel lobby to find that they are there all over again. I can't say I blame these Sims for going insane, pissing on the floor and wallowing in pity all the time, I would be too if that was real. Your Sim also runs off a sanity meter which runs down depending on environment and needs. If this sanity bar is empty then your Sim seems to have a nervous breakdown and ends up waking up in the manager's suite in a vegetative state. They would hobble around for a little bit before going back to normal again.

Let's discuss notable characters, briefly and efferently.

Emperor Xizzle. This little alien that lives somewhere deep in the desert wants to take over the hotel, who knows why. He likes to invade the town square and sometimes will kidnap your Sim. All in all a weird guy.

Lord Mole. I'm in the middle of replaying the game at the moment and so I don't quite remember his full story, but I really wish that he would stop chewing at my powerlines. Prior to his storyline I feel like this guy probably lived in the walls.

Ava Cadavra. Thanks to this little lady, I had Prime Heifer in my basement and half of my hotel guests hypnotised. She wears a rotten egg coloured lipstick which says it all about what type of a person she is.

Horus Menhoset IX. Dug a mummy up in the desert after receiving an anonymous text to tell me about the dark evil in the town and it was this guy. Insane.

Optimum Alfred. Some big robot who was obsessed with cleaning but who was also plotting to mass murder everyone in the town. I am still unclear as to where this maniac spawned from in the first place. I was also given the Ratcave soon after he took over the penthouse so now my Sim gets to karate chop robots and goons ????

Tristan Legend. His girlfriend was literally taken away by scorpions so he chose to catch a meteorite in his bare hands to help him cope. I've seen a lot of mental illness in my time, but this has to be the cherry on top really.

Every character in this game is ultimately insane, from burning your paintings when they're in a bad mood to getting upset from a ghost spawned into the hotel lobby. The glitches, my 13th reason was when Honest Jackson straight up glitched in the game not long after the arrival of Ava and has not returned to the town hall since despite him saying that he is still there. Also, it is very weird that I can walk around the town and pick up nuclear fuel rods with my bare hands, that doesn't sound safe does it? This game is truly terrifying and for that reason I can't stop playing it.

Here's a fun link to Reddit where they speak about the creepy lore of the game and lastly, a link to the games night time music which is sort of fun and soothing, but also really eerie simultaneously.

[anmarifromearth]

Chapter 14: Wessman School of Arts, 2019

Note: You can read the finished version on Quotev, but for Tumblr, I'd like to upload the chapters one by one.

WC: 3.2 K -- Masterlist -- featuring art by @amalthiaph

That’s why she and Zach went to the same schools. That’s why she’s here in this school. She told me she knows the family well. She told me I should give up on Zach because she knows he is just using me to get the hour hand. She doesn’t work for Mr. Philipps. Charlotte Meyer, my roommate, works for the Stratmanns.

I slowly took a step to the side, tightening my grip to the hour hand, now complete. My breath shivered as I watch her do the same. We were like dancing tango—two people watching the other’s actions closely, ready to jump. I took another step, and another, and another, and I quickly opened the window.

The next few seconds went like a daze. All I felt was the wind, blowing past me, sending my hair dancing. I felt like flying. No, I am actually falling. From the window pane. How else would I escape? Zach was probably on the other side of the door.

I glanced below my feet to see where I’d land, not caring if I’d still live afterwards. I saw some bushes, trimmed into squares and cones. I silently thanked the gardeners as I feel myself land on a bed made of leaves. I landed on top of a square trimmed bush. I quickly sat up, not bothering to clean myself, and searched for the nearest window.

I saw a marvelous row of gigantic windows. It’s the library. I quickly ran to the windows and peeked inside. I need to find someone I can trust. I banged the window ala Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, screaming, “Miss Mansfield!” I did this a couple of times, until the woman’s eyes finally landed on me.

I raised the hour hand, showing it to her through the thick transparent glass. The woman’s eyes grew wide as she removed her spectacles, slowly getting up from her seat. I banged once more, urging her to go faster. She sensed this, as she practically dashed to the window to open it for me to climb on.

“Never in my life,” she began as she helped me get inside, “Did I think I will ever see the hour hand.”

In the background, I see Sara Choudhary slowly get up from her seat, leaving her open books on the table, her eyes set on the hour hand.

“Miss Mansfield,” I began, panting, “I need to get to Mr. Philipps’ office from here without getting seen.” She knows what I meant.

“Sara,” she said, turning to the Indian girl who is now right behind her, “Phone Mr. Philipps and tell them we’ll go there through the passages. Iris has the hour hand.”

Sara just nodded as she typed away on her phone, dialing Mr. Philipps. “Iris has the hour hand,” I heard her say, “We’re coming to you through the passages from the library.

Just as she had finished speaking, Miss Mansfield has pulled us to an aisle lined with tall wooden bookshelves. Her grip on my arm is never loosening as she pulled me further into the end of the aisles, to a door labelled “Janitor’s Closet”. She quickly opened the door and motioned us inside. She took one last glance to the other students in the library, making sure we remained unseen, then closed the door.

At one corner, we saw a small door. Miss Mansfield kneeled down and crawled inside. I quickly followed after her and Sara last. The passage was clean, to be honest. And as if reading my mind, Miss Mansfield said, “I use this to easily go to the headmaster’s office.”

The library isn’t quite far from Mr. Philipps’ Office. There is actually just one room that are in between them, which was the school clinic. We took a right from our entry point, then a left. In the outside, it would be the corner. We took another right, and I can assume this is the wall that divides the library and the school clinic.

What amazed me is that, when we turned, there is a narrow descending stairs. The school has a basement too? Miss Mansfield headed downstairs, with me and Sara behind her. In addition to being clean, these halls are very well lit with lightbulbs in place of torches. I guess the teachers use these halls a lot.

We arrived at the bottom of the stairs. On our left was a wooden door, thinner that those upstairs. Miss Mansfield pushed the door open to reveal a den, with several couches on a carpeted stone floor. There were some lamps. What amazed me is the portrait that is hung on the wall—it’s the Velvets. They did pay respect to the original owners.

“It’s the teachers’ lounge,” Miss Mansfield said with a giggle. I had little time to admire the den beneath the school clinic, as she had led us to another set of stairs, going up this time. Once up on the stairs, we saw a door small door on the right.

One by one, we crawled out of it and were welcomed by leather shoes and a brown coat. Mr. Philipps was standing by the door, waiting for us. He already had the blinds of his office drawn. As soon as I got out of the tiny door, he offered his hand for support.

“It wasn’t sarcasm, then,” I began as he pulled me from the floor.

“What is?” he egged me to continue.

“When you asked Zach if he’s related to Eldric Mortimer.”

“It wasn’t,” he replied as he helped Sara up.

“You could have just denied him entrance to the school,” Miss Mansfield said, leaning on the desk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“His family threatened me that they’d tell the police that it was my ancestors that killed the Velvets for money,” he answered, eyeing the now whole hour hand. “Since in the will, it states that all their wealth will go to the last living relative, which is us. Marion was Arthur’s sister,” he said to me, “We’d be cleared out of the will by the Slayer Rule. And according to the will once again, if no relative will step forward, the entire property will go to their closest friends.”

“The Mortimers,” Miss Mansfield finished for Mr. Philipps, nodding in understanding.

 “The only thing I can do then,” he continued to speak as he stepped forward and slowly took the hour hand from me. I handed it to him without a slight tinge of hesitation, he’s a relative of the Velvet, and I know now that he doesn’t mean ill will. “Is to make sure Zach won’t ever lay his hands on the hour hand.”

He took a moment to admire the hour hand, now finally complete. He then carefully handed it back, and continued to speak, “Hence, I formed this team.” He motioned to Miss Mansfield and Sara, his band of spies.

Mr. Philipps peeked through the blinds of his office. He watched the normal student chaos on the halls. He nodded, thinking something to himself probably. Then, he made for his table with Miss Mansfield going out of the way. He reached for the intercom, pressed the button, and began to speak, “Attention, students of Wessman School, this is your headmaster speaking. Classes are suspended for the rest of the day.”

“Why’d you do that?” I asked as he walked away from the intercom, listening to the students outside as they all shouted in glee.

“To lessen the risk of casualties,” he replied in a dead tone. And with a half-smile, he added, “Do you honestly think the Stratmanns would make it easy for us?”

I jumped at the sound of the door as it hit the wall with a bang. “Zach’s parents are here! I heard Iris has completed the hour hand!”, a familiar black boy said.

“Charles?” I said, in disbelief.

Charles gasped at the object in my hands. He walked closer to me. He was chuckling as he took the hour hand from my hands. He held it out and created a red glow in the office with the light that reflected from the ruby. “Miss Gardner,” Mr. Philipps began, “I would like you to meet my fourth spy, Mr. Charles Andrews.”

“I was tasked to watch you from up close,” Charles said as he handed the hour hand back to me. “I am Mr. Philipps’ grandchild.”

Charles and I exchanged smiles. Saying I’m overwhelmed is a total understatement; I just can’t believe everything I had learnt today. I cannot believe that my two best friends are descendants of the two great powerhouses in the 1800s.

“He protested against using ‘Christina, help us’ as my distress signal in the cellar,” Charles said smilingly. I flashed back to that moment in the cellar, when we realized we were locked inside. “He said it was foolish.”

“It was,” Mr. Philipps said from one corner, arms crossed.

“It gave them a good scare,” Charles said as he glanced at his grandfather, his mouth forming a smile.  

“We need to get out of here now,” Mr. Philipps broke our sudden moment.

“We need to hide the hour hand,” I said as we prepared to leave.

“No,” Mr. Philipps said, “I’ve been devising a plan for a decade now, for when the time came that the hour hand was found.” He glanced at me as we start to march out of the room, “We return it to whom it came from. To end this whole thing once and for all.” He held the office door open and motioned us to follow him outside.

“The deity,” I said, glancing to the left and right, to make sure the hallways are fully deserted.

“In the lake,” Charles continued for me. “Where is that, Miss Mansfield?” He turned to the librarian to ask; as she probably have read it.

“The Five Great Lakes,” she began as we walked the now dark halls of Wessman, with only the wall lights to illuminate the space, “It’s at that point where Lakes Superior and Huron met.”

Sara tapped on her phone real fast, probably to Google for the distance from North Carolina to Michigan. Her tapping created a faint echo. “That’s more than a thousand miles from here,” she said as she lowered her phone to look up at Mr. Philipps.  

We were at the main hall of Wesmman when Mr. Philipps stopped in his tracks. I peeked over his towering figures, and saw two people, standing in front of the doorway. I can barely see their faces as they stand against the light.

Thanks to the early suspension of classes, the halls are now clear. All that’s left are us; the headmaster and his grandchild, the librarian, the math prodigy, me with the hour hand, and the two seemingly well-dressed couple at the other end of the hall.

“Hello, Humbert,” the man said with a British accent, “I came to pick up my son, but now I am thinking of hitting two birds with one stone.” He glanced at me, specifically, on the hour hand.  

I tightened my grip around the silver object. Mr. Philipps straightened himself, standing on guard for me. “You plan to change an event that’s happened centuries ago, Thomas!” Mr. Philipps practically shouted. “One act, hell, just one small change will destroy this timeline! This school wouldn’t exist.” He stopped for a few seconds, he seemed to be hesitating, “You might not exist! Haven’t you thought of that?”

“The timeline is supposed to be our families being richer!” Thomas von Stratmann shouted back. “Humbert, I am simply placing things back to what they’re supposed to be!”

Miss Mansfield grabbed me by the arm and started to pull me slowly, as Mr. Philipps began to step forward. Tension can really be felt in the deserted main hall of Wessman. Marion and Eldric’s blood and flesh are facing off again nearly two hundred years later, like they did, in the clock tower in 1845.

“Forget about that, Thomas!” Mr. Philipps’ voice echoed throughout the halls. “I am thinking about this timeline; this very moment; us very people here, right now! WE MIGHT NOT EXIST! Our goal is to make sure that this timeline would exit so that we could exist!”

Miss Mansfield pulled me, more like yanked me. “Come on!” she shouted as she pulled me to run to the other direction, knowing that that conversation would lead to nothing.

I immediately started on my heels, looking back once more to see the Stratmanns run after us, with Mr. Philipps grabbing onto Thomas to stop him. The two had a fist fight. Meanwhile, Zach’s mother continued to run after us, leaving the two men go against each other.

“You just go,” Charles said, running to face off with Zach’s mother. I halted to stop him, but Miss Mansfield continued to pull me with her. Charles noticed, so he gave me a reassuring smile, and I reciprocated, but I still didn’t avert my gaze as I continued to run.

Charles jumped onto Mrs. Stratmann, tackling her and pinning her on the ground. On the distance, Mr. Philipps was pushed back and he fell into the ground. Thomas started to run to the aide of this wife.

“Let her go!” he angrily shouted at Charles. And for the next moment, all I know was echoes. One loud sound that resonated on the empty halls at Wessman, leaving birds flying away, and my good friend Charles with red on his shoulder. Thomas shot Charles on his shoulder.

Mrs. Stratmann pushed Charles off of his wife, and started to run in pursuit of us. I saw Mr. Philipps run to his grandchild, and pulled out his phone to call the ambulance.  

I reluctantly continued to run. I can feel tears starting to form in my eyes. I cannot see where we’re going to; I’m just relying on the librarian for direction. My friend was shot, all in the name of an hour hand. 

“Let’s go through the back door,” Miss Mansfield said in between breaths, “Through the kitchen.”

I let my feet create a quick tap-tapping sound as I treaded the floor, one foot after the other, Miss Mansfield before me and Sara after. I bumped on Miss Mansfield who has suddenly halted, her arms blocking my path. I stopped to glance at what she’s looking at.

On the other side of the hallway, the one that leads to the dining hall, stand my roommate, Charlotte, and the least person to have the hour hand, Theodore Isaac von Stratmann. The two were standing side by side, as straight and tall as they could, blocking the hall.

This was the first time I saw Zach after I learnt that he is a Mortimer. It was like meeting him all over again. That nice gentleman who always insisted on carrying my things, made sure I’m comfortable, and took care of me is gone; all that’s left is a man of tall figure, looming over me and with wavy black hair.

The light from the open doors cast a shadow on the floor, further emphasizing Zach’s tall figure. I took a step backwards, preparing to run for the other side, but I saw the two shadows approaching the turn. It’s Zach’s parents. I am cornered; we are cornered.

“Iris,” Zach began, his now dark voice echoing throughout the deserted hallways, “Just hand over the hour hand. After all, I was the one who led you to where it was.”

Miss Mansfield stood in front of me to block Zach, but I gently pushed her away. I started to walk forward, eyeing Zach with no plans of averting. It’s time I face him. “Your father shot Charles,” I said, gritting my teeth out of anger, “I thought I’d let you know.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Charlotte give Zach a concerned look, but he is unbothered. He didn’t flinch. He continued to give me a death stare.

I started to run towards his direction. Just as he raised his arm to grab the hour hand, I went to my knees and slid across the floor and in between him and Charlotte. I heard him grunt, as he missed me. I quickly stood up, slipping several times before being able to fully stand and run. I didn’t bother to look back. I cannot afford that. I just heard Miss Mansfield and Sara try to stop Charlotte. I quickly ran step after step until I felt something grab my hair, pulling me back. I shrieked as I hit the floor, my scalp hurting as I was being pulled backwards. I felt familiar hands grab me from behind; one on my hair and the other on my neck.

“Hand it over,” Zach said, tightening his grip on my neck.

I clutched the hour hand harder as struggled to breathe. I kicked and kicked as hard as I could as I was strangled, but still tightened my grip on the hour hand. I felt one hand leave my scalp and start to pull the hour hand. No, I can’t let him have this. Without hesitation, I elbowed Zach and he fell back. I took this opportunity to run, but he grabbed my ankle and pulled me back, sending me to the floor as well.

I grabbed at the smooth floor and started crawling, kicking to make Zach let go of my ankle. He didn’t. I kicked harder and harder and harder until I hit his eye. This finally made him let go. I started to stand again but he pulled me back once more, my chin hitting the floor. I felt myself get dragged and spun around. I felt Zach climb over me, settling my body in between his legs and pinning me down. He started to pull the hour hand. I tightened the grip at it even more.

“Let go!” Zach said as he pulled harder.

“I can’t let you erase this timeline!” I shouted as I started to use one hand to push him off.

Zach raised one arm and swung at me, hitting me on my nose. I felt my face go numb for a second, then felt blood spill from my nose. I started to cry.

“Zach, please,” I whispered in between tears. I looked up and was met with dark eyes, brooding with violence. He swung his hand once more, and hit me on the lips this time. The metal-like taste of blood start to fill my mouth. 

I felt my grip loosen as I weaken from Zach’s punches. Zach finally stood up, and pulled the hour hand from my grasp, and I was too weak to pull it back. I weakly spun around, and started to get up, struggling to do so. I felt my face go numb. I weakly but quickly pushed myself up with shaking arms and jumped on Zach who is now beginning to walk away. I grabbed onto him from behind, wrapping my hands around his neck strangling him this time.

With a scream, he ran backwards and slammed me on the wall, making me lose my grip. He picked me up with my hair again, my scalp burning in pain as it was the only thing carrying my whole weight. And Zach did what I never expected him to do; he drew my head back, and with one strong push, he slammed my head onto the wall. And the next thing I knew was darkness.

[seelestia]

you’re doing a really good job at reigniting my kazuha kisser era,, it’s working oh my god. HELP KAZUYONA SO REAL SO TRUE AAA 💕

PFFT OFC <3 also help i’m literally loving my theme sm 🫂 my pinned post, it’s the best one i’ve ever done i am so proud i think i have tears in my mouf. (/hj)

yes pure luck, my braincells were not working at that time because i was sleep deprived and.. surviving off of coffee. omg!! hoping the best for you too 🧚 (hate when that happens - do not fret! for the math gods will shine their luck upon you /lh). real, go for the kneecaps 🫵 (/hj)

NOOOO MY SKRUNKLY 😠 omg.. share 🤲 gib. (/lh) hoyoverse for everybody wanting more, they totally planned that 🙄. the gacha gods absolutely hate me.. show me mercy por favor 🙏 (not rly, one of my friends is never online - and the other one is literally so done w pinging her 😭 /hj)

YEAHH FLINGING IT ACROSS HIS FACE RN!! how dare he. (/j) BYE the major difference between the typing in your asks, and the typing in the chat ai. omg yes! my favorite is the golden shrimp balls <3 it looks rly yummy, and i’m a huge shrimp fan 🧚

🌀 oooo you wanna kiss kazuha (again) so bad ooooo 🌀

YOUR THEME IS SUPER COOL like really, really cool so heck yeah, be proud! (/g) i wanna wipe away your tears but at the same time, i'm looking at your theme like a crazy person in an art museum too so i'll look like a hypocrite if i wipe em. (/lh) but honestly tho, your herta theme >>> which reminds me that honkai star rail is gonna release soon and i am holding onto the edge of my seat. 🍿

do you have your eyes set on any pookies there yet (/j) for me, i am looking respectfully at gepard bcs he looks like the loud enforcer who's actually clumsy and dense.

i just finished all my exam papers yesterday, actually!! some tears were shed but alas, i can finally rest. i even got back some of my marks already and thank goodness i scored well in linguistics again (will the time ever come when i reveal that i have a writing blog to my friend group irl /j) 😵‍💫 i still am not much of a coffee liker, but make sure to consume your caffeine healthily!! GO GET EM, YONZ!!! GOOD LUCK 🤭

wanderer is not only a skrunkly, but also a snookums skrunkle wunkle pookie bear love bug (being cringe for him for him and him only /lh)!! why is he so aaaaaaa. OOOO, DID YOU GET NAHIDA?? PRAYING, PRAYING. also yon, look.... tighnari found you, hehe. (get it?? because your url is @/viparyas and—)

THE WAY YOU KEPT PINGING YOUR FRIEND, HELP??? how to bang pots and pans but in discord: demonstrated by yona LMAOOOO go bother your amigas, yona, i'm enabling you!! 🤭 AND WHY WOULD YOU COMMENT ON THE DIFFERENCE. i was in my therapist protag era, okay 😞 (/j) the urge to suddenly call him beloved in the middle of the convo is STRONG. now, now, show me yours 😈

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - a Baldurs Gate fanfiction.

CHAPTER 16 - an outing and a dance

After about an hour of Gale and I enjoying each other’s company, we hear Jenevelle wake up from her nap. Rather than being fussy, she seems happy and full of life. Gale gets her a warm bottle ready while I get her dressed and ready to hang out with Karlach. I hand her to Gale so he can feed her while I finish getting ready for our outing tonight. I put on my maroon dress with gold braces on my arms, feeling dapper and delicate, actually rather happy with how I look tonight. My dark hair is pinned up, and I decide to actually have my bangs pushed out of my face for once.

I’m finally done getting ready and walk into the baby’s room, noticing Gale burping her and snuggling her against his chest. He is speaking to her in such a soft voice.

“Your mother is something special to me,” he murmurs. “Oh, how I’m glad I chose her. How I fell for her. How she swayed me away from trying to please Mystra. One day, when you’re much older, I’m sure you’ll find that person. When you do, never let them go. You’ll know.” He kisses her forehead as she stares up at him with sincere eyes. “I am so glad we have you. I am so happy to be your father.” I smile as I watch them both, and notice him stand up with her in his arms. He turns around, noticing me standing by the door. He blushes, then stares at his feet for a moment.

“Hi,” I say, still smiling at him.

“Oh, you heard me. Well, I meant what I said, by the way.” I laugh lightly, approaching him with a soft kiss on his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Why thank you. Your words… They make me so happy. Thank you.” A sudden loud knock at the front door startles the shit out of me, which means Karlach has arrived. Leave it to me to be easily spooked, even when I knew it was going to happen. We walk to the living area to open the door and not only is Karlach there, but so is Shadowheart and Astarion. This could make for a rather interesting evening.

“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Where’s Wyll?’ He went to visit with his father, so it’s just us three. Yeah!” Karlach says, trying to contain her voice volume. I roll my eyes and smile. “I hope that’s alright. Sorry for the unexpected visitors.”

“I’m not opposed at all, I’m just curious why all three of you are here. Like I said, I don’t mind,” Gale says. “Just don’t destroy the tower and keep the baby safe at all costs. Which I imagine you’ll do.”

“Well, Astarion and I… We’re going to adopt and could use the practice,” Shadowheart chimes in. What? They’re together? I think another important question would be: Since when did Astarion want children?

“Emmy, you look just as surprised as I do. I didn’t even know these fuckers were together until a couple hours ago when I went to snatch them from their house.” I can’t help but chuckle at Karlach’s words, but I’m also glad I’m not the only one in shock at this news. We knew Shadowheart was planning on adopting, but had no idea her and Astarion were even together. They’re good at keeping situations private, I’ll give them that.

“That’s so exciting! Wow! Congrats, you two. I’d have more input but alas I’m at a loss for words. In a good way,” I mention.

“Completely understandable,” Shadowheart says with her soft voice.

“The usual schedule is written down and on the kitchen counter. She had some unusual behavior that caught us off guard earlier, and we believe she was afraid of something. Please advise us if she shows any sign of peculiar behavior,” Gale says.

“Aw, we’ve got this! Little miniature Dekarios will be fine. Good ol’ Karlach is here to provide top quality entertainment.”

“Why in the Hells am I so nervous all of a sudden?” Astarion questions, followed with a sigh.

Gale and I walked out of the tower and shut the door behind us, ready for a lovely romantic night out in the town. The sky is a beautiful shade of lavender as the sun begins to descend, leaving a vibrant yet calm aura throughout Waterdeep.

“Hm, so what is the destination, may I ask?” I ask Gale, curious as to where he’s taking us for dinner. We hold hands as we walk through the outskirts, admiring the quietness of the city.

“Oh, just a fun little place you haven’t been to yet. I don’t suppose you’d be opposed to some live music, maybe some dancing, all while having a delectable dinner?”

He ends up taking me to this exquisite restaurant and bar just a couple miles down from the tower. I’m trying my hardest not to worry about Jenevelle, though I’m sure she will be alright. We make it inside the building and sit at our table, with Gale sitting across from me looking handsome as ever.

“Thank you so much for taking me out on yet another wonderful date night,” I say, smiling as I look up from my menu. “How about I buy this time?”

“No, no, my love. You just sit there looking beautiful.”

“I’d like to buy. Please? You do so much for me and I’m dying to.” He hesitates for a brief moment, but smiles at me sweetly. It’s about time I returned the favor, though he tells me I do enough already.

“You win this round, but I’m buying next time.” Right past Gale is a bar and the bartender resembles an image of Raphael. I think I’m either paranoid or this man is a mirror image of the corrupt devil. He looks at me with an expression I’m all too familiar with, flashing a grim smile as he notices my eyes on him. I blink and notice a totally different man standing there; just a wood-elf with long brown hair, attending to the patrons.

“Hmm, I think I’m going to fancy a delectable bowl of the Neverwinter venison. How about you?” Gale asks. I snap out of the weird moment I just had and stare down the menu, trying to figure out what sounds delicious to the taste buds. I don’t want to tell Gale I may have seen Raphael, though it could just be an illusion my mind decided to make.

“I’ll probably have the same as you. It all looks incredible.” There is a fun band of bards playing live music on stage and it reminds me of Alfira. She was so passionate about music and they’re playing one of her tunes she performed for us once. I observe the tieflings and elves dancing within the tavern, some are a little tipsy, some are more than just that. I observe them, smiling as they’re having fun and being themselves. This brings me an immediate idea. I stand up and take Gale’s hand, nervously smiling.

“Dance with me?” He chuckles and takes my hand, standing up in agreement. I lead him to the dancefloor and he places his left hand on my waist, his other hand pulls my face in to kiss him. As we dance, I notice myself nearly falling on my arse a few times, other times I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing.

“Just follow my rhythm, baby. Like this,” he says, guiding me with his hand. My feet follow his as he slowly moves me around with his hands, twirling me and then catching me as I fall backward. “There you go.”

“If I were a bard, maybe I’d be proficient in performing some insane dances.”

“Eh, perhaps. Though it’s safe to say, not all bards can dance either.” Our bodies sway with one another, and he stares deep into my eyes, holding my gaze as we continue to dance. “Just focus on me.” He moves both hands to my waist, our feet moving back and forward to the calming beat of the music.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Remarkable. You’re a quick learner.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t dance at our wedding.”

“On the other hand, Karlach did take over when it came to the music and she…may have had a few glasses of champagne. You weren’t exactly keen on wanting to take that spotlight anyway.” I laugh, reminiscing of Karlach’s insane dance moves at our reception. “You are my heart.” I look up at him, his eyes sinking deep within the depths of mine, as if he’s staring into my soul.

The entirety of our evening was amazing. The food, the music, the presence of being with my incredible husband…all of it. As we leave the restaurant, a familiar voice growls within my ear: “See you soon.” It seems Gale did not hear it, but boy am I feeling rather horrified right now. Okay, well I can confirm I’m being targeted, but by who? Why?

We make it home, and as Gale opens the front door, we notice Shadowheart on the sofa holding Jenevelle, smiling down at our cooing daughter. Astarion is next to her but unsure how to process her holding a baby. I’m curious as to why he agreed on an adoption, or if there’s something I’m not quite seeing.

“Oh man, did we have fun! Once again, happiest baby ever. Little one didn’t have any issues, but…” Karlach pauses, as if she’s blanking on what to say. Astarion sighs, placing his hand on his face.

“Is Raphael a frequent visitor by chance?” he asks. “No particular reason really. Just wondering if he’d want to come by and have tea sometime.”

“Um, explain please,” Gale says, bewildered at what Astarion is implying.

“Oh. You didn’t know. Delightful. Well, we saw images of that rancid devil – and a few others – in the mirror. They went away after like, two minutes.”

“Shit,” Gale and I say at the same time, feeling a sense of overwhelming stress.

“The good news is they don’t want anyone dead. At least, that’s not what it looked like,” Karlach chimes back in. “I’m sure they would have killed someone by now if that was the case.” I sigh, feeling beyond frustrated as I try to figure out what the hells they want with us. Shadowheart hands our tired baby over to Gale and smiles.

“Emmy, I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ll come by and check on you tomorrow.” She and I exchange hugs, and I begin to take a few deep breaths. She’s right. I am looking forward to having her come over for a visit; maybe then my mind will become clear of all this.

Everyone leaves and heads back to their comforting homes, and I’m actually so thankful more than just Karlach was there, just in case. While no one actually expected the devils to pop up, I feel like Karlach had an inkling something would happen and that’s why she invited Shadowheart and Astarion. Or, maybe I’m overthinking it, and she did it to help them prepare for parenthood. Either way, I suppose.

I can’t help but feel anger and fear within me after knowing the devils have been keeping tabs on me. I worry about Jenevelle’s safety. Gale and I head to Jenevelle’s room to prepare her for bed, and we are both silent for a moment as we try to process what we heard.

“Well, we may have to stay up to see what these hedonistic devils want from us, given they actually approach us. It would be delightful to live in peace without their obnoxious interference. Answers are at least deserved, is that too much to ask?” He’s right. Our infant is only three months old and being exposed to the dangers of devils. This shouldn’t be happening, but why is it?

“Agreed. I thought I saw Raphael at the restaurant, but assumed my mind was playing tricks on me.” Gale’s worrisome expression faded after he placed a kiss on my forehead, trying to hide his irritation. I can sense his frustration at the situation.

“Let’s just be alert and keep our eyes open, at least until we get answers. I know at some point we will need to sleep, and if it comes to that…let’s take turns.” Gale places Jenevelle on the mat by her crib to get her changed for bed. Her sweet, sleepy face puts a smile on his, and who could blame him? Having her puts us in a trance it seems like; it’s hard to be upset when she’s as happy as she is.

It sucks. We can’t summon ourselves back to Avernus, for I made an oath to Raphael we wouldn’t invade anymore. If I break that promise, I’ll be his little torture toy against my will. So what do I do? What do these devils want? Gale puts our daughter in her crib and we both watch her drift into a deep slumber. Sigh. To be unaware of the horrors of the world and sleeping without a worry would be nice, but I’m glad she isn’t afraid. I’m thankful she’s at peace.

Gale has to work tomorrow, so I try to convince him to just go ahead and get some rest, but he wouldn’t give in. I head to the restroom before going to our room to lie down – I’ll be awake, mind you – and as I walk in, an image of a devil I’m not familiar with pops up in the mirror. From the way this devil was described by Karlach before, I imagine this is Zariel. Shit, I was hoping I’d never come across her in my lifetime. Her fiery eyes stare me down as I try to process seeing her in front of me. I body feels numb, my heart is pounding, and I can feel sweat drip down my forehead. Oh Gods.

[ruleofexception]

SoulM8 AU - Ch 7

Day 3 of this NSFW nonsense! @snowwhite-andtheknight

~

Morning comes with a headache that’s out to get him like he owes money to a mob boss, and the horrible realization that he’d failed to brush his teeth last night.

It’s like he’s got little Chewbacca’s for teeth. Fuzzy little monsters where his pearly-whites should be. And his tongue-

Ack.

His tongue can taste itself. And it’s so not good.

It’s legitimately like something crawled into his mouth in the middle of the night, shit itself and then promptly died. He’s got a shit-carcass on his tongue. Right at the back, near his throat.

Tongues shouldn’t be able to taste themselves. They just shouldn’t. But if he’s suffering from the lingering taste of this shit-carcass, then it’s probably safe to assume that his morning breath is-

Oh god.

The breath gets caught in his lungs. Lips press together - like that’s somehow going to keep the stench from wafting out into the open - and his eyes scrunch shut a little tighter as he hopes - prays - that she’s still sleeping. That she’ll be too lost to her dreams to notice the bed shifting as he crawls his way out of it and drags himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth and gargle a couple bottles of Listerine. Maybe rummage through his cupboards for some Tylenol or something to help with this headache trying to split his skull in half with a jackhammer.

Terrified of opening his eyes to find emerald staring back, he starts off slow. Just a sliver of gold. Barely enough for him to even register the sunlight pouring in through the window to land on-

Empty sheets?

That seems… odd. 

They spent the night cuddling. He knows they spent the night cuddling; because at one point, he woke up in a slight and disoriented panic, because something was wrapped around him like a goddamn jetpack. 

It was her. She was wrapped around him like a jet-pack which did very strange things to his heart and made him ache to whisper his love for her, even as she snored very loudly in his ear.

And that means that his sheets should not be empty.

Before it can make a monster of his emotions, Obi tries to wrestle with his anxiety and convince himself that maybe she’s just wormed her way down the bed. She’s small enough. Tiny enough that it might be easy to lose her amongst the sea of sheets. This vast ocean of a mattress. 

He’s not really sure if that’s even possible, but, then again, he’s never dated someone this tiny before. So, it might be a thing. 

Usually he finds himself with women who have no problem reaching the top shelf or who - especially if in heels - tower over him. He’s never had to consider whether he might lose them to the tide of sheets, because they always took up the whole bed. Shirayuki, however, may be able to reach the top shelf if she stands on the counter, but heels - even the largest ones she could get her hands on - would likely only bring the top of her head up to his nose. If that. And the bed?

She may very well be lost somewhere near the bottom, where the comforter is likely all fucked up. Maybe she’s down there, drowning in it. In need of help, to free herself from its clutches.

“Shirayuki?”

He dares a whisper, opening his eyes, determined to check and-

And curses - rather loudly and creatively - when the mid-morning sunlight almost fucking blinds him. Little bursts of light dance behind closed eyes and his head throbs as he shoves his face back into the pillow with a moan.

Surprisingly not stupid enough to try another staring contest with the sun, only seconds after being blinded, one foot cautiously ventures out towards her side of the bed. Past chilled and empty sheets, his foot and leg wander, searching for a limb, waiting for an annoyed and sleepy grunt, or a terrified shriek as he accidentally boots her from off the end of the bed. Finally, his toes find-

The edge of the bed.

She’s not here. There’s nothing here.

Nothing but empty sheets.

“The fuck…” he slurs into his pillow, brows pinched. 

Where is she? 

Last night he’d had a lot more to drink than he’s had in a while, but-

But, still.

He remembers most of the night. Remembers enough to know that she was fucking here and-

Something clatters in the kitchen - a wooden spoon, dropped on the floor, he thinks - followed by a tiny squawk and hushed curse.

Ah. 

She’s still here. Good.

For a brief second there, he was starting to worry that, perhaps, the impact of the L-bomb he dropped hadn’t quite hit her until she sobered up. Fear that, maybe, she’d grabbed her things and left, before he or the sun had a chance to rise.

Obi relaxes a little. Lets his heart try to get back to its regular old rhythm, as he takes a moment to revel in the soft and muffled sounds of Shirayuki flitting about in his kitchen. Making herself at home. And although it antagonizes his headache, he grins. Laughs a little, to think that last night actually happened and that she loves him, just as he loves her and-

And almost gags when the pillow spits his breath back up in his face.

Wrenching up and away from the noxious fumes now clinging to his pillow, he gasps and struggles to sit up. To find his feet and swing them over the edge of the bed, with the hope that they’ll just know how to carry him to the bathroom, without him having to open his eyes, so he can do something about the awful stench without being totally blinded. 

Again.

But his feet are hopelessly tangled in the sheets and every time he tugs at them, they only seem to become more ensnared. The blankets, creeping up his legs. Swallowing his knees and thighs as he continues to struggle. 

Jesus, fuck-

These fucking sheets are like quicksand. And, just like in the movies, the more he moves, the more of him becomes trapped. Twisted in the unforgiving folds of madness. 

Already, they’ve claimed him up to his waist. Inching their way up past his belly button.

If he carries on like this, in only a few more minutes, he’ll be the one who turns into Stay-Puft. Which could be fun, but not exactly how he’d like to start his morning. Especially when Shirayuki is somewhere in his kitchen, humming along to whatever song is stuck in her head, and sober. 

Possibly hungover, as he is.

But, sober.

And that’s the important part.

With a renewed sense of determination, he starts to claw and yank at the blankets, with heavy and tired limbs. Buck and squirm as they, somehow, manage to engulf him up to the long, jagged scar on his chest.

“Fuck off, sheets.” He snarls sleepily.

There’s no way he’s giving up. He absolutely refuses to lose to a stupid piece of fabric. Shirayuki is out there, and he’s not. And the sooner he can free himself of the sheets and get himself to the bathroom, the sooner he can hold her in his arms. The sooner he’ll be able to ask if he can kiss her. 

If that’s not incentive enough to claw his way out of these godforsaken sheets, come hell or high-water, then he’s not sure what is.

Groggily daring to crack one eye open, he tries again and-

“FUCK!”

His heart launches itself into his throat just as his eyes go wide, and he tumbles - ass-over-teakettle - out of the bed to slam into the floor as a blind and twisted heap of human and sheets. 

“Ouch.” Grumbling, he tries to rub at where he’s just beaned the back of his head off the floorboards, but finds, with a growing sense of frustration, that he’s now neck-deep in sheet-sand.

“O-Obi?” Shirayuki calls out to him, worry making her voice tight. Closer - inching her way down the hall towards him - she asks, “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He grunts, hopelessly fighting with a sheet that’s doing its best impersonation of a straight-jacket. Blinking sunlight and tears from his eyes, he breathes heavily through grit teeth and growls, “Just having-”

“A rough start to the morning?” The giggle from the doorway does absolutely nothing to calm or steady his heart, still lodged in his throat.

“Admittedly, not my smoothest,” with a pained chuckle, he rocks his head back until it rests on the floor, “but I-”

The words stop dead on his tongue. He blinks at her for a moment, trying to process. Trying to figure out if what he’s seeing upside down, is the same right-side up and-

“What?” Shirayuki smiles coyly. A deep blush quickly paints her throat and drips down towards the tops of her breasts, before it vanishes beneath the apron she’s wearing.

He’s having trouble recalling if he even owns an apron. He doesn’t think he does. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever owned an apron. But the longer stares, the more he finds that he doesn’t much care where it came from or if it is, somehow, his. He just knows that he likes it. A lot.

Swallowing hard, he tilts his head slightly, trying to get a better look at her. Trying to read what’s written in gold script across her tits. “You’re wearing an apron.”

“I am.” 

The apron itself is already enough to divert the blood flow from his brain, but it’s the breathless hum of her laughter and the way she tucks a flyaway piece of red behind her ear, that just about pushes him over the edge. Growing harder by the second, he raises a hopeful brow at her. Wets his lips and groans, like whether he lives or dies hinges on how she responds. “Only an apron?”

“Don’t be silly.” Another delicious wave of laughter. “I’m wearing more than just an apron.” She winks at him and - still watching him from over her shoulder with one graceful red brow arched as though to say ‘see?’ - turns around, and slowly saunters back down the hallway towards the kitchen. 

Struck stupid, Obi’s gaze falls down her bare back, drinking in the thousands of freckles splashed along her skin-

The apron strings, tied back in a little lopsided bow at the base of her spine-

And, finally, the pièce de résistance- 

Dark, lacy panties that cut across the swell of her ass in a way that is so fucking hot, if he were capable of forming a single, coherent sentence, he’d beg her to come over and sit on his face. Whimper that he would very much like to have her for breakfast. 

As it is though, just seeing her walk down the hallway, away from him, wearing nothing but an apron and those fucking panties, causes every synapse in his brain to fire at once and he does the human equivalent of blowing a breaker. Completely short circuits. 

Whatever doesn’t stop working entirely, starts to malfunction. Both his heart and his lungs - neither of which seem to remember their job - struggle to find room in his throat as his gut explodes into flames. His brain starts to melt and his poor cock - woefully confined beneath at least three different layers of material - twitches and throbs.

Only when she’s no longer in sight-

When all he can hear of her is soft, delighted humming coming from the kitchen; accompanied by the sounds of coffee being poured and things frying in pans-

He starts to flail about on the ground like a madman. Like a dollar-store Houdini, who’s more apt to end up in handcuffs than break out of them. 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” Twisting and writhing, desperate to free himself of these goddamn sheets, he pants, “Holy sweet fuck, I love her.”

With one arm mercifully free and a foot close to joining the number of movable, functional limbs he has, he starts trying to trip and stumble and drag his way towards the door. It’s not a graceful process. Not even close. But he doesn’t care, because it works.

The sheet slowly loosens its grip on him and by the time he’s up and fumbling his way towards the bathroom like he’s got two left feet, it’s just a puddle of material in the middle of the hall.

Heart doing its very best to break his ribs and flames licking up the inside of his chest, Obi all but flings himself into the tiny bathroom, and immediately starts digging through the cupboard for tylenol and mouthwash.

Fingers pause their frantic flight when they land on the box of condoms. His breath catches.

It’s fine, if she doesn’t want to. And he’d be totally okay if all they end up doing is talking about what happened last night - what was said and what wasn’t said - while they eat the breakfast she’s made, but-

But if the apron- 

And those goddamn panties-

Fuck.

If either of those are any indication of how this morning will go, then he’ll be a well-fed man. In every sense.

He swallows hard. Refrains from biting at his knuckle to hold in the moan that’s building in the back of his throat and takes a deep and shaky breath, before fishing a condom out of the box and slipping it into his pocket.

_____

The advil he frantically choked back is starting to kick in, the total scrub-down of his teeth and tongue have left his mouth feeling like some icy cave in the arctic, and the kitchen smells amazing. Freshly brewed coffee, crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes.

Her.

“So you like it?” Shirayuki purrs, arching into him. Stretching up on her toes until the heat of her words is a ghostly kiss against his lips. “Really?”

“Like is an understatement.” He gasps when her fingers rake through his hair. Cup the back of his neck. “I still can’t believe you texted Yuzuri, asking her to drop off a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.”

“Hahh-” a sharp breath and a shiver, as his palms glide up her sides; a trail of goosebumps, left in the wake of his touch. “Drunk me does have her moments.” She wets her lips. “And Yuzuri is a good friend.”

Gold flicker down. Though she’s still covered by the apron and its gold-scripted order to ‘Kiss the Cook’, the tops of her breasts - rising and falling with rapid and excited breaths - are stained red with the heat of her blush. Obi nods, appreciative and enthusiastic. “A great friend.”

For a moment, the kitchen goes silent and still, save for their shallow breaths and racing hearts. Not even the clock in the living room, or the yappy dog from next door, make a sound.

Finally, nails curling against his scalp, Shirayuki whispers, “Hey, Obi-”

“Mhmm?” It’s a choked sound. Strangled, before it even has a chance to fully form.

“Last night you told me that, if we were sober-” she leans in closer. So close that when she speaks, he can almost taste the words on her lips and tongue. “You’d kiss me.”

“I did?” He tries to tease. Tries to raise a brow at her, like he’s no recollection of having said that. But even to his own ears, he’s breathless. A low and wanting whimper, more than it is a lighthearted jest.

“Mhmm.” The hum that vibrates up and out of her is as sweet and thick as honey. “Thoroughly, I believe is what you said.”

Gaze fixated on the way her lips have pulled up into a half smile to dimple her cheek, he leans in with breath held captive in his lungs. “Thoroughly?” 

“Mhmm.” The hand cupping the back of his head, with nails dragging pleasantly along his scalp, starts working to grab a fistful of his hair. It’s her turn to whimper. To choke on words hardly formed as they slip from her throat. “And we’re sober now.”

“So we are.” He grins. Rumbles; determined to make her tell him exactly what she wants. “Your point?”

Bordering on exasperated, she pulls back only far enough to gesture frantically at her tits and the gold script winking up at him. “I really don’t think I can make this any more clear, Obi.”

Unable to help it, Obi snorts and gently butts his forehead to hers. Lets his fingers curl into her sides as he draws her closer once more. So close, that they’re chest-to-chest and the hard length of him is pressed against her belly. “Shirayuki, I should have kissed you last night.”

“Yeah.” Soft - so impossibly, unbearably soft - she murmurs, “You absolutely should have.”

Before her, those words would have scared him. Would have left him wondering what else he’s about to lose. What else he’ll have to replace. Because, before her, when intimacy was involved, ‘should have’ usually meant something was about to be thrown or broken. That he was about to learn the price of ‘no’.

But, now-

Now, ‘should have’ means that she agrees with him. Agrees that he should have kissed her, but understands why he didn’t. It means that she’s giving him permission, now, to do what he should have done last night.

‘Should have’, no longer means that he’s royally fucked up. It just means that she’s patient enough for him to figure his shit out.

“I guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time.” And he means it. Every word. He will do everything he can to make up for the time they’ve lost - and he’s not just talking about the kiss he withheld last night. He’s talking about all the years he made her wait. All those moments she was haunted by the big flashing zero on her wrist, because he was too stupid and stubborn to let himself believe that maybe - just maybe - there was someone out there, waiting for him.

That she was out there, waiting for him.

“I guess you will.” She teases, “And you can start,” her lips dust against his as she whispers, “by finally kissing me.”

_____

Shirayuki gasps against his lips as they stumble backwards and the countertop bites into her back. He devours the sound. Feeds it to the flames that bellow and roar within him, and starts searching for the next scrap. 

Waiting for the next gasp or whimper or moan he can have.

The hand threaded through her hair - the one that cups the back of her head - tightens and fists as the kiss deepens. As her nails bite into his chest. Claw at his shirt. Wander their way down to the waistband of his jeans and tug playfully at his belt loops.

He thinks that’ll be it. That, in a moment, she’ll retrace her steps. Maybe let her fingertips slip beneath his shirt and flutter them along his abs. Make her way back up until her palms lay flat over his heart and she’s left to silently wonder over the gnarled, puckered skin she’s stumbled upon.

But she doesn’t do what he expects; which in a way, he supposes, he should have expected.

Only one of her fingers seems to be brave enough to test the waters, but it more than makes up for its shy comrades. Fearlessly and with very little hesitation, it dips into his waistband and wriggles beneath the tight elastic of his boxers; and while it’s not quite long enough to reach wiry hair or brush against the head of his cock, it’s certainly long enough to make his hips stutter at the sensation. His heart thunder in his chest and a groan swirl in his lungs.

Encouraged, Shirayuki grunts, trying to stretch a little more. Reach a little farther. Convince her other fingers that if they were to work together, maybe she could somehow manage to shove the whole of her hand down into his pants, without having to worry about button or zipper. And, albeit slowly, they start to join the first. One by one, her fingers stop hanging around outside his jeans and try to wiggle their way down to where the first is doing its best to follow the sharp cut of his hip, towards his cock.

Obi leans into her with a moan. Traps her hand and wandering fingers between them as he pulls her bottom lip between his teeth. Bites and nibbles and sucks as he quickly tries to decide whether the hand resting on her hip wants to migrate to her breast or her ass, and-

And it’s really not fair that he has to decide on one, when he wants both. Needs both.

Breaking the kiss with a harsh gasp, pulling her hair only hard enough to tilt her head and bare her throat to him, he growls against her pulse, “I don’t have enough fucking hands.”

Her laugh is a breathless pant. A delighted whimper. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Teeth graze along the column of her throat. “I need-” fingers dig into her hip, growing more and more frustrated that he can’t have both and still keep a hand knotted in her hair. He counts. Debates. Finally settles with a huff, “I need at least four.”

“Hahh-” her own hand - still trapped between them and fingers dangerously close to rubbing up against the head of his cock - starts to wiggle and fidget a lot more intensely than it’d been a second ago. “And what would you do with four hands?”

“Hair. Breast. Ass.” The words rush out of him like a prayer - like he might somehow speak it into existence. Like, somehow, if he is a very, very good boy, he’ll get another set of arms for Christmas.

As he presses a sharp kiss to where collarbone meets neck, Shirayuki shivers. Stutters breathlessly, “T-That’s only three.” 

He pauses a moment. Brows pinching together momentarily as he tries to think of a good use for the fourth one, other than just ‘spare’ or ‘other breast’. 

It doesn’t take him long. 

He grins against her, and purrs, “Clit.”

“O-Oh. Mmmm.” The fingers trapped in his boxers, spasm. A knuckle brushes against his cock, making his hips jolt and her breath catch. “F-Four would be great.”

The strangled noise he makes - the one that’s doing its best to masquerade as some kind of intelligent response - quickly turns into a hiss sucked through his teeth, as her fingertip finds the head of his cock, circles once, then gently rubs along the slit, already slick with precum. To keep himself from moaning or cursing, he occupies his mouth by sucking at the hollow beneath Shirayuki’s ear.

“Obi,” she chokes on his name with an edge of needy frustration building in her throat and, with what seems like a lot of effort, withdraws her hand, letting his boxers snap back into place, as she moans and starts fighting with the button on his jeans. “Undo your pants.”

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

He’s already painfully hard. Embarrassingly so. Like, at this point, he’s halfway convinced that all she’d have to do is look at his cock the right way and he’d come.

A curious, teasing finger was more than enough-

If she gets his jeans undone-

Takes his cock in her hand and strokes, even just once-

“Obi, please-” she whines. Throat bobbing sharply under his teeth and lips. Flustered fingers continue to struggle. “I can’t get it.”

“Good.” He says, grinding himself further into her. Trying to keep her searching fingers from finding what may be the only thing between him and making this last for more than a few fevered minutes. 

Although the hand on her hip is still very much torn between ass and tits, Obi bids it to start wandering up along her side. To go for breasts, hidden away beneath that clever and cheeky ‘Kiss the Cook’ script. Because, while feeling the lace of her underwear beneath his fingertips, squeezing her ass and helping her grind against him a little harder, is a hard choice to pass up, it wouldn’t be long before his own fingers were trembling and dancing along the lace’s edge, looking for more. 

Too soon, he’d eagerly make space in between them so he could slip his fingers down to play with her clit and tease slick folds with his middle finger. And more space for him to play, also gives her more room to find and undo that goddamn button.

As his hand traces along her side, inspiring goosebumps to ripple out across her skin, she wiggles and squirms, trapped between him and the counter. “O-Obi-”

“Yes?” He hums, lips not leaving her throat. Slowly, gently, his hand slips beneath the apron and eases over her breast. Squeezing just on the soft-side of rough, he teases, “Can I help you?”

“Y-Yes, you can-” Shirayuki arches into him with a delightful moan. Presses herself further into his palm and speaks through grit teeth as she starts to yank at belt loops and waistband. “You can undo your goddamn pants.”

Apparently, for now at least, she’s given up on fighting with the button and is going straight for trying to rip his pants off of him. Which is making it really fucking hard not to grin. Not to laugh right out loud. Especially when she issues a long, low and incredibly frustrated whine, and starts trying to just shake him out of his clothes.

He rumbles, entirely too smug, “Nope.”

“Please?” Her breaths hiccup and he’s certain she’s about two seconds away from stomping her foot and trying to attack his button again.

A trail of kisses along her jaw makes her tremble and sigh. And, adjusting his grip on her until the weight of her breast is in his palm and her nipple is hard between his finger and thumb, he whispers against the shell of her ear, low and teasing, “Still no.”

“Hngggg… Why not?” It’s a half sob as she starts to squirm again; grinding against him in a way that almost makes him cave. Almost makes him reach down between them to snap open the button and let her do as she pleases with him. See what she has in mind and last for as long as he’s able.

But he’s not ready for this to be over. Not ready for her to take him into her hands and make him come, before they’ve even really started. Before he’s had a chance to make her beg for it.

“Because-” nothing about his groan suggests he’s in control here. It’s so heavy with want, that it’s honestly a bit of a miracle he manages to speak at all. “I’m nowhere near done with you, yet.”

[tommyspeakycap]

I love your work! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something about (toddler) baby Shelby having Alfie help her bake a cake for Tommy

omggggg that’s so so cute!!

A Bakers Help

The burly Camden Town ‘baker’ was nothing short of completely shocked when he heard a soft banging on his office door in the mid afternoon. His eyebrows had furrowed and he had kept his hand readily on his weapon so he was prepared in the event of an enemy being on the other side of the door. He was surprised to say the least when he tugged open the door and had to look down multiple inches to spot she who knocked on the door.

There stood a little girl. One he knew fairly well but who’s appearance outside his office was still a shock. That little girl was notorious around most of England, especially in heavily gang populated territories where the “Shelby” was a household name and everybody who knew that name knew the littlest member of the family was something akin to a jewel in Tommy Shelby’s crown. Alfie had been curious as to whether or not she was actually attached to Thomas Shelby’s hip in consideration to how much time she spent right by his side, teetering along on little legs so he knew she was safe right by his side. It wasn’t often that Tommy entrusted others to watch over his youngest sister, so it would be safe to say that Alfie was incredibly confused.

“Good morning.” The little girl greets, her lips plastered with a bright smile as she lifts a hand to wave at him. Alfie braces himself on either side of his doorway with strong hands so as to lean out of his office to look out into the ‘bakery’ to both the left and right before stepping back in. “Mhm yes it was actually. Where’s your brothers?” He asks, turning his eyes back to the girl in the doorway who fights to pull her wool coat back up from falling off her arms due to the fact it hadn’t been buttoned up. The girl shrugs, “Dunno...Can I come in?” She asks politely, “It’s very cold.”

Alfie Solomons squints his eyes and forms a crease between his brows, but even he can’t deny the chill in the winter breeze through the unheated factory and the shivering of the child, and so he steps to the side and gestures her in the door. Alfie hums, or maybe something more akin to a grumble, in thought as the five year old wanders around his office to take in the whole surroundings. “And where are your pikey brothers then yeah?” His voice rumbles deep and gravelly the same way it always does, not missing the chance or thinking twice about dropping an insult to the Shelby men as he speaks. The youngest of the clan shrugs her little shoulders. “Dunno,” she says again, “I’m with Ada. Told her i was going out to play.”

The words most definitely do worry Alfie Solomons after the girl with Tommy Shelby’s striking blue eyes and his heart in the palm of her tiny hand finishes speaking flippantly. It occurs to him that she’s simply too young to understand both risk and consequence. She knows that Tommy Shelby dotes on her like the little princess he believes her to be. She knows he loves her, he tells her every day. However, Alfie knows the far darker side to that love. He’s heard of people brutally murdered with remains unidentifiable after coming close to her, and although Alfie has no desire to harm a child who probably doesn’t even understand what it is the rest of her family do when she’s not around, that doesn’t reassure him even in the slightest that Tommy, Arthur, Ada and John Shelby along with Polly Gray wouldn’t rip him to shreds if they knew their little princess was stood in his office for whatever reason.

“Right,” Alfie states, “Better get you home then,” He strides easily towards the door to hold it open, but the little girl simply quirks one eyebrow and remains where she stands. “It’s Tommy’s birthday soon.” She declares, looking up at the hardened London gangster as if he poses no threat nor fear to her in the slightest bit. She smiles at him, big and bright. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know if he was violent, didn’t know if he was supposed to be scary. She just knew she had met him before, he was relatively funny as the 5 year old obviously did not pick up on the thinly veiled threats hiding beneath the verbal back and forth between her favourite brother and the man she stood with now, and more importantly than anything; she knew he was a ‘baker’. “You need a cake on your birthday, you know.” She adds very matter of factly, and Alfie Solomons doesn’t fight the little grin he gives. “And you’re a baker, so you can make good cakes. I need you to help me make Tommy’s cake for birthday cake time on Saturday.”

There’s virtually no way this little girl had just come up with this by herself. The way she acts, her generosity, her sweetness and her absolute insistence of cake for her brothers birthday was not something she had adapted by herself. Children don’t just come up with these things. That thought, for Alfie, means that those who have raised her have drilled a certain kindness into her. Thomas Shelby has raised his little sister to be the kind of kid who will find a man she thinks is a baker just because her brother told her he was, so that he can help her make a cake. That makes Alfie want to laugh. Tommy Shelby acts the part, but Solomons now knows he’s the type who taught a little girl about the importance of cake and birthday fun.

“Fine.” Alfie responds, out stretching his arm to gesture the little girl out into the factory. He did actually have a designated area for the ‘bakery’ just in the event that someone came looking or investigating and he needed to show there was actually a bakery there. He was thankful for that now, because he got the feeling that there was little to no chance he would have gotten away from the very very persistent little Shelby trailing behind him. It becomes apparent very quickly that little (y/n) will have no luck when it comes to seeing what was going on up on the counter, considering she wasn’t even nearly the same height as it, never mind tall enough see over it. Alfie has to get creative in that respect, eyes flicking around until they lands on a a stack of crates that he grabs a couple of to pile them next to the counter so that the youngest Shelby can contribute as she pleased to the cake making.

All things considered, Alfie was actually a fairly good baker. He didn’t come up with the idea of a bakery to cover his illegal business work for no reason. He knew he could bake if it was necessary (which it sometimes was to smuggle alcohol), so this ask from the little girl who had a list of ingredients and an exact image of how she wanted this cake to look, wasn’t a huge task for him.

In the process of the bake, Alfie learned a lot. He learned that little Shelby couldn’t quite pronounce her L’s (which Tommy was apparently working on with her), so she called him Afie. He learned that Tommy’s favourite cake was vanilla sponge, which was why it was a four tier vanilla sponge with extra strawberry jam that his sweet little sister had chosen. He learned that the little girl got here by very discretely tripping up her cousin, Karl, so that Ada was preoccupied giving him a plaster for his knee and stopping his tears and (y/n) snuck off from Ada’s London home in the direction she felt like she remembered Tommy going when he had taken her to Alfie’s bakery once, albeit leaving her in the car with Arthur and John. She had to ask for directions from confused strangers a few times, but ultimately she found the place on her own. Alfie learned that little Shelby talks a lot. She’s very clever, can follow instructions a lot better than most children of a similar age. It had become increasingly clear she didn’t see any problem with talking about the fun things she did with her brothers. The way Arthur and John like to throw her about to hear her giggles, how Tommy tucks her in every single night that he can. How he tickles her, how he still carries her around even though her aunt Polly protests it. How good her aunt Polly’s cooking is. How much she loves her family. She sees no problem with divulging these soft family moments, although Tommy would probably be absolutely appalled that people knew these things about him and his brothers. It made the head of the Peaky Blinders seem so incredibly mundane.

Alfie could see now why that sweet girl was so loved and held so dear by the family. He also had to wonder if she truly was one of them. She was funny and bright, she giggled with him and babbled on about sorts of rubbish. Alas, she was bossy as Thomas himself. She was loud like Arthur, sarcastic as John, self assured as Polly, as independent as Finn and opinionated as Ada. She made sure to tell Alfie exactly how to stack the first layer while she mixed ingredients for the next layer and he was kept on a very short leash, reminded every so often that he was not to dip his fingers in any of the mixtures and leaning over as he worked to tell him Tommy liked more jam than what Alfie had put on.

“Wait!” She yelps out, leaping off the makeshift kitchen stool made from those bottle crates to chase after Alfie until she reaches the man who was carrying the cake towards a box. “Finishing touches,” she insists, ever so slightly dusting the cake with powdered icing sugar to give a final decorational appearance. Alfie smiles subconsciously as the small girl stands back with a proud grin, turning her eyes to man holding the cake, “Thank you Afie,” she beams, her cute little way of saying his name never lost on him as his heart flutters. “Welcome, baby Shelby.” He responds as he slips it into the cake box he’d ordered one of his men to go and get without question.

Alfie was certain he would step outside his bakery and London would be burning. He expected to have Shelby’s killing people on the streets searching for their baby, their sweet little princess. He assumed (and rightly so) that Ada hadn’t told Tommy that she had absolutely no idea where his most precious little love was for genuine fear of his reaction and so she had mobilised some friends and acquaintances she had made while in London to try finding her little sister. Albeit they were evidently unsuccessful and absolutely no one expected little (y/n) to be baking with Alfie Solomons for her gangster brothers birthday because she just loves him so.

Ada literally burst out the front door frantically when she saw the car headlights pull up outside her house, wrapping herself tightly in her coat as Alfie Solomons lifts her little sister down out of the car. The 5 year old stands innocent as ever next to the man who Tommy never truly knows if he can trust or not as he reaches back into the car to lift out a white cake box with two strong hands. “Better keep a closer eye on this one yeah?” He gestured his head to (y/n) who runs towards Ada and jumps into her open arms to be squeezed incredibly, almost painfully tightly. “Never run off like that again!” She hisses, her concern and anxiety clear behind her words as she speaks into her sisters soft hair, stroking it with her hand for some form of reassurance.

“Sorry Ada,” she hums cutely in response, “We made Tommy a cake though, for his birthday!” Ada let’s go of (y/n) and turns to the little girl. “Go inside and find Aunt Pol, i’ll be in shortly.” She says as she eyes Alfie Solomons with the stoney faced glare he assumes she learned from Polly Gray and her often stoney resolve. “Bye bye Afie!” The 5 year old chimes, scuttling up to him to wrap her arms around his legs for a moment before turning and running off with a wave at the doorstep with Alfie a little bit to stunned by how kind she was to him despite the bad man he was to do much else than wave after her. “You,” Ada snipped, cutting him out of his thoughts and crossing her arms firmly over her chest, “Baked a cake with my little sister?” Her words leak with confusion, eyebrows furrowed with her head tilted in question as she continues to be unable to think of any reason why Alfie Solomons hadn’t turned the little girl away or even used her as a bargaining chip with threats of harm to the child if Tommy didn’t do as Alfie wanted. Instead he baked with her a cake for Thomas and she was returned without a bump, not even a hair on her head harmed. He had returned the little Shelby who was uncharacteristically clumsy for a Shelby without her falling off of anything, burning herself on any ovens or accidentally eating something she was supposed to.

“Yeah.” Alfie responds, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Ada steps closer to him to try in some way to read what he’s not saying, her heels clicking with each step. “And you want nothing for it?” She presses, her eyes narrowed as he shrugs. “Birthday gift innit yeah?” He grumbles, handing the cake to Ada. “She’s the best of you lot,” he states firmly as he turns his back to climb back into his car, “Keep her that way yeah?”

Ada’s frown turns to a soft smile as she nods, watching as Alfie Solomons pulls his door shut firmly and turns on his ignition.

“Mr Solomons, Oi!” She calls after him, forcing him to roll down his window to hear what she has to say. “Thank you.” She breathes, “For looking after her and bringing her home. And for the cake.” Alfie nods his head in acknowledgment. Ada isn’t sure what else to say. She still feels fairly nauseous at the fact her little sister was missing for virtually the whole day and littered with further nerves at the fact Tommy would be around to pick her up in a half hour and it wasn’t like little Shelby to keep quiet about anything, especially not when it came to Tommy and especially when it came to her adventures that her favourite brother hadn’t been part of, so assuredly she would let him know all about her baking day with Alfie after the cake was revealed tomorrow afternoon for his birthday. Alfie knew this too and he imagined he’d get a visit from the head of the Peaky Blinders relatively soon after he found out.

Tommy would probably be as confused as Ada as to why Alfie looked after little (y/n) the way he did. Alfie couldn’t even really explain it himself, she just warmed up his heart and the sweet little girl showed Alfie truly why Tommy loves that little girl so much. She brings laughter and happiness and fun. She brings light into a very, very dark life and Alfie appreciates that dedication Tommy had to keeping her safe a lot more now. He himself now had a soft spot for the kid and there was a part of him that knew for a fact he too would be making sure no one in his circle was breathing words of harming that little girl who had promised she would bake with him again, and had his birthday written on her hand so she could bake for his birthday.

Maybe the Shelby’s weren’t so bad after all.

[jameui]

MOVIE DATE

PAIRING: Hwang Hyunjin x Manager!M!Reader

GENRE: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: Hyunjin being a jerk

SUMMARY: You boyfriend, Hyunjin took you out on a date to watch your favorite movie.

You sighed in exhaustion and as if the world was trying to test you, a fast running bicycle came your way causing you to jump to the side, so fast that you forgot about the takeouts you had in your hands and at a blink of an eye the neatly boxed items fell to the ground, all the food now spilled on the floor with your eyes widening in fear. "Shit!" You yelled out and tried to get back to the restaurant again, but as soon as you got there the line was already long and it'd take you ages to get to the counter to order, again.

You were at your way to your work with your phone squeezed in between your shoulder and ear as you talked to your co-manager on the other line who seemed agitated for your tardiness, while you tried to balance the foods you were made to order. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure that won't happen again." You told the male before the call was cut short when he decided to hang up all of a sudden.

Looking around, you saw a chinese restaurant that had the smallest line, so you went there and bought the food there, even though the orders of the group was not exactly what they wanted for you to buy. You just couldn't go back empty handed.

After a few minutes of walking, you finally arrived at the venue of the fansign event and got there just in time before Stray Kids were called to the stage for their activity to be done, but the moment you got there you saw that the people present were already eating their food away. They noticed your presence entering the room whilst their head turned to look at you. "I... Good morning, everyone." You greeted them. 'Guess their manager got their food delivered.'

You didn't get a reply, except from the group who was more than happy to see that you had food on your hands. "Hyung! Thank God. I was starving." The group's youngest, Jeongin said as he helped you put the foods down on the table. "You're seriously a life saver."

You smiled at him giving him a muttered thanks that earned you a smile from Jeongin. Honestly speaking, Jeongin was the second best person you ever liked in the group, the first being Lee Felix since he was the only person to ever approach you on your first day since he was able to see how much you were so nervous. Felix was also one of the members who taught you korean, the other being Bang Chan. You had always knew the group back then, and now and you were damn thankful that you got the opportunity to be in their circle.

Knowing how young you were to be working for them, they treated you nicely, not because they needed to, rather cause it was in their nature to be caring. Well, at least except one person. You were the closest to Felix who treated you like his personal manager and a friend as well, going out on friendly dates with you to the park, dog cafés, just anywhere Felix would find interesting to visit.

Who's the person that seemed irritated whenever you were around you ask? Why, the one and only visual king, Hwang Hyunjin. He doesn't actually treat you bad, but the way his eyes would always turn dark or displeased when you show up in his line of sight made you feel so small and felt totally unwelcomed. That was then, apparently, since today the male looked a little too quiet and didn't even bother to look at you. Believe me or not that's actually the kindest thing he's done to you.

You would try to go to him to try and talk to him, worried by his silence. You just furrowed your brows and sighed completely aware that no matter how much you try to talk to him he won't even dare to acknowledge you being there for him.

"M/n, are you just gonna stand there? Come and eat." Chan told you, but you just politely declined his offer with the shake of your head before telling him that you had just taken your breakfast and that you were full, more and you feel like your stomach's gonna burst. "Hm, suit yourself, but I'll be leaving mine untouched, so you can eat it when you get hungry, yeah?"

"You're so kind, Chan." You gave him a smile that got Chan smiling also showing his deep dimples that you could just dive in it anytime soon.

"Hey, hey, hey! We've known each other the longest. Why do I still have to call you 'hyung' and M/n doesn't?" Jisung, one of the group's rapper, pouted with folded arms as Chan chuckled before ruffling the kid's hair that Jisung angrily shook off.

"Well, since he's not that spoiled, unlike you." Chan answered Jisung who gasped dramatically. "And he also gained my permission, so—"

"Whenever or not he's around, is he the only person that ever comes into your mind?" That all too familiar voice spoke out, all your heads turning towards the person. He scoffed and stood up with a smirk on his face, probably in disbelief that the whole group was talking to you and always thought about you. "I mean, come on. There's gotta be something else to talk about other than this... person." You felt his eyes look at you while your eyes stared at him with rising anger. "There's sports, other artists, songs, music, so many and you chose to pick him as the topic of your talk."

"Hyunjin, that is very disrespectful." Chan gritted out, but Hyunjin knew better than to listen or to even stop.

"I'm really not, hyung." Hyunjin's smirk grew wider eyeing you with a suspicious look on his eyes. An idea popped in his head as he opened his mouth to talk. "But, if you want to, I could show you how disrespectful I can get." Without any warning, he took the take-out container and bottled drink in his hand and gave you no second to react as he poured all of its contents onto your head with a loud gasp coming out of you. "There. I'll call it a masterpiece even."

"Hwang Hyunjin!" Bang Chan's voice boomed through the whole room a still smirking Hyunjin turning around to face the older male who was fuming with anger. "You—"

"Chan!" You called out to him before things got a little out of hand. For pete's sake their going to just fight because Hyunjin had made a mess of you? You were not even worth the fight. "No. I'm fine. I can just quickly change, that's all. I'll be right back and I better get no reports about you two fighting." You told the two, Chan rolling his eyes.

You got out of the room and ran as fast as you can to the nearest restroom, cleaning yourself as soon as you arrived. Times like this you would immediately bawl your eyes out, but with the constant behavior that Hyunjin showed to you, you grew used to it. Heck, you even sometimes feel that the other boys only act like they liked you being there and when you weren't, they'd stab you behind your back. "Goodness, why won't this get off."

"Need help?" A raspy voice came from the entrance of the restroom, turning your head around to see Felix leaning himself on the door frame with his arms crossed, then untangled them to let his hands rest inside his pockets and stepped inside as you smiled at him. "Do you need more tissue?"

You shook your head at him, your attention back on your stained favorite shirt wiping them clean with the tissues the place's restroom owned. "Nah, there's plenty here. Besides, I'm all dried up now." You said and showed yourself to him, Felix knitting his brows in worry.

He seeped air through his teeth and cocked his head to the side, unsure if you should be wearing that now dirty shirt when you'd be with them during the activity the whole time. "I don't think you should be wearing that."

"Why? It's my favorite sweater." You chuckled half-heartedly.

"Yeah, I know, M/n, but it's dirty. Plus, I think it gets pretty uncomfortable seeing that stain on your shirt and it gets sticky. Yeugh." Felix pretended to barf which got you laughing softly. Felix, though not trying to be funny, whatever he does it always seemed so funny to you.

"Fine, fine. I'll go change, the problem though is that I didn't bring an extra shirt with me today." You told Felix scratching your nape.

"Really? Well, I guess we have to borrow from one of the group's." Felix suggested, but your eyes grew sizes bigger upon hearing that and waved your hands.

"No way, Felix! I have already done enough damage, I can't afford to borrow a shirt from one of the members, or to you even." You told him, but it all fell on deaf ears as Felix refused to listen. "I'm just trouble, Felix. You don't have to worry about me."

Felix hummed with two fingers pinching his chin gently. "Yeah, I don't think so." He took your wrist and started to drag you back to the dressing room. "Come on, I know there's someone willing to let you borrow a shirt." You just sighed, knowing that Felix won't even dare to change his mind when he had already set them on something.

Alas, as you two got there, none of the members even had a spare shirt to let you borrow. They were very willing and even tried to look around if there was anything, but to no avail. Although, there was one last person you didn't ask. "Hyunjin. You were the cause of this mess, you let him borrow your shirt." Felix sternly told the older male who pilled his brows together.

"What?! No way! Are you telling me I'd offer to do something for that guy? No!" Hyunjin retorted making Felix growl.

Felix was so ready to throw punches at the male who didn't seem to be bothered by the situation, but you just put a hand on Felix's shoulder and assured him. "That's alright, Felix. My sweater was thick enough to not get my undershirt wet. Although, I'm grateful for your effort." You smiled at him and sighed.

Just in time, you heard a call from one of your co-manager that the group was already being requested to be at the stage right now. You gave them an encouraging smile as they all did the same. "Alright boys. It's time to go out there and meet millions of your fans."

The group all shouted, excluding Hyunjin, hurray and hurried out to get on stage, you following behind after you were able to discard your sweater, leaving you only on your black t-shirt. You shivered at the cold now that you were left with a thin clothing that wasn't appropriate for the type of weather you were having and not mention that the place was fully air-conditioned.

Your shaking was not too evident, but one of the members, Seungmin, was able to notice it. Feeling pity he made his way to Hyunjin and tried to convince him. "Jinnie, M/n's cold. Please lend him your jacket, at least. He'll get sick if he continues to get exposed to the cold."

"Better for him."

"Hyunjin, please... Besides, you're already wearing thick layers of clothes why not let M/n borrow." Seungmin reasoned out and solemnly knitted his brows to persuade the male, Hyunjin rolling his eyes at his bestfriend and huffed before taking his jacket off of him and handed it over to Seungmin who silently squeaked. "Thanks, Hyunjin." Hyunjin brushed it off with a 'whatever', the younger of the two jogging his way towards you and gave you the jacket he got from Hyunjin. "I noticed your shivering, so I want you to take this jacket and no, you can't say you can't accept it."

You nodded your head at him and took the jacket from his hands. "Thank you, Seungmin."

"My pleasure." He smiled at you with those puppy dog like smile. He skipped back to reunite with his group while you put on the jacket that Seungmin offered you. You were still in thought though how Seungmin was able to convince Hyunjin to let you borrow his jacket. You knew Hyunjin owned the jacket since he wouldn't let them go since the moment you arrived.

You noticed how the jacket was too big for you, since the sleeves of the piece of clothing only let your fingers peek out through the holes while the flaps reached further down your hips, but it totally felt cozy and smelled like... Hyunjin. How do you explain it? You don't even know where to begin. It was him. The reason why you wanted to work with Stray Kids. You didn't want to look like you were some type of stalker, but all you ever wanted was to befriend Hyunjin.

The befriending process didn't go the way you actually thought it would go. Everytime his eyes met yours or you heard his voice you'd get all flustered and so nervous that your tongue always gets tied, the words you want to tell him gets trapped inside your mouth. It all started to be just an admiration towards the slightly older male until your determination to become his friend gradually became an unknown feeling towards Hyunjin, until realizing later that you actually liked the group's rapper, despite all his bad treatment towards you.

Back to reality, you hugged yourself and took in the wonderful scent the artist gave off until one of your co-worker nudged you. "Hey, stop sniffing the clothes. You totally look like a sasaeng."

"W-what? I wasn't sniffing anything." You denied it earning an eye roll. Later, you heard the whole place bursted into shouts of joy and excitement as Stray Kids made their appearance on the stage greeting all their fans inside and outside of the place. They all took their turns taking the mic to express their happiness and gratefulness to their ocean of fans that filled up the whole place.

Soon, the group was seated at a long rectangular table that was a perfect fit letting all the members seat on their respective seats. There were chairs as well settled in front of the table with each settled across a specific member.

You were appointed to keep guard and stand behind Hyunjin, in any case of fans throwing shade at him or any forms of harm or hate towards the member who had just been caught up in a supposed bullying rumor.

The line started to form as people who were present inside the place took their turns to talk to each member and get a sign from them. So far, you could only wonder how paranoid the company was to keep you on guard of Hyunjin when all these people here are Stays and they wouldn't do such thing to throw hate to any members in the group. Right?

The line was still too long to be gone in just minutes making you sigh, hearing your tummy rumble hoping that no one heard that. You now finally regret not eating that noodles that Chan offered you, the hunger finally hitting your system as your tummy continued to grumble. You pursed your lips and forced your eyes closed while you brought your head down in embarrassment. 'Fuck... why now?'

After a short while, the line was starting to get shorter and shorter, you thanking the heavens for the fast passing by of the time. But, the moment you least expected to happen happened. You felt a harsh tap on your legs and another and another after it finally took your attention, getting a little shocked that the action was done by the person who hated you the worst. "Take it before I change my mind." He told you. You complied and bowed at him politely as he tuts his tongue. "Who would even think of going to work on an empty stomach?"

'You... poured it on me?' You thought then shrugging it off before you looked at the treat offered to you by Hyunjin. You wondered what type of bread it was and hesitated, although Hyunjin's back was facing you he was able to sense your hard time on trying to eat what he gave you.

"It's not poisoned, M/n." He whispered as he signed the album that had his photo on it, then looking up at the fan who would like to talk to him.

Their talk wasn't audible to you, but you opened the packaging of the nicely wrapped pastry and bit on it with your body facing the wall so your back was turned against the people to cover yourself while you ate. One of your co-manager did notice your unwanted behavior and stomped his way to you and took the baked good from your hands and threw it to the ground to step on it and crush it good. "What do you think you're doing, L/n?! You're being inappropriate right now." He gritted out to you with a small voice almost like a whisper so no one else would hear you two. You bowed your head subtly before a hand was placed right below your chin as you looked up at him confused. "Spit." He ordered, referring to the food you were chewing.

You nod your head and spit out the food that was in your mouth into his hand while he picked up the wasted food and left, then threw it all at a trash can. "Fuck." You sighed as you held your chest and slowly turned around to face the non-existent line, the group now interacting with their fans.

Just looking at them now, you were able to remember when you were the one who was there seated at the chairs shouting out the name of the person you would call as your bias, which is no other than Kim Seungmin. At least, when you still didn't take the job to be one of the group's manager. Usually, it would only take one manager to manage the group, but why did this group require another one? You questioned yourself. It was all unexplained to you, but all you gotta do was to just be glad that you get to be friends with the people you see as your role models.

"Hyunjin-ah! When did you start trading jackets with your manager?" The question came out as a shout that got everyone laughing, including the group. You were only able to chuckle knowing that it was Seungmin who convinced Hyunjin to let you borrow his jacket.

Hyunjin didn't get to answer the question, when another fan spoke from the crowd that got every fans' attention. "Are rumors true that you don't treat Manager L/n well?"

Chan furrowed his brows and picked up his microphone. "Where did you get this story?" He chuckled trying to make it sound that it wasn't true and just pure bluff. Chan looked at Hyunjin with the face that told Hyunjin that he should start treating you well if he didn't want the netizens to know about his treatment towards you. "Anyways, it's seriously not true."

-----------

A few minutes later and the event was finally finished and the group was bidding their goodbyes to their fans as they started to walk backstage. You waited for them at their waiting room with a handful of bottled waters for the boys to pick up once they get inside. The door soon opened revealing the group with a tense atmosphere following them that got you so confused. "Hey—"

"Hyunjin. If word gets out about your mistreatment to M/n, that would be a serious damage to our image and to M/n as well, 'cause he's obviously in pain because of you!" Chan yelled at the trouble causing male who only rolled his eyes paying no heed to his warning.

"Atleast, I never went too far as to really hurt him physically." Hyunjin deadpanned Chan growling at his response. Your eyes flickered to Hyunjin, then to Chan not knowing what to do in this situation.

"You are seriously being a jerk right now, Hyunjin." Chan fumed in anger while Hyunjin just continued to act deaf and played on his phone. Chan, giving up, sighed and plopped down on his seat. "Ayayay."

They took turns in getting your glances as you thought of a way to calm the atmosphere. You had already been their manager for a over a year now and this was the only time that Hyunjin ever spoke up to Chan and, to top it off, with sass and without the slightest feeling of being bothered. That was the moment you felt like you had enough. You've had enough with all these things. You were tired of yourself to even think that Hyunjin would finally soften up to you and be his friend. You were wrong to even apply for this kind of job. The group wouldn't be fighting if it hadn't been for you appearing in their lives all so suddenly. "Guys... let him do as he pleases. I'll be the one to take of whatever the netizens hear."

Chan raised his eyes up at you with furrowed brows. "What do you plan on doing? Whatever it is don't do it."

You smiled and nodded. "I won't, Chan." You held up the bottles in your hands and turned on a toothy smile. "Water? Anyone?" They all sighed in relief and got their turns in picking their own bottled water, the last one not being picked up by Hyunjin, so you decided to give it to him. You brought the cold drink to his face making him flinch as he looked up at you. "Thank you for the bread, by the way." You told him and giggled. "I've already packed your jacket in your bag." You informed him and patted his back.

The once crazily terrifying atmosphere now turned into a more comfortable one, the one you always would want to see. You didn't know what got you the courage to speak or blurt out whatever you had in your mind, but you looked at Hyunjin and said: "Hyunjin, can I talk to you privately?" Thankfully, their loud voices was able to distract themselves from hearing your request to Hyunjin who sighed and nodded his head. He stood up from his seat and started to move outside of the room. You followed behind closely, feeling intimidated by the month older's tall figure. "Hyunjin..."

"Cut to the chase, M/n. I don't have much time." He told you as you nod your head in understanding and fiddled with your fingers.

"I know, you'd probably like hearing this, but could I have the permission to quit as your group's manager?" You asked him, his forehead creasing that made him pull his brows together. "I was able to notice what the group had become the moment I became your manager—"

"And do you think quitting would change it?" Hyunjin asked you with a raised brow. "If anything, it'd probably—no, it would break their hearts to know that you quitted. If you do so, you're not only quitting as a manager, but as their friend as well."

"And you're able to say that after you purposely tried to have me fired or suspended from work by offering me that bread?" You sarcastically answered, Hyunjin clearing his throat.

"Well... that wasn't my intention. I didn't even know it'd get you fired." Hyunjin replied making you chuckle.

"Yeah..." You replied with a sad smile. "But, I don't wanna be the reason why you and Chan would always fight. Stray Kids is Stray Kids because they're fun and loving, caring. And I don't want to change that by being around the group." Hyunjin never replied anymore and you sighed. "I'm heading back now." You said and as you started to walk back inside, Hyunjin spoke.

"I wish you never entered our life, at all, M/n." He told you that got your heart broken into pieces. Sure, you admitted that he never liked you even just a bit, but him saying it so bluntly to you, it's like he does really mean it and could only care less. You were about to speak when Hyunjin beat you to it. "If so, I wouldn't be able to garner these undeniable feelings I have for you."

You froze. Were you hearing right? You just cleaned your ears this morning, well you do it everyday. Is your ear trying to play with you? "W-what?"

"DAMN! WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT?!" You gasped with your mouth full of popcorn, your boyfriend, Hyunjin seated beside you at the movie theater. He smiled at you admiring how cute you looked with your shocked expression that was being illuminated by the big screen. "Jinnie! Look, they're gonna kiss! AH!!" As the two actors in the movie was about to kiss, one of the movie's cast bursted out of the door cutting the kiss and earned a few 'oh's and 'I hate you, Chan's. "Chan is such a cock blocker."

"Watch your mouth, babe." Hyunjin told you making you pout.

"It's true, though!" You retorted and Hyunjin could only laugh at your cuteness and honest opinions.

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, of course, except for one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He still cared.

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

...can you?

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.