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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus, Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles

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“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)

Mom

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet.

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.

Until next time

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I’m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

147 notes · View notes

gohyuck · 4 years

Text

pairing: best friend!mark x reader; some neighbor!jaemin x reader

genre: university!au, angst, slight smut

word count: 4.7k

warnings: unrequited love ft. oblivious mark, sex that ends in crying, general heartbreak because what else would it be

playlist recs: heather - conan gray, cayendo - frank ocean, i found - amber run, fools - troye sivan, from here - kafka tamura, drive safe - rich brian

I still remember Third of December Me in your sweater You said it looked better On me, than it did you Only if you knew How much I liked you

“I fucking hate frats,” You grumble, dabbing furiously at the front of your shirt with a crumpled napkin. There’s red - remnants of what you think must be jungle juice - scattered across the yellow cloth of your top, and you just know it’ll remain stained for eternity. “This cost, like, ten bucks at Walmart! I don’t have that kind of money to throw away, you know.”

“That’s just an hour’s worth of wages from the bookstore.” Mark, your best friend, points out, handing you another napkin when you exhaust the one in your hand. There’s mirth in his eyes and the threat of a laugh underlying his tone, but the warning glare you throw at him has him putting his hands up in surrender instead of making fun of you.

“God,” It’s only when someone pushes past you, opening the door behind you to get inside the cursed party house you’d been so quick to rush out of, that you realize just how cold it is outside. The warmth emanating from the inside of the house you feel against your back is short-lived as the door slams shut, but the damage is done: you’re already hyper-aware of what you don’t have. “God, it’s freezing, what the hell?”

“This is literally an end-of-semester party,” Mark, ever perspicacious, points out, adding insult to your injury without a second thought. “It’s early December. Be glad it isn’t snowing.”

“I’m in a t-shirt,” You only whine in response, ignoring everything your friend has said. The night hasn’t gone your way, and if Mark wasn’t here with you you wouldn’t have come at all. Unluckily for you, Mark Lee is popular amongst fraternity circles on account of being Jaehyun Jung’s hometown neighbor and friend, so you find yourself attending parties intermittently. If you could say no to Mark, maybe you wouldn’t smell vaguely of vodka and artificially flavored fruit punch right now.

“I’m in a t-shirt,” You repeat, ignoring any and all thoughts of your best friend you’re having, as always. “And it’s wet which is making me even colder. I hate it here.”

Mark only rolls his eyes, though you’re surprised to see him shrug off his windbreaker before pulling his black sweater over his head to reveal a thin white shirt. He hands it to you wordlessly before pulling his jacket back on and zipping it up, and when you only stare at the piece of clothing he’s given you, he has the audacity to laugh.

“I’m tired of your complaining,” He explains when your gaze meets his, though he jovially knocks his shoulder against yours when your eyes narrow momentarily. “And besides, you always look better in it than I do. Before you ask, I’m not cold anyways, so it’s all good.”

You don’t miss the comment about you looking better in it than he does. For a moment, just a moment before you pull the proverbial wool over your eyes and black polyester over your head, you imagine that he actually means it. He does let you borrow it an awful lot, after all: it’s in your dresser half as often as it’s in his.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” You huff out a lie, putting an arm through before pulling the rest of the sweater on. You’re immediately met with Mark’s cologne, and you pull his sleeves over your hands into sweater paws on habit. His clothes are always just a little long on you. “You’re like a human furnace.”

“Whatever dude,” Mark rolls his eyes again, though there’s fondness evident in them. “Come on - I’ll walk you back to your place.” He loops his arm through yours in a way you’ve gotten dangerously used to, dragging you away from the Nu Kappa Theta house.

He keeps his word, leaving you right in front of your door. When you go to take off his sweater, he stops you, telling you that there’s no rush to get it back to him. A quick hug and a short goodbye later, Mark is walking down the hallway, hands shoved into his jeans’ pockets. You watch as he gets to the stairwell, so desperately wanting him to turn back.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t - you aren’t Heather. You fall asleep in his sweater hours later, still drowning in his cologne. Come morning, you fold it neatly and place it in the bottom drawer of your dresser, out of sight and out of mind.

But I watch your eyes, as she walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than a blue sky She's got you mesmerized While I die

You still remember the first time you’d seen her. It was mundane, really - she’d sat next to you during your first Computing class of the semester, and you’d introduced yourself to her and found her to be a sweet girl, the kind of girl people like being around. There wasn’t anything past that - the two of you went on with your lives, sometimes making idle conversation in class. You hadn’t thought much of your meeting with her until later.

Far more importantly, frankly, you remember the first time Mark had seen her, even if he doesn’t remember it himself. You’d been lounging under a tree, Mark’s back against the bark while you had your head in his lap. He’d been rambling on and on about something Donghyuck had said during their intramural dance team’s practice when he’d stopped speaking mid-sentence, forcing you to turn your head to see where his eyes were leading him.

Heather, in a pleated skirt and a beige sweater over a pristine white button down. She’d looked positively radiant while standing in the grass and laughing with friends, the sun shining brightly directly behind her. Mark, feeling your eyes looking up at his slack-jawed expression, had unfrozen eventually, raising a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck out of embarrassment. He’d been about to launch back into his story - this time likely punctuated by glances over at the other girl - when you’d interrupted him before he could begin.

“Her name’s Heather,” You’d told him, mentally kicking yourself even as you spoke. Who tells the love of their life the name of someone they’re obviously ogling? You hate the value you place on your friendship with Mark almost as much as you hate the fact that you’re in love with him. “She’s in one of my classes. She’s really nice, if you’re into that.”

“Of course I am,” Mark had muttered then, ears burning red. “Why wouldn’t I be into nice people?”

“You spend all your time hanging with me and Hyuck.” You’d pointed out, reaching a hand up to poke at his chin. He’d flicked your fingers away from him, though he’d immediately grabbed your hand right after, holding it tight for a moment on impulse and as if to show you he’d never really hurt you.

You’d wished the constant Mark-inflicted ache you’d felt - feel, still - was physical.

“You’re nice, dude,” Mark had insisted then, finally looking down at you. You’d felt suddenly insecure then, realizing that the angle you were at wasn’t the most flattering. There was no way you could compete to Heather, not with your disheveled hair and eyes that pierced through Mark like arrows. You’d wrapped your arms around yourself in insecurity and Mark had thought nothing of it, only continuing to speak. “You’re nice enough, at least, when you aren’t kicking my ass. Hyuck is… a thought best left for another day.”

You’d laughed then, and Mark had responded in kind. The rest of your break between classes had been spent like that: talking and laughing with your favorite person, irreplaceable by all accounts.

If he hadn’t chanced glances at Heather throughout it, you might’ve been able to consider that he found you irreplaceable in the same way you found him.

Mark hadn’t been subtle then.

He isn’t subtle now.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were Heather

Mark asks for the sweater back the day before you leave for winter break. Your flatmate is staying back - has research to work on through Christmas - so you’re free to visit your parents back home, and although you dread all the questions you’ll be asked, you can’t help but feel the slightest bit excited.

“I’ll drop by and pick it up before I head out, then,” Mark says, voice still warm as ever even as the phone makes him sound the slightest bit tinny. “What time is good for you?”

“I’ll be at the bus stop by 5,” You respond, phone between your shoulder and your ear and heart between your mouth and your chest as you pull his polyester sweater out of your dryer. “Come by any time before then.”

He drops past your place a little before 4, eyes sparkling when he tells you that Heather only lives about a half an hour away from him, so he’s taking her with him on his drive home. You muster the brightest smile you can when you tell him how wonderful that is, all while handing back the sweater that smells like your own detergent for now but you’re sure will soon smell like Heather’s perfume.

A week after seeing Heather for the first time, Mark had, by chance, joined your university’s Literature Club, not knowing that the girl who’d stolen his breath was a member. He’d had the same sparkle in his eyes when he’d regaled his first conversation with her to you, talking for ages about her opinions on The Picture of Dorian Gray and Slaughterhouse-Five. They’d clicked immediately, in his words. Two fitting puzzle pieces.

You’d bawled like a baby into your flatmate’s arms once your best friend had left your apartment that night, feeling entitled to the tears after so many hours of half real (you truly were happy for him) and half fake (you truly were sad for yourself) smiles.

It’s been three months since then. Heather and Mark aren’t dating just yet, but they’re an inevitability. You remind yourself of that after Mark leaves, sweater in hand and a promise to text you once he gets home sliding off his tongue.

He messages you a picture - a selfie of him and a smiling Heather - five hours later, a ‘we’re home safe!’ text accompanying it. It isn’t a surprise to you that she’s wearing the black polyester sweater in the photo, but it still stings nonetheless.

Mark had said you look better in the sweater than he does. Heather looks far better in it than you do.

When you reach your own home, you’re not alarmed to see Jaemin, your next-door neighbor who’s home from his own school for break, sitting at your kitchen counter and eating grapes out of a plastic bowl. His parents and your parents are great friends, and you’ve always gotten along fairly well with him. His hair is dyed a light blue, gelled back slightly to show his forehead, and he smiles the same cheeky smile he’s had since his sophomore year of high school at you. Jaemin’s always been breathtakingly handsome, always been as good looking as he is just good. He’d been a decent friend to you when you’d lived here, close enough to tell secrets to but not so close that he’d reveal them to anyone.

Jaemin had been your first kiss way back when, had been your first time barely after that, and you allow yourself to see the purely sexual tension that still exists between the two of you. You feel nothing but friendship - maybe just acquaintanceship - for him, and he for you. It’s perfect.

When both sets of parents go out for dinner, unable to drag the two of you out with them, you pull Jaemin up the stairs to your childhood bedroom to ride him frantically as if you’ll never feel this good again. He coaxes not one but two orgasms from you, cool hands roaming your body and nails raking gently over your thighs. Jaemin fucks up into you when you can’t move any longer, when your thighs shake from overwork, and he doesn’t complain, not once.

He pulls you down to him, bites your shoulder hard when he cums, spilling into the condom he’d managed to get on in the rush to be inside of you. When you don’t pull off of him afterwards, instead only beginning to sob quietly into his shoulder, he’s kind enough to run his hands over the span of your back to soothe you.

“That bad, huh?” He jokes, not letting you go. His hands are warm now. You shake your head adamantly even as you know he’s kidding before muttering a ‘it’s not you, it’s Mark’ into his skin.

“Did you just ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ me?” Jaemin questions, this time more confused than anything. You shake your head again, your tears glistening against his collarbone as you pull away enough to look him in the eyes.

“Mark. It’s Mark,” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’ve never voiced it aloud before - that it’s Mark. That it might just always be Mark. Jaemin’s okay, though - Jaemin won’t tell. How could he? He doesn’t even know Mark.

Your childhood neighbor stares at you, though not unkindly, for a long moment before nodding slowly in understanding and pulling you into his chest once more for a tight embrace. He doesn’t ask any questions - you assume he just gets it.

Jaemin manages to finger you to one more climax like that, with you curled up in his lap and your head against his chest. He murmurs sweet nothings that really mean nothing into your ear as he does, and you find that you could get used to this. You won’t, but you could. When you cum again, you only whimper and moan, incapable of forming words.

Mark’s name is on the tip of your tongue, and even though Jaemin would understand if you say it, you don’t. You can’t tempt yourself with a reality that isn’t available for you. It would be too cruel.

By the time your parents and Jaemin’s parents get back home, you’re wearing a sweatshirt you hadn’t been wearing earlier, mainly to hide Jaemin’s bite mark. You hug your neighbor goodbye, and he whispers a ‘it’ll be okay’ into your neck before pulling away, giving you a soft version of his devilish grin and waving before leaving with his mom and dad.

Maybe it will be okay someday, but for now, God, how you wish you were Heather.

You only text Mark back right before you go to bed, a quick ‘damn, guess i’ll have to hire a better hitman next time. for you, not for heather, she’s lovely’ before you rest. Is she at his house, her head against his chest as they talk about books or movies or whatever they talk about? Or is she on her way home right now, wishing for more time with Mark?

Your sleep is dreamless that night, despite the thoughts of Mark and Heather, Heather and Mark that run through your mind constantly. It’s the one stroke of luck you have.

Watch as she stands with Her holding your hand Put your arm 'round her shoulder Now I'm getting colder

You sleep with Jaemin intermittently during your break, finding quite quickly that he’s very willing to solely be a receptacle of your pent-up urges catalyzing. It’s hard to have sex with people at school because you’re always aware that Mark could be waiting at your apartment with food when you get back, or that he could be texting you while you’re getting laid. With Jaemin, you can truly push Mark out of your mind, if only just for a moment.

It’s good that you find a momentary respite in your childhood neighbor, because once you’re back on campus, it feels like the universe is purposefully tugging your stars out of their alignments just to torture you.

The weather still leaves much to desire, and although it isn’t as cold as it had been in December, you still carry a hoodie around with you wherever you go. They’re easy to pull over long-sleeved shirts and sweaters; after all, Heather’s always pulling Mark’s favorite forest green hoodie over the familiar black sweater that she wears.

Before, it had just been you, Mark, and occasionally Hyuck getting together and hanging out. At restaurants, you and Mark would sit on the same side, sharing appetizers while Hyuck actively guarded his food from your roaming hands. Now, when you go out to eat, you sit beside Donghyuck, Heather right across from you with her perfect smile and kind eyes while Mark sits right beside her, leaning back with his arm thrown over the booth behind her easily.

She’s genuine: when she asks about your hobbies, your likes, your dislikes, she truly wants to know. It’s good of her: after all, you’re one of the most important people in Mark’s life. You figure she must know that, the closer she gets to your best friend, the closer she should get to you.

You appreciate it. You also hate it.

When Heather gets up mid-lunch to go to the bathroom, parting from the three of you for the moment with a dazzling grin and an airy laugh that makes Mark visibly redden, the boy she’s wooing turns to you and your other friend, eyes full of hope. Donghyuck arches an eyebrow even as he knows what the other man is about to say.

“Man, isn’t she literally the best? There’s something between us, right? I should ask her out?” Mark’s running a hand through his hair as he speaks, a nervous habit he’s had the whole time you’ve known him (freshman year Intro to Film, he’d spilled his cold coffee all over you and panic-offered you his black sweater to wear as a cover-up and, the rest, as they say, is history).

“She’s on the higher end of the cool spectrum, yes there’s something, and it’s your life, dude, I can’t tell you who to date or not date.” Donghyuck responds before you can, and you catch him darting his eyes over at you in mild concern as he speaks. You haven’t told him about how you feel about Mark, but you’re sure he’s known for some time. He’s nothing if not deductive.

Mark rolls his eyes, mutters something about Hyuck always being the bare minimum amount of helpful, and then looks you directly in your eyes, waiting for your verdict. In that moment you know that he’ll seriously consider whatever you say, that if you don’t like Heather, he’ll do his best to dislike her too. Friendship above all else.

The word friendship leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, even if you value it so highly.

“Ask her out,” You finally say, the corners of your mouth quirking up together. The smile you wear doesn’t reach your eyes, but Mark’s too elated to notice. Under the table, Hyuck gently rests a warm hand against your knee for a split second, a show of ‘I’m here’ that you’re grateful for.

Before you can continue speaking - what would you even say? - Heather is sliding back into her seat, back from the bathroom. You can’t very well talk about her while she’s there, so you close your mouth inconspicuously, watching as Mark puts his arm around her shoulders rather than against the booth this time, pulling her just a little closer to his side.

You’re wearing two layers of clothing, but the air suddenly feels freezing. Donghyuck casually hands you a fry off his own plate, not keeping his food all to himself for the first time ever.

You accept it, even though it’s cold by now. Bleakness added upon bleakness changes nothing.

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel But then again, kinda Wish she were dead, as she Walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than a blue sky She's got you mesmerized While I die

He asks Heather out a week later with a bouquet of flowers you help him pick our just hours before his trek to her apartment. Donghyuck comes over the night of your florist trip - your flatmate had left for a trip the night earlier, leaving you a tub of ice cream and a pile of 80s movies as a placeholder for human comfort - and holds you for hours, not saying anything as you sob through The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Stand & Deliver.

“I w- I wish she didn’t exist,” You hiccup into your friend’s shirt as he rests his chin on top of your head. “And then I feel awful because she’s just so nice. She’s always so nice. He likes her because she’s so nice.”

“It hurts worse when they’re nice, especially when you’re also nice,” He murmurs into your hair, pulling you closer into his chest. “Because then you can’t plot ways to get revenge without ending up being the asshole.”

“The jilted ex,” You agree, though it only causes you to cry harder. “Except I’m - I’m not even an ex.”

“Someday, you’ll be glad that you aren’t one of his exes.” Donghyuck assures you, and you know he’s right so you say nothing else, only wrapping your arms tighter around him. The healing process for your heartbreak starts then, as you stain your friend’s thin shirt with your tears and he rubs soothing circles into your back. Your heart might just sew itself back together.

The single stitch holding the halves of your heart together rips easily when Mark brings breakfast to your doorstep the next morning, obvious hickies dotting his collarbone once he pulls off his white pullover. The sight alone makes you feel like your lungs are airless and will forever remain so, and you realize that you’ll have to start healing all over again.

Still, you welcome your best friend into your apartment for breakfast like you do every Sunday morning, right before he goes to Church. Mark’s bought bagels today, from the café at the end of the block, and once he’s prayed like he always does before eating he spreads strawberry cream cheese all over one half of his bagel while talking about how well his ask had gone and thanking you for your floral expertise.

“I just thought they looked pretty,” You shrug, mentally begging for him to stop relating you to any aspect of his relationship. “No need to thank me.”

“I’ll always thank you, dude,” Mark says with ease, licking cream cheese off of his thumb. “You’re my best friend.” With this, he finishes off his breakfast, stands up from his chair at your breakfast nook, and wears his pullover again.

“Gotta pick Heather up, she said she wants to come to Church with me,” Mark says, and your heart twinges at how quickly she’s been introduced to the more intimate aspects of his life. You say nothing, only smile and nod, and Mark thinks nothing of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We literally have a class together.” You scoff, doing your best to banter with Mark like you always do. He rolls his eyes at your statement, though his grin never falls from his lips.

“I’ll see you,” Is all he says, before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. He’s halfway out your door before he turns back - turns back like you’d always wished for him to - and calls your name.

“Yes?”

“You really did do me a favor by helping me with the flowers,” Mark says, giving you the most grateful smile you’ve ever witnessed. “She said the bouquet had all her favorites. I don’t know how you do it. You’re a lifesaver. Love you!”

With that, he’s out the door, and you can only watch as it slams shut behind him, trapping in his last two words as they curl around you like currents, pushing you deeper into the water that’s drowning you. It’s platonic, of course it is, it always has been. Still, you believe that if you never hear those two words together again, you might be all the better.

The bouquet had all of your favorites, too.

You need to stop wishing you were Heather.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better I wish I were Heather Wish I were Heather Wish I were Heather

It’s a little less than three months later when you’re out shopping by yourself at the local mall, in desperate need for some winter clothes before the next year’s winter starts. Everything’s on sale now, and you’re not one to pay extra money for no reason at all. You’re sitting through a rack of jackets when your phone vibrates, and you fish it out of your pocket to find that Mark has texted you four images, accompanied with a message asking ‘which one should I post O.o’.

They’re all of Heather in that black polyester sweater - the one you used to wear often - at an ice skating rink, and you assume Mark’s just gotten home from a date. She’s grinning brightly at the camera in the first picture while finishing tying up her skates. In the second one, her back is to the camera and her head is turned to the side, her hand holding onto Mark’s as she leads them across the rink. She’s looking right at the camera in the third one as well, eyebrows raised sportingly as she sips hot chocolate from a styrofoam cup.

You tell Mark to go with the fourth one: a candid of her just stepping on to the rink, eyes wide but smile even wider. Her head is turned, though she can’t see that her side profile is being captured. She’s beautiful without effort in a way you refuse to find in the mirror, and you know the fact that Mark has even taken a picture of Heather without her posing means he wants to cherish every memory with her. It’s sweet, and you tell him so.

You pocket your phone before reading his response, doing your best not to let his earnestness affect you. Mark is a good man, and Heather is a good woman. They’re good for each other, and you’re good for both of them as a friend.

As you turn around to inspect another set of for-sale winter clothes, this time on a table rather than a rack, you realize that, over the past few months, you truly have done your best to try and move on. It had been slow at first, yes, but by throwing yourself into your studies, taking time for yourself, and hanging out more with Hyuck and your other friends - though not less with Mark - has done you good. The ache has weakened, the stinging has stopped, for the most part. You’ve killed almost all of your Mark-related hangups or fixations, almost all of them except…

You rest your palm on top of a light blue sweater - cotton, not polyester - and run your thumb over it, exhaling slowly and blowing air out through your barely-parted lips as you do. It’s pretty, and your size, and you’re in need of one, and the one sweater you used to wear the most isn’t available to you anymore.

Jaemin’s words from months ago echo in your mind: ‘it’ll be okay’. You grab the sweater and make your way to the cashier’s counter, suddenly not needing to buy anything else anymore.

The breath of air you take upon leaving the mall, sweater in bag in hand, feels like the first one you’ve taken in a while. As you settle into your car and turn the ignition key, placing your purchase on your passenger’s seat, you’re hit with a realization that you didn’t think you’d ever have.

It’s all okay...

And you’re starting to no longer wish you were Heather.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were..

#neowritingsnet #kwritersworld #nct-writers #mark lee #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #mark lee scenario #mark lee scenarios #jaemin #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #jaemin smut #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct 127 scenario

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pagingevilspawn · 3 years

Note

Hey my request is about Alex who returns to Seatle and finds out about Jo and Jackson's relationship

i had all and then most of you (some and now none of you)

wc: 1.4k

pairing: Jo Wilson/Alex Karev (past), Meredith Grey & Alex Karev (gen), and mentions of Jo Wilson/Jackson Avery.

summary: during a late night phone call, alex learns that jo is well and truly no longer his.

rating: general audiences.

category: angst.

warnings: angst, no happy ending.

AN: again, this is pretty short, but i wrote it in two hours, so.... it's not quite what you asked for anon, but i tried to keep it relatively canon compliant, since here (as you can tell) Meredith didn't get covid.

_____

The silence in the house seemed alarming to him, not used to the lack of commotion that usually echoed throughout the halls. Izzie was finishing up on a shift and wouldn’t be home for a while, and the twins were tucked into bed, leaving the only sound in the home to be the low, steady humming of a sitcom rerun on the TV.

The appeal drained after a while, and he eventually grew tired of laughter from the audience after nearly every line spoken. Mindless chatter was all it was and all it seemed to be.

Alex sighed, leaning into the couch’s cushions and pulling out his phone, dialing Meredith’s number once he saw that he had missed her call only minutes before. He waits a few seconds, the droning of the beeps making him anxious for a reason he couldn’t place. Eventually, Meredith picks up, her voice slightly out of breath, which he only assumes could come from finishing a long day of work.

“Alex! How are you?”

He gets up from his place on the couch, taking his conversation onto the front porch, settling onto the swing that hung in the corner. “I’m good Mer, I’m good,” he says, directing his gaze to the end of the road, where a car went by, headlights being one of the only forms of light besides the dim street lamps.

“How are the kids?” he asks, feeling a sense of nostalgia at the fact that he hadn’t seen his niece or nephews in months. He missed them, more than he would admit. He had been there for everything, everything graduation, every dance, every school play, he had been there.

But he had his own kids to tend to now, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

(not trade, but make some changes. he lost that opportunity a long time ago though)

“They’re good. Zola is driving Bailey crazy with how much she’s correcting his homework, when all he wants to do is go play on his XBox. Ellis is hating distance learning, complaining that all she wants to do is see her friends, but what else is new. Zola loves it, not surprisingly. She thinks school is even easier than it was before, the only part she misses is talking to her friends, but she calls them and everything, so she doesn't see too much harm. She’s started staying after class to help other kids with her teachers. Amelia and I have been teasing her non-stop about being a kiss-up, but she loves it. If she decides to switch careers I wouldn't doubt that she would be a teacher,” she says, and he can hear the car door slam shut and the rumble of the car's engine coming to life.

He laughs softly, “We both know that that’s not gonna happen. Zo would rather get into a bear fight before giving up on being a surgeon.”

Meredith hums, “That’s true. The thought of being anything else almost is offensive to her,” she laughs. “The other day I made an offhand comment about a lawyer being a fun career for her because of how much she loves to argue, and she went into a five minute lecture on why she was going to be a neurosurgeon.”

Alex smiles, practically able to see the image of Zola telling her mom off for suggesting she be anything other than a surgeon. “That sounds about right. I learned that lesson a long time ago.”

There are a couple of beats of silence, the only thing he can hear is the crickets chirping in the distance and the faint sounds of cars racing around in the background.

“They miss you, you know,” Meredith finally speaks, her tone dropping slightly to let him know how sincere her words were.

He lets out a heavy breath, “I miss them too Mer,” the crickets continue their noise, and images of what his life used to be seem to filter through his mind. An endless loop, dancing in his head of a life he once used to live, but could no longer say he knew.

“Well,” she breaks him away from his thoughts, “When all this is over, you’re due for a visit, okay?”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. “Long overdue,” he agrees. “So, what’s been going on over at Seattle Grace Mercy Death?”

She fills him in on the latest events of the hospital, how everyone was adjusting to their new realities, the newest batch of interns, and patients that had stuck out more than others.

It was a funny thing that he didn’t realize until a while ago, somehow patients at Grey-Sloan had stuck with him more than the ones where he currently was.

“And Jo—” she starts, but cuts herself off, piquing his interest. Jo hadn’t come up in any other of their conversations, for reasons that didn’t really need to be said aloud.

He bites the inside of his cheek, releasing and giving himself the courage to finally ask about her. She never left his mind, so he couldn’t see the harm in asking about her —an opportunity to clear the part of his brain that was on a constant track of her if he was able to know how she was.

“It’s fine Mer, you can talk about her,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

He can hear her sigh, and can practically imagine the head shake she is giving him right then “Not about this, Alex.”

He perks up immediately, “Is she okay? I need you to tell me if she’s not okay Mer,” he demanded, his voice firm, only a trace of worry present if anyone were to listen closely.

(he felt like Elsa, conceal don’t feel)

“What? No,” she scoffs. “Jo’s fine, though I don’t really think you have the right to care about how she is anymore Alex, considering you’re the one that left her,” she scolds him, and he can hear the disappointment in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

He lets out a heavy breath, trying to fight back the urge to explain himself to her, which would end up in a loud argument of why he shouldn’t have done what he had. He’d had it before, and each time it sent him to bed with all the what if’s playing out in the forefront of his mind.

Except he didn’t live a life of what if’s, he was living a life of right now.

“I know Mer,” he can hear the heaviness in his words, and she must too, since she relents her lecture on him, and he knows that it’ll just come up at another time.

“She’s sleeping with Jackson,” she says it so casually that he almost thinks that she’s joking, but realizes that she’s not when she stays silent.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He can feel the tenseness of the air, even though they are thousands of miles apart. He clears his throat after a few minutes have passed. “Are they together, or…?” he trails off, unsure of how he’s supposed to feel.

He left her. He left her. He left her. He wants to say that he’s upset that she’s already moved on, but there he was, sleeping in the same bed as his ex-wife and raising their children together, all while they were still married. He couldn’t really have an opinion, because he was the one who ended their relationship in the most cowardly way possible, through a letter sent in the mail, not even giving her the courtesy to tell her the truth to her face.

“No, they’re doing a friends with benefits sort of thing.”

He nods, trying to think of something to say. “Is she happy?” he settles on.

“Not like she once was, but I think she’s getting back there.”

The ache in his heart grows a bit more, because some selfish part of him wants her to only be able to be happy with him, as unfair and cruel as it is. But he smiles bitterly, and the larger part of him is happy for her, happy that she is finally able to have someone make her laugh and smile again.

The sight of headlights coming up the driveway breaks him away from his own mind, and he knows this conversation will have to be finished at another time.

“You did this to yourself Alex,” she says, as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I know.”

They both hang up, and he greets Izzie with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, wishing that the woman he was curled up on the couch with was someone else.

But it wasn’t, because he made his choice, and now he had to face the reality of a life he chose to live.

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odd-birds-and-booksellers · 3 years

Note

Hiiii can you write prompt number 4 from the first list kinda need some Jolex rn

pick up the pieces & build a lego house

It’s only when she looks up from unpacking and notices how dark it is, does she realise how much time has passed. Disregarding the box she’d just ripped open she decides her husband had been far too quiet for far too long. She’s not sure when his gruff voice mumbling a string of curse words as he tried to assemble what felt like a never-ending amount of baby crap they’d decided to leave till the last minute had filtered out but it had definitely been a while since she’d heard him gain another self-inflicted injury.

“Alex?” She calls out, shifting up off the floor, one hand curled around her burgeoning bump. She lets out a deep breath as she waddles her way towards the staircase, calling out to her husband once again. The second they’d said goodbye to the loft she’d regretted it, space was overrated, having everything in one room might have seemed a little crowded but Jo would rather call it convenient. Her short temper begins to flare as she calls out for a third time with no response. Annoyed Jo makes her way up the stairs, feeling a little out of breath as she reaches the top, all courtesy of their big-headed baby getting all up in her lungs.

“Alex I swear if you’ve made me come all the way up these stairs and you aren’t dead I’ll kill you myself.”

As she rounds the corner of the nursery, it takes her a second to catch sight of her husband in between all the boxes, with all excess wrapping laid out...the room resembles a junkyard more than it does a nursery.

And there he was, in between all the chaos leaning back against the crib that she’d instead he put up now, he’d cushioned himself against an excessively large teddy bear his godchildren had picked out. His face scrunched up like he was almost in pain, mumbling faintly under his breath and Jo has to tiptoe closer to hear him.

“Babies don’t crunch like that...”

Jo has to stifle a laugh as Alex tosses side to side lightly mumbling utter nonsense about BBQ chips being less baby like then sour cream ones.

“I don’t wanna crush the baby like chips you know?” His voice sounds rough, half-asleep. Jo clamps a hand over her mouth as she makes her way over, she clears her throat, as she leans down in front of him, brushing some of his hair out of his face, it had grown a little unruly in lockdown and after her first attempt at playing hairdresser, he promised to never let her near him with scissors again.

“Sorry,” she whispers, a soft smile playing on her lips as she kneels down resting on the new plush rug as his sleepy eyes find hers, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She can tell he’s a little disoriented as he sits up, rubbing his eyes for a moment.

His confused face only makes her smile brighter. She is not surprised to find him asleep up here, he’s been exhausted these last few weeks. Between her midnight cravings, the house move and the constant updates from both hospitals he really wasn’t getting the chance to rest much and no doubt that wasn’t gonna change anytime soon.

Before Alex even has a chance to respond she moves in closer, her lips meeting his, kissing him slowly as his hands slide up her body resting over her bump. They’d spent most of her pregnancy apart...not what either one of them had imagined but when the pandemic hit very little was known about its effects and so of course Jo was made to isolate and while Alex had wanted nothing more than to stay home with her, he was still the chief of a hospital unequipped to deal with the level of patients coming in and they both knew deep down he was needed elsewhere. They’d managed somehow, a lot of FaceTime at the baby scans and car park meetings from six feet apart. There were people worse off, they knew that. But when Jo had hit seven months Alex couldn’t keep away any longer, he was already battling with the guilt of missing so much. So home he came, home, however, was actually all their belongings stuffed into various cardboard boxes all just waiting to be moved across town.

“This is going to sound cheesy but… I love when you’re half asleep and talking nonsense...you’re adorable.”

He laughs and smiles against her lips as he begins to rub soft circles across her bump. “Adorable probably isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Really? What would you use?” Jo grins, as she settles beside him leaning back against the crib that wouldn’t see any use for a long while yet. See while Alex had been working Jo had been left feeling pretty useless, I mean if there was ever a time doctors need to step up it was now and yet here she was trapped at home, watching the news on a loop. Finding their new home had given her something to do, something that didn't make her feel useless.

“Oh, you know handsome...incredibly sexy?” Alex smirks, lifting her legs so they laid out across his lap, his warm hand resting on her thigh.

“Oh you’re right...you taking a nap on a giant teddy bear, mumbling about chips of all things is incredibly sexy.”

“Glad you agree...” Alex smiles, resting his forehead against Jo’s. Here it’s so easy to forget what's going on outside when it’s just the two...or three of them. No one’s sick or dying, here in these four walls they’re safe. They’re home.

Something Jo never really had before she met Alex. A place where their children would always call home, they wouldn’t drag their stuff in a rubbish bag from one crappy place to the next. No here is where they’ll take their first steps and get startled by the flash as Alex struggles to get in on video. Downstairs by the entrance is where they’ll mark their height as they grow and Jo and Alex will mark theirs as they shrink in old age. Outback will be filled with memories of badly burnt BBQs, water gun fights and snow castles. A home where no matter how dark and scary things get outside will always be filled with love.

I can’t remember the last time I did a request. I’ll be honest I’m too scared to even go through my asks but I saw this one and I really enjoyed writing a little fluff with no plot.

Thanks for reading.

#alex karev #jolex #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #greys abc #greysanatony #justin chambers #greys #camilla luddington #Jolex fanfic #Jolex fanfiction #Jolex oneshot

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land-under-wave · 3 years

Text

This used to have a direction, but I don’t know where it’s going anymore, so have this semi-coherent character study. This also isn’t actually what I was planning when I said “I might have something Pokemon-related by the end of February,” but TECHNICALLY IT COUNTS.

Slightly AU in terms of characterization and on my more experimental side of things. It’s more of a first draft than anything and I’m probably going to try to polish it up later, but right now, I don’t want to look at this for a month.

If you were to ask him, Red would tell you he’s never been much one to care about respectability. He’s a pretty simple person at heart. He cares about his mother, he cares about his Pokemon, and he cares about his friends, but whatever people say about him isn’t the kind of thing that registers to him. At some point, he’d stumbled his way into respectability with the whole Champion of Kanto thing, but he hadn’t been trying to. He’d mostly been following Green’s lead.

Green inspires something in Red that he can’t really explain, so when the interviewers nag him to define their relationship, he just tends to shrug. It’s not Green’s brash personality or them being childhood friends, but some weird mixture of it brings out this previously unknown competitive streak in him. Green’s always charging into things the same way he charged into Red’s house all those years ago, and when he does, he throws everyone for a loop. After the dust settles, Red’s usually uncovered something about his life he didn’t even know he was unhappy with, so he tends to go along with whatever Green’s doing, at least for a bit.

So no, respectability isn’t important to Red. But it is important to Green, and that’s why Green went for the championship. It really doesn’t make sense that Red’s the one who ended up with the title even though he was just caught up in Green’s fervor, and he knows he has no real reason to feel bad, but he does anyways. Red spent a lot of time afterwards trying to find a way to make it up to him, but mostly, he just succeeded in pissing Green off.

He missed Green a lot during that time. He doesn’t know that their relationship ever would’ve been fixed if it hadn’t finally clicked for him that since Green hates pity more than he hates losing, the best thing Red could do is treat him the same as before, like the match was no big deal. Because really, it wasn’t, not in terms of his skills or who he is as a person. He didn’t lose Red’s respect by losing that match. And once the public realized Red still saw him as worthy, they started to treat Green like he was in fact one of the best trainers in the league, which is messed up, but at least it means they got past that.

A lot of people seem to think this whole episode was a “spoiled brat finally wises up” kind of story, but that’s not fair to anyone involved. Green is too complicated of a person to be reduced to that. He might be the cool and confident gym leader representing Kanto’s finest as well as an arrogant prick who thinks he can win any fight he picks, but he’s also the insecure kid weighed down by his grandfather’s legacy, always trying to prove himself worthy. He isn’t one of those kids who acts out for attention, because he already had it from the start — the distinction is that he wants to earn it. Unlike Red, who’s too apathetic to care about cries of nepotism, Green cares fiercely about things like what people think of him and having his effort acknowledged. Even at his flashiest, he was always scared, and all his bravado was at least one part that terror. So he takes compliments about his battle prowess pretty easily but gets embarrassed about ones to the way he runs his gym. He bristles at any insult unless it’s a senior questioning his adequacy. He might act like a rich kid, but he also works harder than anyone else Red’s ever seen.

There’s so many nuances and sides to him that you could probably get lost in Green’s head and stumble around forever without ever finding your way out. And the thing is, Red wouldn’t want to.

Green is so complicated but he isn’t a mystery; he wears his heart on his sleeve, and Red’s never met anyone else like him. Most complicated people are just confusing. They say one thing but mean another, they’re fragile in ways that Red can’t expect, they’re prickly about weird things and Red doesn’t know how to avoid setting them off. But Green is loud and upfront about almost everything. His diva tendencies mean his expressions are big and easy to read. Green scowls when he’s annoyed, he smirks when he’s entertained, and he sneers when he’s being petty or he’s uncomfortable but doesn’t want to show it. He bristles when he’s insulted, he yells when he’s upset. He turns bright red when he’s angry or embarrassed, and it’s beautiful.

It’s kind of fitting that Green has a color for a name, because Green’s emotions are so bright and vivid that they might be the only uncomplicated thing about him. They play out like the prettiest kaleidoscope on his face, and Red doesn’t think he could ever get tired of drinking in the sight of it when there’s always something new to uncover. His own feelings have always been a filtered, watered down thing, so at least part of the fascination is probably because he doesn’t understand it, but it’s also more than that. Red’s not passive, exactly, but he’s a reactive person, not an active one. He needs someone else around to bring out the best in him, and who better than the boy he’s known since he was a toddler? Green knows all the right buttons to push. He cares so much and believes so deeply that the force of his conviction can pull emotions out of Red from unknown parts and turn him into a complicated person too. Being around Green is like waking up from a slow dream and only realizing how unreal it was when the intensity of real life starts seeping in. Green gives him a sliver of insight into another world, a different layer of life where the pace moves faster and the colors are so strong that it almost hurts.

Red can’t imagine living in that world all the time, and yet that’s Green’s reality. Caring the way he does must be exhausting. But Green’s also never had the option not to care, because everyone was going to be watching him from the start. The Oaks made a hole in Green’s heart at a young age so they could drill in concepts like duty and family and never shaming his grandfather, and even though Green’s filled the hole up with his own dreams, Red knows it still hurts. So maybe pain is the source of his cares and his ambitions, the deep-seated hunger that keeps pushing him forward even though he’s already carved out a place in the world. Maybe that’s the reason for the days when Green seems like he’s teetering on the edge of overspill.

It’s funny that Green’s the Oak, because a tree is more suited to Red, quiet and consistent and steady. Green’s more like a fire, there’s always something burning in him even when he seems to be at rest. Once something stokes the banked flame, he bursts back into an inferno, chaotic and messy and lovely.

Red doesn’t get why people spend so much time trying to puzzle him out when Green’s the real fascination between them. Sure, he’s the silent and kinda mysterious champion of Kanto, but his poker face doesn’t hide anything underneath, there’s not much depth to him until someone else can draw it out. He’s pretty boring when it comes down to it. Meanwhile, Green’s so on fire that his embers catch everywhere, and sometimes, they can even set someone as unmoving as Red ablaze. And some part of Red wants that to happen, wants to burn. He wants Green’s fire to consume him and for the two of them to burn together, so brilliant and glorious that they meld into a single great flame that subsumes them both. When they’re writing the history books, he wants it to be “Red and Green,” like salt and water. He wants to entangle himself in Green’s innards and never let go.

The people who say Green is selfish don’t get it. Red’s the selfish one in this situation, because all he does is take and take whatever Green can give. Sometimes, he goads him just to see the spark of his prickly temper or the coldness of his contempt. It’s all so brilliant and there’s a part of Red that wants to own him, to hold him forever and ever and never let anyone else see.

That ugly side of him is a part that he keeps locked away where it can’t hurt anyone. But he thinks Green probably already suspects that it exists. Green already knows most of the worst of Red — his ability to be deeply petty, his insensitivity and the way he covers it up with his poker face, how sometimes his obliviousness is feigned because he doesn’t want to bother. Green doesn’t expect Red to be the nice, quiet boy that everyone else sees in him. Green just expects him to be Red, and Red doesn’t want him to be anything other than Green.

Time will pass, things will change, but Green has always been a constant. Red doesn’t really believe in things as cheesy as together forever, but he does believe in patterns, and he doesn’t want this one to break. Red and Green, fire and wood, call and response.

For now, Red can be content with this.

#Fanfiction #Pokemon #OriginalShipping #NamelessShipping #Green Oak #Red #Trainer Red #WIP

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ve1vetyoongi · 4 years

Text

better with you | ksj - 01

Chapters: index

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Genre: fake dating/arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 19k

Summary: A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, semi-public sex.

A/N: uwu hello and welcome to the first chapter of better with you, part of the paradise series! i hope you enjoy reading these characters as much as i enjoyed writing them because they’re some of my favourites 🥺💘 p.s. im honestly not happy with the pacing of this chapter, but i really wanted to share, so bare with me if it sucks!

Paradise Resort and the people in it are nothing like how you imagined them to be.

Sure, Paradise is a picturesque gated community with sparkling lake views surrounded by pear trees and sprawling green lawns and white stone fountains like the website described. And sure, everyone here drives foreign cars and loiters by the pool on weekdays and drinks bubbly for breakfast from fine China beneath chandeliers which glisten in the morning sun.

But you quickly realise there is something off; something that doesn't quite fit the expectations you had when you arrived here at the start of the summer, wide eyed and excited.

And that something is you.

You aren't one of the balding golfers leisurely steering carts across the perfectly pruned Paradise grass, flirting unashamedly with pretty young women in tennis skirts as they pass. And you aren't one of their wives, leaving lipstick stains on crystal wine glasses in wicker chairs on balconies as they giggle over finger food and afternoon tea and ignorance of their husband's infidelities.

And you certainly aren't the type of girl to spend her summer's horseback riding or wielding badminton bats or sipping copious amounts of white wine, paid for a la daddy's credit card.

No, because you are a culinary major. Nothing more nothing less. And lucky for you, Paradise was hiring - at least for the summer, anyway, and who better to work overtime in the kitchens at the expense of rich dudes other than broke students, right?

While most people came to Paradise to unwind and celebrate another year of prosperity, it was simply your job to watch from the kitchen window, grit your teeth and save enough cash to put towards opening your own restaurant back home.

Which is exactly how you find yourself slaving away over a plate of scallop sashimi on the stickiest day of August as the kitchen gets ready for the biggest event in Resort history — at least according to your fellow summer employee and designated dish washer duty-man Park Jimin, who seemed to be a constant fountain of gossip -- a trait which you secretly liked him for, despite feigning disinterest in his tittle-tattle.

"Do these people even know what good food is?" You frown at an underwhelmingly small plate of goat cheese salad as you wipe the edge of the plate with a cloth. "They can't seriously want to eat this. Don't they ever just, like, want a burger or something?"

"You're just noticing this place is bonkers?" Jimin snickers behind you, hoisting his weight onto the counter and pulling a grimace of his own when he lay eyes on the limp pile of lettuce leaves they dare to refer to as a meal here. "I saw someone order dessert for breakfast yesterday. Rich people have no rules, Y/N. Besides, it's not like we can serve burgers once Mr Kim arrives."

"Mr Kim?" You ask curiously. "Who's that?"

Jimin's eyebrows furrow, like he can't actually believe you're asking him such a question. Ever since you got here at the beginning of the summer he's been diligently keeping you up to date with the latest Paradise gossip, so you aren't sure why he's surprised you're as out of the loop as ever.

"Mr Kim. The founder of Paradise’s son?" You shrug, blinking at him cluelessly and Jimin shakes his head with a pained expression, lowering his voice like he's utterly appalled at your ignorance. "You haven't heard anything about the guy who is gonna take over this place once his father retires? Kim Seokjin?"

Ah, so that's who the infamous Seokjin is. His name has been buzzing through the kitchen for the last week, much to your confusion, and apparently he would be dining in the restaurant tonight.

You heard the senior chef's were working over time to perfect the cherry clafoutis he personally requested (despite not being an on-the-menu dish) and his impending inheritance of his father's dynasty seemed a topic of hot gossip, spreading in hushed whispers from the bar girls out front to the janitor, everyone seemingly desperate to get a glimpse at the Kim Seokjin. Meaning there are only two possible reasons as to why: he is rich or he is filthy rich.

"So what's the big deal with this guy. Is he some sort of celebrity or something?" You nudge Jimin in the ribs as you return to your station and start to sauté a fresh batch of onions.

"Nah, just filthy rich." Jimin indulges and you nod. Just as I thought. "And goddamn hot if I should say so myself." He adds, returning to his dish washing station with a sigh, wrinkling his nose when his hands plunge into the soapy suds.

"Still, I don't see why I need to work over time for him." You grumble. The clock had chimed five o clock ten minutes ago and usually you'd be on your way to have a shower and shampoo the smell of grease and garlic out of your hair but instead you were still on the clock, orders lining up for you to prepare and stat. "What’s so special about him dropping by for dinner. Everyone here is rich."

"Well I was talking to one of the big guys," Jimin nods towards the senior chefs. "And apparently his parents have been trying to get him to marry his girlfriend for, like, ever." Jimin's voice dips to a whisper. "But get this. He broke up with his girlfriend last week when his parents suggested they get married!"

You narrow your eyes. "Right. So I'm working over time because some rich dude decided to throw his toys out of the stroller?"

Jimin rips off his pink rubber gloves and shakes you by the shoulders, like he’s trying to knock some sense into you. "Just shut up for a second would you? We're working overtime because his parent's have set him up on a date!"

You slap a hand over mouth, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "Not a date!"

"I know right!" Jimin shakes his head as if this is the scandal of the century, not quite sharing your sarcasm. "Can you believe it?"

"Is he talking about Kim Seokjin, again?" Jungkook, one of the summer buss boys, emerges from the restaurant through the double doors in his familiar black uniform. Jimin quickly smoothes down his hair, mentally chastising himself when soap suds coat his blonde locks, face burning as red as the tomatoes you chop beside him. It's common knowledge that Jimin has the biggest, all consuming crush on the oblivious chestnut haired waiter who flashes you an ever cheeky bunny smile now as he scoops up the dish you prepared onto the tray balanced on his forearm.

He shoots Jimin an eye roll. "All he talks about is Kim Seokjin this, Kim Seokjin that." Jungkook shrugs. "I really don't see what the big deal is about this guy."

Jimin crosses his arms sulkily and you have to stifle a laugh at the pair. "The big deal is that this date has to go well - no, perfect - because Seokjin needs to marry someone "parent approved" or else his father will reject him as the heir of his dynasty."

You want to ask him about his impressive eavesdropping abilities but you have to admit, this is pretty big news - especially around here where the latest hot gossip was Han Seojin's husband's gambling problem when he hit up the casino after a few too many brandy's.

"So basically, the fate of the resort lies in his hands tonight." Jimin adds excitedly as he slams the dishwasher closed with a triumphant grin.

You roll your eyes. That is surely a bit dramatic. The guy was probably too blinded by the riches he would be inheriting to care about the poor girl he was getting hitched too. "You're invested in this, huh?"

Jimin nods eagerly. "Like I said. He's hot. Like sex on legs hot."

If you weren't watching carefully you may have missed Jungkook's eyes narrowing slightly or the way he tenses and puffs out his chest. "Pfft. He is not."

"So is!" Jimin pouts. "You're just jealous you're not as inhumanely gorgeous as he is." Jungkook raises a brow and Jimin rushes to smooth over his words. "Not that you're not gorgeous! No, that's not what I mean—"

The awkward moment is interrupted by the sound of a ladle banging against a frying pan, and you let out a groan when you hear the unmistakable yell of the head chef. "Attention everyone!"

"Speaking of crazy people." Jimin mutters with a roll of his eyes, rolling up his uniform sleeves and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as all the employees gather in the centre of the kitchen. "Looks like Hoseok got out of the wrong side of bed again."

You stifle a giggle when you find that Jimin is in fact correct, head chef Hoseok rounding the corner with an ever serious expression on his face. He has always been the stern type, mouth constantly fixed in a permanent frown as he criticises your dicing skills or catches you burning another steak, but you can see by the bluish bags under his eyes and the furrowed lines etched into his forehead that he means business today and a hush quickly falls over the kitchen apart from the gentle hiss of frying onions.

"As you all know, today is a big day for Paradise." He begins. "Each and every one of our future's here as employees depends on it. Mr. Kim has chosen us to cater for his dinner date and I need each and every one of you to do everything you can to make sure it goes smoothly. Capeesh?"

Dang. Is head chef Hoseok himself nervous? He's usually irritatingly confident in his cooking abilities. Maybe this was more serious than you thought...

"I'm counting on you guys to prove our worth, you hear me? It's already an honour that he picked us to host such an important event, and if we fumble who d'ya think he's gonna fire first once he takes over as CEO?" Hoseok interrupts your train of thought, waving a wooden spoon now like he's conducting an orchestra. "Which is why I expect zero funny business. I'm looking at you Jeon Jungkook! Now scram, we have customers to feed."

A unanimous groan fills the room as everyone gets back to work, and the kitchen falls into a state of turmoil as the clock ticks away, Seokjin due to arrive in a few hours and you haven’t even started on his appetizer yet.

"This better be worth it." You grumble to yourself, suppressing a smile when Jungkook bounds like a Labrador puppy into the restaurant fit with an armful of salads yelling "Rabbit food coming up, y'all!", despite the stern look Hoseok sends his way.

You turn to Jimin, rolling your eyes at the hearts in his eyes for Jungkook as he strains his neck to get a glimpse of the chestnut haired boy's ass through the kitchen's window. He blushes when he notices you looking, but not before he’s flashing you a grin.

"Just wait until you see him," Jimin calls cheekily as you rush to the stove you had abandoned earlier. "Then you'll be glad you worked over time."

As it turns out, you are not glad you worked overtime. Kim Seokjin is late. Unfashionably late. So late that you are considering eating the dish you slaved over for nearly an hour to perfect to his preferences only for him to let it go limp and cold.

At least you could add another trait to the list of what you now know about Kim Seokjin: filthy rich, (allegedy) goddamn hot, heir to the resort and most importantly douche bag who can't make it on time to the first date with his future wife.

To make matters worse, the level of unrest in the kitchens is unlike anything you have ever seen before as everyone nervously awaits his arrival. Jungkook has been out front to polish the wine glasses at the private table he set up and lovingly adorned with candles and a bottle of iced champagne of the expensive kind because it would "create sexy vibes" more times than you can count. Hoseok took extra care with the placement of the parsley on top of the steaks he grilled and you even saw Jimin fixing his hair in the reflection of a shiny pan.

When the clock ticked over to eight, everyone had gathered around the small kitchen window, eyes beadily trained to the door.

"He'll be here any minute now, I can feel it." Jimin whispers as he sidles up beside you, practically vibrating. His excitement for the date has started to rub off on you, a funny fuzzy feeling settling in your chest — all this Kim Seokjin talk has you itching to see the guy in the flesh, even if it is just from behind the kitchen window.

Sure enough, Jimin's Kim Seokjin senses must be somewhat accurate because a hurried hush falls across the kitchen as a black car pulls up outside, a unanimous gasp filling the room as you watch him emerge from behind the tinted glass windows in awe.

You were waiting for a tight lipped guy in a suit and tie to step inside; a younger clone of all the middle aged men who frequented the resort when their "model" children got busted bunking off from golf games or whatever rich kids did to rebel. Except the guy that strolls through the sliding doors like he has time to waste is so far from the average Paradise resident that you are almost sure you're hallucinating. Or have onion in your eyes. Surely you aren't seeing this clearly?

The guy who crosses the threshold and takes a seat at the table Jungkook graciously guides him to is clad in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt, the floral a stark contrast to the luxe interior of the resort. The garment is unbuttoned lazily and draped across his broad shoulders, a pair of round,humorously large sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, and if you weren't so shocked by his...impressionable entrance you might find the whole situation comical.

"This is Kim Seokjin?" You splutter, unable to stop the giggles that leave your lips at the sight of him bobbing his head unnecessarily hard to the monotonous classical tune that carries through the restaurant, blatantly ignoring whatever words Jungkook (who looked completely starstruck) was stuttering.

The situation becomes even more ridiculous when you see the disgruntled look on the pretty girl who traipses behind him awkwardly, dressed in a floor length gown and pearls, face turning sour when Seokjin neglects his manners and forces her to pull her own chair out to sit while he zones in on the bottle of alcohol in the centre of the table.

They look like characters out of two separate worlds. Jewels glitter on her fingers as she taps them agitatedly against the table, clearly as dumbfounded by the situation as you are, especially when she offers her glass to Seokjin to pour her a drink, only for him to thrust the entire bottle of wine in her face.

Your attention is drawn away from the unfolding scene momentarily when Jungkook flies back into the kitchen in typical Jungkook fashion, except this time with an extra bout of zealousness if the stars in his eyes weren't already obvious.

"I take it back!" He puffs, slipping his empty tray beneath his elbow, hands now free to swing Jimin around in circles. "He's the most beautiful human I've ever seen!"

You cross your arms with a sneer. "Looks like a goof to me. That shirt? Not a good look on anyone."

"But his face!"

"Yeah, his face, covered by those obnoxious glasses."

"You didn't see it." Jungkook whispers, pulling your hands into his own. "He could end mankind with that kind of face! And I bet he has a monster dong too-"

"Okay, jeez." You push him away, scrunching your nose in disgust. "No discussing customer's monster dongs in the kitchen."

"So you admit he probably has one?"

"Shush!" You hiss. The kitchen huddle lets out a synchronised gasp and you elbow your way back to the window, peering past a tall chef's hat to fix your attention on the scene which had somehow escalated ten fold since you'd left it.

Seokjin's body is wracked with laughter, hand slamming down ferociously against the table, making his date wince every time the fine china jumps on the table cloth. Her hands are placed carefully atop the napkin in her lap, food untouched as Seokjin takes the liberty to pour himself another glass of wine. He looks utterly uninterested in anything she has to say, and she seems embarrassed by his mannerless behaviour, glancing around anxiously. The tension between them is suffocating, even from your safe distance, and you swear you could cut it with one of the knives hanging from the utensil rack.

Then, Seokjin leans in towards her. He removes his glasses, carefully tucking them neatly into his shirt pocket before resting his chin in his palm to stare at her intently.

Maybe he was finally taking an interest in her? She seems to think the same thing, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her awkward demeanour.

Until it slips from her face nearly as fast as it appeared, replaced by an expression of pure appalled horror when Seokjin whispers something into her ear. You can only see the back of his head so lip reading is out of the question; but if the way her chin drops into her lap was anything to go by, you have a feeling whatever he said was not something you wanted to hear on a first date and probably not from your future husband, either.

Without further ado, the girl throws her cutlery down with a clash, gathering the fabric of her dress and storming out of the restaurant in a manner that suggests the date went badly to say the least.

A ruckus has broken out in the kitchen by this point; Jimin and Jungkook stopping mid monster dong debate to gawk, a rumble of chatter erupting as everyone processes the events you had just witnessed.

What did he say? Do you think it was the steak? What does this mean for Paradise? Is he still gonna marry her?

The last one came from Jungkook and you couldn't help but bite your lip in an attempt to smother the laughter that threatened to spill at his question. "Somehow I don't think he proposed to her just then, Kook."

Your eyes zone in on Seokjin again. He is slumped back in his seat now, knuckles pressed to his eyes. He looks exhausted, a sudden change in demeanour considering this is the same guy who was shooting finger guns at his date a few moments ago. Now he just seems defeated

For a moment you think he is going to get up and leave. That is until he twists in his seat, motioning towards the kitchen window with a crook of the finger. Dessert? He mouths.

The kitchen staff disperse hurriedly, a tinge of red creeping up Hoseok's neck at being caught spying, although it is clear by the smirk on Seokjin's face that he knew you were watching him all along. There is something in his eyes that even has you wiping the amused expression of your face, though. An authority.

"Could this night have gone any worse?" You ask Jimin, referring to Seokjin's debacle. Except Jungkook is quick to interject, thrusting two black bags in your face with a grin.

"For you, yes. Your turn to take out the trash."

You blink at him a few times before reluctantly taking the bags from his grip. They were heavy, nearly making you stumble. How had Jungkook held them so easily?

"Fine." You manage to get out between gritted teeth, struggling to balance with the extra weight in your arms. "But you owe me."

"Oh believe me," There is a glint in Jungkook's eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. What was he up to? "I'll make it up to you sooner than you think."

It's dimly lit when you stumble out back armed with a pile of trash bags, the only light source some fairy lights strung around the palm trees lining the restaurant. It takes all your strength and three tries to haul the heavy trash bags into the dark mouth of the dumpster and you're out of breath by the time you're finished.

Finally satisfied with your work, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to stalk back inside and flick Jungkook's forehead - except a loud ringing from somewhere in the shadows stops you dead in your tracks.

You stiffen, hand reaching for the door handle as a precaution, head snapping towards the direction of the sound. You can't help the small gasp that leaves your lips when you take in the figure of a tall man leaning against the kitchen wall just a few meters away, the ringing ceasing when he lifts a phone to his ear with a frustrated groan.

Shit! As soon as you realise you're not alone and before you can think better of it you're scrambling behind the dumpster, crouching so that you're just out of view but still in earshot as the figure starts to murmur into the microphone.

"Yeah, dad, I know she flew all the way from Morocco to be here tonight. It's not my fault we weren't compatible!"

Huh? A voice squeaks on the other end of the line, and though you can't work out what they say exactly the frustrated sigh that leaves the man a few meters away tells you it wasn't exactly friendly.

"What makes you think you know what's best for me? I never wanted this stupid engagement in the first place!"

Intrigued and against your better judgement, you brace your hands on the edge of the dumpster and pull yourself on top of a cardboard box discarded beside it to get a better view of the scene. If you strain your neck you can just about see the shadow of a tall figure pacing back and forth just around the corner and you can't help but lean in a little closer to hear his harsh words more clearly, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Because it's my life! I'm sick of you and mom always telling me what to do with it." You raise an eyebrow, ever intrigued when the voice lifts from a hush to a yell. "Fine! I'll go on another date, but you'll see. I won't end up like you. You owe me big time for this, dad."

With that the phone call is cut off with a monotone beep and you see the shadow of the man pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing sharply, before the soles of his polished loafers crunch against the gravel in the direction of where you crouch, eavesdropping. You had enough experience with the residents here to know they wouldn't take this lightly — you had to sign a handful of NDA's before you even got the job, so naturally your eyes widen with panic when you realise you're about to get busted listening in on a confidential call. But before you can dive behind a trash bag and take cover, you lose your footing and find yourself hurtling head first into the dumpster, landing with a crash.

A few seconds pass, the footsteps ceasing as you squeeze your eyes shut and pray your beating heart doesn't give you away, before a voice calls out.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"No!" You squeak hurriedly, slapping a hand over your mouth when it's already too late and flushing a deep shade of red when you hear a sharp intake of breath and you realise you've blown your own cover

You silently hope the guy will give up and leave, but then you hear someone climbing the outside of the dumpster and you open your eyes to see a puzzled pair of eyes peering down at you from beneath a cocked eyebrow, followed my a loud snort. "You need some help down there, sweetheart?"

This guy might be a total stranger, but any questioning words die on your tongue when you look around and remember you're literally trapped inside a dumpster and your upper arm strength is definitely not enough to get you out of this thing alone and — hold up, there's probably rats in here, right?

You scramble to your feet, brushing your messy hair from your eyes with a nervous laugh. "Uh...yeah. I guess I do."

A steady hand emerges over the edge of the dumpster and with a weak and embarrassed smile you grasp it, suppressing a squeak when the guy unexpectedly launches you over his shoulder so that he can pull you out in one fell swoop and set you safely on the ground.

"Uh, thanks." You manage to get out when you find your balance, awkwardly brushing some dirt from your apron. "Good thing you walked by when you did..."

"Yeah, guess you could call me your knight in shining armor, huh?" The guy chuckles, long and smooth like velvet. A laugh you've heard before, just moments ago in fact. That's when you battle through your embarrassment to look up and face him for the first time, flushing at the involuntary gasp that passes your lips.

The man before you has the deepest eyes you've ever seen, sharp yet soft around the edges beneath the sparkle of the low light and you shiver when they finish looking you up and down to stare into yours directly. Your eyes slip down to the familiar Hawaiian shirt draped over his broad shoulders, eyes widening when you look between your bodies to find his fingers still clasping your own as he eyes you with a curious interest.

"S-Seokjin?" You splutter. He nods, letting out a deeper chuckle this time as though he could hold it back no longer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," He counters, letting you go so he can reach into his pocket to retrieve a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter, ironically just beneath the unmissable NO SMOKING sign. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here hauling trash at this hour?"

"I...work here."

He nods and you just stare at him like an open mouthed idiot. He must think it's because of the way he fiddles to spark a light at the end of his cigarette, drawing his eyes from the stick back to your surprised expression. "What? Oh these? I don't smoke. Stole these from my father's coat pocket." He shakes the box back and forth with a smug grin. "Nothing pisses him off more than loosing his Lucky Strikes. Besides, I own this place, I can do what I like."

You shrug. "Well, your father does." You are speaking too quickly, mentally pinching yourself for not being able to bite your own tongue. "He owns this place I mean. Right?"

A blush creeps up your neck under his gaze which narrows as he draws closer to you. His eyes are a deeper brown up close, like a pot of warm hot chocolate - soft at the edges where they crinkle into a smile at your rushed words. Nothing like the steely glares you usually got from residents here.

"Correct," The toe of his shoe kicks at the gravel beneath your soles while he strings together his next words carefully. "For now. I'll be proud owner of Paradise before the year is out, though."

"Ha." You can't help but snort under your breath, Seokjin's head simply tilting in response with an almost amused curiosity. "I don’t know about that. Didn't look like your fiance wanted to marry you very much."

"Word spreads quick around here, huh?" He lets out a dark laugh, grimacing at the cloud of nicotine that floats away into the nigh from the cigarette between his fingers that flutters to the gravel before it’s even reached his lips. You wince when he uses the toe of his Balenciaga’s to stub it out into a pile of smoldering ash before reaching for another one that he lights in the same way as before. "She wasn't my fiance, actually.To be honest, I hadn't even met her before tonight."

You let out an awkward laugh. "I take it the wedding's off then?"

"Ha ha," You practically hear the roll of his eyes. "At least one of us finds this funny, because my father sure as shit won't." His tone is suddenly chilly and for a moment you think you offended him, though a quick scan of his face reveals a turn up of the mouth that says otherwise. He kicks off from the wall, slinging his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and you swallow thickly as the safe distance between you grows ever smaller, so close you can smell his woody cologne. "It was never on, per se. And it never will be if I have anything to do with it."

You can't help but scoff at the way he tightens his jaw and throws his arms across his chest like a toddler in time out. Sure, you hardly knew the guy but something about his attitude rubs you the wrong way. This is the guy who has everything, yet he's trash talking his lavish lifestyle to a summer employee?

"You're kind of an asshole, huh?"

"Can't say I haven't heard that one before." Seokjin agrees with a smirk. "But you don't seem like much of an angel yourself. First I find you eavesdropping on me, save your ass from a dumpster and then you choose to insult me?"

You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, worried you might have overstepped, mouth dry as you spit out a response. "I...I didn't mean it like that—"

"God, chill out would you? I’m kidding. You're so stiff it's stressing me out." His tongue snakes out to lick his lips thoughtfully. "You're different, y'know."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you're not like everyone else around here. You're honest." Seokjin explains, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to allow him some more breathing room as he continues. "Everyone around here is either a liar or a cheat. Or both."

"You don't even know me." You huff.

"You don’t know me either, princess.” Seokjin smirks. “So what makes you so sure I'm an asshole?."

He blinks at you eagerly, and you realise he's serious when he arrogantly waves his hand for you to go ahead and indulge him, like he's somewhat amused.

Well damn. If this guy wanted honesty you'd sure as shit give it to him

"You want the truth?" You suck in a deep breath. "I don't know what I expected when I heard the buzz about you but it certainly wasn't a rich guy who wears hawaiian shirts and makes girls cry on first dates. I don’t need to know a single thing about you to know that you’re an ungrateful asshole, just like everyone else at this resort."

A few seconds pass, Seokjin's eyes widening in momentary surprise like he wasn't used to people telling him the truth, before his face breaks out into a beaming grin. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends." He glances at your name tag. "Y/N, is it?"

You half nod before you register his words. "Friends, what do you mean—?"

Just then the phone in his grip starts to vibrate violently, and he holds it up so you can see the bold DAD that lights up the screen.

"Sorry to cut this short pretty, but I need to take this. Better get back to work before I cut your pay check, sweetheart." You must look visibly nervous because he bursts into laughter. "What? I'm kidding, remember?"

You roll your eyes, hiding the way your face heats up by spinning on your heels and storming back towards the kitchen, pausing briefly before you can turn the handle when you hear Seokjin call your name.

"Hey. Wait up! One piece of advice. Don't let this place, get to you, okay?" Seokjin calls with a smile. "I like your honesty, it's...refreshing."

And with that he lifts the phone to his ear, disappearing around the shadowy corner with an irritating smile and a finger salute.

For some funny reason, Seokjin's words ring out in your head for the rest of the night. I have a feeling we're going to be good friends. Something tells you that isn't the last time you're going to see Kim Seokjin, and you can't tell if the way your heart skips a beat is a good thing or not.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the last time you see Kim Seokjin.

The next night he returned equally as late and equally as eccentrically dressed and left his date, blonde this time, (though equally as pretty as the last one) flustered and red in the face as she stormed out of the restaurant with glassy eyes and crushed dreams

The night after that you spot him arguing a little too loudly with a feisty lady outside the restaurant, the way he doesn't even stay long enough to finish his champagne a clear indication that the date went less than perfect.

Night after night, the same scenario played out with different unimpressed women, until finally, they just stopped coming. No more girls. No more dates. No more of Seokjin's signature laughter permeating the entire restaurant. Sure, the guy was a complete asshole, that much was clear; but you his absence left the restaurant feeling even more lifeless than before.

Obviously Seokjin's fucked up dating life wasn’t anything to laugh about. But you had to admit his antics put a smile on your face, something which had been few and far between as of late. Even when Hoseok was working you overtime, you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a grin every time Seokjin waltzed through the door. And now he was gone, and with it your small escape from reality.

"Do you think his parents finally gave up?" Jimin sighs one late evening, shaking his wet hands in the face of Jungkook who bats him away playfully.

"Nah, he probably just found a girl he likes." Jungkook reasons. "Made his parents see things from his point of view."

You snort. "They don't sound like the type of parents who would give up that easy." After more dates than you could count on one hand with various suitors deemed good enough for their son, it was clear they were prepared for him to rebel. You doubted they would give in without a fight.

"You might be right..." Jungkook trails off, rushing to smush his face against the window. "Unless...wait! I think he's back!"

"He's back?" You breathe, elbowing Jungkook out of the way and ignoring his ow! of protest, your own breath fogging up the glass now as your eyes dart from table to table in search of a familiar face.

You let out a breathy laugh. Sure enough, there he is. Hair gelled back tonight you noted, bouncing his skinny jean clad knee beneath the table with an impatience you can't quite put your finger on.

Wait...

"Ha!" You almost do a double take. Seokjin is sat alone tonight. No nearly-crying-twenty-something across from him. Just Seokjin with a single flute of champagne in his hand opposite an utterly empty chair.

Well. This is new.

"I think he's been stood up!" You lower your voice to a whisper when your burst of laughter gains a few strange looks. "There's no girl with him this time."

"What?" Jimin splutters, standing on his tip toes in an attempt to see over your shoulder. "No girl?! Let me see!"

You budge over and Jimin lets out a gasp of surprise when he takes in the scene for himself. "The Kim Seokjin got stood up. I can't believe it!"

"Maybe he's getting a taste of his own medicine." You muse.

A mischievous look crosses Jungkook's features and then he is pulling on his black apron and scurrying towards the door. "Let's find out!"

"What? — Jungkook!"

You watch open mouthed as Jungkook approaches the lonely table, fingers quivering around the order notebook he clutches like a safety blanket, with nerves or excitement you can't quite tell; before he exchanges a few words with Seokjin who barely even glances up, lazily folding a napkin in his lap. Jungkook nods vigorously before he speed walks back to the kitchen like his life depends on it, a smug grin appearing on his lips as he thrusts the order slip towards you.

"Two orders of sirloin steak, medium! Pronto!"

"Two?" You and Jimin splutter in unison.

Jungkook looks amused. Too amused for your liking.

"Yup! And guess what?" Jimin is hanging off his every word, desperate pleas of what? making Jungkook chuckle harder. "He wants the chef to serve it."

You narrow your eyes. "Hoseok? Why?"

Jungkook scoffs as if you're being clueless on purpose. "Not Hoseok, idiot!"

"Then who?"

"You." Jungkook points a finger right at you.

"Me? Wait! Jeon Jungkook, you get back here!" Before you can ask questions he is already bounding into the restaurant like a labrador on crack.

"Have fun!" He yells over his shoulder with a wink. "You'll thank me later, Y/N."

Half an hour later and you're stood with two steaming plates balanced on your arm. Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is go out there and serve the food. It's not like he was asking you to kill someone.

But every time you muster up the courage to go out there you remember your encounter with Seokjin outside the kitchens, and you instantly feel weak at the knees.

You smooth down your apron one last time, filling your lungs with the stuffy kitchen air before Jimin's hands clamp onto your shoulders and steer you towards the door.

"What are you—?" One forceful push later and you're stumbling out into the restaurant. "Jimin!"

"You can do this!" You hear Jimin call, the exasperated look you send over your shoulder in response prompting a not so reassuring thumbs up. The way your eyes downturn into a dark glare makes him collapse into a fit of gasps and giggles as he nods for you to keep going.

I'm going to get him back for this...

The table Seokjin liked to frequent is closest to the window, view casting out over the lake which the resort surrounds like a half moon, terribly modern in all it's white pillared glory in contrast to the natural beauty of the clear blue water. The lake is darkened now with the reflection of the midnight blue sky, the soft glow of lanterns lighting up the path around it and illuminating the picture of weeping willows which ripples across the water's surface, disturbed only by canoeists tying up their boats for the evening.

Seokjin doesn't seem interested in the quiet goings on of the resort. He has probably seen them a hundred times before. His back is facing you but you can see how his eyes are transfixed on the sliding entrance doors in the windows reflection. It was late evening and most people would be returning to their suites for the night by now, but Seokjin's steely gaze remains unwavering, like he's expecting it to zip open any minute. Is he waiting for someone?

Some part of you feels sympathetic. It doesn't look like anyone is coming to join him any time soon. Poor guy is about to get a taste of his own medicine and look like a fool sat opposite an empty chair harbouring a plate of uneaten food.

Ha. It's exactly what he deserves, you think. Karma.

Every step towards him feels heavier than the last until eventually you find yourself stood with knees knocking right behind him, food probably going cold with every second you spend coaxing yourself to man up and face him. You silently pray he won't hear the pound of your heart over the low hum of chatter and scrapes of cutlery against china plates that seem to fall away to silence in this corner of the restaurant where it's just Seokjin and you.

You're debating spinning on your heels and making Jungkook do it instead when Seokjin's unrelenting stare at the door snaps up to meet yours in the window's reflection, the authority in his eyes enough to have you hiding behind your hair in shame at being caught dwindling like an idiot.

"I wasn't expecting you to actually come." His voice is a deep hum that makes you jolt and nearly drop the plates. A heat burns your cheeks when Seokjin swirls the champagne in his glass amusedly, facing you with his forearm on the back of his seat and beckoning for you to set the plates down with a nod of his head. An order.

You narrow your eyes, unable to curb the irritation that laces your sigh as you obey him. You set down the dishes, one in front of him and the other in front of the seat still empty of whomever he is expecting. "I wasn't exactly expecting to be serving you tonight either. I usually just prepare the food."

Seokjin doesn't miss the roll of your eyes, snorting at the shake of your hand that gives away the anxiety beneath your front when crystal beads of champagne splash onto the immaculate table cloth as you try to top up his glass.

"Yeah and here's a reason for that. You're a shit waitress."

The way you slam the bottle down onto the table top is a little too aggressive, the legs shaking violently and drawing the eyes of a few of the surrounding diners who wipe their mouths with a delicate astonishment and flash you dark looks at the disturbance.

"Are we done? If I'm so bad then why did you call me out here?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." His fingers fold the napkin in his lap carefully. He settles back into his chair with a grin laced with mischief while you practically hop from foot to foot with nerves. "Would you sit for a second?"

"I'm an employee." You raise a brow. "I don't think that's appropriate..."

"Please?" He rests his chin in his palms.

You hug your torso and self consciously glance side to side. With a roll of your eyes you sink down into the chair, if a little reluctantly, when you're sure the couple at the table directly opposite are too deep in conversation about the crème brûlée to notice the strange encounter happening beside them.

"Fine! But make it quick or Hoseok might actually shave my head."

Seokjin gets straight to the point. "I need you to do something for me."

There is a glint in his eye as he snatches up the glass intended for the rightful occupant of the leather cushion you perch on, pouring a small amount of champagne into the flute and pushing it towards you with an encouraging nod. You observe the fizzing liquid with caution, turning your nose up at the floral aroma. Was he trying to poison you with Veuve Clicquot?

"Okay, elaborate?"

"I'm going to need you to pretend to be my date." You wait for him to laugh but his lips are pressed together in a line that tell you he is being serious. "You up for it?"

"Excuse me?" An astonished laugh punctuates your widened eyes, voice raising incredulously at his request. "Your what?"

"Hear me out!" Seokjin hisses, holding a finger to his lip to quiet you down when you splutter on the air that feels like it's thickening in your throat. "I just need to get my father off my back. It'll be five minutes tops!"

By this point you are rendered speechless, pinching the inside of your thigh to check if you are trapped in some weirdly vivid nightmare.

You? His date? Oh god...why aren't you waking up?

Your lips curl around a single breathless word. "Why?"

"Hello, I'm Kim Seokjin? Dad owns the resort? Need to get married to inherit it? I thought we went over this the other day—"

Throwing your arms over your chest impatiently, you click your tongue. "I remember idiot! I mean why me?"

"For fucks sake — you want the truth?" He chuckles but it's devoid of any humour. "You're new around here so my father is less likely to recognise you, okay?" He downs the rest of his glass, picks up his fork and pokes the cold steak on his plate restlessly, hardly bothering to look you in the face even when you scoff in disbelief.

You bite your lip, voice quiet. "Is this some sort of game?"

You are no stranger to Seokjin's tricks — you watched them play out with your own eyes, more girls than you could count on one hand leaving the restaurant in tears or worse — and something feels funny in your stomach, an instinct that says he has an ulterior motive you just can't put your finger on.

From the corner of your eye you spot Hoseok poking his head into the dining area, eyes merciless as they scan the room in search of you, the tell tale tap of his foot against the ground a giveaway of his growing impatience which makes you duck out of view in fear.

"If this is just one of your sick jokes then congrats," You deadpan. "I could literally lose my job over this."

"What? No!" He seems genuinely surprised at your accusation, exasperated sigh sounding desperate while his eyes bore into yours with a look that says please. "I'll explain everything. Please?"

He winces when your chair scrapes loudly against the tile as you get to your feet with a disbelieving shake of your head. "Sorry but I have a job to do—"

Suddenly Seokjin lets out a gasp and you hear the automatic glass doors zip open. "Ah shit!"

Seokjin's eyes widen with panic but before you can twist to see who has arrived for yourself, you're being pulled back down into the seat opposite him roughly by the elbow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Seokjin isn't listening, shrugging his jacket down his arms and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders hastily. "Cover your uniform, okay?"

The smell of his expensive cologne fills your senses and a warm hand squeezes your shoulder pleadingly, the glint in his eye replaced with desperation.

For a moment you falter and his face brightens, believing you to be finally convinced. Until you come back to your senses and slap his hand away. "Get off me!"

"Too late." Seokjin murmurs, but before you can shoot him a questioning glance a pair of polished black shoes stop beside you. Your entire body stiffens, aware of a pair of eyes probing the back of your head.

Oh no.

"Seokjin."

An unfamiliar deep voice rumbles beside you and when you dare to look up you're met with the peering face of an older man who you recognise from the Paradise website. There are traces of Seokjin visible in the curve of his mouth and the sharp edge of his jaw and he was probably considered good looking in his youth.

Ah. So this is Mr Kim?

"You lasted longer than fifteen minutes. This must be a new record, son."

Despite their likeness it's hard to believe they are father and son -- the stern frown keeping a pair of thin framed glasses balancing on Seokjin’s father’s nose along with his crisp tailored suit a far cry from the boy sat cross legged opposite you, wine colored shirt unbuttoned too far to be a mistake.

Seokjin plasters a false grin to his mouth and raises his glass towards Mr Kim, as if to toast. "I told you I would try didn't I?"

Mr Kim says nothing, averting his intimidating gaze to you instead. Your mouth dries when he addresses you directly. "What was your name again?"

Shit! Alarm bells sound in your head, instantly regretting coming out here in the first place and getting mixed up in Seokjin's mess.

You swallow thickly, hardly daring to look him in the eye. "It's — uh," Seokjin is signalling at you with an alarmed look, face falling into his palms with a muffled groan when you fail to catch on. "Y-Y/N. I'm Y/N."

"Is it now?" Mr Kim scratches his chin thoughtfully, humming to himself as he studies your face. Shit, does he recognise you from the kitchen? Are you about to get fired? Your pulse goes into overdrive when his eyes narrow. "I'm sure I remember it being something like—"

"Her middle name!" Seokjin quickly butts in, cutlery clattering onto his plate in his haste to gain his fathers attention. "She goes by her middle name. We were just talking about it actually. Right, Y/N?"

All eyes fall on you again, Seokjin sending you a pleading look, but you don't trust your voice not to waver so you just nod and hide your rosy cheeks by wrapping your lips around rim of the untouched champagne glass.

"Funny middle name." He shrugs, landing an audible slap to Seokjin's back who winces at the hard contact. Mr Kim's eyes seem kinder as they look between you. "I'm proud of you, son. I'm glad you could finally see things from our perspective."

"Sure, dad." Seokjin shrinks away from his fathers touch with a look of distaste. "Now would you do us a favor and leave us to discuss...marriage things?" You choke on your mouthful of bubbly, eyes watering as you try to hold back a spluttering cough.

Thankfully, Mr Kim is already losing interest, flashing Seokjin a thumbs up before striding over to one of the waiters holding a platter of coconut shrimp appetizers and taking a handful for himself.

Watching him gain a safe distance and disappear among a circle of business men at the bar, you finally feel safe to let out the shaky breath you were holding. Seokjin presses his knuckles to his eyes, the vein in his neck protruding with tension.

"What the fuck was that?" He seems to have forgotten your presence, lost in his own thoughts until you rip his jacket from where it sits around your shoulders and throw it into his lap with contempt. Your laugh of disbelief sounds foreign to your own ears, unable to comprehend what actually just happened.

"You're crazy!" You let out breathlessly. "I'm out of here."

Before you can storm off like you want to, Seokjin's hand closes around your wrist and pins you in place.

"Listen, I know you think this is ridiculous but I'm literally about to get on my knees and beg you here. Just do me one more favour." You shoot him a glare and for a second you think he might actually drop to the ground and grovel if you asked him to. "Just one!"

No matter how hard you try to pull away Seokjin is persistent. "Why should I?"

"Because you have a conscience?" He pleads. "The human desire to help others in need?"

"This is crazy—"

"I'll repay you!"

You pause. "How?"

"Undecided." His head tilts in thought. "You need money?"

Disgust courses through your veins. This guy thinks he can buy you? You have encountered some entitled rich guys at Paradise but this has to be the icing on the cake, an unbelievable disconnect from acceptable social discourse — though are you surprised? He doesn't exactly have a reputation for being a good conversation holder for fucks sake, just ask his other dates.

You scoff. "I don't accept bribes. I think we're done here. Good luck with your plan or...whatever."

"Y/N wait—" Something in his voice makes you stop dead this time. An authority. No longer pleading but commanding. "I'll fire you myself right here if you don't help me out just once."

Your heart twists. Part of you knows that whatever Seokjin has in mind will be batshit crazy, if his antics tonight were anything to judge by. It would pain you to do something so demeaning but...you need this job. The decision was practically made for you.

You swivel to face him. He is standing over you now, hands on hips as if he means business. "One favor! That's it!"

He punches the air triumphantly. "You want it in writing or something?" He teases, the glint in his eye back now and taunting as you practically vibrate with a combination of embarrassment and rage.

"Don't push it." You warn.

"Okay, jeez." He throws his hands up in defense. You are acutely aware of the hysterical giggles coming from the kitchen belonging to none other than Jungkook and Jimin and the way your face burns scarlet as you storm away from Seokjin with fists clenched. "I'll let you know when I need you, sweetheart."

09:04, from unknown: — 10 o clock. meet me outside the archery court. — go to locker 16, key will be in the lock. you'll find everything you need inside

The light of your phone stings your half-open eyes, slumber still clinging to your body as you rub away any remnants of sleep with your knuckles and re-read the strange text over and over again.

Archery? An accidental text to the wrong number, surely?

You glance at the clock next to your bed - the text was sent over twenty minutes ago by now. Whoever the recipient was supposed to be wouldn't have long to get ready.

09:26, you: — huh? who is this?

Before you can even set your phone down and swing your legs out of bed your phone pings, the sound enough to make you wince in your sleepy state.

09:26, unknown: — it's seokjin??? — you know, the guy you're supposed to be marrying?

Excuse you?

All remnants of sleep and/or inner peace are ripped away as soon as you see his name pop up on your homescreen.

"Seokjin?" You splutter out loud. A name you never thought you would have to see again, let alone at this time in the morning.

You scramble into a sitting position, back pressed to the headboard as you grip your bed hair in pure disbelief. The three little dots bounce menacingly at the bottom of the screen as you type and re-type a response. Eventually you settle on something simple and to the point:

09:28, you: — how the fuck did you get this number???

Ping ping. You resist a face palm as you gather the confidence to input your password and read whatever bullshit Seokjin responded with.

09:29, unknown: — i think you're forgetting i own this place — not to brag but ive got connections — anyway, you have half an hour to get your ass over here before my sister arrives.

As you thought - utter bullshit. His sister? It's almost as if Seokjin thinks you are actually dating - or even worse, actually getting hitched.

Wait...he doesn't...does he? You suppress a groan. Why else would he be dragging you out of your apartment to go and shoot arrows at targets with his sister instead of polishing his golf club collection or lounging with self made millionaires or whatever rich things rich guys do.

You are just here to get some culinary experience. To blend into the background like the rest of the employees at Paradise, to focus on making the lives of CEO's and retired business men as easy and as luxurious as possible. Why on earth is he even taking notice of you?

09:30, you: — your sister??

09:30, unknown: — yeah? who'd you think you were arching with? — i don't do sports. — count yourself lucky my mom had to take a rain check

Fuck. His mom?

"Get a grip!" You chastise yourself. You had barely spoken two words to each other before the other night, his existence unbeknownst to yours let alone yours to his; the exchange itself a glitch in the simulation and definitely not something which you wanted to make a habit - so why are you instilled with nerves at the thought of meeting this guy's family?

You don't have time to respond with a harsh reminder of your respective positions at Paradise and why this is absolutely a Bad Idea before Seokjin sends a series of reassuring follow up texts, almost as though he read your mind and all it's reluctant thoughts.

09:32, unknown: — don't worry so much this is just to make people think we're really seeing each ohter — other* — hurry, can't have people thinking my future wife isn't punctual — doesn't look good for the reputation 😎

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

This is actually happening. How did you manage to get roped into some rich dudes family drama and his consequent plan of deception? And why on earth you fly out of bed, desperately trying to pat down your fly away bed hair while simultaneously shrugging on a pair of jeans is utterly beyond you.

But deep down you know why. It's because you have a sympathy for Seokjin. A goddamn sympathy for the man who seemingly had everything and who every other resident at Paradise wished they could be.

You are increasingly aware of the way your heart hammers against your rib cage, pulse quickening with every tick of the clock that brings you closer to 10 o clock. Not because you're about to see Seokjin again, surely?

Pfft. Of course not! This is just a favour - a formality as an acquaintance if you could even call yourself that.

The clock ticks over to 09:40. No, you promise yourself as you scoop up your bag and your keys. It's doesn’t mean anything, it’s just because you hate being late.

You end up being late anyway, despite rushing to Paradise from your nearby apartment without so much as considering breakfast and somehow managing to gather the courage to open the door to the women's locker room.

Embarrassment pools in your stomach when you feel the quizzical eyes of Paradise regulars burning into your back over the edges of their martini glasses. It takes all your strength to pass by them with your eyes trained to your shoes, hoping to seem unbothered by their towel turbans and gossiping lips.

You’re unsure why you feel so out of place. It's not as if you are trespassing; they gave you a benefits card when you accepted the job, giving you access to some of the resort's facilities. Some would say it was generous, but it's not as if you ever had a chance to use them in between long kitchen shifts.

Luckily, you doubt there's a risk of them recognising you from the kitchen. The resort is mostly populated by younger club members and besides it's not as if they ever cared to study your face for long enough to commit it to memory.

Still, your casual sweater and jeans combo makes you stand out like a sore thumb in a room full of designer polo shirts and athletic wear and you can't suppress the sigh of relief that escapes you when you make it past a hoard of already merry day drinkers on their way to a hot yoga class in search of locker 16 as instructed by Seokjin.

Sure enough, a key sits snugly in the lock. When you open the metal door you find a tennis skirt with a matching polo shirt, both folded neatly beneath a pair of strikingly white sneakers.

You scoop the pile into your arms, surprised when a card flutters to the ground. You recognise the Paradise logo in the corner, an unfamiliar handwritten scrawl smudged across the front in black pen.

Put these on and meet me round the back of the range. I'll be waiting. - SJ

You roll your eyes. Would it kill him to say please? Not that he is used to asking nicely. Manners are few and far between when things are handed to you on a silver platter (or by an underpaid kid with a summer job). At least that's what you gathered from your observations since you got here.

You slip into the white ensemble, silently thanking the you from yesterday for shaving your legs when you notice just how uncomfortably short the skirt is. The fabric smells like one of those expensive perfumes you sprayed at the store once and you briefly wonder who these clothes belong to.

Fastening your hair into a high pony tail like you see the other girls here do, you take a deep breath and finally sidle up to the full body mirror.

Almost everyone has filtered out of the locker room by now, some to spa appointments, others to sports matches and you find yourself alone, nearly choking on the humid air when you take in your appearance for the first time.

You look like you belong here.

Collar popped around your neck, skirt falling in perfect pleats around your waist, hair falling against your cheekbones. Not a speck of dirt on the branded shoes cushioning your soles.

For a moment you feel a sense of pride fill your chest, head resting high on your shoulders as you bask in the confidence that washes over you until you feel giddy with belonging.

Until you remember what you really are. An imposter.

Despite your Paradise inspired appearance you are nothing but a fake. A smudge on one of the picture perfect Paradise postcard's in the gift shop.

Your shoulders deflate, the sudden urge to tug your sweater back on and run as fast as you can becoming overwhelming.

Your let yourself slump onto one of the plush couches, head falling into your hands. What are you doing here? Letting some guy dress you up like a doll and show you off to save his own ass?

Besides, his family would see through you as soon as you walked out there. After all a polished stone, although pretty, can never be a diamond. And these people know diamonds like the back of their hands.

Is it because he has the authority to fire you from the kitchen job you worked so hard to get? Or is it because somewhere deep inside you are curious to see what could be in this for you?

A vibration on the couch beside you draws you from your thoughts.

10:09, unknown: — where r u????? — you know where the range is right???

God, why didn't you just say no in the first place?

"Just get on with it," you tell yourself sternly. Meet his sister, smile politely and leave without owing Kim Seokjin a single thing.

You will save his ass, buy him the time he needs to convince his parents to get off his back. And then you can go back to your culinary uniform and back to serving up lobster to rich people and you can forget this ever happened and that he so much as exists.

With a shaky breath you get to your feet, throwing your familiar clothes into the locker along with your comfort zone and what feels like your entire identity.

If this is going to work you couldn't think like Y/N, you realise. You have to think like a Paradise country club member. And luckily for you, your careful observation of other residents from the kitchen gives you quite a lot of material to work with.

Before you can second guess yourself you're taking a deep breath and striding out of the locker room door and into the sunny resort grounds.

Oh god. I'm really doing this. You suddenly feel exposed as you pass the golf court, just managing to dodge a rattling cart before it flattened you.

A pair of girls stroll past with arms interlinked, tennis rackets swinging at their sides leisurely as they make their way to the course.

Oh god. They're gonna see through you. Oh god. Just smile!

You let the corners of your mouth curve up into the closest thing to a smile you can muster, pleased when you earn a friendly nod in greeting before they dive back into their conversation again.

Nobody is noticing. You hold your head high, telling your shoulders to relax and look natural. You can do this.

You reach the range but instead of following the group of middle aged men ahead of you up to the front entrance, you slip round the back. Your eyes land on him instantly; none other than Kim Seokjin, leaning impatiently against the wall, just like he said he would be.

His appearance is enough to have you faltering in your tracks. Unlike the last time you saw him when he donned a much less flattering eye sore of a Hawaiian shirt, he's put together from head to toe - white button up tucked into a pair of tailored trousers, brown loafers showing off his ankles, the whole outfit finished off by a knit sweater tied around his shoulders.

"Wow." You can't help it. You're starting to see why he had a reputation for being particularly easy on the eye.

You swallow thickly, shaking the stunned feeling from your head and ignoring the way your heart beats a little faster the closer you draw to him.

"Finally!" Seokjin hums as he lets out a frustrated huff, eyes glued to the Rolex on his wrist. "Where have you been-"

His breath hitches when he finally looks up and takes you in for the first time. You were surely imagining the way his eyes widen and look you up and down. Right?

"Well well," Seokjin regains his self control quickly, licking his lips. "Someone scrubs up well."

Smartass. "To my credit you've only ever seen me in my work clothes."

"Touché." He purses his lips. "Nobody could make those hats look good. Except me, obviously."

There is that glint in his eye again. As if he is messing with you to get you riled up again. If he wasn't the Kim Seokjin you'd mistake him as flirtatious.

You hug your torso, confidence dwindling with every second you stand beneath Seokjin's probing gaze, anxious to get out onto the range before it dissipates completely. "So? Are we just gonna stand here?"

"You turn up late and then have the audacity to order me around?" His eyebrows furrow and for a second you think he's going to warn you. Remind you who has the power here.

But then his face breaks out into an amused smirk and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Remember when I said I think you and I are going to get along just fine?"

Seokjin slings his hands into his pockets, striding towards the back door of the facility. He shakes the handle before using his key card to let you both into the archery equipment lodge.

You trail behind him. "Don't get too comfortable," You warn. "This is a one time thing."

Seokjin muses over a selection of crossbows in display cases before fishing in his pocket for a key, unlocking the glass and taking down two flashy ones. He grabs a quiver loaded with arrows from a stand and thrusts both into your arms without warning.

"Sure." He is slinging a quiver over his own shoulder now. He holds open the door to the archery range, gesturing for you to go first. So now he has manners? "If you say so."

The archery range is an expanse of perfectly pruned green grass, surrounded by the breathtaking scenery of fragrant rose bushes and trailing ivy that the resort boasts. And, as you're learning, an excuse for refreshments, as you find yourself now in a fancy veranda bar with high arching windows that overlook the distant targets, serving chilled lemonade and Prosecco and appetisers on fancy napkins.

"Pretty cool, right?" Seokjin asks, resting his elbows on the windowsill and smirking at your speechlessness and open mouthed expression. "But quit looking so surprised, yeah? You gotta make my sister think this is normal for you."

You don't have time to ask what he means before you are being spun around and engulfed in a hug. You freeze, sucking in a breath of surprise, the sickly smell of fancy shampoo engulfing your senses as your face is pushed into a head of perfect ringlets.

"You must be Y/N." The person, a woman, purrs into your ear. "It's good to finally meet you." The way she draws out the word makes you nervous.

This is Seokjin's sister?

Something about it doesn't feel how a hug is supposed to. Instead it feels like a silent interrogation. Are you good enough to be one of us? Nothing about it is warm. Instead it's sticky, your hands patting her back awkwardly, counting the seconds in your head until it is acceptable to pull away from her stiff hold.

When she lets go you are met with the tight lipped smile of a pretty twenty something, eyes scanning your face from beneath a sun visor. A customised hot pink quiver drapes across her shoulder and you notice the way she eyes your borrowed equipment distastefully.

"That would be me." You force a smile that ends up being a little too wide, glancing nervously at Seokjin who simply nods in encouragement. "It's good to...finally meet you too?"

She holds you at arms length, giving you a once over before speaking tightly. "Well aren't you a doll?"

You must look as terrified as you feel because her eyebrows raise triumphantly. Seokjin senses the tension. He looks between the two of you almost worriedly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. For a second you think his concern is kind of sweet...No! Not allowed.

"No hug for me?" Seokjin swoops in and his sister's features harden at his sarcastic tone, a punch landing on his shoulder which he pretends to rub better, emitting a small ow!

"You're late."

"Sorry Hyejin, couldn't find my best shoes." Seokjin throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you from her grasp a little protectively and flashing an award winning smile that makes your heart flip...No! Definitely not allowed.

"Those are your best shoes?" She grimaces, shaking her head with an air of disappointment. "You left me waiting here for half an hour for those?" Her eyes narrow at you accusingly, as if she knows the truth and wants you to offer an apology.

Seokjin is quick to save you again. "Yup. All my fault. Shall we shoot?"

"Gladly." She smooths down a stray curl, studying her reflection in the glass windows. "I've been itching to see Y/N's aim since I got here. I hear you are a pro, no?"

You choke. A pro?

Luckily she's already stalking across the deck in her click-clacking wedges and out onto the damp green grass, missing the panicked glance shared between yourself and Seokjin.

"Uh-"

"Um-"

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. Think of something, he mouths.

She stops dead, shooting a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Well are you?"

"Not exactly-" You start.

"I think you're thinking of one of the other...candidates, Hyejin." Seokjin says carefully. He places his palm at the small of your back. The gesture was probably just for show but it comforts you none the less.

"I'm sure she's just being modest." She says to Seokjin, but she's looking right at you. Her forefinger taps against her palm and you can almost see the puzzle pieces falling together in her head before her expression smooths out and you let out a sigh of relief. "So. Shall we?"

Seokjin nods sheepishly. Hyejin slings an arrow into her bow with the ease of an expert, Seokjin quickly following suit. And it is in that moment, as you watch them shoot equally as precise shots to the centre of their respective targets, that it dawns on you. You have never shot a bow and arrow in your life.

"Let's see just how good you are." Hyejin steps back, offering you the main stage. You squint at the targets in the far distance, the rings blurring into one. How on earth did they make hitting those things look so easy?

"Sure thing." You wince at the strain in your voice as you fumble to pull an arrow from your quiver, fingers shaking as you try to sling it into the bow.

You can do this..

You lift the bow, close your eyes and hope for the best when you let go of the arrow, watching as it flies a short distance before sticking upright in the dirt just short of the target.

Cheeks scarlet, you glance at Hyejin who looks positively horrified. "When you said not exactly good I wasn't expecting you to be so...inexperienced. No personal trainer?" She muses, eyeing you quizzically, to which you shoot her an embarrassed smile in confirmation. "Anybody would think it was your first time!" You sheepishly giggle along to the hearty chuckle she enjoys at the mere thought, spluttering when her face suddenly darkens "It's not right?"

You freeze. "Uhhh..."

"It's just nerves," Seokjin insists, palms clamping your shoulders and thrusting you forward again. "She's probably just shitting it because you're watching."

"Language!" Hyejin scolds, letting the roll of Seokjin's eyes slip when she sees you fiddling with another arrow.

This time you prepare the bow with ease, a bout of confidence washing over you as you make eye contact with Seokjin over the top of the bow you raise to your shoulder. His eyes soften slightly and he offers an encouraging nod as you squint at the target and shoot the arrow straight into the centre ring.

You're momentarily shocked at your own abilities before Seokjin is letting out a genuinely impressed hoot, his hand coming between you to offer a sly high five unbeknownst to Hyejin. A silent congratulations for not completely fucking up.

"Pretty good." Hyejin nods, looking genuinely impressed, and you give yourself a silent pat on the back.

Holy shit. This is really working! She believes you belong here!

"Although I'm not sure where father got the idea of professional from with that technique," She lowered her voice, clearly only intending for Seokjin to hear the last part despite you standing beside her. "I must admit her figure seems better suited to tennis anyway..."

Or not. Maybe you still have some work to do...

Hyejin seems in a hurry to get to the next target, and Seokjin hangs back to whisper in your ear before you follow.

"Congrats," He hums with a smirk. "You fit right in. Welcome to Paradise, Y/N."

The next forty five minutes pass quicker than you expect.

"— and I said, 'How could you seat the Jeon's next to the Jung's when you know they're feuding about the business contract'?" Hyejin exclaims. "Scandalous."

"Scandalous." You reply with a bored attempt at enthusiasm, raising your eyebrows at Seokjin over the rim of your glass as you sip cloudy lemonade through a straw. To his credit he looks equally as exhausted with Hyejin's spiel, shaking his knee impatiently as he itches for an opportunity to pounce.

As Hyejin continues to make mildly interrogative small talk and you find it increasingly easier to think on the spot when she asks about your family's (imaginary) dynasty and the university degree in economics you (supposedly) possess, you start to feel more comfortable. But Seokjin still refuses to loosen the arm resting around your shoulders keeping you planted by his side all afternoon, as if he is nervous his sister might swoop down like a bird and take you away at any moment, like a toddler with a toy.

That's why when she suggests a trip to the little girls room to powder your noses, Seokjin throws you a reluctant look. He protests at first when you readily agree (hoping to splash some cold water on your face to cool the constant burn that seems to have settled into your every pore) and he still looks concerned, knee bouncing nervously, when you peel yourself away from his body and disappear into the bar a few steps behind Hyejin who doesn't seem interested in side by side small talk.

In fact, you use the bathroom in silence and she doesn't speak another word until you catch her gaze in the mirror as she emerges from a cubicle behind you.

"You might have my little brother fooled but I see right through you, you know." She sets down her cosmetics bag on the sink, retrieving an expensive tube of lipstick and swiping the pinkish colour over her lips nonchalantly.

The tap stops running over your soaped up hands as you try to curb the nausea her words induce. Does she know who you are? Who you really are?

Despite the shake to your voice you try to play it cool. "W-what do you mean?"

Hyejin's laugh is small and tight, nothing about it humorous at all. Her eyes never leave her reflection, fluffing up her curls with an air of superiority. "I see through parasites like you straight away."

Your mouth falls agape with astonishment. "Parasites?"

"You should know that I have people all over this place who will find out exactly why you came here." For the first time she turns to look you dead in the eye, a bitter smile lacing her lips smugly. She is eye level but it feels like she is towering above you. "What is it you want? Money?"

"No I—"

"Just wait." Hyejin slings her bag over her shoulder triumphantly, voice getting smaller as her heels click across the tiles to the door. She pauses, poking her head back into the room as if burdened with an after thought. "You could do with some more mascara, by the way, darling. Would make you look much prettier."

And then she's gone, leaving you to watch her hips swaying into the distance with hands dripping dry onto the ground.

By the time you calm your nerves enough to emerge from the bathroom looking semi-confident, Hyejin is already ordering another drink and Seokjin is straining his neck to search for you anxiously.

Even from a few meters away you can see the way he sighs with relief when he spots you approaching. It didn't last for long though as he must notice the slightly reddened rings around yours eyes that weren't there before and before you can give him a watery smile in greeting, he is on his feet.

"What happened?"

You bite your lip. "Seokjin, I think I need to go."

"I knew this would happen. Did she try and get in your head?" You nod and his face darkens. "I was an idiot bringing you here."

"It's fine, I shouldn't have agreed, you stay and I'll just go—"

"Right!" Seokjin makes a show of slapping his palms to his knees, practically jumping to his feet and dragging you up with him by your elbow, only a hare away from spilling the drink in your hands. "Sorry to cut this short but I think it's time for Y/N and I to be going."

Hyejin looks positively furious at the suggestion of saying goodbye, gesturing towards the bucket of ice in the centre of the table you had inhabited after your arms began to hurt from holding the archery bow. "But we haven't even opened the Champagne yet, Jin-"

"Oh I don't day drink." You wave her off, biting your lip with instant regret when you see how her face hardens.

"Sorry Hyejin but there really just isn't enough time," Seokjin insists, reaching for your bag to save you the trouble, slinging it across your shoulder and pushing you by the shoulders towards the exit. It's not like you have a choice in the matter but you have to admit you are relieved the whole fiasco is finished. "Send my best wishes to Wonho and Minhye!"

"Minhyuk." Hyejin splutters as she staggers to her feet, chair scraping obscenely. "Your nephew's name is Minhyuk!"

"Good to know!" Seokjin calls over his shoulder, already speed walking into the lobby before you can make out her response.

When Seokjin decides there is enough distance between you and the range he drops his arm from where it drapes around your shoulders. You didn't realise it was there until it was already gone, a cold emptiness settling over you. Why had it felt so natural?

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank god that's over with. I thought she would never stop talking."

You snort in agreement. "I've never told so many lies in my life."

"I find that hard to believe." Seokjin smirks when you slap his arm playfully. "It came too easily to you."

"It's your fault! Your deceptive ways are rubbing off on me!"

"Deceptive ways?" Seokjin splutters, a genuine laugh spilling from his lips. Heartier and much different to the strained chuckles he's been giving Hyejin all day. You decide by the way your heart lurches that you like it much better. "I'll have you know I never lie."

"You're joking right?" Surely he is aware that it was him that roped you into this identity fraud master plan in the first place? The smirk on his face says yes. It's your turn to laugh, mimicking his earlier tone. "I find that hard to believe."

"Then ask me a question and I'll tell you the honest truth and nothing but the truth."

"Uhh okay?" You pause, mulling over all the questions you really want to ask. Why did you choose me? Does this make us friends? Are you gonna look through me again at the restaurant when this whole thing is over? Before you sheepishly settle on something more appropriate.

"How much is the resort worth? It must be a lot if you would go to all this...trouble."

"Five hundred."

"Five hundred thousand?"

"You're coy. Of course not." He chuckles. "Million."

Oh. Well now everything makes sense.

"Come on, ask me another." Seokjin bumps his shoulder against yours playfully, hair falling in his eyes that you’re desperate to push away. Your cheeks burn. "What's on your mind, kitchen girl?"

Don't say it...don't say it...

"D-did your sister hate me?"

Too late. The question slips out before you can stop it and you slap a hand over your mouth in shock.

He narrows his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Why do you want to know? It's not like any of this really mattered - it wasn't real after all. So why does your stomach twist when you remember the spiteful way Hyejin spoke to you?

You flash a sheepish smile. "J-just interested."

Your ego was just bruised that's all. It was natural to feel bad when someone didn't like you, right?

"Then yes."

Oh.

Your chest clenches for no reason. Maybe he really never lies after all, huh?

Seokjin must notice the way you pout. "It's not personal! That's just how she is. Honestly, out of all the candidates so far you're the one she hated the least..."

You snort. "Good to know?"

You come to a stop outside the locker room doors. You don't know what to say - what is left? Goodbye? Thank you?

You're probably never going to speak to him again, true; but goodbye feels too formal. Too real. Instead you stay quiet, the sound of cicadas and balls hitting racquets filling the silence as Seokjin’s chocolate brown eyes make you weak at the knees when they darken, his body drawing ever closer to yours.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I plan on repaying you?"

Seokjin's fingers wrap around your elbow before you can slip away and you gasp at how his skin burns yours. You swallow thickly. The light bounces off his face dazzlingly and you have to admit he looks good right now, with his shirt unbuttoned lazily and his bitten lips inches from yours.

"I-I forgot about that." You admit. Sure you had been uptight about this whole idea initially but you couldn't deny the fact that today had been kinda fun. Did you really need a reward? Maybe you'd got a little lost in pretending to be someone else. So what?

"Well," Seokjin draws closer until your back presses against the wall, his breath hot next to your ear. "I have something in mind."

Your pulse quickens when you feel his hand rest upon your hip, the rise and fall of his chest so close that you get tingles down your spine.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "W-what is it?"

His chuckle is warm against your sensitive neck and you shudder when his lips ghost over your skin, so so close. "Can I show you?"

"Sure." You breathe.

And then he takes you by the chin, lining up your mouths and crashing them together in a hot tangle of tongue and teeth, his chapped lips moving against yours with an urgency. Your arms snake around his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape and pulling him into you with a thump.

Before your eyes can flutter shut and your heart can get lost in the feeling of his teeth pulling at your bottom lip and the taste of sour lemonade that still lingers on his tongue, Seokjin pulls back with a smirk, eyes dropping to your parted lips and then back to your blown out eyes with a satisfaction.

He runs a knuckle down your cheek. You feel your legs weaken. "I want you."

The huskiness in his voice makes your head spin, chest burning with the desire to connect your lips again. But you resist.

"Why?" You squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling back against the wall to avoid his gaze, embarrassed at how shaky your voice sounds after one kiss. God, you're weak. "Why me?"

"Like I said," Seokjin's fingers trace down your sides, eyes darkening when he notices the way the light touch makes you shiver under him. "I want you. Have since I first saw you."

He wants you? What about all those other girls, the ones he sent running? The ones who were much more suited to him than you would ever be?

"So what?" You scoff, biting your lip to stop a needy gasp when he presses a bold kiss to your jaw. "Want to add me to the list of girls who — mmf — w-who you seduced?"

He pauses, lips pressed against your burning skin for a little longer while he registers your words. "Maybe." He resumes his earlier actions, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Is that so bad?"

"I can't do this." You bite your lip. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't intending on letting Seokjin get to you, didn't mean to become a mark in his black book or a notch in his bed post.

"Why not?" He presses his forehead to yours. Your breath hitches and you will the warm tingle in your stomach to go away. "I saw you checking me out on the range."

The way he grins tells you that you hadn't been so subtle after all.

"And besides," Seokjin grips your ass through your skirt, making you gasp to his satisfaction. "This way, I get to pay you back and have some fun of my own."

"H-how?" You can feel yourself slipping. Into his touch, into his words.

"By making you cum." That had your panties damp and he knew it, the heat between your legs distracting you from the way he groans against your lips when your hips buck into him involuntarily.

It's like he knows what you need, slotting his leg between your own and putting pressure on the growing ache in your core. "I know you want this too."

He's right, the way the cotton of your panties has begun to cling to your folds a tell tale sign of your arousal. Seokjin knew exactly how to make you putty in his hands. Every teasing touch of his lips to your neck, every feather light trace of his fingers has him chuckling darkly when you melt into his body, unable to resist the way he makes your core ache needily for his touch.

"Come on, I can make you feel good." Your breath hitches when fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. "If I just lift this up..."

Oh god. If you don't stop now it'll be too late...

His hand slips beneath your skirt, pads of his fingers hooking your sodden panties to the side, the flash of cold air against your needy folds making you whine into the crook of his neck. "P-please."

You feel him smirk against your hair, speaking with a tone so sickly sweet you would've rolled your eyes if your clit wasn't already pulsating for his touch. "Please what?"

"Make me cum."

"I knew you would come round." He pulls back to face you, drinking in the expression on your face which you presume is utterly fucked out. You have to admit the way his own irises have darkened with what you recognise as lust makes your stomach leap in anticipation. "So desperate for me already hm?"

You whine, somewhat in confirmation, somewhat in frustration at his refusal to touch you even when you buck against his hand. "Please."

"I wouldn't have put you down as the begging type." His hand suddenly cups your heat, pads of his fingers circling your entrance teasingly. He lets out a choked groan when he feels your arousal. "This wet for me? Already?"

"What do you expect?" You stammer, squeezing his shoulders and holding back on the urge to buck against his palm again. "You've got your hand up my skirt."

"Mmm, I could just make you come undone right here." His eyes darken, tongue snaking out to wet his chapped lips hungrily. "Could easily fuck you out nice and slow with my fingers if I wanted to, hmm?" Seokjin has begun to circle your entrance teasingly, making you squirm every time he nearly slips inside.

"Fuck." Your eyes are squeezed shut, breathing already laboured despite him barely even touching you, just the thought of him filling you up getting you dangerously worked up. "I want you to."

"What was that?" Seokjin's lips curve up mischievously, one of his fingers nearly filling you up before he removes his hand and you groan with frustration. "Gotta use your words sweetheart."

Your heart thumps at the use of the pet name but you choose to ignore it, instead reaching between your bodies to clasp his wrist before it disappears completely. "Fuck me," you pant, eyes roaming his with desperation. His staunch gaze never falters. "Please, fuck me now."

Seokjin connects your swollen lips again, but not before mumbling against them gruffly. "Remember you asked for it."

Then, his free hand to spreads your legs, knee stopping them from closing as his other hand closes in on your aching core. The feeling of his digits running down your soaked slit has you panting and you feel your legs buckle when he pressed two of his lithe fingers into your heat without warning. You are dripping by now, hole accommodating the stretch and allowing his fingers to slip inside easily.

Your clit pulsates with need and you want to feel Seokjin everywhere, have him take you in any way he wants, momentarily lost to the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of your heat; until you remember that you have Seokjin's hand down your pants in broad daylight and anyone could walk by and see just how weak he makes you.

"Wait!" He halts his ministrations, raising a brow. "W-we can't, not here."

You mewl when his thumb ghosts across your swollen clit, touch light but enough to have you gasping into the crook of his neck.

"Let's take this inside, then." Before you can ask what he means his fingers disappear, leaving your hole clenching agonisingly around nothing again. He presses the arousal coated digits to your lips and you enjoy the way his jaw tightens as you eagerly take them into your hot mouth, humming when you taste yourself on your own tongue. "Fuck you'll drive me crazy if you keep this up."

You can tell you are getting to him, even if he is trying to hide it. The way his eyes roll back when you suck his fingers clean, how he bites his cheek to stop a lustful groan when his eyes dip between your bodies to your almost naked heat tells you all you needed to know.

He can't take it any longer.

Seokjin pulls his hand away with a wet pop, your throbbing heat protesting when he let your legs fall shut, linking his clammy hand with your own. "Come with me."

It takes a second to remember how to walk, letting him pull you behind him in your dizzy haze. His hand is warm in yours and your entire body aches to feel them on you again. It's already too late to hide your swollen lips and slightly mussed up hair before Seokjin drags you right into the men's locker room .

"Wait, we can't do it in here—"

"Everyone out!" Seokjin's voice bellows through the locker room, all its inhabitants pausing their ministrations to peer at you curiously.

You try to let go of Seokjin's hand to button up your shirt but he won't let you, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hide behind him self consciously, knees knocking. "We need to use the locker room."

A groan erupts through the room, a chorus of again? permeating the sound of lockers slamming shut with frustration before one by one all the dudes in the locker room began to shuffle past you to the exit.

"Seokjin!" You hiss, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear angrily. "Now everyone knows!"

Seokjin's thumb rubs across your knuckles soothingly. "Who cares?"

You feel your cheeks flush hotly when a man you recognise from the restaurant, now wearing nothing but a towel, narrows his eyes in a knowing look. You willed the ground to swallow you up.

The sound of footsteps ceases, the door swings closed and finally you're alone.

"Better?" Seokjin turns to you expectantly.

"I can't believe you just did that!" You cover your face with your palms. "God how am I going to look any of them in the eyes again."

"They don't care." He soothes, your unamused expression not faltering still.

"Are you even allowed to do that? W-What if they tell someone—"

"They won't," Seokjin smirks. "They value their memberships here too much."

You bite your lip. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Seokjin rushes forward to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. The act feels a little too sincere and you nearly melt at the intimacy, resisting copying his motion by pinching your palm instead. "It's okay, seriously! They're just jealous that I get lucky more around here than any of the old bastards have in their entire lives."

"I don't believe you." Your words are muffled by his chest, his chuckle vibrating against your cheek.

"They're jealous because they'll never get this lucky."

"Huh?" Seokjin's hands slide down the small of your back to cup your ass, lifting your entire weight so that your legs wrap around his waist. You let out a giggle of surprise when his face comes into view, smirking up at you.

"Lucky enough to get someone as pretty as you underneath them."

There they are again, the butterflies in your stomach, the skip of a beat in your heart, a warmth spreading through your chest that feels too good to question right now. "Technically I'm above you." You mumble. "Besides they were all, like, fifty years old or something."

"Just shut up would you?" Seokjin stumbles forward, throwing you roughly onto one of the couches. The fabric feels like velvet when your nails clutch at it desperately, trying to hold on to whatever control you have left when Seokjin drops to his knees between your legs to hover over you. "And kiss me for fucks sake."

You oblige, pulling him by the collar to connect your lips in a kiss even more heated than before if that was even possible. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you sigh contentedly into the kiss when he pulls your face even closer with his palms.

"F-fuck." He pulls back with a pop, hands roaming along the tops of your thighs too teasingly for you to handle. By now you're so worked up that you just needed him to take you roughly, the thought of his cock pounding in and out of you making you moan when you feel his bulge brush your leg. God you want him more than you knew it was possible, the way your clit pulses at the thought of how good it would feel to come around him or better yet feel him come inside you overwhelming.

"Seokjin, p-please fuck me." You practically whine, letting your head fall against the couch cushion when his thumbs fiddle with the lace of your panties. "Wanna feel you inside me."

The sound that comes from his throat seems strangled. "Fuck, what did I say about driving me crazy?"

"Need you so bad," You rotate your hips to emphasise your desperation, the action providing you with no relief when his steel like grip prevents you from putting any pressure on your dripping folds. "Wanna cum for you."

You blink up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows a moan. He liked it when you provoked him, you could tell. His resolve is crumbling with every word out of your mouth.

"Please, I'm so wet." Fuck, you are. You can feel it dripping down your ass, probably making a mess of the couch below you. You hope it can be dry cleaned. "Just fuck me now—mmf!"

Seokjin shuts you up with a hard press of his lips to yours, the action conveying he's just as desperate as you, the way his hands trembled telling you he isn't as unaffected as he wants to appear.

His breathing is nearly as ragged as yours now. "You like riling me up don't you?"

He runs a shaky hand through his hair exasperatedly and you look up at him hopeful, willing him to touch you, kiss you, anything.

"I'm not going to fuck you."

Oh.

You stiffen beneath him, his words shocking you still.

He doesn't want you. Simple as that.

This was just another one of his games and you fell straight into it. You close your eyes and braced for him to start laughing. To point his finger and tell you how lame you are for ever thinking that someone like him could want someone like you.

Except nothing comes. Just the sound of your shaky breaths and a shower running nearby.

"Why?" Your voice is small now and you draw your knees to your chest, trying to hide as much from him as possible. "You don't want to?"

He looks dismayed at your suggestion, palms shooting out to push you back down and pull you back into his hold again.

"It's not that, Y/N." You let out a relieved breath, not fighting Seokjin when his forehead falls against your chest in defeat, heavy breaths ghosting across the tops of your breasts. You're sure he can feel the way your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest.

"Then why?" You bite your lip. You sound too needy, to whiny. Why do you even care if he wants you or not? This is a one off anyway.

"God, I want nothing more than to strip you and see you bounce on my cock right here"

Oh.

Seokjin's lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly like a man deprived, as though he can't hold back any longer. His hands roam everywhere they can reach, rubbing your breasts over your shirt before his fingers work on the buttons eagerly.

"S-Seokjin..."

"Would give anything to see you come undone on my cock. Bet you'd moan so pretty when I pound you, yeah?"

Truth be told you'd let him right now if he said the word, the thought of him stretching you out making you see stars before he has even properly touched you. Your core is hot and sticky against your panties while you clench around nothing while his every word makes you writhe to be filled. "Then w-why don't you?"

"Because there's plenty of time for that, princess." He flashes you a smile. Plenty of time? Why did he make it sound as if this wasn't a one time thing? As if you'd be back for more? "This is for you remember? Gotta pay you back."

You yelp when Seokjin lifts your ass, thumbs finally dragging your panties down your legs and throwing them behind him before he spreads your legs with a hunger. "Let me taste you, hm?"

Seokjin pushes your skirt around your waist, exposing your core to his hungry eyes, drinking in how you look all spread out for him. Just the sight of him so close to your dripping heat makes the coil in your stomach tighten and you're sure you could cum just from the way his lips part in anticipation.

He looks up at you for confirmation, smirking when you nod your head before falling back against the couch weakly when he drags a finger down your slit teasingly, licking his lips when you mewl at the brief contact with your clit. "So pretty."

He sinks back against his heels, cheek warm against your inner thigh, hot breath caressing your clit. A moan escapes you at the feeling much to his amusement, his bruising grip on your thighs stopping you from bucking up. "Hurry up — mmf — please."

For the first time he listens to your request, skipping the teasing to run a long stripe up your soaking slit. Seokjin groans against your clit and you quiver, his staggered breaths hot against your dripping folds. "Taste so good, sweetheart."

"S-Seokjin," Hands spread your legs as far as they cN go and then plump lips engulf your clit, sucking with a perfect harshness that makes your legs shake and your head fall back with a gasp, hands tangling in his blonde locks tightly enough to have him groaning blissfully. "Fingers!"

The breathiness of your voice makes him chuckle against your heat, vibrations enough to have your knees straining to close around his head, the pressure between them almost too much. "What was that?"

"Fingers," You reiterate, aware of how fucked out you soundjust from feeling his tongue on your clit, every teasing flick making your entrance pulse. "Inside me, now."

"No please?" The drag of Seokjin's flat tongue down your slit to prod at your hole is sinful, the way he took to fucking you with his tongue teasingly drawing small whimpers from your lips. It's mesmerising how he knows just how to make you fall apart.

"P-please!"

The gentle brush of his nose against your clit nearly has you coming on the spot. "Turn over." He growls against your mound. An arm wraps around your waist and before you can protest his mouth leaving your heat, you are being flipped onto your hands and knees, Seokjin's palm pushing your head down against your forearms so that your ass comes up for his viewing pleasure. "That's more like it."

"F-fuck." It feels dirty being on display for him like this, dripping wet and wiggling your hips, desperate for friction against your spread folds. Pressing your cheek to the couch, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin's expression as he takes you in, eyes black with desire, lips still coated in your sticky arousal.

"Shit." His breath hitches. "Such a pretty pussy, hm?"

It's your turn to take a shaky inhale when a single finger circles your entrance, Seokjin humming approvingly when you clench hopelessly around nothing. Knowing you are so close to being filled even with a single finger gets you panting, circling your hips and trying to sink down onto the digit that smears your wetness through your folds lewdly. Seokjin pulls his hand away with a click of his tongue.

"That desperate to be filled, baby?" His tone is taunting, followed by a chuckle when you whine at the way his words make your clit throb. "Fuck, such a slut, dripping wet for just my fingers."

He reaches around to press the pad of his finger against your lips and you suck it instinctively, humming when you taste yourself, some of your sticky arousal smearing on your chin. Seokjin's head rolls back, the visual practically sending him into sensory overload.

"Such a slut," A loud slap fills the room, a palm landing flat against your upturned ass, the sensation making you cry out in surprise. His breath is hot and ragged against your ear. "You like that?"

Despite the embarrassed shake of your head another smack lands to the flesh of your other cheek with enough force to leave a mark this time. It stings when he rubs his calloused hands over the reddening skin that is now burning hot where it collided with his palm but the pain quickly dissipates to pleasure and you bite your hand to stop from moaning out too lewdly. "Use your words, princess."

"Seokjin!" You can't hold back from whining his name when his palm lands straight on your heat, the sharp pain a somehow welcome relief when he instantly rubbed a few soothing circles into your folds with the pads of his fingers, each graze of your clit making your legs shake uncontrollably. "I-I need more."

"This?" Without warning he presses two fingers into your pussy, entrance squeezing around him wildly at the pleasant stretch. Every flick of his wrist permeates through the locker room with a loud squelch, testament of just how worked up you were.

"Ugh!" Every drag of his fingers against your velvety walls has your eyes rolling back, the way he curls the digits with every thrust hitting your sweet spot perfectly, like he knew exactly how to drive you crazy. "S-so good."

You are starting to get out of breath, meeting his thrusts by rocking back against his hand and this time he doesn't protest, encouraging you by kneading the flesh of your ass and groaning in time with the sharp gasps leaving your lips each time the heel of his hand brushes your swollen clit.

"Think you can cum again with just my fingers, baby?" The way you clench around around his digits is a tell tale sign that your second high is close. Just his words alone nearly make you fall over the edge, words slurred as you try to focus on anything other than the unrelenting pulse between your legs.

"N-need more." You sound utterly fucked out, eyes squeezed shut and lost to the feeling of being filled but the stretch isn't quite enough and you need more to tip you over the edge. "Another one."

Seokjin lines up a third finger with your entrance, the ring on his finger cold against your hot walls as he slides it in beside the others at an agonisingly slow pace; to allow you to adjust to the stretch or to taunt you can't tell. By the time he gets to his knuckles your body is wracked with laboured breaths, quivering knees barely able to hold your weight as you bite the inside of your cheeks to curb a string of whines at being finally filled.

Of course, his fingers weren't as good as the real thing and you wonder how he is able to control himself when your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him inside of you instead of his hand.

The room is still a little humid from the showers, a layer of sweat glistening across your skin as you chase your high with determination, the stickiness between your legs dripping down Seokjin's wrist and making him tut, the click of his tongue heightening the sensation.

"That's it, cum for me." The authority lacing his tone tips you over the edge, another smack stinging your ass as you bury your face in the couch with a cry, the feeling of his fingers pumping you through your high almost too much to bare but as soon as they are ripped away and you're left clenching around nothing you miss the feeling of being full.

"So pretty when you cum." Seokjin murmurs. Under normal circumstances you would have been embarrassed, self conscious even with your ass up for anyone to see, release leaking on to the couch, but you're too fucked out to care about anything m, barely able to register Seokjin's new found gentleness as he flips you onto your back and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear while you focus on returning your breathing back to a normal pace.

"Holy shit." The beat of your heart seemsdeafening in your ears, the only other sound you can comprehend being Seokjin's own ragged breathing.

"Fuck, I nearly just came in my pants." When you manage to turn your head he is staring straight at you with disbelief, eyes travelling to your swollen lips. "I'm going to jerk off to this image forever."

"Me too." You murmur honestly.

Your lids fall shut in post orgasm bliss, not expecting the incoming peck Seokjin presses to your parted lips. It is barely a kiss, plump flesh of his lips brushing yours for less than a second but a funny warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture. Seokjin seems as surprised as you, as if he can't quite believe he just did that, shuffling to the other side of the couch to put some distance between you.

"You should uh, get dressed." He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and turning away to give you some privacy, as if he hadn't just had his head between your legs just a moment ago.

His behaviour, albeit kind of strange, makes you smirk and you decide it won't hurt to tease. "Well, at least now we're even."

Seokjin bites his lip when he turns around to find your skirt back around your thighs, overcome with a new confidence, sauntering over and palming your ass like he owns it. "Nope, not getting away that easily. I think you'll find I made you cum twice. So now you owe me. Again."

"And what do I owe you this time, Kim Seokjin?" You place your hands on his chest, no instinct to push him away for some reason. "Golfing with your brother up next?"

"No," He scoffs. "My brother wouldn't be caught dead with a club."

"Then what?"

You notice the glint in his eye again, the one you are starting to crave. "Let me get to know you."

"Isn't that what you did today?"

He shakes his head. "The real you."

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #ksmutclub #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin imagine #seokjin scenario #jin imagine #jin scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fic #fic: better with you

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 33)

The large round eyes, belonging to the auburn fox, flutter from left and right, back to left, before it takes a deep breath and leaves its safe pot to seek food for the day. The night’s hefty downpour prevented it from going out, and now it’s hungry. The new world order has made it a lot easier to find food, which also means that the feeling of hunger is seldom reminded. But during the night, its stomach has been rumbling for something tasty, a bird or anything really. On soft paws, the fox hurries across the grass before stopping abruptly, to check that the coast is clear. But its home environment, a forest somewhere in Virginia, is deserted and free from danger. It had been a long time since this fox had experienced a hunting season, or heard the sound of quad bikes smelling of exhaust fumes pulling through its natural habitat. The fox hurries on, but just a few meters on it stops abruptly again, pricks up its ears when a rustle is heard. Silently, the fox hurries into a bush, at the same time as the grass is split some distance away by a pair of worn Keen hiking boots. The sun plays through the rustling foliage; a soft clatter, a result of the soft breeze that pulls through the forest.

After rain comes sunshine, it’s said. But the crooked male who stumbles between the tree trunks with trailing steps, has no idea of the beauty of mother nature that surrounds him. Nor any idea that he was once a thinking, living being. Many months have passed and time has not been gentle on him. A piece, large as a clenched fist, of his cheek is ripped out, but it doesn’t worry him. He totally lacks the ability to feel, to reason about whether he needs to see a doctor or put a bandaid on it. That time is over. The only instinct that remains and clings to the man’s poisoned, dead consciousness is hunger. An incurable, constant hunger for meat. That’s what drives the man forward through the forest, without, unlike the fox, being on his guard. It’s also this inattention that is reminded when a 5.45 mm bullet penetrates his skull, between the ear and the eye. The loud sound makes the fox give up his attempted excursion and rush back to his burrow.

Daryl tears his eyes from the walker who collapses on the ground like a shattered house of cards, and glances to his left.

“Home run.” He says as Mila lowers the rifle. “Ya’ wanna let me have a fair chance?” “It was you who said we should compete.” Mila threads the rifle’s shoulder strap over her arm and gives him a cheeky smile. “Gotta level up your game, Dixon. It’s not a contest if I let you win.”

“Hmpf...”

Mila starts walking and Daryl follows. He should have suspected that she was competitive. So far, she leads with eight hits against his three.

They’re heading west. A few days earlier, Glenn, Rick and Sasha returned to the Safe-Zone after a run, announcing that they had passed a mall they hadn’t seen before. As it got dark, all three agreed that it would be foolhardy to go in and investigate. Instead, Daryl suggested that he take on the task; leave early and check the place out.

“Take someone with you.” was the only thing Rick said before heading off to bed.

In front of Daryl, Mila’s trotting on towards their goal as fast as her feet manage. The untied boot laces bounces around her feet, whips up fallen leaves. They have accomplished about 2 miles which is halfway according to Rick’s description, made their way through woods and abandoned streets. Not taking the car was a conscious choice; Daryl wanted to do the walk. In nature he can breathe, he needs it and all its simplicity as if it were oxygen. He can not imagine spending the day with anyone else then her, on foot, on a mission to explore. Neither more nor less, yet everything.

“How far did they say it was?” Mila turns and looks at him; the long hair forms a fan around her face of the rapid movement.

“‘Bout halfway.” He replies.

“And we’re supposed to do what again?”

“Scout the place for supplies, then go back another day if it’s any good.” Daryl offers Mila his hand as she makes her way over a big branch, lying in their path. “Ya’ had anything in mind?”

“Carol asked for some new fancy kitchen knives.”

“Course she did.” Daryl grimaces, amused by Carol’s request, and climbs the branch.

“You go way back, you two, huh?” Mila squints at him.

Daryl squints back at her; Mila’s sapphire blue eyes are curious and gleams in the dancing sunlight that penetrates the dense foliage above. He shrugs a little.

“No more than anyone else.”

Mila lifts her eyebrows at him, she wants to hear more. Daryl sighs.

“We just-” He pauses, doesn’t really know what to say. “Get each other. Somehow.” How should he describe their friendship? Carol is one of his closest, most dearest friends. She’s warm, kind, fierce and she has a haunting ability to read his mind; knows what he thinks without him uttering a single word. Might be a mother’s instinct, or it might be something else, but Daryl values her ability immensely, not being very good with words himself. In the beginning, way back, he felt irritated, exposed and vulnerable in Carol’s presence. Could just as well be because he was a full blown ass to everything and everyone, but Carol made him feel human, made him feel like ‘someone’. She helped him find purpose and meaning in the group, never doubted him. Gosh, if it wasn’t for Carol, he thinks and looks at Mila, he would never be where he is; here, with Mila, being able to talk with her, not sounding like a buffoon or a total piece of shit. Crap, without Carol’s tremendous influence, Mila would probably have shunned him like the plague. He’d never in his life thought he’d soften up like this, but right now- He owes Carol everything for believing in him, not giving up. What if he’s been a good influence on her as well?

Out of nowhere, Mila says:

“You’ve gone through a lot together. Of course that must be more than friendship, that’s-” She searches for words. “-family. Strong bonds. Growing together, always having each others back. That’s valuable.”

“She’s great.” Daryl says and looks at Mila; wow, she really put words on his feelings.

“Invaluable, I would say.” Mila smiles. “Who could have dreamed of having a babysitter in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? One who’s also chef, baker, friend- a hell of a soldier.” She chuckles and grins at him. “And here I am, with you. Hell, I might switch to Carol, now that I think of it. She’s awesome.”

Daryl takes up a handful of leaves and throws at her. Mila laughs and leans in, pulls him into a kiss, lips with a lingering taste of this morning’s breakfast; coffee black as hell and the blantest looking bowl of oatmeal Daryl’s ever seen. Her lips sweep over his and Daryl, still holding onto the crossbow, puts his arm around her neck and replies the kiss, feeling her soft hair brush against his arm.

”I guess I get to work a little extra then.” He says with a smirk. “I won’t start baking though.”

“You sure?” She raises her eyebrows. “I'm pretty convincing.”

For you and the kid I’d probably do whatever the hell you wanted, if you asked me to, Daryl thinks. Damn, he would go through fire and water for ‘em.

“Let’s get this over with.” He puts a loop of her hair behind her ear. ”come on, Jersey.”

With his arms still resting around her neck, they continue to walk. Above them the treetops rattle pleasantly in the wind. The birds chirp and some distance away two squirrels perform their dance for each other around a thick tree trunk, wiggling their tails and noses simultaneously. But something’s disturbing the overall peaceful atmosphere. Maybe it’s intuition, but something's not quite right. Something in the distance makes Daryl stop abruptly. All of his muscles tenses and Daryl pricks up his ears, just like the fox he saw earlier. Male voices, more than two. Like a laser pointer, his gaze moves from left to right, frantically scouting for the slightest movement, the slightest deviation from the green vegetation around them. Suddenly he sees it. Ten meters in front of where they have haltered, the greenery, scattered with a few trees and bushes, opens into a paved road. On the other side of the road lies two buildings. It’s the dirty, black pickup parked in front of one of the buildings that has caught his attention. That and the armed men surrounding it.

“Down!”

“What?”

Before Mila has the chance to react, Daryl grabs her by the jacket and forces her to crouch. He raises a dirty index finger in front of his lips, as a sign that she should be dead quiet. Mila looks around, understands that he has seen something she has not seen yet. The sound of voices at a distance makes her look beyond the trees and bushes and she catches sight of the pickup. Carefully they make their way over to a pair of bushes that separates wilderness from domesticated. He pulls her down in the tall grass behind the foliage, out of sight, but the men in the parking lot don’t take notice of what’s happening in the vegetation at the other side of the road. Their attention lies fully on the boxes of ammunition they carry out of the run down building. They stack them on the covered truck bed, then return inside to grab some more, like a running band. Mila scouts through the foliage.

“Anyone you’ve seen before?” She asks in a low voice.

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head while he follows a man with shoulder-length blond hair with his eyes. The blonde man disappears into the building and another comes out with yet another box. “Nah, they’re new.”

While five of the men fill the truck bed with boxes and cartons, the sixth man is standing on guard, armed with an automatic rifle, eyes searching the surrounding for any dangers, or other people.

“Maybe we should lie low for awhile.” Mila states.

Yeah, certainly feels foolish to make themselves known. Instead they lay low behind the bushes, watching the unknown group from a distance. Daryl looks at Mila’s profile; her forehead is furrowed and she seems to think, while biting on her lower lip.

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

“There’s-“ She counts. ”-six of them. There’s two of us. And I’m not good at math, but-” Once again Mila peers through the foliage. “And one doesn’t need that much ammunition unless there’s a threat.” She mumbles. “Or if you yourself is the threat.”

Daryl doesn’t answer. He thought exactly the same. There’s two possible scenarios for the reason behind this hoarding and he doesn’t like any of ‘em. His thoughts wander back in time, to the prison and the Governor, beheading Herschel and splitting the group, which caused him to flee headlong with Beth. An unpleasant sensation begins to take shape inside his stomach, a bundle of painful memories cutting his insides like barbed wire. There can’t be another Governor situation, not another battle. No more losses.

“Wonder where they’re staying.” Mila continues. “You think they have their own Safe-Zone somewhere?”

“More like Alamo.” Daryl replies, considering the heavy armor. “Ain’t lookin’ too good.”

“As long as we stay far away, we should be fine.”

Mila pats him on the knee and turns her eyes away from the gun shop. She makes herself comfortable, takes off her backpack, opens it and takes out two plastic bottles of water, followed by a half filled bottle of vodka. Daryl grins.

“Ya’ got a problem, Jersey.” He says and receives a bottle of water.

“I know.” She says. “If you happen to stumble across an AA meeting I promise you I’d attend, without hesitating.”

“Been like this for long?” He drinks and looks at Mila over the clear plastic bottle. “The drinkin’ I mean.”

“My family has a long tradition of desertion, foolish luck and malicious alcoholism. I’m not exactly surprised.” Mila fiddles with the cap of the vodka bottle. “Luckily I have a quite high tolerance. Besides, I can’t really stop either. It’s considered a disease I’ve heard.” She grins amused. “Back in Russia they’d die of laughter if they heard.” She pauses and squints at Daryl in the sun. “You’d like me to stop, right?”

“You do you.” Daryl responds. Ain’t his business to tell her what to do. Nor his right to.

“That’s new.” Mila says.

“Doesn’t seem to be that much of a problem, that’s all.”

“Good for me then. I didn’t plan to stop, not yet at least.”

“Take ya’ time.” Daryl says. “As long as ya’ safe. And the kid. Ya’ doin’ fine.”

“Might be hard to put your head around, but I was actually quite deep in the shit a couple of months ago. Though-” Mila pauses. “I’d lie if I said I didn’t feel guilty. This-” She nods at the bottle. “No kid should grow up around it. I mean, I did and that didn’t go well. I’d throw myself over a cliff if anything happened to Juri, but-” She sighs. “I have flaws, demons. But I’ve sworn to myself, and Juri, that he’s safe, no matter how wasted or fucked up I am.”

Daryl reaches out his arm, pulls her towards him.

“He wouldn’t be more safe with anyone else.” Daryl says and squeezes her a little. “Ya’ doin’ good, Jersey. Drunk or not.”

A bang, the sound of the door to the pickup’s flatbed closing, makes them both jump in the grass. They turn their heads and look through the foliage, seeing the men step into the car and onto the loaded flatbed.

“Let’s go.” They hear one of them holler.

The engine starts and they drive out of the deserted parking lot in front of the gun shop, turn left and disappear.

“Coast is clear.” Mila declares. “Let’s get going.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x oc #jersey on my mind #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd #daryl fanfiction #walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanficition #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic

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earwen · 4 years

Text

retrouvailles

↳ @taangweek 2020 Day 4: Future

This one could go for past as well, but I’m dropping this today because the setting’s technically in the future. Here’s 7k+ words of Aang and Toph being soulmates.

Read it on ao3 or under the cut

retrouvailles {French} the happiness you feel upon reuniting with someone after you've been apart for a long time

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, soft in the clamor of the snack aisle—

It’s violent, the way Toph’s ripped away from her little daydream, and her body’s still flinching as her eyes and ears slowly readjust to the people around her. There are no flying bisons and wingled lemurs here because they don’t exist, because she’s in a goddamn grocery store.

She tiredly lifts her gaze up – all the way up – to an angelic figure leaning over her, what with the lovely features and the bright light brimming around his shaved head. He’s all broad shoulders and lithe muscles and effulgent tattoos, and even though he looks like an incredibly kind person, something about him sets her teeth on edge. Like she should know him by now even if she’s never met this man in her life.

“Was I blocking you,” she replies, unable to help the flatness of her voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Toph moves to walk around him, oddly reluctant.

“No, wait—” the guy blurts out, panicked, his nimble fingers reaching out to curl lightly around her shoulder blade—

And they say it’s like nothing else matters, that touching your soulmate for the first time is like sating a hunger you never knew you had.

She’s always thought that was a fat load of bullshit – what, you meet the stranger that’s supposed to be your other half and it’s happily ever after just like that? – but here she is, a hypocrite to her own thoughts.

Toph hones in on the warmth that’s molded around the curve of her shoulder, feeling a far too pleasant burn smear its way down her spine. She leans away from the stranger by a few inches, just to test it their limits, but fuck, it hurts. She’s met him for a total of three minutes and the sensation of not touching him already leaves her with an ache she can’t even begin to understand.

He makes a hurt noise in his throat when she leans away, jarred by the abruptness of their separation. His hands follow after her, touching the points of her elbows this time, and Toph feels the tremor in his hands, hears the quickness in his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, tightening his fingers around her skin. “I know we don’t know each other, but—”

“This is so stupid,” Toph groans, but she’s slipping a palm over his wrist thoughtlessly, touching the thrum of his pulse. “Why a fucking Walmart of all places?”

Her soulmate’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Why not a Walmart?”

Because it’s the lamest place ever, she wants to say, but then she catches his smile and she stutters to a stop. She gazes at his pretty grey eyes and knows them, has seen them in multiple lifetimes.

(It’s you reverbrates in the space of her chest that used to be hollow, that used to be a void tundra.)

There’s a soulmark on her forearm now – long, golden vines with leaves that twist into the complimentary ones wrapped around his own skin, and the longer they touch, the more intertwined their vines become. It’s both thrilling and unsettling since, so far, Toph’s lived through twenty years of her life with a bare forearm.

“So,” Toph ends up mumbling, because she knows where this is going to lead and because someone has to eventually, “your place or mine?”

‘

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

“I don’t see why not.”

‘

Her soulmate’s name is Aang, a vegan pacifist whose happiness seems endless, and the while he’s chirping to her about his life like an excited hummingbird, she finds it harder to fathom why the fates specifically chose him for her.

“I’m talking way too much about myself,” he chuckles in embarrassment, pink dusting over his cheeks.

Shrugs. “I asked.”

Aang’s curled up with her on his couch – his apartment had been closer - idly playing with one of her hands. Their tea sits on the coffee table, cold and forgotten, but she’s too stupidly inebriated with the feeling of his hands on her own to care. Toph doesn’t mind the constant touching, surprisingly. It feels so much better than anything else, and there’s this still moment where they watch his vines crawl from his fingers over to hers.

“What about you?” He’s close enough for his cheek to brush her shoulder. “Tell me about yourself? Pretty please?”

“I’m an art student,” she grins back, unwittingly, at his enthusiasm. “I go to BSSU.”

He positively beams at this. “I go there too! Why is it that I’ve never seen you around campus before?

“Different curriculum maybe?

Toph feels the heat of his gaze wandering everywhere, stiffening slightly only when it drops to the puckered skin on her right leg. “Is there a story behind this?” she hears him ask quietly, his fingers hovering over the scar, but not quite touching it.

“You’re going to think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Try me.” Aang’s isn’t sporting that bright smile anymore, but his face has softened completely. “If you want, that is. You don’t have to tell me.”

It’s strange and new and terrifying, but he’s a gentle breeze in their bond, surrounding her without suffocating her, smoothing over the points of her body that are maybe a little too rough, a little too jagged.

“Well, there’s this forest near the house I grew up in,” Toph starts, drumming her fingers along his soulmark. “I walked through it so many times that I practically memorized it. I really thought I could navigate myself through the forest blind, so I put on a blindfold—”

(The darkness doesn’t welcome her, not the way she wants it to.

Her bare feet press into the earth and she doesn’t feel the vibrations of the earth moving around her, doesn’t hear the songs of squirrels skittering up the old trees, of worms writhing in the dirt. She feels disconnected from everything, small and insignificant.

She carefully glides along the flat surface of the boulders, but misses her next step, falls down and keeps falling—)

“Anyway, now I have a permanent reminder of how much of a dumbass I was,” she says, half bemused, half self-depreciating.

But Aang opens his arms, his face silently pleading, and she hesitates a little. Her soulmate is a stranger wrapped in odd, familiar skin and when they’re pressed together, it’s like they’re speaking an old, sacred language only their bones know.

They should be in bed right now like most soulmate couples their age – or at least kissing, maybe - but she supposes she’ll fail at that too amongst other things.

So, Toph leans in, biting back a satisified hum when his arms coil around her shoulders. He smells like clean laundry and a hint of cinnamon, and when he sighs in content, she feels her muscles relax.

“I like to stand on the edges of high places,” Aang noses against her hair, probably unaware that’s he’s doing it too. “My friends can’t stand it when I do it, but I can’t help it. I never have the urge to actually jump,” he adds in a small laugh, “but I like to imagine that there would be a way for me to somehow catch myself if I do. Then I remember that it’s not possible and I feel this...incredible loss.”

An unexplainable loss you never had in the first place. Yeah, she gets it.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” His eyes languidly trail after the uplifted bend of her mouth. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

There’s an anxious spike of hope blooming in the pit of Toph’s stomach and it’s not coming from her. She doesn't exactly know how she knows this either, but it's all Aang she's feeling.

It’s coming from him.

Which is ridiculous because Toph shouldn’t be able to feel him like that. Soulmates don’t work like that. There’s soulmarks and the constant need to be close, but not this invasion of other people’s emotions—

“Yeah, sure,” she says.

Everything is okay. Everything is fine.

Get a fucking grip.

‘

“Some bonds only need an hour of touching and they’re okay for the whole week,” she says at the threshold of his front door, lingering. “Maybe we’re like that? I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“O-Okay,” Aang stutters, brows furrowed, looking like he really wants to follow after her like an imprinted duckling.

Toph lets go of his hand then and the sharp sting she feels should have been taken as a warning. She takes a step back though, forcing herself to play dumb to his white fingers clenched around the door frame and the sudden pallor of his face.

Her fingers tingle in a particularly awful way as she waves goodbye to him and the discomfort is rudimentary, really. It’s nothing she can’t handle, considering she’s had worse done to her skin.

She makes it as far as the turn of the hallway, right when Aang’s out of her view.

Pain grips at her right arm and the numbness flares outward, careening her into the wall. She can’t fucking breathe because it feels like her lungs are being scraped out by a rusty spoon, like her ribs are being branded by hot iron—

Aang barrels into her at a frightening speed and they go teetering to the floor, but he curls his body around hers protectively, possessively, breaking her fall. He’s mouthing something frantic against the hollow of her throat, but she can’t hear it because she’s too overwhelmed by the sensation of his pain pressing down on top of hers.

Whatever she’d felt earlier is vaulting back tenfold and it’s so strange to feel her own emotions looped back to her through a feedback that’s experienced through him. She feels him desperately wanting to take away the unseen hurt throbbing in her while trying to compress his own down and, gods, this isn’t normal.

“Um,” Toph whispers, her voice trembling with her body as she clings to him. “Okay, that was a dumb idea. I’m sorry—”

“Maybe you should stay with me for a couple of days—”

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “We have school. How are we going to do—”

“There’s an exemption form we could fill out online. It’s for soulmates who have recently bonded. It’ll get us out of classes, just – please, please don’t leave.”

“I don’t have extra clothes on me or a toothb—”

“You can borrow my clothes. You’ll drown in them because you’re so tiny,” Aang laughs, hoarse, sliding shaking fingers into her unbound hair. “And I have an extra toothbrush you can use. We’ll figure it out, Toph, please.”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

“Alright.” She closes her eyes, surrendering herself to raw instinct by sticking her nose to the skin underneath his jaw. “I’ll stay.”

‘

“Choose well. A sky bison is a companion for life.”

He’s holding an apple in his hands and his legs are jittery – like it’s impossible for him to stay still. The baby bisons are circling their mother in the air and his breath catches because he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

There’s a small bison just a few feet away, looking like it’s waiting for him. It appears to be the runt of the litter, but that’s okay because he’s the smallest in his class too. If it accepts him, then perhaps they can grow together.

Biting his lip, he carefully approaches the small bison and offers the apple to it.

It – no, the bison is a he – sniffs the fruit along with his extended hand before opening his mouth expectantly.

He tosses the apple in and allows himself to pet the bison on the nose while the latter chews. He doesn’t expect the bison to nuzzle into his touch with a pleased rumble, but the creature does anyway, leaning too far in until he loses his balance and falls on his rear end. The bison licks at the whole of his face, pulling happy giggles from his mouth and he knows, then and there, that he’s found the one.

“I guess this means we’ll always be together,” he smiles wide, hands rubbing on either side of the creature’s muzzle—

‘

Toph blinks awake to find herself plastered to Aang’s back with both of her arms snaked around his chest. One of his hands is clasped in hers, their fingers twined, and she has a leg thrown over his hip as if she’s slept with him like this their whole lives.

His bedroom is small and simple, but there’s a slight airiness to it that reminds her of the temple in her dreams – or not dreams, apparently. She sees this temple in the sky in quick flashes while she’s awake too, and if they don’t show her in the company of monks, then it’s always with that six-legged bison.

“I can hear you thinking,” Aang mumbles sleepily.

She presses her face to his shoulder. “Shit, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, you waking up actually yanked me out of sleep too.” Gently tightens his fingers around hers, reassures her that he’s not upset. “It’s not a big deal. What’s bothering you?”

I think I’m seeing your memories from a past life never quite leaves Toph’s mouth.

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

And maybe that’s the wrong thing to say because Aang just turns in her hold and exhales into her neck, slipping his arms around her waist. His fingers tease the hem of a shirt that’s too big on her and he asks in a hushed tone if it’s okay. Toph nods, her skin shivering in loose delight once his palm slides underneath the shirt to splay itself flat against the small of her back.

The moonlight peeking through the curtains shows her one side of his face – the argent in his eyes, the fan of his inky lashes, the indent of his cheekbone. Objectively, he’s stunning, so she could have done a whole lot worse.

“You know I can tell you’re lying, right?” The corner of Aang’s mouth lifts, amused. “I can feelthat something’s wrong.”

“Can we just—” Opens her mouth and shuts it, frustrated inside. He rubs his thumb in calming circles against Toph’s skin and she still doesn’t know if she likes how one touch can clear her muddled thoughts just like that. “Can we just pretend that we don’t have some weird telepathic-empathic thing between us? Just for tonight at least? Fuck, it’s a lot to unpack on the first day.”

His hurt is muffled, but it’s there and she feels it her chest, taking root. “You think it’s weird?” he whispers, sounding like an open wound.

“Doesn’t this freak you out?”

“Yes, of course it does.”

But underneath the blanket of her own emotions, she senses fear for this bond. Fear at the thought of Toph rejecting him so quickly. She tightens her leg over his hip instinctively, telling him no, she’s not rejecting him. She doesn’t think that’s even possible at this point.

He presses a smile into her clavicle, relieved. “Do you remember dinner? When you were groaning after taking the first few bites of the pasta?”

Toph blushes. “Don’t make fun of me! I didn’t know artichoke sauce was even thing!” Or so delicious. “I was caught off guard, okay?”

“You were happy eating what I made for you and I felt that happiness,” Aang says, so soft. “It felt beautiful. You felt beautiful, Toph.”

(And I’d give you the whole world to keep you happy forever, he sings into her veins even if he doesn’t realize it yet, even if he’s just as scared and lost as she is.)

What an optimstic fool he is. “I might drive you nuts,” Toph throws back instead.

“Oh, I know you will.”

She pinches Aang’s side, cackling at his high-pitched shriek even when the sharpness of her index finger and thumb on his skin echoes against her own.

‘

“Where the hell have you been!”

“Chill, Sparky,” is Toph’s lazy response as she waltzes into her apartment, leading Aang in by their tangled fingers. “I texted you.”

“‘Be back in a week, dude’ doesn’t give me much to go by. A fucking week? You could have been dead for all I knew!”

“Stop projecting your sibling issues onto me. I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, when you found Sokka and Suki, the three of you didn’t leave your room for more than a week, you dirty hyprocrite!”

“At least you knew where I was the whole—” Zuko abruptly closes his mouth, his gaze darting to the towering man at Toph’s heels. “Aang? Wait, how do you two know each other?”

Toph lifts both their arms, showing him the fresh knitted vines gleaming on their skin. “He’s my soulmate. How do you two know each other?”

“I know Sokka and Sukki,” Aang chimes in cheerfully. “Wow, what a small world, huh?”

“How’d you two—”

“Anyway,” she interrupts brashly, not in the mood to retell their romantic, fateful meeting at Walmart, “Aang’s gonna be staying here for a week and then I’ll go back to his place for another week, and so on and blah blah. At least until the bond settles. You get it. Let us know when dinner’s ready,” she adds, practically yanking at Aang until they’re both confined in her bedroom.

Aang taps the end of her nose. “That was mean.”

“Please,” Toph makes a point of rolling her eyes. “Zuko barely said a word to me after touching the other two. They burst into the apartment like a fucking hurricane, almost doing it right there in our living room. So fucking rude.”

‘

She’s in the shower when she suddenly feels absolute terror choking at her, nearly making her slip on the tiles.

Toph barely wraps herself up in a towel before she’s barging out of the bathroom, extremely thankful that her room’s close by. Aang’s on the floor, back leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, quivering fingers curled around one of her older sketchbooks. Aang blindly reaches for her when she approaches, pulling her down onto his lap and burying half of his face into her shoulder blade.

“Is my art that terrifying?” Toph tries to joke, but he doesn’t even smile.

The drawing had been done in charcoal, dark and blurry around the edges, and she almost doesn’t remember drawing it. There’s an enormous centipede thing crawling out of a cave, its legs reaching out to take, to steal. The only colors on the sketch are the red lips and the grey eye markings of the Noh mask it’s wearing on its face, but she’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Aang’s voice is a quiet, little thing when he asks, “Where did you see this creature?”

(“My old friend, the Avatar,” the monster utters in a serpentine hiss. “It’s been a long time.”

“You know me?”

“How could I forget you? One of your previous incarnations tried to slay me,” it accuses, the white mask flickering into the face of an older man with a mustache and a long beard, “maybe eight or nine hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t know that.” It’s difficult, keeping his emotions out of both his face and voice. “Why did he – or I – try to kill you?”

The thing changes again – a beautiful woman this time, with long brown hair and familiar, sad eyes.

“Oh, it was something about stealing the face of someone you loved.”)

“A nightmare, I think,” Toph answers carefully. “Actually, you know what—”

She rips the page out of the sketchbook and crumples it tightly in her first. It feels like an ugly omen against her palm, riddled with malice and sadism, and she chucks it into her trash can.

“You didn’t have to do that. That was your work,” Aang murmurs, his guilt gnawing at her.

“It was a creepy-ass drawing. I don’t know what I was thinking when I drew that.” Pause. “I have better stuff on my desktop if you want to look.”

He kisses her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “I hope the creatures on there are less frightening.”

“Don’t be such a wuss. Wanna see what a badgermole looks like?”

‘

After their soulbond settles, they’ve learned that they can get through the day by themselves relatively alright as long as there was skin-to-skin contact for at least an hour beforehand. It no longer hurts to be away from Aang, but it is uncomfortable as fuck, like an itch burning inside that’s screaming at her to scratch it until it’s bloody and raw.

Which is fine.

So ridiculously fine.

The lecture is a drone in the back of Toph’s mind as she doodles along the corner of her notebook page to take her mind off the itch. The mintiness of the gum she’s snacking on ebbs away suddenly, turning into something vastly different.

She chews again, tasting raspberries, fruit juice, bananas, and...almond milk?

Aang is waiting for her outside the door when her class ends and as soon as he sees her, his entire face lights up like the sun. His content rolls over Toph in a soothing whisper and she subconsciously mimics his smile, her body humming with want.

In spite of the protesting noise she makes, Aang scoops her up in his arms until her feet are dangling above the ground. He nuzzles his cheek to hers, his breath warm against the ridge of her ear, and he twirls them once because he can’t help himself. She hisses at him to put her down, but it doesn’t really bother her as it normally would with literally anyone else.

“Did you have a smoothie?” Toph asks.

“Yeah.” He keeps his hands pasted to her hips, his eyes bright with excitement. “I tasted the gum you were chewing earlier.”

“I want to say that I’m surprised, but am I really at this point?”

A deep chuckle as he cups her face in his palms. “Don’t be so glum. Think of all the possibilities! What if you’re really hungry, but you don’t have time to get food because you’re taking a test or something? I could eat something and you’d be able to taste it.”

“Oh, yeah, super cool. What if you’re hungry and I decide to get a hamburger?”

He blinks, his grin faltering. “I’m vegan, Toph. You know that—”

“You’re not actually eating it – you’re only getting a taste. Like you said, all the possibilities. You ever want to try a steak? Or a milkshake with actual milk?”

Toph bites back a smile, doing a poor job of concealing how much she really enjoys it when he gets all flustered.

‘

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“You drunk already?” Sokka passes a bemused glance at her. “I don’t remember you being that much of a lightweight.”

It’s warm in the bar – she can tell by the slight flush on Sokka’s cheeks that has nothing to do with being intoxicated – but Toph still burrows her nose deeper into the wool scarf coiled around her neck, still tightens her coat around her. Aang may be on the other side of the city, but he’s somewhere outdoors, somewhere cold, and the alcohol isn’t making her any warmer.

Aang doesn’t do well in colder weather, but he’s having fun with his friends even if he’s getting the both of them sick. She can feel him missing her, missing the press of her fingers on his skin even though they’d seen each other hours ago.

“You have two soulmates,” Toph grumbles. “The idea of past lives shouldn’t be that fucking implausible.”

His shoulder gently bumps against hers. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset—”

“Okay, okay, let’s start over,” Sokka smiles at her, completely genuine and not at all mocking. “Why do you suddenly believe in reincarnation?”

“I have these dreams,” she says, her brows knitting together as she curls her hands tighter around her glass. “Well, I used to think they were dreams, but then I’d see something while I’m awake. They’re always about Aang in this completely different life and it’s like I’m a passenger in his body, just going through the motions.”

“And you think these things are actually his memories from a past life.”

Toph exhales quietly, the lines of her body losing their tautness. She feels mildly less insane now that someone’s acknowledged it for her.

“They feel too real to just be my imagination. It’s always him in the same timeline.”

Sokka hums, thoughtful. “Maybe they are his memories, Toph. Who knows? Soulbonds can’t be explained, but people accept them anyway. For what it’s worth, I believe you.”

“If this is you making fun of me, I swear to—”

“No, I really mean it! Like, if I didn’t end up with Suki and Zuko – or either of them – in a previous life and reincarnation’s just a thing that’s giving me a second chance to actually be with them, then that’s pretty cool. Fate’s doing me a solid.”

“Second chances,” Toph muses, more to herself than anything.

“Yeah, why not?” He downs the rest of his glass. “On a side note, what else are you feeling from Aang since the bond started? Something tells me you guys are...not normal.”

Toph starts to respond, but then she hunches over the counter, shoulders shaking. It slams into her out of nowhere and she has to clamp both her hands over her mouth to muffle the uncontrollable laughter. She’s yanked further and further into Aang’s joy, feeling it so keenly that the corners of her eyes begin to prickle with tears.

“What is happening,” Sokka blurts, alarmed and concerned. “Are you having a stroke—”

“One of Aang’s friends did something stupid and funny,” she hiccups out in short breaths, still guffawing. “It might – it might have been Bumi.”

Sokka gawks at her, frozen in place. He then orders another round of drinks for the both of them.

‘

Monk Gyatso lies against the wall, just bones and dust, and the omniscient rage of a thousand lives sinks down on him—

‘

The weight of his grief completely buries Toph, so much that she collapses in a public restroom. Her fingers scrabble at the tiles beneath her, desperate to clutch onto something, anything, as the memory consumes her. Something vibrates in her pocket for a long, long time, but she’s too busy screaming soundlessly into her palm to notice.

Panic slips into Toph, making her blood run cold, and the longer she ignores her phone, the more frenetic her soulmate feels—

“Toph?” is his voice on the other line, wildly frantic, when she finally answers the call. “Did someone hurt you? What’s wrong, where are—”

“I—” Her breath comes out in harsh pants. “It’s o-okay. You don’t need to come.”

Rustling, like Aang’s already preparing to step out. “No, no, that’s not what it feels like,” he argues softly, and now there’s pain in his voice because she won’t let him come to her, won’t let him take care of her—

Her chest squeezes tighter, aching. “I slipped. I’m, uh, good now.”

“Toph, please.” His voice breaks and she screws her eyes shut, tasting saltwater in her mouth. “Please let me come to you. Tell me where you are.”

So she whispers back that she’s at the tea shop near their school, the one owned by Zuko’s uncle.

Aang rushes into the women’s restroom ten minutes later – a feat in itself, considering the usual commute is twice that amount – and she’s never wanted him to see her like this, hunched under one of the sinks and sobbing over a memory that isn’t even hers.

He sucks in a sharp breath like Toph’s pain cleaves him. His eyes are red-rimmed and she can’t even look at him because she’s so sorry. She’s sorry that he’s lost his people, sorry that he’s lost his home, sorry that he’s lost his entire culture.

The way he stalks over to her is noiseless, ghostlike even, and then he’s plucking up all the bird bones of Toph’s body, folding himself around her and concealing her from the rest of the world. It makes her cry harder, if anything, to the point where she’s dry-heaving against his chest, but it helps when she pushes her hands under his shirt to touch the tight skin around his hips.

She tells him everything. That he was raised by Air Nomads in another life. That he was something called the Avatar. That they lived in a world where people could manipulate the elements as they pleased.

That they lived during a long, long war.

“You controlled the element of air first,” Toph rasps out later, when it finally doesn’t feel like her lungs are going to give out on every inhale. “You and Appa got caught in this storm, and then you did something that left you frozen at the bottom of an ocean. Katara and Sokka found you, but when you came back to the Southern Air Temple, everyone was dead and it had only felt like you left days ago, but a fucking century passed—”

To his credit, Aang doesn’t once ask who Appa is or what the Southern Air Temple is supposed to be. His heart beats faster and his skin jolts at the familiarity of her words, but he holds her still.

“Breathe, T,” he says, rocking her, sweeping her dark hair away from her neck so that he can kiss the small space behind her ear.

She does. Inhales for four seconds, exhales for six—

It’s a breathing technique that Monk Gyatso had taught Aang. Had taught her.

Their soulmarks cling to each other distressingly, her aurelian leaves and vines overlapping his.

“Do you ever dream of me?” Toph asks, calmer.

“I have many daydreams about you.” And that’s mischief slanted against her nape, rounded out by his mouth. He’s soft and playful now, making her sink further into his embrace. “When your memories come to me, I don’t actually see anything.”

Tries not to be too disappointed. “Oh.”

“No,” Aang smudges a smile against the corner of her mouth, gently thumbing a tear-stained cheek. “You were blind in your last life, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t see. You didn’t need to. You felt these vibrations in the earth and it allowed you to see and hear things no one else could. You were the greatest earthbender that ever lived.”

“She sounds way cooler than me.”

He tips her face up. “You’re just as cool as she is,” Aang breathes, and there’s a brush of lips against hers, slow and sweet. “Just as beautiful.”

(I found you again, her soul thrums out, the loudest it’s ever been inside her.)

Toph twists in his arms, chasing after his mouth. It’s almost too much and not enough at the same time, tasting his honeyed delight and feeling it mingle with her own. His hands shove themselves up her sweater to frame the space of her back as he parts his mouth, allowing her to—

“Gee, it looks like you guys are fine in here,” comes a monotonous drawl that has them breaking apart, sputtering. “And here I was, worried for no apparent reason.”

“Mai!” Aang practically yells, his ears turning beet red. “When did you – why are—”

The other girl waves a dismissive hand. “Toph and I were going over work. What was supposed to be a five-minute restroom break turned into a forty-minute one,” she adds pointedly, raising a brow.

“Sorry,” Toph says sheepishly. “I had a thing. Like a panic attack or whatever. It’s gone now, so no biggie.”

Aang, severely disagreeing with her on that last statement, wraps her up tighter in his arms.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Mai says then, and it may just be Toph’s imagination, but she thinks she sees the former’s face soften a bit. “Get some rest.”

After Mai leaves, Aang plays with her loose hair. “We should probably leave too.”

“Yeah.”

But Toph’s leaning in, pausing only a few inches away from his lips and grinning when he automatically closes the distance. She feels that buzzing of happiness again and whether it’s his or hers, it doesn’t matter.

‘

Aang’s shoulders are still quivering as he drops shaky, open-mouthed kisses along the crease of her hip. He’s been pulled apart to pieces, beautifully and painstakingly, and the remnants of bliss still drumming within him makes it slow to put those pieces back together.

She only knows because she feels the exact same way. She feels everything.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” His voice is wrecked and his lips are so kiss-swollen, but he’s still this hopelessly exotic thing sprawled between her legs. There’s an indelible glaze to his to expression that makes him look so thoroughly fucked, and when he rests his chin on her stomach and looks up at her with soft, needy eyes, something inside her chest just melts.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Toph husks out with a laugh.

“Yeah, why didn’t we,” he murmurs back, still loopy, nosing the skin around her navel.

Toph strokes her fingers along the arrow inked on his head, pulling a quiet mewl from him. The arrow tattoos on his body are the same design, the same placement – just the wrong shade of blue. These lines are darker than the ones she sees in his memories.

Maybe the effervesent, illuminating blue that once marked Aang as an airbendering master doesn’t exist in this world.

“Can you skip your classes tomorrow?” he asks.

“Why?”

His answer is a trail of wet kisses up the flat stretch of her belly. “Because I want to keep doing this.”

“Really.” Toph plays off as nonchalant, even when her heart skips a beat. “You want to render us incapable of walking by the time we’re done?”

“Toph, I don’t think I’m able to walk now,” Aang chuckles, before looking up at her from beneath his lashes, coy. “But I still want you in my bed whether we’re having sex or not. I just want you.”

His want reverbrates in the apex of Toph’s thighs and she wishes she can be as open as he is. She wants him in her bed forever, but the words become stifled in her throat, never leaving her mouth. He smiles at her though, tender and adoring, like he knows what she’s trying to say.

She rolls them over, straddling his hips. Gratification seeps into her at the way his pupils dilate, at the way he takes her in breathlessly.

‘

He’s upset – so very, very upset – and she doesn’t know why.

Toph feels it two blocks away from his apartment and it spurs her to walk faster, to the point where she’s running.

After letting herself in, she finds Aang leaning over the kitchen counter, the stiff lines of his back obvious through his thin shirt. She leans her back against the counter and presses her elbow to the nimble fingers constricted around dark granite.

“What’s up, grumpy?”

Her soulmate breathes out noisily, his shoulders bunching forward like he’s trying to make himself much smaller than he is. He doesn’t turn to face her, doesn’t immediately trap her in his arms like he usually would after a long day apart. He leans against her though, heavy, part of him trying to disappear into the pale abyss of her skin.

“We weren’t married to each other,” Aang whispers, horrified. “I was married to someone else. A non-bender, I think. I don’t recognize her voice.”

And there’s really no point in getting angry with Aang or this mystery woman because the past is the past, but jealousy festers anyway, scratching at her bones. She tries to taper down it to keep him from feeling it, but he flinches, looking even more miserable than before.

She tries for apathy then: “So? It was in the past – a past we’re only barely starting to get details from.”

“But I was still seeing you. I had kids with this woman, but I was still sneaking around with you—”

“Okay, so I was a side chick. Whatever, that’s fine—”

“It’s not fine,” a muscle in his jaw jumps, “none of this was fine. I’m seeing this from your persepective, remember? You weren’t okay with this.”

“Why does it fucking matter?” Toph spits, a small part of her regretting it when Aang’s mouth pinches into a thin line. “Maybe we never got together. Maybe sex on the the side was our only option. Whatever the fuck we did in that lifetime, it’s got nothing to do with what we have in this one!”

(“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs, gazing down at the newborn. “Did you decide on a name?”

“Suyin’s kind of pretty. Has a nice ring to it.”

Tightly swallows. “Toph, is she – is she mine?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman in bed mumbles. “It’s not your problem.”

“But—”

“I’m not repeating myself, Twinkletoes. And she doesn’t belong to anyone but me.”)

Then Aang grazes her side with feather-light hands, silently asking for permission. She’s still bristling in her skin, but he makes the frustration and shame go away with just a brush of his palms on her body.

She wants to stay mad at him, wants to stew in silence all by herself, but she physically can’t, not when he’s already made a home for himself in the space of her ribs.

Toph pulls him in with an incoherent grumble, binding her arms around his torso to anchor him back to earth because he feels like he’s going to float away. He shivers against her, mouthing soft apologies against the column of neck as he clings onto her. Even on her tiptoes, her head barely reaches his chin, but she leans on them anyway because she doesn’t want him breaking his neck trying to bury himself in hers.

“Maybe I leave my wife when our kids are older,” he says, his teeth scraping over her shoulder. “I leave her for you.”

“You really think that happened?”

“Yes,” comes Aang’s response, but even that sounds a little unsure. Like he desperately wants it to be true. The uncertainity makes him press into her until there’s no visible space left between them. “Why wouldn’t I do that for you? We’re soulmates. I don’t believe in any lifetime where you’re not always by my side.”

Toph rolls her eyes. “You’re such an embarassing idiot sometimes.”

Aang smiles, his tongue flicking against her jawline. Heat simmers at the pit of Toph’s stomach, rising languidly, and his hands are at the back of her thighs. “I need you,” he sighs, catching her mouth with his.

“I know, you dumb airhead.”

She quickly finds herself hoisted onto the counter before she’s tipping her head back, letting him unbutton her flannel and kiss his way down—

‘

“Don’t worry,” Katara says. “We’ll find you a teacher. There are plenty of amazing earthbenders out there.”

There’s a deep wrongness in him as he stares back at Gaoling. Like he’s making a mistake by just giving up and leaving—

“Not like her.”

After he climbs onto Appa with reluctance, he doesn’t immediately lift the reins. Sometimes, there are rewards to being patient, to sitting still and letting the winds carry their answers to you. When he listens to the currents around him, he catches a flurry of hurried footsteps headed in their direction.

Delicate hope grows in his chest.

“Toph!” Happiness etches itself onto his face, wide and open, when the small girl runs out of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad changed his mind. He said I was free to travel the world.”

It’s a bold-faced lie.

But when Toph smiles, something inside his own stomach flutters wildly—

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, waking her, his mouth lightly tracing the curve of her ear.

“Fuck off,” Toph mumbles, still face down on the table, in spite of her fingers reaching out to rest along the nape of his neck. The taste of coffee – the strong kind – lingers on her tongue. “M’ tired. Why’d you drink coffee? And a goddamn red eye at that.”

Aang tugs at her hair teasingly. “Because I almost fell asleep while driving over here to get you.”

“Ugh, you’re going to keep me up all night.”

“I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time,” Aang smirks, nuzzling his nose along her cheekbone. “Or, well, one specific thing actually—”

Toph snorts. “Dork.”

He snatches her up, fingers digging into her side as he drags her onto his lap. Peals of laughter escape her while he tickles her relentlessly, so much that the harder she laughs, the more she feels him eventually shaking with laughter too, amplifying the sensation. One of the campus librarians shushes them sharply and she feels Aang hiding his face into her throat to escape the blame.

“What’s that?” he inquiries out of nowhere then, reaching for something on the table—

“No snooping!” Toph hisses without any real heat, swatting his hand out of the way to shove the tiny book into her backpack.

It’s a flipbook that she’s still working on, showing Aang peacefully bending all four elements. She had originally wanted to illustrate him kicking Ozai’s ass, but she doubts he would like the violence of it, so she’d gone with this instead.

Aang perks up in excitement. “Is it for me? My birthday’s in a couple of weeks, you know.”

Rolls her eyes. “Just wait and find out, Twinkletoes.”

She stands up in an attempt to gather her things, but as soon as she does, the feeling of a thousand pins pricking at her legs washes over.

“Your legs are numb,” Aang glances over with both bemusement and sympathy, on the verge of discomfort himself. “Here, I’ll carry you.”

“Nah, let’s just wait—”

But Aang pulls her arms over his shoulders, picking Toph up until she’s literally hanging onto his back, before he grabs her backpack. She hates being picked up in any manner, but it’s a losing battle with a cheerfully persistant soulmate like him. She yanks on the lobes of his ears, but he just grins, hitching her body higher.

“Yip-yip,” Toph says.

“Do I look like a flying bison to you?”

“You’re right, that was a terrible comparison,” she replies. “Appa is obviously a hundred times better than you.”

Aang makes an affronted noise, but Toph rests her head on his shoulder blade and kisses the elegant line of his neck, placating him. The brisk air hits her face once he walks out of the library and Toph tucks her face harder into his skin.

“I had a dream that you were looking for someone to teach you earthbending,” she whispers, wistful and smug. “You wouldn’t settle for anyone but me. Said I was the best out of all of them.”

“There’s no one else like you,” Aang replies easily, thumbing nonsensical patterns under her thighs.

He’d said that in his past life as well.

“Hey, Aang?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we ended up together.” Because the snippets of his memories where he’s an adult are a lot sadder, filled with such hurt and longing. “I think we might have crashed and burned.”

Aang breath falters in her ear and he grips her harder, refusing to lose her to their past failures, to whatever broke them.

“We’ll do better this time, T.”

‘

(And they do.)

‘ [end notes:

BSSU = Ba Sing Se University

To clarify, what's normal for soulmates in this universe - (1) soulmarks appear as soon as soulmates touch each other (2) the need to be touching - the limits of this can vary with every soulmate bond, it all just depends.

As you can see with Aang and Toph, they obviously have a lot more going on with the XD

I hope this wasn't too confusing with the way Toph was receiving Aang's memories. Anything in italics was her seeing a memory. If anything was in parenthesis, that meant that Toph experienced the memory before the present time. Let me know if the italicized text isn’t showing like it does on the ao3 link. Tumblr’s being shitty for some reason.

If this was all confusing anyway, go ahead and yell at me]

#taang #aang #toph #aang/toph #modern au #soulmate au #soulmates #reincarnation #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #taangweek #taang week 2020 #fanfics #teabag fics

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ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

Starstruck: Part 9

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 9 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Only Freddie and Brian went to see Zandra Rhodes on that first evening. Also, this event occurred in 1974 and not in 1975, as I’m writing it :)

Word Count: 4.2k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Zandra bloody Rhodes?!” Roger cried for the hundredth time. “And she took your call?”

“Pretty fucking fantastic, isn’t it?” said Freddie excitedly.

The meeting had lasted hours, from morning until lunch— in which Roger and John had gone to pick up Indian takeaway— and into late afternoon. Freddie had a multitude of different ideas, and the others had passionate opinions on these ideas, so the morning meeting had quickly turned into an all-day event. Reid had left early on, claiming he had another meeting, this time with Elton— Elton bloody John— but you suspected he was just tired of you and Freddie and Brian and Roger and Deacy yelling ideas back-and-forth at the speed of derby commentators.

Now evening was rapidly approaching, the last sunlight of the day slipping slowly from the sky. The five of you were walking down the road to the flat of the one and only Zandra Rhodes.

Zandra Rhodes. You could hardly believe it. Sure, Freddie was brilliant, and persuasive too, but you hadn’t imagined that even he would be able to win an audience with one of the world’s most promising designers.

Freddie led the parade with you and John at his side, and Roger and Brian followed behind. Freddie glanced back at you, flashing a giddy smile. Roger stuck him a cigarette and the two of them sparked up in the amber glow of the streetlights. Deacy made a face, and you and he fell back to walk apart from the two smokers.

Brian was deep in conversation with Rog and remained that way, talking animatedly about something, a song, maybe, that you only caught snatches of because of the way the wind blew.

Just then, Roger made Brian laugh. Not quietly or shyly, but properly laugh, where Brian threw his head back and his shoulders shook and his smile spread across his face, broad and beautiful. You’d made Brian laugh like that once— when you’d sat on the wall outside of the Union Pub, months ago. Months ago.

It felt an age ago, it felt like yesterday, and how those two ideas could coexist was beyond you, and yet, exist they did. Brian was familiar, like the stars that wheeled above, like the soft sheets of your bed against your skin, like the strings of your guitar that were and would always be in E-A-D-G-B-E form. He was reliable, he was always there. If six point six seven times ten to the negative eleventh was the gravitational constant, then Brian was yours.

John’s voice startled you from your thoughts. “I see the way you look at him.”

You felt yourself flush, heat rushing through you in the same way that happened when you missed a step on the stairs and only just managed to catch yourself in time.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t play silly with me, Y/N,” Deacy looped his arm through yours. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You’re always looking at him when he’s not looking at you, and you look quite besotted.”

You opened your mouth to speak, then realised you had nothing to say. You watched your shoes hit the pavement instead. “It’s nothing,” you said finally, lowering your voice. “I’m just a little...” you bit your lip, searching for a word. You gave up. “I mean, look at him,” you gestured vaguely in Brian’s direction. His elegant silhouette seemed to shimmer in the darkness, as though he were made of dark matter, effervescently gorgeous in the shroud of mystery.

Deacy raised his eyebrows. “I do, quite often, and most of the time, it’s to snap at him for being too obstinate with his guitar solos. I don’t,” he pointed to you, “look like that.”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, shaking your head. “And even if it was something, it would be one-sided, anyway.”

John scoffed. “Ridiculous, Y/N, you’re being ridiculous. You’re all moony, and he goes all starry-eyed—”

The need to justify yourself was suddenly overwhelming. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little starstruck, but that’s all it is!” Your tone had gone shrill, and the heads of the others in front of you turned, wide-eyes and questioning expressions abundant.

“Deacy darling, what did you say to her?” Freddie piped.

“Not a thing,” Deacy raised his hands in surrender and Roger laughed.

Brian slowed until you and John caught up with him. He smiled at you, and you melted a little. “Deacy’s talking your head off, is he?”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Mister Back-Chat.”

“Oh, leave us, John,” said Brian, and Deacy winked at you, jogging a bit to catch up with the others.

“Put those out, I’m here now,” you heard him say, and Freddie and Roger dutifully crushed their cigarettes.

“Oi!” said Brian. “In the rubbish bin, not on the ground!”

Freddie and Roger exchanged a look of ugh, mum, then once again proceeded to do as they were told.

Brian shook his head at them while you laughed.

“So, that rascal John Deacon bothering you?” he asked.

“I heard that!”

“Oh, he could never,” you said fondly.

“Does his hair make him more likable?”

You blinked, surprised that Brian remembered your conversations as well as you did. “No,” you said. “That’s your privilege and yours alone.”

Brian looked positively chuffed, and squaring his shoulders, he tugged the lapels of his jacket and pretended to fix a tie he wasn’t wearing.

“You’re secretly just as obsessed with your hair as everyone else, aren’t you?”

“No…”

“Yes,” you pushed him, “you are.”

“Okay,” he pushed back, “perhaps just a bit. But I used to hate it, you know.”

This surprised you. “Really?”

He nodded, tugging absently on a curl. “Brushed it out. Every day.”

“I’ll need to see those photographs,” you told him, admiring the way a ringlet framed his face in the dim light of the street.

“Ha!” said Brian. “Not if I have my way.”

“No?”

“They’re hideous,” he declared. “Can’t possibly let you see me like that. You’d never want to look at me again.”

Then, as though he really were afraid of you never looking at him again, his eyes fixed firmly upon yours, his gaze almost plaintive. The flecks of green amongst the hazel of his irises glittered, trimmed by dark, pretty lashes. The amount of sway he held with a single gaze would have been enough to disintegrate anyone.

“I think you underestimate the power of your presently curly hair,” you murmured, unable to look away from him.

Brian laughed.

Properly.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Freddie rang the haphazardly hung doorbell to Zandra Rhodes’ small attic studio, and the sound of high heels against wood reached you through the door.

You and the others exchanged glances of anticipation. Freddie looked about ready to burst with excitement. You couldn’t blame him.

The door swung open.

A broad-shouldered yet petite woman, perhaps about five years older than you, held open the door. Her denim trousers were decorated in gems and assorted swatches of fabric, and her top was flowing, stitched of a fabric that looked to be African influenced. Wooden beads hung around her neck, and her boots were a white leather. Her bright eyes twinkled.

“Hallo! Come in. You must be Freddie Mercury,” Zandra ushered you all inside, then shook Freddie’s hand.

“Oh, I’m delighted to finally meet you, darling,” Freddie beamed.

“Likewise! I’ve been listening to your records everyday,” said Zandra. “You really ought to make another one. Roger Taylor?”

“I am,” Roger shook her hand with a grin.

“And you must be Brian, the studious one,” Zandra quirked an eyebrow at Brian.

“Sometimes,” he said with a friendly smile, and she laughed.

“That leaves John Deacon— or is it Deacy?”

Deacy shrugged. “Either one works, hello.”

Zandra nodded, “Noted.” Then she saw you. “And who might you be, my dear?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N,” you said, shaking her hand.

“Ah,” she smiled, “you must be… Brian’s wife?”

Freddie sputtered, then elbowed Roger who was looking like he wanted to laugh.

Brian’s cheeks had turned the same colour as Betelguse, the red star of Orion. You imagined your pallor was something similar.

“I’m sorry,” Zandra apologised, “Freddie mentioned someone in the group was married, and I just assumed, since—” she gestured at how you and Brian had come to stand side by side.

“No harm done,” John swooped in to save the day. “I’m the only one who’s married, but my lovely wife is at work, currently.”

“Y/N’s a friend,” Brian added. “Practically family, she’s been with us so long.” He had regained his composure and now had the gall to wink at you, so that your own composure crumbled further.

You managed a tight smile at Zandra, who above all seemed amused by the whole thing.

“Well, thanks for tagging along, Y/N. I could always use another set of eyes and another pair of hands to help me do fittings. Come on through,” she waved you all down a hallway.

Sorry, Freddie mouthed to you as you followed Zandra.

It’s okay, you mouthed back.

“Secret language?” said Brian from behind you, and his soft exhale tickled your ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you replied over your shoulder, and Brian chuckled.

Zandra led you into a wide room crammed to the rafters with racks of clothing in all the colours of the rainbow, and all the glamour of Marc Bolan. Although, you supposed the glamour was Zandra’s own; she had only designed for Bolan just last year.

“Voilà, mes amis.” She swept her arms around the studio, and Freddie let out a little gasp.

“It’s stunning,” said Roger, and the others murmured in agreement.

“Thank you,” the designer said humbly. “I like to think I work hard.”

“So, now what?” asked Freddie, and Zandra shrugged.

“Go wild. Pick some things off the rails so I can get an idea of your concept.”

“Oh, be careful saying things like that,” Brian intoned. “Freddie’s like a child at a sweet shop.”

Sure enough, Freddie was already rifling through clothing pieces like he was on the clock.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t destroy anything, by accident,” said John, and followed after him.

“I could never!” Freddie cried.

“By accident,” Deacy reiterated.

Roger ambled off to the other side of the studio, and Brian turned to you.

“Where to start, then?” you asked him.

He pulled a feathery hat down from a stand and plonked it on your head.

“Right here,” he decided. You dipped the brim of the hat and lifted your chin, posing. “Gorgeous,” said Brian, “but I think it needs something more…”

“What about this?” Zandra appeared with a swath of sparkly fabric, which she handed to Brian.

“Oh I shouldn’t— we’re not here for me,” you said. But Zandra shook her head.

“No one comes to my studio without the opportunity to feel fabulous.” She grinned, then swept away in a jangle of beads and gemstones.

“I think she’s right,” Brian said, and he draped Zandra’s fabric about your shoulders, arranging it with careful fingers. He adjusted your hat so that it sat at more of an angle. “Magnificent. I must be a genius,” he sniffed in a haughty manner, and you laughed.

“Your turn, then,” you declared, ushering him down a row of racks. “Here’s the starting piece,” you reached up and threw a silky, checkered scarf around his neck.

“Hmm…” you squinted up at him. He narrowed his eyes in response. From another rack you drew a fashion piece that was something between a kaftan and a kimono, printed with little birds. Brian bent his knees slightly so that you could wrap the material around his shoulders. He placed his hands on his hips and pouted.

He looked absolutely divine. His angles were accentuated by the way the fabrics hung from his frame, and his volume of hair and the heartbreakingly gentle line of his lips rendered about him a feminine sort of beauty that looked better on him than it ever would have on you.

All that was missing from the picture of glamour was the makeup.

“I think we need Freddie to do your eyeliner,” you said, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, love,” he said, and your stomach flipped. Leaning against the wall too, folding his arms and peering down at you, “you think Fred does my makeup? I’m glam too, you know.”

He was so close to you that his curls nearly hung over your face as well as his. It was difficult to breathe when he was this close, as close as when he’d helped you to play guitar the first time. You yearned for him to touch you, or for you to muster the courage to reach out and touch him. Still, no one moved. But his proximity was startling, and the thrill of it rushed down your spine like shooting stars.

“Well, Spaceman,” you said softly, “be glamorous. It suits you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and you could have sworn that his fell to your lips.

Then he looked away, and your shoulders sank.

But who were you kidding, anyway? You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him. You’d meant what you’d said to Deacy, because just like your thoughts of worthlessness, this too was all in your head; anything that truly existed was one-sided, a lonely phone call with no reply. Better to bury whatever fluttery notions that surfaced in you at the thought of Brian. He hadn’t wanted to give you the wrong idea. He didn’t want you.

“We should… We should see what the others have found,” you murmured half-heartedly, deliberately not looking at him.

“Oh. Yes… Good idea.” He cleared his throat quietly, a finger brushing the side of his nose. It was a nervous tic he had— you’d noticed him do it before, when he was uncomfortable. Around you, he did it often. You made him uncomfortable. Yet another reason to get as far away from Brian May as possible.

Brian retraced his footsteps, putting the checkered scarf and the kaftan-kimono back into their rightful places. You took off your flamboyant hat and replaced it from where it had been taken earlier, but you remained cloaked in the dark sparkly fabric, because you had no idea where Zandra had picked it up from.

“There you are, darlings!” Freddie said upon spotting you and Bri. “Come see— I’ve fallen in love.”

Deacy and Roger and Zandra joined you as well, and you found Freddie holding up a lovely white top with flowing sleeves.

“Fred, that’s a wedding top,” said Roger.

“And what is a performance if not the marriage of music and fashion?” Freddie proclaimed.

Zandra bore the expression of a proud mother. “He understands,” she said. Then she urged, “Try it on.”

Freddie was in and out of the changing room in moments, which was really quite a feat, given the structure of the white top.

“Oh, I see what you mean, now,” said Roger, a faint smile appearing on his lips at the sight of Freddie, who looked like an avenging angel, with his dark eyes and hair a brilliant contrast to the paleness of the top he wore.

John looked impressed too. “Stunning, Fred.”

“Very regal,” agreed Brian.

“Very Queen,” you said as Freddie spun in view of the mirror.

“Enough room to move about in, onstage?” Zandra asked.

Freddie nodded. He stopped spinning, facing her. “Darling, I feel I could fly.”

Zandra had genuinely gone teary-eyed. “Oh, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for people to feel.” Then she sighed, composing herself. She clapped her hands, “Time to get you fitted!”

“Excellent, Zandra dear,” said Freddie with a contented air. “Have you got anything similar that the others could try on, to be fitted as well?”

Zandra shook her head. “Sorry, that’s a one-of-a-kind. I’m going to have to fit you all to the same top, then have you tell me your design preferences and replicate the model.”

Deacy exhaled, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It will be. So how many am I fitting?”

Roger squinted at the white top Freddie modelled. “Mm. I might have a bit of a hard time drumming in that. Think I’ll keep browsing.” He disappeared between the racks again.

“Yeah, might get a bit on the sweaty side,” Zandra mused. She turned to John. “Deacy?”

“I’ve actually got my eye on another one of your other pieces.”

“Ah, lovely! Well, point me to that one, and I’ll sort that for you as well, while we’re here.”

Deacy went to retrieve his garment of choice.

“Brian, darling?” said Freddie in dulcet tones.

You watched the exchange from a distance, perched on a chair that was more for decorative than for accommodating purposes but lifted the weight from your weary feet nonetheless.

“You’d look like that lovely White Queen you’re always waxing lyrical about…”

Something shifted in Brian’s features at the mention of this White Queen, but you couldn’t distinguish a single emotion from the plethora of those that flashed across his face.

“How did thee fare, what have thee seen, the mother of the willow green; I call her name,” Freddie recited with a flourish of his hands. When Brian said nothing, only let his jaw tighten, Freddie went on. “And ‘neath her window I have stayed—”

“Alright, yes, I’ll do it,” Brian muttered through clenched teeth.

“Oh brilliant!” Freddie clapped.

You leaned your chin on your palm, wondering at the scene before you. When Brian’s stare caught on you, his eyes were so intense that you blushed and looked away. You felt like you’d been going through his diary and he’d caught you reading.

“Right,” Zandra dragged a crate towards where you were sitting, just as Deacy reappeared with a shiny black top, and Roger with a kimono. “I’m going to need some help, I think.” She tossed you a roll of measuring tape, which you caught deftly, despite your tiredness. “Will you take some measurements, please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you nodded. She gave you some quick instructions as to which measurements she needed, then settled a pair of thick, round framed glasses on her nose, and went to work on scavenging fabric and threads.

You took Freddie’s measurements and then John’s, proving that both tops needed quite the alterations; they had been designed for women and thus did not fit the boys quite right.

Roger’s kimono, on the other hand, fit perfectly, and so he went on to peruse Zandra’s vast collection of fancy hats.

Freddie handed the white top over to Brian before joining Roger in the scavenger hunt for hats, and Bri went to change.

When Brian returned, you couldn’t help but stare.

Softness made his being— rounded lips, delicate curls, sleepy eyes— and he seemed wrong for this world; he belonged to the stars.

You stood motionless, the world spinning gently out of time.

And dry my lips no word would make. White Queen indeed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and his voice too was soft.

You nodded but said nothing. Tearing your gaze away, you strode toward him and wound the measuring band behind him, around his back, drawing the ends to meet at his front. You felt his chest contract as your fingers skimmed his collarbone. But you wouldn’t let yourself think about how he breathed, how his head dipped toward yours.

“There, done,” you said, short of breath and scribbling down the measurements without much thought at all. Then you slipped away quickly, weaving through racks of clothing before Brian’s gentle touch could unravel you.

In your mad rush to get away from him, you ran straight into John.

“Deacy!” you cried when you collided. “Sorry!”

Deacy took one look at you and frowned. “Y/N. Stop running.”

“I’m not running,” you said.

“Only because I literally stopped you,” he sighed. “Stop running from Brian.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” John sighed again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, he spent the entire morning with his arms wrapped around you.”

It was true. Brian had made no move to get you away from where you’d perched on his knee that morning. If anything, he’d settled farther back into the plush of the settee to make you more comfortable, arms encircling your waist lightly, as though he feared both shattering you and not holding you tightly enough.

“Look,” Deacy had both hands on your shoulders now, compelling you to meet his eyes. You did, though with heavy reluctance. “Brian… he may have his cheeky side, but he’s not a flirt like Rog. You can’t pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

From the way your heart thrummed, anyone would have said you’d run a marathon. But the only thing that ran was thoughts of Brian, through your head.

You were breathless, “But don’t you see that I have to?”

Someone like you and someone like him. There was only an abundance of ways in which such an affair could fail.

“No,” said John firmly, but he didn’t get a chance to develop the argument further.

“There you are!” Roger exclaimed, sounding rather exasperated. “This place is a maze. Freddie says it’s time we’re off.”

Deacy frowned, still in his thoughts, but Roger roped an arm around you both in a Freddie-esque manner.

“We must be nearing Brian’s bedtime,” Roger said. “He’s awfully grumpy. Again.”

“That’s not—” Deacy began, but you glared daggers, and he backed down.

The three of you reached the door of the studio, where Freddie, Brian, and Zandra stood waiting, the former two back in their usual garb, and Zandra without spectacles once more.

You handed Zandra your list of measurements, and that was that.

The past few hours felt like they’d passed in a dream.

“So,” said Freddie when you’d bid Zandra goodnight and started down the road again, “we’ve got the costumes, the finances, and the music, more or less, sorted.”

Deacy smiled bemusedly, and Roger stifled a yawn as he nodded. Brian had sunken into silence, and there he remained, distant and inaccessible.

Freddie continued, “But what about a place to write it all? This new album? We need to get away from all of this city buzz. It’s distracting.”

“The city itself, or the people in it, Fred?” Roger chuckled.

“Aha-ha. Very funny,” Freddie elbowed Roger in the ribs. “Quite seriously though darlings, that empty lecture hall just isn’t doing it for me.”

“Don’t think it does it for anyone, excepting our two resident scientists,” Deacy joked.

You rolled your eyes good humouredly, but Brian gave no indication of having heard John’s quip.

“Any real ideas?” said Freddie.

No’s were mumbled and heads were shaken. But for you, a thought blossomed.

“Yes.”

They all— even Brian— looked to you expectantly.

“Well?” Freddie prompted.

You wrung your hands, swung them by your sides. “Well, it might be a little silly.”

Freddie shrugged. “We’ve got nothing, Y/N dear, so have a go.”

“My family owns a farm…”

“Go on.”

“My dad has a recording studio.”

It wasn’t anything fancy, but he did, and the studio was fully functioning in every sense.

“Does he really?!” Freddie exclaimed with childlike fascination.

“That’s pretty fantastic, Y/N,” Roger commented, genuinely interested and for once devoid of sarcasm. “Do you think he’d let us use it?”

Deacy wondered aloud, “Do you think we could stay at your farm?”

“At a reasonable price, of course,” added Freddie.

“Your family has a studio,” Brian repeated, as though he were only just catching on.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure you could use it, and stay,” you blurted.

What the hell, stop talking! your internal monologue reprimanded you.

Freddie’s face was lit up like a ferris wheel, and Roger and Deacy exchanged a glance of excitement.

You grinned back, their happiness contagious, until your eyes caught on Bri’s and your heart skipped a beat.

“When can we go?” Freddie inquired, looping one arm through yours and another through Deacy’s, who in turn linked arms with Roger, who pulled Brian into the chain.

“The summer holidays,” you said, as it was the first thing that came to mind. Apparently, the link between your brain and your mouth had been severed. “When I go home to visit anyway, and I can take some time off from studying.”

“Oh this is brilliant!” cried Freddie, pressing a delighted kiss to your cheek. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

But you couldn’t stop looking at Brian, and now you were inwardly kicking yourself; only a day ago, you had resolved to get as far away from Brian as possible, not spend an entire summer with him!

But from the way Roger cheered and Deacy literally waltzed down the deserted street with Freddie as partner, there was no backing out of this now. You would only let them down, and that was one thing you could not bear to do, no matter how selfishly your thoughts might have been inclined.

You would just have to face the dire consequences of your actions.

Even if those consequences involved Brian May.

And his damning smile.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the ridge farm era is coming up!! fun fact— this whole fic was inspired by a dream i had about living on ridge farm when queen turned up. the prologue to starstruck is actually a transcript of my dream. wild.

taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

#tina’s writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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carelessannie · 3 years

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clint x steve (maybe it goes like this: mating + dating)

Read on A03

Read the main story on AO3 and Tumblr

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: 1.1K

It’s taken until after their official bonding for Steve and Clint to go on a date. They come back with more than they planned for.

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, unintentional promotion of a MLB team, gratuitous use of the f-bomb

---

Maybe it goes like this:

Clint has never felt small in his life. It’s new. And… he honestly doesn't hate it.

He usually loves wrapping his arms around a tiny Omega— Annie or Bucky or Peter— and feeling big and strong protecting them like that. Some days, he wonders if he should have been an Alpha instead.

But now, with Steve’s arm looped around his shoulders, and the larger Alpha tucking him boldly into his side, all Clint can feel is safe. And a little embarrassed.

Because it’s not like Steve decided to take him to a bar, like Tony did. Steve hadn’t stopped smiling as he drove them North, away from the city, and into Queens. It’s hot outside, so both men are wearing tank tops and shorts, with the windows rolled down and wind in their hair. Clint gives him an incredulous look as Citi Field comes into view.

“The fuck, Steve. You didn’t.”

Clint feels like an idiot. The entire backseat is filled with jerseys and hats and t-shirts and even a stupid foam finger. As he looks through them, he realizes a few are his own jerseys.

“How—”

He gets a sheepish grin from Steve, “I had Bucky collect your Mets stuff. Like I said— I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“I mean… I just… he already wears so much of my stuff, I didn’t…”

Steve just chuckles, giving Clint a clap on the shoulder, and he can feel the waves of amusement and affection through their bond.

And it doesn’t stop. All the way through the game, Clint floats on his Alpha’s joy. Even when they’re losing at the top of the 6th and on their fucking fourth string pitcher, with Steve screaming powerful strings of profanities, the constant wave of bright, fierce happiness never wavers.

They eat through six hot dogs, two soft pretzels, a half dozen beers between the two of them, and a serving of ice cream each. Clint blames it on the summer heat. Both of them are sweating and staggering a bit by the end of the game, so they decide to walk it off before heading home.

Clint lets himself be tucked back under Steve’s arm, and enjoys being led down the crowded streets of Queens, flooded with hundreds of drunk, angry fans. It’s amusing to see all the store fronts, overwhelmed with hungry customers, and the two of them keep walking until something out of the corner of Clint’s eye stops him.

“Hey,” he pulls on Steve’s sleeve, stopping them on the sidewalk, “hey, Steve. Oh my god, Steve. Do you think,” he points at the sign, “fuck, Steve, do you think they have dogs. Steve.”

The Alpha looks up, squinting at the sign for Tropical Pets Inc, “Uh, Clint. I think we’d be lucky to find something alive in there.”

Clint just snorts, “C’mon, Alpha,” and grabs Steve’s hand, heading for the less than spectacular looking pet store.

It’s dimly lit, smells like shit, and is deafeningly loud— but Clint is immediately in love with this little hole in the wall shop. Tall shelves section off the walls, leading them away from the entrance and further into the belly of the store, passing dozens of food options for birds, hamsters, dogs, cats, and pretty much anything else Clint can imagine.

Birds are screeching from cramped cages. Fish swim around small pools, and tanks hold all types of small mammals and amphibians. There’s even a small box of kittens sitting under a warming lamp.

None of this could have distracted Clint from the puppy, staring at him from inside a small play pen, tongue lolled out and tail wagging rapidly.

“Steve. Fuck, Steve. Do you see it?” Clint whispers, careful not to spook the adorable perfection of a dog.

There’s no response, because Steve is immediately dropping to his knees, holding out a few fingers for the dog to smell. It looks between them, as if deciding. Clint joins his Alpha on the floor, never taking his eyes off the dog, and calls out, “C’mere bud, c’mon. Who’s a good dog? Yeah? Who's a good dog?”

The dog ambles forward, bouncing on it’s paws, and jumps a bit to paint a long, slobbery kiss along Steve’s cheek. The giant Alpha sputters, falling backwards and wiping frantically as his face. Clint just praises the dog more, leaning forward to let it smell him before scratching along it’s head, behind it’s ears, and all the way down to it’s— his— belly.

“I’ve gotta have ‘im, Steve. Alpha, please, we gotta take ‘im home with us.”

“Clint—”

“Aw, c’mon Alpha. I’m home most days anyways, and I know Bucky and Annie are gonna love ‘im. They love dogs, I swear. Even Peter. I think I can convince Peter—”

“Clint.”

“— and I’m not sure about Tony, but I’m sure we could work on him. I’ve always thought Tony could use—”

“— Clint! Shut up, just for a second, okay? I’m not saying no.”

“You’re…” Clint is stunned, “you’re not saying no to me?”

Steve’s face softens and he reaches out to cup Clint’s cheek, “No, Beta. I fuckin’ love this dog. And guess what? I love you even more.”

“Damn. Does this mean we can get ‘im?”

“Yeah,” Steve stands to his feet, pulling Clint up with him, “let’s find an employee and then we’ll bring our dog home.”

“Our dog,” Clint repeats, stretching up to bring Steve into a chaste kiss. It’s just like before— all he can feel is joy and adoration thrumming through his bond. He whispers against Steve’s lips, “I like the sound of that. And I love you even more.”

---

An hour later, Steve and Clint are wrapped around each other on the loveseat in their living room, watching as their other packmates coo over their sweet dog. They affectionately named him Lucky, because— as Steve so accurately said— they were definitely lucky to find something alive in that pet store.

And when Clint starts to wax poetic, looking up into his Alpha’s eyes and remembering how terrified he was just months ago to even consider bonding with this man, he pulls Steve closer, mouthing gently along his bonding bites, and murmurs into his ear—

“I think I was lucky to find you, Alpha.”

Just as he expects, affection and joy meet him at the end of their bond.

#amerihawk #steve x clint #clint x steve #drabble #fanfic #mcu #steve rogers #clint barton #rare pair #MiGLT #THAT DOG IS FOR SALE I SWEAR #AND IT’S ACTUAL NAME IS LUCKY #fluff #idiots in love #d/s fic #established relationship #omegaverse

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kawaiijellymonster · 3 years

Text

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head.

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

#long post #fanfic lines that deserve to be in a hall of fame #fanfic #rambles #lol

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sombreboy · 4 years

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Love Maze »4

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 9.2k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, slight angst, homophobic slurs, alcohol consumption, descriptions of throwing up (due to the alcohol), dumb chaotic energy. A/N: A LOT happens in this one hahahah thank you @velvetwicebang for co-writing this with me ilysm and I love this rp, you’re so talented I will never stop saying this. Also amazing header made by lovely lovely mentioned.

The next day Jungkook was feeling tired, but he was adamant to go back to his usual routines. He was gonna dive back into being Jeon Jungkook, the golden boy that puts his everything into class and practice. First thing in the morning, he sat down in the classroom, when a new face was introduced to the crowd. He stood tall in front of everyone, a pearly white smile on his face as he introduced himself after the teacher gathered everyone's attention, "Hello. My name is Ash, thank you for having me." His introduction was brief, but he still seemed to charm the crowd. He was indeed good looking...Tall, even taller than Jungkook, well built, he must be an athlete, a strong jawline. His hair was dyed in a lighter brown, wavy subtle curls that were a little too long, dangling over his strongly defined, brown eyes. It wasnt surprising that he already swooped the females off their feet. However, his eyes had landed on Jungkook, who seemed to be completely focused on the papers in front of him.

As class resumed to normal, Ash had invited himself to take the empty seat next to the doe eyed boy, leaning in with a small smile, "Hey, what's your name?"

Jungkook glanced up from his books, his eyes taking a quick glance to trace the features of the new face, "Jungkook."

Ash hummed with a nod, "Im Ash. You know, I'm kind of behind on this, being new and all, care to catch me up?" In reality, he wasn't that much behind. He was just curious about the younger guy.

Jungkook didn't see why not, sliding his book over to share his notes, "Sure." Ash gave him a small smile, and it was cute. Maybe this day wasnt completely terrible. It did distract him from the continuous loop of Taehyung in his mind.

Taehyung bet right, today sucked. Before he came across Jungkook and his new friend in the hallway, Tae had been casually taking a stroll with Hoseok during their break, half-assedly listening to the elder rant about his problems. “The thing is, she didn’t even kiss me back! She said my lips were too chapped— which, no the hell they aren’t. You think a thirty dollar chapstick would do that?!” Taehyung shook his head, knowing Hobi was expecting him to agree. “No, hyung. Your lips are fine. They’re.. the opposite of chapped..?” He glued on a strained smile, the obnoxious grin immediately dropping to the ground the moment Hoseok looked away, looking pleased with Taehyung’s answer, “Tae, you’re such a mood maker!” The said boy’s face stayed as emotionless as always, sharp eyes glaring ahead of him. “Thanks.” Fuck, he caught himself thinking about Jungkook. Again. The pair made a few more laps around the hallways, the elder doing most of the talking. However, when they turned at a corner, Hoseok’s voice increased in volume. “Kook!” His big smile was put on display, meeting Jungkook halfway. Before Tae was given the opportunity to fully register what was going on, his eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar member in the group. Was he new? He’s never seen him before. “Name’s Ash,” The unfamiliar male extended out his arm, introducing himself with a blinding smile on his face. “Yo, I’m Hoseok! Nice to meet you.” Hobi gladly took Ash’s hand in his, giving it a firm shake. Meanwhile, Taehyung stayed still, taking a couple of peeks at Jungkook without trying to make it too obvious. He had no intentions of getting to know the new kid, but the new kid was set on getting to know him. He extended out his hand once again, “I’m Ash.” “Huh?” Taehyung couldn’t care less, visibly uninterested. With a breathy chuckle, Ash opted for repeating himself, “Ash. Need me to spell it out for you?” Tae’s facial expression hardened, “No. I got it.” The corner of his lip twitched. The fuck kinda name was that.. Ash. It sounded like it belonged in the Warrior Cats books, “I’m Taehyung.”

“Nice to meet you, Taehyung.“ Ash flashed another smile as he withdrew his hand to settle it on his hip. He stood awfully close to Jungkook, their shoulders practically touching. Unless you had a sharp eye, you wouldn’t notice it within the group. “Well, nice to meet you guys.” Ash paused to look at Jungkook, “Kookie, it’s lunch time, no? Let’s head to the dining hall. You guys wanna tag along?”

Jungkooks eyes kept landing on Taehyung, remaining silent throughout the interactions. When his name was called, he nodded, but he didn’t expect Ash to invite the others. He held his breath, trying so hard not to care about whether or not Taehyung would accept this invitation. He still felt awkward. ~ What was it with the new kid and the constant smiling? It didn’t seem like a genuine one, either. Compared to Hoseok’s smile, Ash’s seemed more cocky and.. conceited.

Tae couldn’t exactly pinpoint to what it was, but there was something off about the guy. At least in his eyes. ..Maybe it was the way Ash was standing so close to Jungkook, the word ‘personal space’ a foreign concept to the both of them. No, that couldn’t be it. Taehyung didn’t care. He spoke too soon, his head snapping towards Jungkook’s direction for what it seemed like the hundredth time that day. ‘Kookie’? They were already on a nickname basis? How much did they know each other, surely they’d just met? “Yeah. Sure.” Mumbling under his breath, Taehyung looked over at Hobi, “We should be the ones asking him..” Nevertheless, they walked towards the dining hall and Hoseok invited Ash to sit with their group of friends. Taehyung sat himself across from Jungkook, watching Ash take a seat next to the younger as he flashed that same, stupid smile of his. Tae wanted to gag. “Hey, Ash.” Namjoon spoke up, picking up some of his food before popping it in his mouth. “What made you move here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ash took a bite off his food, his eyes landing on Namjoon at the question, “Parents moved here for work, and I kind of had to just deal with it. You know?” He chuckled a breath through his nose, “I don’t mind though, my last school was pretty lame. So far I like it here, much better.” His hand subtly snaked underneath the table to land on Jungkooks knee, to make it a point with his words. Jungkook visibly tensed up, not used to the casual physical contact, towards him in this manner. Especially not by a guy, nor in public. He kind of liked it.. Kook gave him a small smile while chewing his mouthful of food, quiet but content. He almost forgot about how Taehyung would feel about this. And even if he did wonder, Tae said so himself, they weren’t dating. So it probably didn’t matter to him. Ash, however, was almost too aware of the way Taehyung kept looking at Jungkook when he wasn’t paying attention, and it both intrigued and annoyed him. Ash wanted Jungkook, and he was doing well so far.

“Im curious, what sport teams are there in this school? I’m considering joining one of them,” Ash changed the topic, aiming the question to the group in general. His eyes looked over the table, his hand gently rubbing circles on jungkooks knee, whom didn’t withdraw from his touch.. it was quite nice after all.

“Well, there is the soccer team, swim..” Namjoon’s words flew over Taehyung’s head, who was now poking at his food to keep himself entertained. He tried to not look at Jungkook all that much, he really did, eyes glued on the way his meal was mostly untouched. But, Taehyung felt like some words were left unsaid, he just couldn’t quite make out what they were. Suddenly, going back to ‘normal’ wasn’t as easy as he’d previously imagined it to be. When everything was ‘normal’, the taste of Jungkook’s lips was unknown, how the younger wrapped around him was unspecified, sleeping next to him was unheard of. Now, Tae was accustomed to different things. He fucking hated himself for it. “..Football in the fall, and lastly, basketball. Which, is the best sport in my opinion.” Namjoon’s cheeky smirk widened even further when Jin caught him, “Of course you think that. Joon’s the Captain.” Namjoon sat up a little straighter, proceeding to eat his food. “Why? You thinking of joining?” A smile tugged at Ash’s lips, “Maybe.” He looked over at Jungkook, reassuringly squeezing his knee, “I don’t wanna scare my parents by being gay and not trying out for an extracurricular activity. They already think I’m some sort of outcast.” Ash joked, knowing his parents were supportive of his sexuality. Everyone in the table had stopped moving mid-chew; Taehyung had nearly spilled out his invisible drink, “Wait, you’re gay?” “Taehyung!” Jimin slapped the back of the boy’s head, looking over at Ash with an apologetic expression on behalf of Tae. “That’s—That’s great! It’s a hard thing to come to terms with, you’re very brave.” Namjoon quickly stepped in, glaring at Taehyung.

Jungkook tensed underneath Ash's touch for a moment, ceasing his chewing. Suddenly the hand on his leg felt entirely different. But... it wasn't bad. Was he showing some kind of interest? How, what....He's never had this happen to him before, not like this.

''It's fine, don't worry about it,'' Ash gives Taehyung a quick smirk before giving his attention back to Namjoon, ''So, basketball, huh? Maybe I'll check that one out... Is everyone here part of the team?''

Jungkook nodded, for the first time participating in the conversation, causing all heads to turn even if it was just a simple word, ''Yeah.''

''You're in the team too?'' Ash turns to look at the younger, squeezing his knee a little harder, ''Then I'll have to join.''

Jungkook couldn't help but blush at the blunt statement, looking down at his food. He really wasn't used to this open flirting from a guy, or anyone really.

To everyone else at the table, Jungkook’s blooming blush was a first.. The rest of the boys exchanged secret glances between one another, eyebrows knitted together whilst some wore a cheeky grin on their face. Who would’ve thought that the new kid’s words had such an impact on their Golden Boy? Of course, Taehyung wasn’t part of that bunch. Unlike his hyungs, not a single ounce of amusement lingered in his features. With a scowl on his face, Tae abruptly sat up from his spot, his tray of food at hand, “Right, you’re gonna regret having that as your main reason to join.” He scoffed, looking at Ash before switching his gaze over to Kook, smirking, “Jungkook can get annoying as hell, and fast.” Taehyung forced out a snicker, not bothering to hear what Warrior Cat boy— or anyone else— had to say before throwing his bag over his shoulder, putting a hand up in the air as a farewell and walking away. “What the hell’s his problem..?” Ash wore a barely visible pout, eyes darkening at the thought of Taehyung. “I ask myself that everyday.” Jin sighed out loud, to which everyone else agreed.

Jungkook shrunk in his seat at his words. Did Tae really mean that? Fuck, it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.. If Taehyung really thought that he was so annoying, somehow, it made it easier for Jungkook to shift his sadness over to anger. He didn’t need Taehyung-- because Taehyung didn’t need him.

Ash moved his hand to rub Jungkooks shoulder, his eyes still trailing after Tae until hes out of sight. He wasnt sure what was up between these two, nor what had happened to make Taehyung say such a thing. But one thing he was certain of, and that was; he didnt give a fuck. Jungkook was gonna be his.

"I'll think about joining the team, then" Ash chimed with a smile, infectious to the rest of the group as they seem just as thrilled about it. They surely could use another player, and judging Ash by his physique, he'd be a useful addition.

Jungkook grabbed his tray as he got off his seat, "Class soon, I'll see you guys." Kook paused, his eyes moving to meet with Ash's, "You coming?"

"Of course, Kookie." Ash winked at him, earning another flustered look from the younger. He turned to the rest of the group and bowed his head, his eyes lastly landing on namjoon, "Nice meeting you guys, I'll make sure to check out the team in action soon." He drew a wide, dimpled smile from namjoon before putting his arm around Jungkook, leading him out of the dining hall.

"So...." Yoongi spoke, turning the attention towards him, "Ash and Jungkook?" He shrugged, continuing to eat his food, while the rest of the group shared glances and smiles. Were their golden boy into guys?

Namjoon clasped his hands, jaw jutted in thought. This seems to be a lot more complicated than he thought.

“Kookie?” Ash dropped his hand on Jungkook’s toned thigh to get his attention, merely resting it there. Setting his pencil on the table, he solely focused on Kook’s face instead of the loose piece of notebook paper that was scribbled over with mathematical equations, “That.. Taehyung guy..” Ash knew it was stupid to worry; Taehyung had nothing on him in terms of physical appearance and, now— after getting to hear him talk during lunch— personality. But despite all of that, he couldn’t help but wonder.. “Are you guys close?” His thumb now brushed over the fabric of Jungkook’s jeans, tongue swiping over his lips, “I mean.. he’s a complete asshole.” Ash said with a shrug of his shoulders, already not too keen of Kim.

There it was again, the hand on his leg. The casual, yet intimate touch from this man had become very frequent in an extremely short amount of time. And Jungkook decided he’d let it happen, he liked it. Why wouldn’t he? Ash was strikingly good looking, blessed with a face that had anyone turning their head as he walked by. And he seemed to give a fuck about him. Not to mention the nickname that already had him feeling certain things, “Close? No,” Jungkook shrugged, there was no way he would mention their short lived friends with benefits ‘romance.’, if one could even call it that, “He is a total ass.” Jungkook agreed, but a part of him protested.

Even if he was a total douchebag, there were moments of privacy where he was anything but that. But he would never see that part again, they both made that clear.

“Yeah? Oh, what a relief.” Ash smiled, inching his hand up Kook’s thigh, painfully slow, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “I almost got worried that I’d have to feel jealous.” This small gesture had JK melting, weak underneath the bigger mans touch. But this wasn’t the time. “N-no... don’t worry..hm.. I-I have to finish this..” Jk weakly breathes out, drawing a wider smirk from Ash. “Okay, okay... how about this... dinner tonight? I’m really, really dying to know you better.”

Jungkooks doe eyes were wide as they flickered up to the larger male. Did he just ask him out? In the middle of class? Anyone could hear. And they did. Subtle whispers were heard, trying to discretely observe the interaction between the two men.

After a long minute, Jungkook finally responded, “Okay.”

Word around the school spread like wildfire, and everyone’s interest seemed to be on the mysterious newcomer and his choice of date: Jeon Jungkook.

‘Ash asked him out? Is Jungkook even gay?’

‘They literally just met. How did Jungkook manage to get a man faster than I could in eighteen years?’

‘No one knows for sure.. but if it’s true, they’ll be so cute together!’

Taehyung’s ears were ringing. He just wanted to take a shit in peace, was that too much to ask? For the group of boys chatting outside of the stall, apparently so. “You heard all of the stuff going around ‘bout Ash?” All of the sudden Tae’s ears perked up at the question, forgetting about what he came to do here in the first place. Now this seemed worth his while.. ‘Not even a full day in and he’s already made a name for himself? Unbelievable,’ Taehyung mused, the urge to roll his eyes too overpowering. “The new kid? No, what happened?” A mocking snicker followed suit, “Apparently he likes sticking it up the ass or some shit.” Taehyung’s shoulders sagged down in disappointment; he was anticipating something he didn’t already know. “What, like anal?”

“No, I mean he’s a f*g, dumbass.”

An obnoxious gagging sound echoed throughout the room, followed by a series of laughter. “And you wanna know something else?” Tae’s jaw locked in place; they needed to shut their mouths before he knocked out a couple of teeth. Aside from the obvious, he went to the bathroom in hopes of catching a break from.. everything. Taehyung didn’t want to hear about Ash, of all people.

“He asked Jungkook out.” He froze in his spot, feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. What..? The boy’s lips barely went agape, hands subconsciously balling up into fists as he forced himself to listen further, praying that he heard wrong. “Jeon Jungkook? Damn, didn’t take him as a fairy.” But something from inside Tae told him that it was the twisted reality. “You know, now that I think about it.. he always did kinda come across as a f*ggot. He seemed chill, it’s a shame.” Although the day was close to being halfway over, for Taehyung, this was the beginning of a horrible day.

As Jungkook was walking with Ash towards the basketball practice, which was JK’s last stop for the day, something felt different. The atmosphere in the hallway seemed more quiet then usual, and when he decided to actually take a look around, he didn’t fail to notice everyone’s eyes following him and the ‘new guy’, followed with whispers and subtly pointed fingers. Some seemed to be happy, some straight up disgusted.

What is going on?

“Hey Kook.” Ash brought him back down to earth, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Kook asked.

Ash knew exactly why, and he fucking loved the attention. This is exactly what he wanted. He deliberately asked him out during class, knowing the word would quickly spread around the school, and in the end, reach Taehyung’s ears. “Well, you did say yes to dating me. People just... react to that.” Jungkook hummed at Ash’s words, feeling anxious. Did he accidentally come out? Or... was this supposed to happen? “We aren’t dating yet.” Jungkook replied with a bratty grin, his nose scrunching as he gazes up at the man. To anyone looking, they might as well be dating already, with the way Jungkook smiles at him. Kook rarely smiled like that. Ash put his arm around Jungkooks shoulder with a playful chuckle leaving his lips, this little man was so fucking adorable, “Not yet, but after tonight, that’s gonna change.”

Ash had decided that he wanted to check out the basketball practice in action, letting Jungkook head downstairs towards the locker room by himself as he himself would head to the practice hall to find Namjoon, “Hey, Namjoon!”

“Hey, Ash, you’re here! You’re joining?” Namjoon smiled, happy to see him here. But a part of him knows that if he joins, he surely hoped it wouldn’t cause more drama between the men. But, knowing exactly about the rumors of today, it was bound to happen. “Yeah, maybe, I came to watch.” Ash gazes around the practice hall. “Well, have a seat, we’re just waiting for the guys to get changed and then we’ll begin.”

On the outside, Taehyung fooled his peers by seeming relatively calm. He wore his hood up, a few strands of black hair draping over his eyes as his arms were found crossed over his chest, gaze somewhat.. lifeless? That’s how the latter looked like everyday— especially during Chemistry— so, no one dared to question it. However, in the space where his inner thoughts hid.. ‘What does Jungkook even like about that guy? Who deliberately goes for someone named Ash--‘ It was a mixture of pure chaos and confusion all in one. Confusion because, why does he care? Why was this fucking so bad with his head when all he’s ever done was treat Jungkook like shit? This.. this wasn’t normal, and Tae was aware of that. He wasn’t normal. All of these new feelings; Taehyung wanted to get rid of them, but he was afraid the pile was only growing larger in size.

Not overly enthusiastic about going to practice today, Taehyung still dragged his feet down the stairs. If he were to skip when all of the rumors were floating around, Namjoon would’ve pounced on the chance to call him out for it. If Tae wasn’t in the mood to deal with the elder before, he surely wasn’t going to be now. “Tae, it took you long enough!” Hoseok placed a hand on the boy’s back, excitedly leading him to their group of friends. “Jungkookie, are you positive you want to go on a date so soon? You just met Ash, get to know him a little more.” Jimin suggested, getting cut off by Yoongi, “So, you like boys?” He was still having a hard time processing the new information. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, Yoongi always seemed to be lost. Taehyung, on the other hand, wished he would’ve turned back around before walking in to Ash’s name getting dropped in the conversation. He was getting fucking tired of it, and it showed by the way he kept his distance from the others.

''Ah, well, isn't that what a date is for?'' Jungkook answered Jimin's question with a question of his own.

Jimin hummed, rubbing his chin in thought, ''You're not wrong. But are you sure you want to?''

Yoongi still looked like a lost child, squinting at Jungkook, ''Boys...''

Jungkook didn't want to feel like he had to hide this, so he just lets out a quiet sigh after slipping on his basketball sneakers,

''Yeah, I like boys.'' He took notice of Taehyung standing a little further away from the group, and he couldn't help but steal glances over towards him. He must think Kook is disgusting, knowing now that he likes boys, and making it so obvious that he liked him. But that was in the past, he's going out with Ash tonight, and he actually seemed to like him. He was lying if he said he wasn't a little giddy about it.

Jimin hugged Kook, a little out of nowhere, causing him to yelp in surprise, ''We will support you whether you like boys or girls, Jungkookie! We're so proud!'' ''Ash better treat you right.'' Yoongi grumbled like an old person before starting to head up with the rest of the group, one by one disappearing towards the stairs. Jungkook walked behind them, passing Taehyung on the way. With the locker room hallway being rather tight with the group walking together, Jungkook's arm brushed against Taehyung, his mild scent of laundry detergent reaching the elders nose.

Everything seemed to be unraveling far too quickly, and like a robot obtaining a new piece of information; Taehyung had trouble keeping up. Based off of what he overheard in the locker room, Jungkook definetely likes boys. The younger had to repeat himself to Yoongi so many times, Taehyung was sure it was permanently inked in his own brain by now. He couldn’t help but wonder, was Jungkook fond of him during the short amount of time they spent together? Did the latter’s heart feel like it could out win any olympic runner by how fast it pounded when he kissed him..? The string of never ending questions had Taehyung hooked on to the way Jungkook’s arm subtly brushed against him, that familiar fragrance drawing him in like no other. “Taehyung, snap out of it.” Namjoon clapped his hands, sighing out loud when he saw Taehyung’s undivided attention was on anything else but practice. “Uh, yeah.” He quickly did as he was told, running a hand through his messy hair before setting his worries aside. For this short droplet of time, it felt good to let loose. Taehyung felt like he needed to sweat it all out in order to feel more light, less clamped down to the ground. Practice went as usual in terms of Taehyung scoring a lot of points, but everything else after that felt out of place. What caught Tae by surprise was, a small part of him missed the constant bickering, the cursing back and forth, the yelling.. It was trippy as hell, but he did. “Shit..” Taehyung groaned to himself, blindly reaching for his bottled water when he realized he didn’t bring one. “I’ll be back.” He muttered, making his way over to the water fountain around the corner. Taehyung was wiping the sweat from off his face when he bumped into someone. Or rather, his front bumped into someone’s behind as they were leaning over for a drink of water, “Sorry— Jungkook?” His eyes grew wide, suddenly becoming even more embarrassed by who it was.

Jungkook quickly stood up straight with a small yelp, the always so easily startled younger man, when he felt someone bump against his behind, abruptly turning his head to see who it was, and he coughed as he almost choked on the water in his throat, hitting his chest to get it down, ''Ah, Taehyung.''

Jungkook had forgotten his waterbottle as well, and needed that moment to himself to just think. He was in the limbo of getting over Tae, and getting into Ash, whom was sending him signals left and right, and now they had a date tonight.

The younger backed off a few steps to grant Taehyung access to the waterfountain, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand. Why wouldn’t he just leave? There was no reason to stay around when Taehyung was here. But for some reason, he felt like he wanted to, for just one moment, let his eyes rest on the elders features a little longer.

Like old gum on the school ground, Taehyung stuck to his spot like an absolute idiot, trying his hardest to lie and not seem fazed by Jungkook’s presence. With another anxious look thrown in the younger’s direction, Tae managed to swallow down the obvious lump in his throat before leaning down for a needed drink, hands placed on either side of the water fountain as his Adam’s apple danced after every gulp. Suddenly he was more thirsty than ever, his mouth having gone dry when he bumped into Kook unexpectedly. After refreshing himself with enough water, Taehyung licked over his lips, pushing his fringe from out of his eyes, “What?” Jungkook was just.. standing there.

Jungkook stared at him, feeling just as dumb himself. Taehyungs voice brings him back to the reality of the situation,

“Uh...” he sounded just as dumb as he felt, the flight instincts in him kicking in. His feet suddenly move on their own, trying to get out of there to head back to the locker room, but his clumsy ass just had to slip on the water puddle by the fountain, falling backwards right next to Taehyungs form.

This was it. He was gonna get a fucking concussion on top of everything, wasn’t he? As if time moved in slow motion, he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

When Jungkook turned his back to him, Taehyung felt like he could finally relax. Jaw nowhere near as clenched, and posture no longer mirroring a wooden board. That feeling only lasted for a second, however, before he heard the loud squeak of the younger’s shoe on the ground. “What the—“ Before he was given the chance to see what happened for himself, Jungkook’s body was plummeting down towards him. Instinctively, Taehyung reached his arms out, looping them around from underneath Kook’s armpits to hold him up against his chest, “Dumbass!” Tae cursed out loud, questioning why he felt so relieved. It wasn’t like he cared if Kook were to fall and break his head open.. Taehyung swiftly turned Jungkook around by his hips, meeting his eye. “Don’t you ever watch where you’re going?” He scolded, leaving barely any room between the two. Suddenly, fresh memories from before came rushing back to him.

Jungkook stared up at the taller man with his big eyes, flinching slightly at his scolding. For some reason... for some damned reason, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel happy about it. This was the Taehyung he’d always been around, the scolding, cursing guy that always made sure to point out Jungkooks flaws. This time, it didn’t even make him mad.

However, just as quickly as he was caught, his realization of their close proximity hit him. The familiar strong arms holding him close felt too familiar, his face so close but so far away. If only he would lean in just a bit... No, what is he thinking? Taehyung does. Not. Like. Him. And he, he has ash now. “Thanks, eh...” as if the cat got his tongue, he withdrew himself from Taehyungs hands, internally scolding himself for missing them, and turns on his heels to stride back to the locker room. It’s as if god wanted to punish him, his cheeks flushing red as soon as he’d turned away from the elder.

Taehyung’s arms dropped down to his sides, no trace of emotion swirling within his piercing eyes as they shamelessly followed behind Jungkook, almost in a trance-like state until the latter was out of sight. Fuck. He was losing it, wasn’t he? I mean, he had to be a lunatic if subconsciously, a deeper part of him, found himself aching to feel Jungkook. Hands longing to touch him.. to tease him. Sexually, or platonically. Taehyung was even more confused than before. ‘Platonically’? Who the hell was he..? No. He was just envisioning things without thinking. By this point, it wasn’t anything new.

“Kookie!” Ash excitedly hopped down from the bleachers, meeting Jungkook in the gym after he was back from changing. He didn’t shy away from wrapping his arm around Kook’s waist, ignoring the not-so-subtle looks from the other players, “You were so good out there! I have to admit.. I wasn’t expecting all that much.” Ash playfully smirked, drawing Jungkook even closer to his warmth, “Anyways, are you excited for our date?” The taller man wiggled his brows, biting down on his lip, “I reserved us a spot at seven. And before you ask where it is, it’s a surprise.”

Jungkook had found himself in the same trance-like state the entire time he was changing, but quickly got distracted when he felt Ash's hands wrap around his waist, his firm body feeling really good against his. It wasn't the same as Taehyung's, but, that was kind of the point. ''I'm curious now, I don't do well with surprises..'' Jungkook craned his neck to look up at the taller man, he felt so small with him. it was nice, to feel this kind of affection from someone who wasn't scared of showing it. However, it didn't stop his face from feeling hot at the lingering eyes that flickered between the two of them.

''Too bad,'' Ash snickered, one hand reaching up to brush stray hairs away from Kook's eyes, his dark stare drinking in the youngers beautiful features, ''Because I still won't tell you. Oh, practice is over now, right?''

Jungkook nodded, ''Yeah, we're done for the day.''

Ash shifted his hold so that they stood next to eachother, his arm wrapped around Jungkook's waist to drag him along to leave, ''Let's go, then.''

The tall man looked over his shoulder on the way out, waving goodbye to the team, a knowing smile on his face at the way they all stared them down, ''I'll see you guys next time.''

He really didn't care too much about basketball, but it would give him more time with the younger, and that, he did want a lot more of. He had to keep an eye on him, especially around that Taehyung guy. Something was up with that, but he couldnt quite place it.

“Taehyung, I better see your ass at that party. Plus, there’ll be a lot of foreign chicks there; I know how much of a sucker you are for blondes.” His friend, Haechan, teasingly nudged Tae with his shoulder, trying to get him to change his mind. The boy looked miserable as fuck, and since Taehyung wouldn’t tell him what was going on, Haechan hoped a little bit of alcohol would loosen up those tightly sealed lips. “Fine.” He gave in with a defeated sigh, mustering up his first word in a while. Strolling out of the door with Chan at his side, Taehyung grimaced when he listened to him cheer excitedly and without a restraint, shake him by his shoulders like a madman. “We’re gonna get so fucked up tonight! Dude, you need it.” The elder didn’t doubt the last part was true, hence why he agreed to going in the first place. Maybe after he downed a couple of shots and fucked the first girl he laid his eyes on, all of this would get pushed to the back of the burner. Taehyung knew he was trying to drink less, but for this party, he made an exception. So what if he didn’t do good with alcohol? So what if it fucked him up so much to the point where he didn’t remember his own name? Honestly, that’s what Taehyung needed the most.

As the evening finally came, Jungkook jumped when he heard the firm knock on his door. Ash was here!

The younger took a second, even a third look at himself in the mirror, moving his hair out of his eyes to no avail, as the dark locks kept falling back into where they just wanted to stay. He sighed, straightening out the fabric of his shirt. Ash had said to keep it comfortable, so he did, dressed up in ripped blue slim-fit jeans with a black v-neck long sleeve. It was cute, he looked good. He felt good. His legs were muscular, and they looked fucking great in those jeans. He took a deep breath before turning the doorknob, opening it to be greeted by Ash's handsome smile. He was beaming, drawing the air out of Kook's lungs like punch in the gut. ''Hey Kookie.'' Ash's eyes drank in the shorter's outfit, he subtly licked his lips, ''You look so good! How about me?'' he winked, giving a little twirl before smiling widely. Jungkook nodded agreeingly while stepping outside, closing the door behind him, ''You look good too..'' He smiled, a little embarrassed. Ash couldn't stop thinknig about how fucking/cute/kook is when he is flustered, which was very easily done.

Ash wrapped his arm around Jungkook's, pulling him with him to his car. It was a nice car, it looked expensive. Probably paid for by his parents, and judging by his outfit, his parents were fairly well off.

A couple of hours after the darkness had casted a shadow in the sky, Taehyung attempted to parallel park a few streets down from where the party was at, trying to not damage his car in the process. It was already missing a wing mirror, for fucks sake— which he still hasn’t gotten fixed. Taking a second to close his eyes, Taehyung exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel unfastening. The goal for tonight was to let loose, not pick at the little inconveniences that would only stress him out even more. After he managed to do a decent job with his parking-- actually, it sucked. He was horrible at parallel parking, but everywhere else seemed to be occupied. Taehyung allowed the muffled bass of the music to lead him to his destination, able to subtly make out the lyrics of the song from where he was. Why haven’t the cops been called yet..? From the looks of this neighborhood; everyone seemed to either be on their private jet to Rome, or were too high and mighty to care. Which, Taehyung definitely didn’t mind. This way, he was sure nothing was going to stop him from having a good time. “Taehyung! Dude, you made it.” Haechan immediately wrapped his free arm around Tae’s shoulders, the other hand busy holding a red cup.. and a girl. “Meet Mila, I have no fucking clue what she’s saying. But hey, she’s hot.” He laughed, tilting the cup up to his lips. Taehyung only chuckled, slipping from under Haechan’s hold. He stole a glance at Mila, noticing how her vibrant, blue eyes were already set on him. Taehyung’s tongue poked at the side of his cheek, hungrily scanning over her body in the most discreet way possible. She was gorgeous, no doubt.

Ash parked his way-too-fancy-for-his-age car by this restaurant that Jungkook's never been to before, and honstly, he doesn't recall ever seeing it around. Probably because it was large, and it looked pretty expensive, ''I thought you said we weren't supposed to dress up..'' Kook murmured, feeling way too underdressed now. ''I am comfy too, don't worry about it. I just wanted to treat you to something nice! Besides, this is only the first part of our date.'' Ash winked before getting out of the car, circling around to open the door for kook, reaching his hand out like a true gentleman. Jungkook blushed again, taking his large hand to be pulled up, feeling the way ash wraps his arm around his waist once more, walking him into the nice restaurant. They were greeted by the nice staff, they seemed to be able to tell that Ash was of higher class in some way, and he shot them a dazzling smile before giving his name for the reservation. Quickly, they were seated by a table more secluded in the back, the lady giving them the menus before heading off. Jungkook eyed the menu, his nose scrunched at the prices, ''This is way too fancy.'' ''Don't look at the prices, Kookie, eat whatever you want. It's on me tonight,'' Ash was content, seeing the little boy be so amazed by something so simple by nice food. Spoiling him was fun, and he couldnt wait to give him more. ''Okay, hm.. I'll have the steak then.'' Jungkook smiled, putting his menu down. ''Ah! Excellent. I'll have the same.'' Ash snapped his fingers, bringing the waitress over to order their food. As they were once again left alone to wait for the food, Ash leaned closer over the table, gaze burning into the younger, ''I was thinking, Kookie... You said you didn't want to date me, yet, so..does that mean you'd actually date me after tonight?'' Jungkook tensed up a little, he wasnt expecting this question so early, ''Um.. well....maybe? I don't know yet.'' Ash hummed, ''Fair, I suppose I'll just have to swoop you off your feet as much as possible tonight.''

Taehyung started off his night with one drink, then two, three, and so on until he lost count. Apparently, he had to have a lot of alcohol to be in the middle of the dance floor, grinding against every girl he could get his roaming hands on, pulling their hair aside before whispering into their ear, occasionally sipping from his cup as if he’s dying to make himself forget, trying to cloud his train of thought. Everything around him was a big blur, the ground seeming like it could swallow him whole at any give second. That didn’t stop his hips from rocking against the next girl, the tingly sensation in his body was too good to turn away. “Ah, fuck.” He whined, tilting the red cup up to his lips, but instead he was met with nothing. He needed more alcohol in his system. Crushing the plastic in his hand, Tae pulled away, trying to sneak past the group of sweaty bodies. “Hey, where are you going?” The random girl turned to look at Taehyung, yelling over the music whilst looking hurt. “Uh, I-I’m.. I’m coming ba-back. I swear, okay? Just—I need..” His slurred words drifted off, the only thing clear in his mind was the taste of the strong liquor. He wanted more. Ignoring the list of curses thrown at him as he bumped into people; Taehyung sluggishly made his way over to the familiar kitchen island aligned with bottles. Just as he was going to pour himself another round, he realized his cup was all crumpled up. “Shit.” A little pout adorned Taehyung’s lips, whom tried his hardest to fix it, oblivious to a stack of new cups in the corner of his eyes. “New?” Taehyung’s head perked up, it was Mila. “Huh?” She laughed, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, “New cup?” Mila reached over close to Tae to grab one for him, unaware of the eyes lingering on her prominent cleavage. “Th-Thanks.” He gulped, shifting his attention to his bottle of choosing. Mila watched with curious eyes, bottom lip held captive in between her red-tinted lips, “I’m Mila. Mila Kuznetsov.” Taehyung turned his head over to her once again, seeing as she wanted to keep the conversation going. “What?” He could barely form a simple thought, much less speak all that clearly. “Mila, is my name. Uh.. last name, Kuznetsov.” She spoke in broken Korean, her strong accent peeking through. Tae’s eyes widened, “Kuzne—what?” His reaction earned himself a giggle, the corners of his own lips rising up. “Never mind.” She settled for a shrug of her shoulders, not planning on leaving Taehyung’s side anytime soon. “What’s your name?” Tae now comfortably leaned against the edge of the counter, wearing a cocky smirk on his face. He got the message. “Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

The night continunes, a comfortable dinner with lots of chatter, Ash flirting and throwing all kinds of signals towards Jungkook throughout the evening. It was enjoyable, the attention was amazing. He started getting comfortable, and slowly, Ash had started to get the younger to warm up. ''Did you like the dinner?'' He asked the doe eyed boy, whom happily finished off the last piece of his steak. ''It was delicious!'' He smiled, nose scrunched. So, fucking cute. Ash just wanted to ruin him right then and there. ''Alright,'' Ash wiped his lips with the napkin before getting up, reaching out to grab Jungkook's hand in his, ''Let's go, part two of our date!'' Jungkook tilted his head to the side, all while letting Ash guide him back to the car, ''What do you mean? There's more?'' A small smile crept on his lips, he's never had someone put this much effort in. Ash pulls him close by the shoulder, placing a soft kiss on JK's forehead followed with a laugh, ''You should see your face! yes, Kookie, there's more, but it's a surprise...'' Jungkook laughs too, his cheeks tinted with red as they move on to the next destination. This date seemed to be going pretty well.

“Wait, uh.. how do—how do you pronounce it again?” Taehyung was eager to learn, staring up at Mila from where she sat on the counter, looking the most determined he’s ever been. Yet another laugh, “Kuznetsov. It’s easy, no?” The elder threw his head back with a groan, one because of the dizziness, and the other due to the pent up frustration. “Easy?” He shook his head in utter disbelief, suppressing a laugh. “You don’t know what that means-“ He hiccuped, “do you.” The pair found themselves secluded away from everybody else, and surprisingly enough, Taehyung didn’t mind. He was learning a bit of Russian, all the while they talked about their likes, dislikes, friends.. The conversation seemed to go on forever. “You ass!” Mila playfully slapped Tae’s shoulder, hearing his deep laughter for the hundredth time that night. “I know the word easy..” A pout took over her plump lips, eyes lingering on Taehyung before they raked around the empty kitchen, awkwardly rubbing at her naked thighs. “Taehyung, you have a girlfriend?” Mila nervously chewed on the inside of her cheeks, batting her long eyelashes at him. He brought the cup up to his lips, mind wandering to the image of Jungkook. “No.” At the uninvited thought, Taehyung gulped the remainder of his drink down in one go, “Why. Are you interested?” Tae sat his cup down, noticing the way she uncrossed her legs. A couple seconds of silence passed by. “Maybe..” Taehyung’s smirk widened at the confession. Suddenly, alcohol was the last thing on his mind. “Maybe, hm?” He parted her legs, situating his body in between. Mila’s arms naturally found their way around his neck, drawing him closer. “Mhm..” With one last look at her ocean eyes, Taehyung tackled her lips into a messy, needy kiss. His big hands initially placed on her thighs, slowly traveling up her skirt, lastly going around to grope her ass. “Let’s t-take this up-upstairs.” He slurred his speech, taking a hold of her hand and disappearing into the first room he saw, nearly tripping on the last step. While Mila focused on stripping herself free of her clothes, Taehyung did the same thing, throwing his belt off to the side. He was eager to take his cock out from his boxers, chest heaving with adrenaline as he watched her get down to her knees, eyes darkening with lust. “Ah yeah.. fuck.” He rested his hand on the crown of her head, watching as she bobbed it at a fast pace from the start. Despite the immense amount of pleasure he was feeling, his body wasn’t happy with him. Tae began to feel.. nauseous, the space in between his brows covered by a cold sweat. “W-Wait..” Taehyung pulled away from Mila’s mouth, holding himself up by one arm against the nearby wall, working towards regaining his clear vision. Everything felt like a blur.. Why was the room spinning so much? Why.. His stomach grumbled. Before he knew it, the strong urge to vomit hit him like a truck, causing him to clasp a hand over his mouth. Not having enough time to run to a restroom, Tae’s knees gave out and he vomited on the carpet, his skin freakishly pale. “Taehyung!” She quickly rushed over to him, pushing past the smell. “Tae—“ Another round; it never seemed to falter. How much did he have to drink?! After he was done, Taehyung dropped his head against the wall, sharp eyes glassy. “I-I fuck.. I don’t— sorry.” A wave of emotions washed over him. Not knowing what else to do, Mila opted for reaching into the pockets of Taehyung’s jeans, getting a hold of his phone. She went to his contacts list, tapping on the first name that popped up. When the person on the other end of the line picked up, she breathed out, “Um, is this Taehyung’s friend? Please come, he’s not doing good.” Mila gave Namjoon the address and worked on dressing Tae back up as they waited.

''An arcade?! Really?!'' Jungkook was beaming, jumping in excitement like a child on christmas. ''Yeah, you said you like videogames, so I figured this would be the perfect date!'' Ash was surprised when Jungkook initiated to hug him, holding him in his arms for a long moment. Ash wrapped his strong arms around his waist, nuzzling his nose into the youngers hair. ''Let's go get you some prizes. I bet I can win more than you.'' Ash teased, seeing the way Jungkook's eyes ignite with the competitive side of him, ''You're gonna regret saying that!''

It went on, Jungkook excelled in every single game, earning higher scores than anybody to pile up the points. A proud smile beamed on his face while he sees the numbers rack up on the shooting game they played together, knowing he did the most damage out of the two, ''Told ya, I'm unbeatable.'' Ash crooked an eyebrow, putting the toy gun away to grab Jungkooks jaw and guide it closer to his face, hot breath fanning his face, ''Yeah? Perhaps I'll have to reward you for being so good at these games, hm?'' Jungkook felt the blushing heat rise on his cheeks. But, he figured, what the hell. He didn't pull away, but stared right back into his eyes. Ash made the first move then and there, in the midst of people rushing back and forth between games, chatter and music, he leaned down to press his lips against Jungkook's in a soft kiss. They withdrew for a short second before leaning back in, placing several chaste kisses on eachothers lips, their breath getting shallow, until they pull away to catch their breath. Ash presses his foreheads against Kook's, a small smirk on his lips, ''How about that for a first date, hm?'' Jungkook nods, ''Yeah, it's...good..'' It was good. Great, actually. But a part of him couldn't help but compare it to Taehyung. It wasn't the same. But it wasn't bad. He looked back up on the taller man, doe eyes sparkling from the reflection of the videogame screens surrounding them. Ash leaned into his ear to whisper his next words, ''Wanna get out of here?''

“Come on, Tae. Help me out a little..” Namjoon had one of Taehyung’s arm thrown over his shoulder, Mila had the other. Together, they worked towards getting the drunken male down the stairs, safely. Taehyung cooperated, for the most part, well.. as good as he could during a blurry state like this one. He nearly tripped over his own feet a couple of times, each one just as startling as the first for Namjoon, whom still couldn’t believe how much his night had taken a turn for the worst. The latter had been face deep into a pile of handwritten notes, in the middle of studying his hardest for an upcoming test when his phone began vibrating. He picked up Taehyung’s call, expecting to hear Tae’s voice only to be met by a woman’s with a heavy accent, clearly sensing her panic from the other line. A few minutes later, and Joon found himself in front of a cliché house party, no longer indulged in his studies. Obviously. Now, right at this second, his focus was on trying to get Taehyung in his car. Apparently seeing a guy get dragged down the stairs was nothing out of the extraordinary; no one even batted an eye, just continuing to move their sweat-glistened bodies to the beat of the song. It caught Namjoon off guard, but then again, he wasn’t one to party on the daily. The elder’s car was parked outside of the main entrance, and needless to say, Joon’s eyes lit up at the sight. They were so close! Just a few more steady steps to go.. “There, we got you Tae. Relax.” Namjoon softly reassured, hearing his friend’s incoherent mumbling as he buckled him in. With one last look at Taehyung, Namjoon braced himself for the embarrassment that was to come as he pivoted around in his spot to face Mila. “Thanks for calling, and.. sorry about all of this.” He sheepishly rubbed at his nape, feeling awkward speaking to the girl Taehyung was about to have sex with. “No problem, really.” She waved her hands in front of her face, as if telling him not to worry. Namjoon only nodded, pasting on a weak smile before hopping into the driver’s seat, starting his car. The blonde haired girl, however, had one last thing to say, “So, when Taehyung wakes..” Mila began, already nervous to continue. “Can you give this?” She extends out a small piece of paper for Joon to take, her phone number scribbled on the inside. Not given any reason to not take it, Namjoon happily did, reminding himself to give it to Taehyung when he was feeling less.. shitty.

At a time like this, Joon was glad his parents weren’t home; he had the feeling they wouldn’t like him bringing in a drunk person to crash on their couch. But, it was the least that he could do. Taehyung looked weak, and that was definitely a new look on him. The younger’s skin had lost most of its tanned melanin, his face lacking any trace of color. He could tell Tae was having trouble staying awake, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Namjoon brought in a bucket just in case— Taehyung leaned over the couch to empty out his stomach, panting from the light strain. Fuck, Namjoon had no idea what to do! He was freaking out. With shaky hands, the elder reached for his cellphone, knowing Jimin would be far more wise in a situation like this one.

To: Chim I have a problem. Taehyung’s passed out drunk on my couch, he’s sweating a lot and won’t stop vomiting. What the hell do I do?? he seems really weak so I don’t wanna move him

He pressed send, antsy to hear back a response. But, he never would, at least not from Jimin. Namjoon didn’t know that, of course. He didn’t know that he texted Jungkook instead.

“Yeah, that—“ Jungkook wasn’t able to finish his sentence when his phone chimed, fishing the phone out of his pocket to read it. Ash crooked an eyebrow, waiting for the answer, “Who’s that?” Kook freezes on the spot when he reads it; Taehyung passed out? Drunk? Throwing up? It felt like his heart was stuck in his throat at the thought, suddenly nothing else seemed to matter, cursing himself for even saying what he says next; “Hey, I have to go, it’s an emergency. Let’s.. call it a rain check?” He pleads, and Ash seems to be thinking about it. “You’re leaving our date that I prepared for you, for what?” “It’s my friend. He needs my help—“ the anxiety in him made him stumble on his words, feet already moving as he heaved himself on his tiptoes to place a quick peck on Ash’s cheek, whom seemed less than pleased about this, but, he let it slide.

For now. “Alright. Do you need a ride?” Jungkook shakes his head, he did not want to burden ash with this, no way, “I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he ran, as fast as he fucking could until he reached Namjoons house. He hadn’t read the text properly, not noticing it wasn’t meant for him. All he knows is that Taehyung is in a shit condition, and he needed somebody.

Why was that enough for him to drop everything and fucking run?

#fic: Love maze #bts high school au #taekook #taekook fic #taekook series #taekook smut #bts mxm #vkook fic #bts series

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