#he got invited but he's socially awkward rip

[gearbroth]

REAL SHIT?

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 spy #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier #tf2 sniper #tf2 pyro #wheeze #and little gordo for me <3 #he got invited but he's socially awkward rip #myart #it was SO fun to draw this honestly askjdhsa #i forget how much i love these guys sometimes #anyway TF2 UPDATE LETS GOOO

[simplydnp]

we usually get some kind of something from dnp over the holidays so the fact that we haven't means every single theory we have is right and occuring all at the same time. they got married. dan accidently bleached his hair and now he's blond and curl-less. they adopted a cat. they haven't seen each other in a week and a half and the universe ripped in half. they've gone into a post-gamingmas coma. they vlogged iom and lost the footage. they drank so much on new years they forgot to kiss and have been passed out since. the builders moved into their home when they were away for the holidays and they're too socially awkward to say anything. they're getting engaged and dan lost the ring. they've decided to do gamingmas 2 in february and are prepping those videos (wait til you see what they post on the 14th!). phil broke their computer by spilling coffee on it and he knocked it over with his ass. the reindeer decoration is enacting his revenge. they got invited to a red carpet and are playing possum so they have a reason not to go. phivorce part 3 (the sequel to phivorce 2: happily phoreverafter). they've gone to japan to film the devan japan honeymoon.

#open your mind the world is an illusion #tag yourself which theory are you! #dnp #c.text #dan and phil

[mrsjellymunson]

The Boy Is Mine [Kittie’s edition]

For @carolmunson’s absolutely wonderful The Boy Is Mine community-boosting writing exercise. Thank you Carol for creating this marvellous event 💛 Everyone go look at the guidelines and JOIN IN, no tag is necessary 😃

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

WC: ~1.6k

Rating: M, MDNI

C/W: Fluffy Fluffster McFluffington, friends to lovers, a few swears, descriptions of erotic drawings and literature, allusions to arousal, drug use (smoking the devil’s lettuce), kinda forced proximity?, Eddie is self-deprecating, Hellfire Club being stellar wingmen.

Prompts included: 3 prop prompts, 4 dialogue prompts.

—————————————————————

“What do you mean, we should all cancel?”

Gareth is looking at Dustin aghast, the other members of the Hellfire Club regarding the curly-haired boy with confusion.

“I mean exactly that. We should all cancel. Make it so it’s just the two of them.”

He continues, addressing the whole group.

“Aren’t you all sick of the awkwardness, the pining, the longing looks? I know I am. They’re never going to configure their own romantic night in, so I say we do it for them.”

Ever the insightful one, Erica continues Dustin’s campaign.

“He’s right, Gare, and you know it. These two doofuses are never gonna do it by themselves. So I say, save all of us the pain, and sacrifice one night of socialising for the greater good.”

“The greater good…”, the group grumbles in unison, most nodding sullenly at the loss of a night round at Eddie’s, but all agreed in their collective aim.

—————————————————————

You haven’t known Eddie as a friend for all that long. You only joined Hellfire a few weeks ago, and have smoked with him and the stoners at the bench in the woods a couple of times, but that’s about it. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been admiring him from afar for considerably longer, although you’d never tell him that.

Tonight is gonna be the first time you’ve spent time with him. Just him. At his trailer. Alone. Somehow all the other members of Hellfire ended up dropping out or having other plans, but they all insisted that you should definitely still go. You know you have no reason to be nervous, but there’s something that happens every time he looks at you that just makes you feel, well, fluttery.

You take a deep, steadying breath and knock on the screen door of the trailer, and from inside you hear a muffled, “Come in!”

Eddie’s sitting on the floor on a small throw pillow, his back against the couch, scribbling in a small, green notebook. It’s evident from the spoon sticking out of the container in front of him that he’s been eating vanilla frosting straight out of the tub. The weed must be getting to him already.

He looks up as you enter, and hurriedly closes the book as he goes to stand. He glances at his watch and greets you with a cheerful, if a little flustered, “Hey, sweetheart! Are you early? I didn’t think… Oh, I must’ve got distracted and lost a little time there.”

He beams at you as you move into the modest living room, dimples popping and those adorable chocolate brown eyes flashing in your direction.

Yeah, fluttery... You wonder how on earth you’re gonna keep it together for an entire evening.

Eddie beckons you over to the couch, and as you perch on the edge he invites you to spark up a pre-rolled joint as he somewhat self-consciously grabs the almost-empty frosting container and goes to the kitchen to get drinks.

As he moves, you can’t help but take him in. His hair is clean and fluffy, and he leaves a cloud of a not unpleasant masculine body wash in his wake. His shirt, which fits far too nicely, is a deep, unfaded black, and the print on the front seems really vibrant. It seems to be burn and tear-free, the sleeves are intact and attached, and it’s tucked into his jeans, which also appear to be devoid of rips. Could they all be… new? But, why would he be wearing his best clothes just for a simple social?

Taking a long drag from the joint and needing a distraction from all the unbidden fluttering, you grab the notebook. It’s one you’ve never seen before. It's pretty, and has an embossed cover sporting some kind of fantastical creature. It’s very Eddie.

Looking inside, you see drawings of dice, weapons, ubiquitous Eddie stuff. But then you spot some full-page sketches of sexy elves, a long-haired medieval maiden, boobs, even a couple of well-proportioned penises. You’re a little surprised, but the drawings are so good and the level of detail so exquisite that you almost forget the subject matter.

There’s some writing too, short scenarios about fantastical characters fucking on mountain tops, magical sex toys, a wizard with an impossibly long tongue... You know you shouldn’t be looking, but you can’t tear your eyes away, and you feel a subtle heat developing in your belly.

You skip to what must be his most recent scribblings, wondering what he was so engrossed with as you came in, which is where you find content that looks oddly… familiar. There’s an outline of a story about a magical prince ravishing a fair damsel at a location that sounds eerily similar to the spot in the woods that a group of you discovered only the other week. A sketch of a figure wearing a crown, surrounded by intricate renditions of dragons, who has your eyes and lips, and physical proportions that look an awful lot like yours. A picture of a hand, adorned with something that looks very similar to a bracelet that you wear, with one of Eddie’s rings on a finger...

Eddie returns from the kitchen with sodas poured into old plastic cups branded with worn logos that look like they came from a ball game years ago.

“The maid took the week off so we’ve run out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?"

You didn’t hear his socked feet pad in on the soft carpet, and his voice startles you. You jump, dropping the notebook onto the coffee table with a small thud. It falls open at the picture of the dragon lady.

Eddie freezes, eyes popped wide and jaw dropped open. He gapes a few times like a fish as you quickly scramble backwards onto the sofa, talking quickly and apologising profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie! I shouldn’t have been looking. I- I didn’t see much, honestly.”

He panics and rushes to put the cups down on the small coffee table, spilling a little from one of them. He quickly sits down next to you, and runs one hand nervously through his chestnut bangs while the other reaches shakily towards the notebook, but then pulls back.

He waves that hand in the air as he mumbles, “Umm, you weren’t supposed to see any of that. It’s, uh, ideas for campaigns or whatever. It’s just fantasy, y’know?”

He swallows thickly and his eyebrows pinch, and he’s studying your face to try to judge your reaction. Are you weirded out? Freaked? Upset? Angry?? Has he just ruined everything by forgetting to hide that damn book?

You see the terror in Eddie’s eyes, and you try to reassure him that you’re not offended by what you saw. In fact, quite the opposite. You blurt out,

“The drawings, they're really good. Amazing, actually. And the little stories, too. I sorta did read some, I’m really sorry. But it’s all really captivating. Kinda sensuous, almost visceral...”

You frown ever so slightly at your admission and chew your lip.

He asks, an endearingly hopeful look on his face,

“And… you like that?"

You look into his glinting, mahogany orbs and smile softly.

“Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

You shift in your seat, and Eddie can’t help but notice how you subtly clench your thighs together.

The edges of Eddie’s lips quirk up into the tiniest smile, as he realises that not only haven’t you completely freaked out, you also, apparently, even liked at least some of what you saw.

But just as quickly, his face drops. Looking at his lap and rubbing one thumb over his rings, he says quietly,

“Yeah, but it’s just fantasy, right? In real life, no Dragon Queen would ever want a freak like me.”

Bending forwards to peek under the curtain of hair that’s dropped in front of his face, you look up into his eyes, and state, softly,

“Aw, don't be like that. That's not even true. Some people would give anything to be your Dragon Queen."

He turns his head to look at you with a questioning expression.

“Yeah?”

Quietly, you reply,

“Yeah. You never know who’s gonna think you’re kind, and smart, and pretty…”

There’s a beat of tense silence. Needing something to do, you teasingly push at his knee with your hand. You both let out nervous little chuckles; it helps to dissipate some of the tension in the room.

As Eddie’s leg springs back from your touch, you notice that sometime during all of this your thighs have started touching.

Shit.

Fuck it.

Whether it’s the weed, or the contents of the notebook, or the way your skin feels like it’s on fire where it’s in contact with Eddie, or simply the way Eddie’s responding to your flattery and compliments, you feel emboldened, and decide to admit just a little of your feelings for him.

“You know, I find you pretty, Eddie.”

He looks genuinely surprised.

“You- You do?”

“Yeah. Really pretty. Gorgeous, actually, if I’m being truthful. And funny, and clever, and astonishingly creative, and-”

He cuts you off.

"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

“Oh yeah? And what kind of a problem would that be?”

His cheeks turn the most beautiful shade of pink as he admits, “The kind of problem that I’m gonna need to cover with a damn cushion, that’s what!”

You cackle, which makes Eddie laugh, a beautiful, booming sound emanating from deep in his chest.

You both start to giggle, all remaining discomfort dissipated. You theatrically bend and retrieve the pillow Eddie was sitting on earlier, handing it to him with a flourish as you dip your chin and peer up at him through your lashes.

“Might it also be the kind of problem that could one day be resolved by taking a certain Dragon Queen to a certain clearing deep in the woods, and doing certain things to her, perhaps with a certain magic tongue?”

Eddie inhales sharply through his nose, eyes twinkling, and suddenly looks dreadfully serious. His gaze locks with yours as he starts to lean into your space, and his gaze starts to flick between your eyes and lips.

He raises one hand to gently skim his fingertips down one side of your jaw and smiles a little as he says, in a low and husky voice that you can barely hear,

“Oh, my Queen, I think that would absolutely be the most perfect solution...”

—————————————————————

Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: If you haven’t seen Hot Fuzz, go do it. A reference near the beginning will make a whole lot more sense 😉 And if anyone spots the Shining reference somewhere in here, you win an invisible prize that you’ll never see, but it’s great, I promise.

Go go go check out the masterlist of other fabulous contributions for this challenge. Support your community!

Comments and reblogs give writers life, please share the love 💕💕💕

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician, and @sunshinepeachx bc we’ve bonded over Eddie fluff 😆

#eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfic #writing exercise #eddie munson #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #nervous!eddie munson #prompt challenge #prop challenge #self deprecating!eddie munson

[pedroschka]

not my type

Joseph Quinn x reader

words: 1.9k fluff

Summary: one sided feelings can destroy friendships, so you and Joe make it very clear that you both are not each other's type, pinky promise clear

A/n: @ghostinthebackofyourhead grab your favorite bread and (hopefully) enjoy because I'm your secret Santa!! thanks to @quinnyfairy for organising this <3

Mid laugh, brown eyes crinkling and his head thrown back, that's the blurry image of your best friend in front of you for the last two minutes.

"Joe as much I love to see your little potato head but your screen is frozen."

" ugh, shit! The bloody wifi connection at my parents' is the worst. Wait a second!" his voice on the other end is a bit muffled as he seems to be moving around, trying to fix it.

It was one day after Christmas and you and Joe are trying to have your own little celebration via video call while you both are at your family's and didn't want to wait till you eventually see each other in person again, unpredictable with Joe's busy schedule nowadays anyway. So you both had sent each other's presents via post and now wanted to unpack them together.

So now you sit on your bed in your old bedroom, presents scattered around you and your tablet in front of you with the frozen image of your laughing friend.

" OK, what about now?" Joe's face finally in time again and him waving at the camera

" yes, now get started I already tried peaking but you really are serious about your sticky tape"

" and see how it came in handy" his cocky little smile makes you roll your eyes while grabbing the first present on your left which already has a bit of wrapping paper ripped out, but sticky tape all around it preventing you from making out what it could be.

At the end, you both sit in a colorful mass out of wrapping paper, presents sorted in a little pile beside you, and now updating each other on the newest family tea.

" no! I swear my aunt was full-on gushing about how Eddie looked like her ex-boyfriend's when she was a teen and started showing pictures of you as Eddie all around the dining table, it was soo uncomfortable!" you comically shuddered and Joe's snickering like a little kid at your theatrics.

As comfortable and at ease you were now around him was the complete opposite when you first met each other a year ago.

You sat on your friend's couch, phone in hand, and playing some stupid game, that only seems to come to use in social situations out of ultimate boredom, but trying to look very busy for the people around you. Questioning why your friend even thought it was a good idea to invite you to one of her parties, celebrating whatever with a bunch of her actor friends, when you were the epitome of socially awkward and just overall really bad at meeting new people.

You tried, you really tried to be a part of some conversations, standing in a group full of, on first sight, cliché book extroverts, all of them with interesting lives and using big words talking about different plays, with you just standing there and fake laughing at their jokes you didn't understand and attempting to stop comparing yourself with them. Which didn't work so after a few exhausting hours in which you've been ignored or got an awkward "was nice meeting you" after you ranted too much about a topic you finally could understand you gave up. Your social battery drained and you loathing in self-pity.

Loud cheers and greetings make you look up from your phone, great even more people. The new guest is a very ordinary-looking guy, plain light washed baggy jeans hanging low on his hips, a plain white shirt, sneakers. Not bad on the eye with tousled brown curls as well as brown eyes but not really your type.

Still he held an aura around him that forced you to keep your attention on him, apparently the people around him felt the same effect as they were hanging on every word that was coming out of his mouth. Or is he... Famous around here?! And you are just the only one who has absolutely no idea who he is?

But you're already admiring him for a different reason, Looking so awkward but at the same time so charmingly charismatic and being able to find the right words and topic for each person. You couldn't help to be slightly jealous.

Forced to look down again as he looked across the room and dangerously close in your direction you continued your game, only looking up again as you felt the couch dip as someone sat themselves beside you, and you hastily tried to turn your phone away to not get caught.

"well, that looks fun" shit.

Unknown ordinary looking /maybe famous guy is smiling at you and nodding at your phone

"uggh, kinda" and your brain is letting you down again.

But he doesn't seem bothered by your brain-dead state and tried again to engage you in a conversation, ending up with him having your phone and you, hanging half over his shoulder, explaining to him how to play the game.

"oh, I'm Joe by the way!"

You met Joe a few times after that again and eventually exchanged numbers which resulted in a weird and chaotic friendship. With his ability to make you feel so comfortable around him and just being yourself, he has to endure your ranting over the most ridiculous topics or oversharing the most private things, but it doesn't seem to bother him, on the contrary, he seems to even encourage your weirdness and just adapt to it.

Because of this connection between you both, you lost count of how many times people thought you both were dating or how many times your friends and family tried to play matchmaker, so a pinky promise between you and joe was made that you both are on the same page, that you are not each other's type, both of you already familiar with how one-sided feelings can destroy a friendship, so better making sure at the beginning right?

It was now new years eve and like you planned with Joe in your last call you both were gonna drive over to a friend's house who's throwing a party to celebrate it together, in person this time.

Joe's gonna be at your place to pick you up in nearly 20 minutes and you're still sitting in front of your wardrobe in only your bathrobe and still wet hair, nibbling nervously on your fingernails and looking over all your clothes, eyes wide with panic debating what you should wear to look presentable for him.

Which is absolutely ridiculous because Joe has already seen you in your absolute worst states, coming over to you with pimple cream all over your face, greasy hair, and sloppy oversized shirts with holes and stains you couldn't even explain.

But you haven't seen each other for nearly a month now, well except for the few video calls but that's just different, and now you are a nervous mess, suddenly worried about your appearance and you hate it.

The buzzing of your doorbell makes you jump slightly, spraying the last bit of hairspray on your head and turning the music off, which you needed to hype yourself up, and speedwalking to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

Joe's standing in front of you in black slacks and a slightly striped white shirt, the last button undone and a necklace peeking out of it, and you feel your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

With a happy call of your name, he went straight into a hug and you suddenly felt distracted by the smell of his perfume, still the same one you smelt a thousand times but different regardless, Like his arms around you, squeezing you firmly into him, it's like your sensory perception is on high alert and suddenly everything feels more intense.

The car ride to the party is awkward to say at least, your nerves preventing you from coming up with anything other than occasionally humming or nodding as an answer, and after a few more tries from Joe he gave up, thinking maybe you're just nervous again because of all the people that are gonna be there and needed a few more minutes for yourself, so the car becomes silent and you hate it because that was your least concern right now, you felt like a bad friend, not seeing each other for a month and you can't even talk to him because this bloody nervous feeling just won't go away. So you both just stare at the road in front of you.

It's loud and full and lights flickering everywhere and you're so overwhelmed and tense that the weird feeling is forgotten for a moment and you're clinging to Joe, following him around like a lost puppy. Him ordering drinks for you both and chatting with people, trying to include you, taking you with him for smoke breaks, the only time when you both are separated is when one of you has to go to the toilet.

A few minutes before midnight a group of people had gathered on the balcony, with them you and Joe, shouting the countdown to the new year and watching fireworks exploding and illuminating the night sky.

" happy new year!" you screamed in each other's faces and laughed as you tackle each other in a big hug. People around you doing the same or walking around and giving the traditional New Year kiss.

Observing this you both looked at each other and shrugged while giggling, both slightly tipsy, and pecked each other on the lips. Physical contact wasn't unfamiliar to you, both being touchy when around people you feel comfortable enough, small kisses when saying goodbye, or cuddling together on your small sofa when watching some movies weren't new either. What was new was the feeling you felt as your lips met his.

As you separated you looked into each other's eyes, you always thought that his eyes were beautiful, even told him so, but you never felt such strong emotions when looking into them, unable to hold eye contact your gaze trailed to his lips, so full and soft looking and you never felt such a strong urge either to be near them. Subconscious you both lean in again and your lips met again but this time for a real kiss.

Warm flooded your body and you can't think of anything else other than the feeling of his lips against yours. His hands found the back of your neck to bring you even closer and you copied him, trailing your fingers through his curls, both of you starving for each other's presence and hungry for more, captivated and lost in your own little world.

Until a person stumbles into you and you remember again where you are.

Both of you catching your breath as you separated again, waking up from the trance-like state, emotional chaos whirling up in you again because you just made out with your best friend, with which you made a silly pinky promise and made very clear to not be each other's type to save this friendship but now you experienced the best kiss you ever had and when you look at his face now he is so beautiful and you can't help to want to kiss those lips again but you were also so overwhelmed because what the fuck does this all mean now.

Luckily Joe answers your questions as he leans in again for a third kiss, shorter but still as breathtaking.

" I know we promised to be not each other's type but do you wanna go on a date with me?" he asked against your lips and you both giggled as you nodded 'yes' before going into another kiss.

(reblogs and comments are very appreciated additional to your likes)

#secret santa project #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn #joe quinn fanfic #fanfiction #joseph quinn fluff

[natasha-in-space]

Hey ive a small request. I just thought of yoosung route with an mc who....actually knew him for a long time and had secretly crushed on him and admired him when both of them were in school. It is pretty canon that yoosung was a popular kid at his school and had many girls crushing on him. One of the girls happened to be mc who cant help but admire him from afar. Back in the day yoosung was the first guy who had been kind and sweet towards her and that stuck with her for the rest of her life. She never confessed her feelings, thinking that she might be "too weird" for him (since she was one of the "weird girls" of the class because of her shyness).

She however never found out about his grief regarding rika, she has a faint memory of him appearing sad on the day of graduation and she has no idea why...it just felt very unusual of him from her perspective. She mustered up some courage to ask him why he is sad but he pushed her away by plastering a fake smile and saying "im actually fine dont worry", she knew he was lying but that day she couldnt ask him more and force him to talk. Few days later she moves out to a different country with her family

Fast forward to current time she ends up being stuck in the apartment because she could not say no to an obviously shady man and finds the same guy she had once admired.

Because the mc here is a very socially awkward person, I am pretty sure she would end up only inviting a handful of people so its going to be the normal ending instead of good ending (which basically means that she would meet him at the hospital and not at the party)

So how do you think the reunion will be. I love your writings very much i want to see your take on this

Life can be so peculiar.

You can meet people by who's side you will end up spending the rest life with, by pure chance. Or, you can lose the one person you thought understood you more than anyone else could. It's unpredictable. And that's a thought that is both terrifying and relieving to ponder over late in the night, when there is nothing else fot you to do but just lay there and stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, deep in thought.

It was unexpected to meet Yoosung again, to say the least. It seems like such cliche story, ripped straight from some generic k-drama and not real life, doesn't it? A shy, closed off kid meeting their popular high school crush further down the line, when they are both now established adults with their own individual lives. But, then again, maybe it wasn't as strange. It's not like you went through some mind-boggling 'glow-up' in these few years, like characters in k-dramas usually do. You were still the same introverted and kind of nerdy dork you were in high school, just a bit more capable of putting up a somewhat acceptable front in public.

Yoosung, though? He was almost an entirely different person.

Well, not entirely, but he was still a far cry from the popular and academic boy you knew back in high school. Not in a bad way, per se... But, it still shocked you quite a bit once you got to know him fully. Then again, it's not like you have really known him at all until now. That doesn't mean your past crush on him was superficial by any means, but it was still rather innocent and puppy-like on your end. You wanted to get to know him better, to see sides of him you couldn't see when he was in public... but, you were far too insecure and skittish to be so bold.

Alas, life had other plans for you.

His hair was not the same neatly styled brunette you remembered. In its place, was a new bright blonde hue that fit him surprisingly well, layered in an adorably casual look that made your heart skip a beat the moment you saw his selfie in the chat, when you first joined. His choice of clothing was more free-spirited, less classy and uptight. The type that made you wonder how his shirts would look and feel on you if you were to borrow them. And his overall attitude seemed to have become a bit more carefree and lighthearted. These major changes surprised you. But, they weren't unwelcome by any means. They intrigued you. Made you want to talk to him, and learn all the ways that he has changed in these couple of years.

Thankfully, you were a bit more chatty behind the safety of your phone.

With chatting, you could take your time and make sure your wordings are correct. You didn't have to just say the first thing that came to mind and then follow through with it. You could express yourself accurately. And you would use that lucky opportunity to its full potential.

Yoosung's apparent active neglect of his studies was surprising to you. The straight-A student you knew back in high school was completely different from this older Yoosung. Maybe you should have been put off by this particular negative change of his, but it only made you grow concerned for him. The more you talked, the less... happy he appeared to you. Sure, his attitude was cheery and carefree on the surface. But, sometimes, you would read upon a phrase or two that would make you pause, your brows furrowing in concern and your heart clenching in your chest, despite it being passed around like a light joke or something.

I don't really know what my talents are.

I don't really know what I want to do.

I just play games to get rid of stress or feel less lonely.

Trying to find what you're interested in itself is a luxury.

It felt like... he just gave up on himself. On his future, and, subsequently, his own happiness. That thought was gnawing at you. It's like he didn't... believe he was capable of finding fulfillment in life, so he gave up on trying altogether. It wasn't right.

Although he may have neglected his studies, he remained the same passionate and lively person you fell for in back in high school. His drive was still there, but it was almost like it got fizzled out due to something you couldn't quite figure out yet. You did remember him seeming rather... downcast back at your graduation. No, he looked downright crushed.

You have a distinct memory of wanting to approach him and inquire about his wellbeing. Maybe you could have offered for him to come and spend some time with you. Yet, as always, you were far too big of a scaredy cat to do so.

Things had changed since then. You may be shy and timid, but you weren't going to let your fears and insecurities hold you back from doing something you knew in your heart was right. Not when life has given you a second chance like this.

And so, that's how you got here. You finally got to see him face to face after eleven days of complete and utter rollercoaster of emotions. Meeting Yoosung in the hospital ward wasn't how you planned it... but, you were just glad to see him smiling and safe.

Furthermore, his smile was meant for you. An observation that left you reeling as you walked sheepishly into his hospital ward, knowing that everyone has left to give you some alone time. It was just you and him now.

"...Hi."

He smiles wider, as if he's excited to finally hear your voice in person, no longer muffled by his speaker phone. You can see him straining a little bit to sit upright, but ultimately deciding against it. "Hi."

So much to say, yet so little time... You find yourself just staring at him for a few moments, before deciding to just go for it. Considering everything that happened during these eleven days between you two, there was no need for you to be cautious or distant. He was pretty straightforward with you about his feelings. Much more upfront than you could ever be. And, some part of you was still in disbelief that he has actually come to love you in such a short amount of time.

It was too good to be true.

You reach his bedside and sit on the chair placed neatly next to it. Without thinking much about it, you reach out and place a gentle hand on his palm, his skin soft and warm under your touch. It makes you smile almost inadvertently. "It's... so good to finally see you. Are you alright? We were all so shocked when Seven..."

"-I'm okay. You don't have to worry." Yoosung cuts you off in a soft tone, his smile turning a bit bashful, and you feel his fingers cautiously intertwining with yours, almost like he was testing the waters, wanting to see if you will pull away from his touch. Of course, you didn't. He sighs, seeming to be enjoying the comfortable silence for a brief moment, before continuing, his thumb warmly brushing the back of your hand. "I promise I'll tell you everything a bit later. There will be no secrets between us. I just... I want this moment to be about us, you know?"

Your heart flutters in your chest as you nod in response to such sweet words. You knew what he meant, though. You really did. He was brave enough to say it openly while you weren't. "What... do you want to talk about?"

You opt to give him the initiative here. To see where this would go. He hums softly, pondering for a few moments before replying, his eye always fixed on you. Not like you could blame him. Finally talking to him face to face and not having to imagine what he actually looks like, was having the same effect on you. You two might be more similar than you think.

"...I just... I can't help but think that this was fate, you know? That Rika really did bring you to me. To help me find what I have lost back when she left us. To help me move forward with my life." He licks his lips, and you give him an encouraging nod, letting him know that you are indeed listening. Rushing this was not necessary. He seemed to appreciate your gesture, with an adorably sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that made your heart swell. "It's funny... I was so popular back in high school, I had so many people I called my friends, and yet, I barely have seen them since then. Yet, the one who made their way back into my life like a hurricane was... you."

You can't help but chuckle and shake your head a little bit. "I would say it was the other way around... but, I am flattered to hear that."

You sway in your seat, unsure if you should mention it or not. In the end, you make the decision to be truthful. You two are technically a couple now, after all. It's only right to be honest with him. And... a huge part of you was always longing for a chance to tell him what you were far too scared to tell all those years ago.

So, you go for it.

"...How surprised would you be, if I told you that I actually had a huge crush on you back in high school?"

You watch his eyes widen and his mouth fall open as he just stares at you for a few moments, completely taken aback by your revelation. It was both endearing and a bit embarrassing to witness. You chuckle nervously, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you look down at your hands locked together, suddenly far too shy to look him in the eye.

"You just seemed so out of my league back then... You were the popular guy - one everyone liked. And, I mean... who was I? Just an anxious mess always sitting in the back of the class. Invisible and weird. So, I... never really approached you about it." You pause, your expression growing a bit somber as you call back to the day of your graduation. An event that was meant to be a moment of triumph and joy. A celebration of the start of your future. Yet, for you two, it wasn't anything like that. "What I always regretted the most, though... was not talking to you back at our graduation. I could tell that something was wrong, but I was too much of a chicken to actually do anything about it. So, I... when I walked into that apartment, and realized it was actually you... I don't know. I just felt like life has given me a second chance. To make things right this time."

There are a few minutes of silence between you two, nothing but the muffled noises of the hospital bustling with life on the other side of the door, and your shared breathing. Despite this, it's not suffocating or uncomfortable at all. It's oddly peaceful. You know he's processing all that you just told him, and you feel strangely calm as you give him all the time he needs before he responds.

Yoosung gently tugs your hand, a silent request for you to look up at him, and you grant him that request without any reservations on your part. His rosy eye is soft as he looks at you, and his brows slightly knit together, but it is not an expression of displeasure or unhappiness. Rather, it's a look of curiosity and disbelief that makes your breath catch in your throat. You remain silent, though, just waiting for him to come up with his piece.

You told your truth. Now, it was his turn.

"All this time... All this time you were right there, by my side, and I didn't even know it. You really are my blessing, aren't you, Y/N?"

His voice shakes as he speaks, his throat bobbing as he clearly attempts to swallow his emotions. It doesn't seem to work, though, as you can see his eye glistening slightly with unshed tears. So much for not getting emotional. As you gently squeeze his hand, you feel yourself becoming quite choked up too. A small laugh escapes you: a natural response to a rather emotional exchange happening between you. "I wouldn't call it that... I was too much of an anxious mess to do anything for the majority of that time. I'm still that awkward, scared kid, to be quite honest. Just a little bit more mature now."

Yoosung shakes his head, and an adorable pout takes its place on his cheeks. He almost seems offended when he hears you talk about yourself in this manner. "You are so much more than that."

"Yeah?" You smile, finding his insistence rather cute.

"Your words, your encouragements, your trust in me - it all gave me strength to let go of my grief and move forward with my life. Before you came along, I... I was just adrift. After Rika passed, I... I honestly felt like a big part of me died with her. I no longer knew who I was, or what I was meant to do, or if there was any point to what I do, if all my efforts could be just ripped away from so cruelly. I gave up on myself. Truth is, deep down, I didn't believe I could be happy. But, you..." he squeezes your hand, laying his other palm atop of it now as well. "You came along, and you believed in me, when no one else did. You encouraged me and told me that it's never too late to seek out that happiness I thought I lost. You never judged me, never made fun of me. You just... listened. Listened and accepted me for who I was. No, you saw things no one else saw, not even me. I can finally say that I am proud of who I am, and that's because of the way your words have motivated and encouraged me. You are the most brave and amazing person I know. And I'll be damned if I don't tell you that every single day from now on."

You're at a loss for words when faced with such a heartfelt speech. It's just too much. In the best way possible. You are pretty sure you can feel a couple of tears sliding down your cheeks now, as a tiny laugh slips from your lips. You wipe your eyes with your free hand, sniffing.

"...I forgot how great you are at giving motivational speeches."

Your blunt response makes you both laugh, a new lightness filling your chest as you suddenly feel all your nerves fade from your mind. Yoosung didn't make you nervous. Not at all. You knew you were safe with him. Just like you always took his problems and struggles seriously, he would do the same for you.

"I wasn't the class president for nothing, you know."

"That you weren't."

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #yoosung kim #kim yoosung #mystic messenger yoosung #yoosung x reader #woo! sorry it took so long anon! #i actually wrote out the first draft before my surgery but didn't finish it before it 💀 #but i quite like how it turned out! #yoosung is honesty a big sweetheart reading through his route for this request made me appreciate him even more

[sl-newsie]

Cool Your Jets- Ch. 3: Let’s Dance (Riff x newcomer)

I finish cleaning up my sad attempts to make dinner and then go to freshen up when I hear a knock on the door.

“Riff, if that’s you I’m gonna rip your arms off-!” I hiss as I yank the door open, only to find a dark blue swing dress with a note attached to it.

Marilyn,

Anita made this for you! She wants you to show those Jets who’s boss! See you at the dance!

Maria :)

A smile grows on my face as I take the gorgeous blue dress inside. There’s a dotted pattern on the skirt and low-cut bodice, and like my other new dress it’s very flowy. I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to repay Anita for this! I slip it on with a tulle petticoat and twirl in front-a the tiny bathroom mirror. After some makeup and a halfway-decent hairstyling I think I’m ready, and I almost feel too dressed up. Back in the country, simply wear’n a dress with no mud spots on it was fancy enough, but I know city folks got higher standards.

As I head out I remember that I’ve got no clue where this place is, so I decide to go with my intuition and follow a group-a dressed up Puerto Ricans to a school. I wish I could go to school, but since I gotta pay rent there’s no use try’n to squeeze in time.

Inside I can already hear blare’n swing music and the sound-a lots-a people talk’n and laugh’n. I stick to the wall and scope the gym out, noticing that the Sharks and Jets have divided the room.

“Marilyn!”Maria rushes up, dressed in white, and engulfs me in a hug. “You came! And you look wonderful!”

“Of course she does!” Anita walks up, she herself wear’n a black and red dress.

“I must admit, amor- this it definitely the best dress you’ve made.” Bernardo smirks. “Sorry about earlier, chica. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

I wave it off. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m new here same as you, more water under the bridge. I haven’t been to a dance in months, so let’s dance!”

We group together and walk onto the dance floor, and I notice that Anita and Bernardo take no regard for the line separating the Sharks and Jets. I feel awkward just stand’n here by myself, so I just stay off to the side.

“Hey! Ya made it!”

Mouthpiece runs up with a big smile on his face. “How’re ya supposed to dance when you’re tucked away in the corner? Come dance!” He takes my hand and starts lead’n me to the center-a the room.

“Uh I donno, Mouthpiece. Everybody here’s dancing so intense, and back home we’ve never had social events like this-”

“Just relax! Have fun!” Mouthpiece jerks my arm and sends me falling towards the floor, only to scoop me back up and twirl me around.

“Aw- oh- Oh my God!” I cry as he lifts me up. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m dancing with a pretty goil!” He grins as he twirls me again.

I chuckle sarcastically. “You’re too kind, Mouth!”

“That your new nickname for me?”

“No, it’s just that you can sometimes have a big mouth.”

“Aw!” He dramatically clutches his chest. “I’m scarred beyond repair!”

“Get over it!” I playfully push him and he takes me in for anodda dip.

“I’ll take over from here.”

We both turn and see Riff standing next to us with an amused smirk on his face.

“Jeez, boss. We just got started,” Mouthpiece whines.

“I’m sure Velma wants a fella to dance with,” Riff waves him off. Mouthpiece leaves after giving me a quick look of apology. Now Riff turns to me and offers a hand.

I put my hands on my hips. “Why on Earth would I dance with you after that? Mouthpiece invited me to a nice dance, and now you come here all high-and-mighty try’n to cut in!”

“I just wanna get to know the new goil in town. C’mon, ya won’t regret it!” He winks.

Cautiously, I look around and spot Grazi with anodda Jet.

“Won’t your goil get jealous?”

Riff follows my gaze. “Grazi? Nah, Diesel’s keep’n her company. Right now I’m all yours.”

I give him one more skeptical look, then roll my eyes in defeat. “Fine.”

He takes my waist, a lot more snug than Mouthpiece I might add, and starts waltz’n us all over the room.

“Took a while to find ya! You been look’n for me?”

“When I came I expected to find the leader of a stubborn gang.” I shrug.

He laughs. “Oh really?”

I give a devious smirk. “I’ve been trying to find him, but all I can see is a cleaned-up Jet boy.”

“Ey! Get away from her!” Bernardo comes up and shoves Riff away from me.

“You got a problem, amigo?” The Jets leader pushes Bernardo and they both start circle’n each odda.

“Guys, just stop it!” I try to break them up but it’s no use.

“She’s with us, punk!”

“That’s funny ‘cause last I checked she was meet’n with us!”

“Guys!!” I get in-between them and they seem to remember I’m still there. “I’m here for everyone! Can you guys just go ten minutes without fighting?”

“Hey, hey, hey! Everybody please calm down!” A chaperone comes up to stand in the middle of the Jets and Sharks mob. “There are beautiful goils here that wanna dance, can’t we all just get along?” He goes to talk more about social rules, but then-

“There you are!” Anita comes over and yanks me over towards Maria on the sidelines. “What are you doing? I suggest you stay with Maria and Chino until this mess gets settled.”

Maria huffs. “Anita! We want to dance!”

Anita shakes her head as she heads back to dance with Bernardo. “You can, away from the Jets!”

I sulk in the corner as a massive dance-fight takes place: Sharks vs Jets.

“¡Oye, Javi! Ponle fuego, ¡vamos!” Anita shouts.

Maria and Chino eventually join in, but me being alone leaves me awkwardly pacing back and forth.

“Mambo!”

“Mambo!”

“Go!”

As I watch the dance break out, I can’t help but be a little bit jealous of Riff ‘nd Grazi. She looks like she’s having so much fun, but Riff seems… distracted. He keeps look’n at Bernardo, and Bernardo keeps look’n at Riff. I gotta say- he ain’t a sight for sore eyes. I can understand why Grazi keeps him so close, and can’t help but feel sad that I don’t got no fella to call my own.

I make my way to the back, but then Riff seems to recognize someone next to me. He leads Grazi over, leaving me to stiffly loiter around and stare at the ground.

“Tony! Ya made it! I knew you’d come!” Riff beams with joy. He pulls me forward and gestures to a tall, dark, and handsome guy. “Marilyn, this here’s Tony. One-a the Jets’ founding members and my best friend! Tony-” He gestures to me. “This is Marilyn Jackson. Just moved here from upstate, so we’s make’n her feel welcome.”

Tony shakes my hand. “Pleasure to meet ya! I’d ask ya to dance but I promised my parole offer I wouldn’t get too involved with social events. I only came ‘cause Riff said I would-”

“And ya still came!” Riff smiles.

Tony gives him a glare. “Only for half an hour. I’s here for you, not to cause a rumble!”

Riff shrugs. “Ya can’t back outta this, buddy boy. Soon as the coast is clear we’s meet’n the Sharks to set it up.”

My face twists to a confused expression. “What’s a rumble-?”

“C’mon Riff, let’s dance!” Grazi grasps Riff’s wrist and pulls him back to the crowd, leaving me with Tony.

“Is he always this reckless?’ I ask.

He sighs. “Ever since we was kids. I was the one to hold him back, but since I’s been gone I fear that Riff’s been get’n outta hand.” He looks around the gym, then says: “I think I’m just gonna drift around ‘nd make sure the Jets play fair, if ya get my drift? You go on ahead- enjoy yourself!”

I go back to watching everyone jive and dance, and wondering what other odd characters I’m gonna meet in this city. I’m already caught between 2 gangs- what else is in store for Miss Jackson?

“You wanna dance, buddy boy?” I hear Riff jab- most likely at Bernardo.

Uh-oh.

I try to get closer to the clump-a angry dancers, but the chaperones and policemen are block’n my path. Once I do make it through, an argument’s already panning out.

“But I wanna dance! Riff, you said we could dance!” Grazi wines.

“I know, I know doll. Lemme just-”

“No! I’m sick-a this!” She shoves him and storms past, but then turns back. “We’re through!” She glares at me. “He’s your problem now!”

I just stare wide-eyed as people around me begin to argue, until Anita comes over and guides me into the hallway.

“Come, chica. This is no place for a young lady.”

I shake my head. “Is it always like this? Stupid gangs ruining social events?”

Anita nods. “I’m afraid so. All we can do is try to calm them down when it’s over.”

She goes off to the bathroom to fix her makeup, while I go sit next to Maria in the hallway. But she seems… distant.

“Maria? Are you ok?”

She nods, but then seems to rethink and shakes her head.

“Maria, what’s wrong?”

“I- I danced with a Jet boy,” she whispers. “And… I think I like him.”

I frown. “Who?”

“I think his name is Tony?”

“Oh, Riff’s friend! I kinda know him, he seems nice. What’s wrong with that?”

“Because Bernardo hates him! He hates all the Jets.”

I notice Tony walk up with Riff and the odda Jets as they go off with the Sharks.

Anita huffs. “Come, Maria. We’ve had enough drama for one night, so let’s head home. You coming, Marilyn?”

I look back and forth between the Jets that are still present and Anita. “Sorry Anita, but I’m gonna stay a bit longer and keep the guys in-check. You go on and get home safely.”

She nods and starts guiding Maria away, leaving me standing next to Tony.

“Buenas noches, Marilyn!”

“G’night, Maria!” I call back.

“Maria? Maria…” I see Tony get a dazed look in his eyes.

I wave a hand in front of him. “Uh, Tony? Earth-to-Tony? Ya with us?”

He blinks. “Marilyn? Have you ever heard-a luv at foist sight?”

“Uhh,” My eyes widen and my jaw drops. “Kinda?”

Tony gives a dopey smile. “Then I think I’m in luv! Marilyn, I just kissed the most beautiful goil I’ve ever met, and her name’s Maria!”

I gasp. “Maria? You mean my neighbor, Maria?”

“She’s your neighbor? Wow, you’re lucky!”

“She was just talk’n ‘bout you!” I hiss, look’n around to make sure nobody’s listen’n.

Tony gawks at me. “She was? What’d she say?!”

“I ain’t gonna be spill’n gossip- it’s just plain evil!” I cross my arms.

“Aw, c’mon Marilyn! Please! Does she luv me back? Did she like dance’n with me?” His smile fades. “Or- or does she hate me, and never wanna see me again…?”

I hold my hand up to steady the poor guy. “Alright, alright, fine! She luvs ya! Just don’t go have’n a meltdown on me! I got enough emotional baggage as it is!”

Tony’s face looks as if he’s been born again. “In that case, I’m gonna go find her!”

He starts off towards the exit, leaving me nearly speechless.

“Tony- Tony! Ya can’t just track her down! That’s creepy-!”

But it’s too late. Tony’s already head-over-heels and is out the door.

“Marilyn!”

Riff, now look’n more smug than ever, strides up. “Where’s Tony? He's gonna miss the meeting.”

I point to the door. “Just missed ‘im.”

Riff shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to fill him in later. Right now I gotta go meet with Bernardo.”

“Ay ay! Leave her alone!” Anita comes up and waves him off. She leads me away, but not before I look back one more time and see Riff air-kiss me goodbye.

As he turns to leave, Anita scrunches her face. “I suggest you stay away from that Jet boy- Riff. He’s no good for you. I’m going to tell Maria the same thing about her Jet boy- they’re all the same.”

“Tony’s not. He’s not like them, and he wants noth’n to do with the Jets. He’s only here because he’s their friend.”

“Once a Jet, always a Jet,” Antia argues as Bernardo strolls up to us. “Hola, mi amor! I left Maria with Chino.” She points at me. “And came back for you because Bernardo said he just scheduled a rumble for tomorrow night, and I do not want you around those Jets!” She walks off again, and that word keeps ringing in my head.

“A- A what?” I frown. “I’ve heard that word before… Riff mentioned it…”

Bernardo nods. “It’s a rumble, señorita. An all-out fight between gangs when only one comes out on top. We just planned out with the Jets for tomorrow night, so I suggest you stay in unless you want trouble.”

Bernardo storms outta the room with Anita, leaving me alone to think over this idea until Mouthpiece finds me again.

“Hey! I lost ya! Where’ve ya been?”

“Do you know about the rumble?” I ask darkly.

Mouthpiece opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “Who told you?”

“Bernardo.”

He scoffs. “Figures some PR would tell ya.”

“Is it really that bad?” My voice is uneven.

He avoids my gaze and nods. “Yeah, it can get pretty bad. That’s the reason Tony got locked up ‘cause he nearly beat a kid to death last year.”

My hand flies to my mouth. “Death? Mouthpiece… I don’t want anyone to die, is there any way to settle this without fighting?”

He smiles a little. “Ya worried ‘bout me, doll?”

“I’m serious! None-a you deserve to die! I could talk to Bernardo, he might call it off…”

“Fat chance.”

I roll my eyes. “What ‘bout Riff? If I could talk to him-”

“Ask and ye shall receive.” Riff strolls in, leans against the wall, and motions for Mouthpiece to leave. “Ya look’n for me, beautiful?”

I storm up to him and poke a finger at his chest.

“So. Tonight was all a ruse to plan a fight. And all for what? Territory? Because Tony danced with Maria?”

“That’s the broad’s name?” Riff asks with a scrunched face.

I smack him and start to breathe heavily.

“I was right. The rough gang leader was here tonight- a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You should be ashamed of yourself. They have every right to be here, same as you!”

Fed up with this, I storm off outta the gym and into an alley, all the while ignoring the faint calls from the aggravating Jet leader.

#riff west side story #west side story imagine #west side story x reader #riff lorton #riff west side story x reader #riff x reader #tony west side story #maria west side story #mouthpiece west side story #anita west side story #bernardo west side story #west side story baby john

[dreadfulsanity]

"Hey, Panam. Thanks for coming." "Of course." Panam looked around. "Nice pad." "Thanks. Beer?" "Sure, thanks." "Get your ass comfortable on the sofa. I'll be with you in a minute."

Valerie went to her mini-fridge, which was loaded with beer and a half-eaten burrito from ages ago. If she would open the wrapping, she'd probably find an entire new ecosystem.

Three beer in hand, knowing Panam's drinking habits by now, she made her way to the couch. "There you go." She handed her one bottle and put the other two on the table in front of Panam. "So, what's this about?" "I... god, this is fucking awkward. Promise not to laugh." V started fiddling with her fingers. "There's this guy I've met. His name is River. Ex-badge..." Panam raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know. Not the best mix in the world, right? But he's a good guy." She grabbed her bottle, took a huge sip and started peeling off the label. "I've had this job. From non other than the aspiring mayor of Night City, Jefferson Peralez. He wanted me to dig into Lucius Rhyne's murder. That's how I met River. Spent the day together, following leads, finding new evidence. At the end of the day I thought that was it. That I'd never see him again. But a couple days later... actually, the day after we got Saul out of that Raffen camp, he called again. Said he needed my help. And part of me was... happy, I guess, to hear from him again. We met, he showed me a news clip about the NCPD catching some sicco who abducted several teens. Then told me about his nephew who was missing. Won't bore you with the details, but long story short, we found him and several other kids at a farm out in the badlands. He kept them like cattle, pumping hormones and who-knows what into the kids. Randy's alive, and currently in hospital. And again, I thought that was where our paths would part." "Let me guess. You heard from him again?" Panam asked, taking another sip from her second bottle. "Yep. Invited me over for diner. With his family. Sister and two other kids." "And you don't know what it means or if it means anything." "Yep. Listen... I was always the awkward one when it came to these things." Panam laughed. "You and awkward?" "Hey, I can socialize just fine. But... I was always the last one finding out when someone had a crush on me. Problem is, I think I've crushed on him. Hard." Valerie sighed. "Alright. Let's start with the call. What did he say?" Valerie looked sheepishly before pulling out her phone and playing the recording from the call. "You record your calls?" "Yeah. Mostly to cover my bases. The private ones I normally delete right after." "Except for this one." "May come in handy now."

Panam listened to the conversation, her lips moving from serious into a big grin. "Seriously, V?" "What?" "He could never forget about you? He misses you? He basically jumped out of his pants after you said you'd come over for diner. And you need my help in figuring this out?" "I... wasn't sure if I'd read too much into it." Panam laughed. "Sorry, not laughing at you. But come on, V. That guy is head over heels about you. And by the way, he's looking hot. Aside from that weird outdated eye implant. Nice voice, too." "You really think so?" "What, that he's good looking?" "Panam..." "Just kidding. Yes, I do."

"Fucking hell, V. Are you seriously considering fucking that badge? Could you at least take some blockers when you have a girly talk? This whole interaction is making me puke." "Shut the fuck up, Johnny."

"Okay, Pan. Next problem. What the hell do I wear? I mean, I barely have any clothes that don't have blood or grease stains on them." "Let's raid your wardrobe, shall we?" Panam got up and went over to the open closet. Val followed her.

She was right. Most of her stuff had stains, bullet holes, ripped fabric. "First thing is not to make yourself someone you aren't. Second, how old are his other nephews?" "Niece and nephew. Twins. I don't know. 10? Didn't ask." "So it needs to convey a message, but also to be PG." Panam grabbed some clothes, looked at them and threw them on piles, one for no, one for yes and one for maybe. "Let's go with your usual threads, but show a bit more skin. Showing off some more of that tattoo, spurring his imagination how the rest would look like. But keeping the important bits covered, for two reasons. One, to keep it PG, the other one - again - to get his neurons firing. Come on, try it on."

V slipped into her washed out, ripped jeans, a top, which Panam knotted right under her breasts, and put the cropped sweater she was wearing on top.

"Yep. That'll work. And don't worry too much. If your date doesn't end with you on top of him, I'll eat my Thorn." "God, why am I so nervous? I hate it." "V, you were in a relationship before, right?" "Of course. But that was with Nomads. At most you've tried to find something with the least amount of grease stains. This feels... different." "Maybe someone isn't just crushing, but falling in love, hu?" "Great. The last thing I need right now." "We don't chose when and with whom we fall in love with, V." "I guess not. I just hope he isn't too mad that I had to postpone the diner already." "What happened?" "How about we order some pizza and have some more beer. I've had a rough couple of days." "Sure. Can I crash on your couch tonight?" "What a question. Of course you can."

Val ordered two pizza and then slumped down on the couch next to Panam, telling her about Evelyn.

"Fuck, V. I'm sorry." "Yeah, me too. I just hope Judy is doing alright. Fucking Night City, am I right?" "I'll drink to that."

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: glitch #female v #panam palmer #cyberpunk 2077 oc #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cyberpunk 2077 screenshots

[bazwillendinflames]

Are We On The Same Wavelength? (3/4) (Dylan/Ryan)

Read on AO3 | First Chapter | Last Chapter | Next chapter

Sequel to Second Chances, my college radio au. Thank you to everyone who commented on and supported that fic, it means so much to me!

“Have you ever liked someone so much you feel like you’re going to explode?”

After accidentally confessing his crush live on air, Dylan got his second chance with his dream guy. But as his relationship with Ryan develops, he feels out of his league. Can he finally find the words to express the extent of his feelings?

Dylan could hear the music of the party before he even got into the house, a catchy but very 2010s pop song. For a moment, Dylan considered that he might be at the wrong place, but Ryan wasn’t the type to prank him like that. He’d written the address in his neat handwriting on the back of his palm after dropping him off Thursday and he’d texted Dylan that morning too.

Once he got closer to the house, he passed a small group of girls outside passing around a cigarette with tightly curled hair and bright plastic jewelry that was more on theme than the playlist. The door had been left ajar and he pushed it open, stepping into the party, already scanning the crowd for Ryan.

At the only party he’d been invited to in high school, he had broken his arm and been chewed out by his Mom in the emergency room when she realized he had been drinking. By comparison the college parties Kaitlyn had dragged him along to had been more successful but he usually found himself acting like an idiot in the overwhelming social situations. At least Ryan was more of the hang out in a quiet corner type of guy.

Dylan was halfway through a text to Ryan, when he collided with someone with an arm full of beer bottles, which fell from his grip and rolled off into the crowd.

“Shit, sorry man,” Dylan said.

The guy he had bumped into had already bent down to pick them back up, the purple windbreaker he was wearing rustling. “It’s fine, no casualties.”

“That’s what I get for walking and texting. Technology, right?” He joked, rescuing a bottle from under a table.

“Just pretend that phones haven't been invented yet.”

“And use a landline to call my date?” He asked. “In this economy?”

Dylan still had the bookmark Ryan had scribbled his number on hidden in his backpack but that wasn’t something he was going to tell a stranger. He hadn’t even told Ryan, who at least had the decency to not tease him about the embarrassing series of events that led to where they were not. (Kaitlyn had no decency, so he got plenty of it from her.)

“Dude?” Dylan realized that the guy had been saying something. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Being recognised seemed like a fun idea when Kaitlyn first mentioned it, but the novelty had worn off quickly. “Yeah, I do the radio-”

“You’re Ryan’s date!” The guy interrupted, snapping his fingers.

Dylan nodded, relieved. “Yeah, lucky me right. Have you seen him?”

“Sure, he’s with Laura in the kitchen. I’m Max.” With his arms full, Max bumped their elbows in greeting, which was a little awkward but still worked.

Dylan followed him as they pushed through an already crowded lounge.

“Who picked this music?” He asked, as another generic pop song came on. If there wasn’t any ABBA at this party, he was going to make a formal complaint.

“No idea. Why, missing your day job?”

“I am a professional playlist maker,” he replied, wishing Kaitlyn was there to appreciate the joke. “It’s just not eighties and-”

Whatever point he was making about the music playing being about thirty years too late was forgotten once Dylan spotted Ryan, standing in a quiet corner like he’d been expecting.

Ryan was talking to a pretty blonde girl in a colorful patchwork shirt who had to be Laura. Her outfit was cool, complete with a vintage baseball cap, a comically oversized scrunchie around her wrist and dark velvet pants, but Ryan looked gorgeous. He was wearing the band shirt they’d picked up with some ripped jeans and his usual beat up Doc Martens. Ryan had cut the red flannel he’d brought into a vest and added some badges and safety pins to complete the look. Dylan was fairly sure having his arms out was cheating somehow, because he managed to trip over his own feet. Ryan spotted him then, looking amused. He put down the empty bottle he had been clutching, making his way over. Max took his space by Laura, adjusting her cap to give her a kiss.

“Hi Dylan,” Ryan said. “You finally made it.”

“Couldn’t leave you without your plus one.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking but Dylan could swear Ryan seemed more relaxed now they were together. “You went with the pink.”

Dylan looked down at his pink and green sweater. He’d stayed up to do a midnight laundry run so it would be ready to wear and had spent the whole train ride debating whether or not it suited him. But the sly way Ryan had looked him up and down made it totally worth it.

“You made a good case. I think the exact words were ‘you’d look totally handsome in pink.’”

Ryan was good at playing it cool, But he could make out the tiniest hint of a smile. “That’s not at all close to what I said. But it's true, so I’ll give you a pass.”

“You look good too. Very punk,” Dylan said.

Now he was closer, he could make out what Ryan had decorated his newly cut vest with: a collection of band badges, a little rainbow, and a Ponyo pin. More importantly, Ryan had smudged black eyeliner around his already pretty brown eyes and he enthralled.

“It was Sarah’s idea to DIY it,” Ryan answered, oblivious to the effect his new look had on him. “She said DIY is pretty punk. If you care about the opinion of a fourteen year old who’s going through her Hot Topic and hair dye phase.”

“So she’s much cooler than you?” Dylan joked.

“She wishes.” Ryan was full on grinning now. “So, you bumped into Max?”

“Yeah, very literally.”

He rolled his eyes. “That sounds like Max. I’m pretty sure he’s the reason why Laura always carries a first aid kit.”

There was a fondness to how Ryan spoke about his friends, the same as with his sister. Behind all the hot broodiness, he was kind of a softie. Ryan looked at Dylan that way too sometimes and he desperately wanted to crack the code to how to achieve it. (There was no way it was as simple as just wearing his glasses.)

“Ryan!” Laura called, waving them over. “Come over and introduce us to your boy.”

“So I’m your boy?” Dylan asked, trying to figure out if that rated higher than date or not. Although it was definitely better than plus one.

Ryan didn’t give him an answer, looking vaguely embarrassed.

They rejoined Max and Laura, who had somehow melted together; his arm around her shoulders, Laura resting her head against his chest, their fingers intertwined.

“Finally,” Laura said. “Ryan was really hoping you’d wear the pink.”

Dylan glanced over but he was avoiding looking back. He turned his attention back to Laura. If there was ever a time for charming blasé Dylan, it was now.

“I didn’t realize he was such a fashion critic. You guys look awesome by the way. Seriously, you could be in one of those eighties horror flicks I can barely sit through.”

“Thanks. This was my Mom’s shirt.” Laura’s posture was at ease but her eyes were alert though, scanning him with an intensity that reminded Dylan a little of Kaitlyn. He was in for one hell of a shovel talk when (if) he and Ryan got any further.

“We’re glad to finally meet Ryan’s secret admirer,” Max added.

He winced. “That will be a funny story one day.” If you asked half his friends, it was a funny story already.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Ryan asked.

Dylan took the out. “Yeah.”

“I already bought over the beers,” Max was saying as they left.

“Sorry,” Ryan said. “I should have told Laura not to bring up the whole radio incident.”

“Oh Kaitlyn gives me way worse shit for it,” Dylan said. “Which reminds me, those two should never meet.”

“We wouldn't survive it,” Ryan agreed. “The minifridge is in the lounge if you actually want a drink.”

“I’d love one.”

They clinked the bottles together in a cheers.

“Shit,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“The bottle opener is still in the kitchen.”

-

Dylan’s second attempt at bonding with Ryan’s friends had gone better. Ryan had mentioned his cat and Laura had been excited to look at the many photos of Mini that Dylan had on his phone.

He and Max got talking about their favorite films, which had a lot of overlap, minus the whole horror genre. Dylan had been explaining the lore of the Scott Pilgrim comics (“Knives is totally bi, that’s why she’s into Envy’s band!”) when a bunch of film majors had overheard and forced their way into the conversation.

Ryan was back next to Laura in the corner, talking about something he couldn’t make out. He kept looking over at Dylan, at first concerned, then mostly fondly. They kept catching each other's eye across the room and smiling.

Max nudged him, lowering his voice. “Want to head over?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll give you an out. Just send Laura to rescue me.” Max winked at him. “So, I was thinking about watching Pulp Fiction, have you heard of it?”

That was catnip for film bros, so whilst they spoke over each other about the cinematic genius of Quentin Tarantino, Dylan backed away. He didn’t make it far before someone else grabbed his elbow.

“Hey Dylan, I didn’t realize you were coming.”

It was Emma, who had fully committed to the eighties look with her mesh shirt, tripled belted high waisted jeans and a perfectly styled ponytail. Dylan wasn’t surprised she was here, Emma knew everyone and a themed party was exactly her kind of content.

“Ryan invited me.”

That piqued her interest enough to put down her phone. “Hot subway guy is here? ”

“Yeah. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Would I?” Emma asked. “Take a pic with me for my insta? Our outfits are totally color coordinated.”

Dylan leaned in, giving a peace sign as she snapped a photo. “Edit out the warts.”

“I always do.” Emma was back on her phone, her fingers moving quickly as she typed out a caption. “Kaitlyn’s giving me a ride home later by the way.”

“She’s coming?”

“To give me a ride, yeah.” Emma gave her phone a final tap and his phone buzzed with a notification he’d been tagged in her story. “Unless you’ll be with handsome over there instead?”

Dylan could feel his face flush. “No comment.”

Emma grinned. “How telling.”

Whilst she went back on her phone, Dylan finally made it over to Ryan, now standing alone. Laura had decided to rescue Max on her own, the two of them heading out into the yard.

“I finally escaped all the perilous social situations and made it back to you.”

“How brave of you,” Ryan replied. “Was that Emma Mountebank?”

“Do you know Emma?” Dylan asked in return. Emma was Instagram famous, sure, their own local celebrity but Ryan didn’t use social media beyond following a bunch of paranormal investigators.

“You talk about her on the show. Unless you have another influential friend.”

“Kaitlyn talks about her. I’m pretty sure she has a thing for her.” Dylan bit his lip. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Your gossip is safe with me,” Ryan said.

Their conversation lulled for a moment. The song faded into what at first seemed like Mamma Mia but turned out to be a club remix. They both groaned. “That was the closest to an on theme song all night,” Dylan complained, going back to a familiar topic. “They ruined ABBA. This is too far.”

“Most of the songs aren’t even eighties,” Ryan said. “But I’m not allowed near the playlists. Too moody for a party.”

“How dare they limit your artistic expression!”

“Just blindly taking my side?” Ryan asked, nudging him.

“Oh totally.” Dylan nudged him back, although it was more of a lean, their shoulders pressed together. Not quite as easily falling into each other’s spaces like Laura and Max but still nice. “I kinda like moody, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Is that a compliment?” Ryan asked, in a monotone that made it hard to tell if he was in on the joke or not.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

That seemed to reassure him. “Thanks. Maybe.”

Dylan had an idea, spotting the speaker in the corner. “Come on.”

The large speaker had been balanced on a coffee table, already covered in discarded bottles and paper cups.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, looking a little alarmed. “Don’t mess with that.”

“Relax. It’s simple.”

Dylan pressed the power button, cutting off the pop song midway. A few people grumbled at the sudden quiet. Dylan already had his phone out, turning the speaking back on but connecting it to his own phone. He had his own curated eighties playlist already open from the train and he pressed play, filling the room with the opening guitar of Lovesong by the Cure.

“Moody enough for you?” He teased. “You take over the music at every party you go to?” Ryan asked. He was bopping his head a little to the music, which was incredibly cute. Dylan had noticed that music was Ryan’s comfort blanket. It was a little weird to see him without his headphones tonight.

“Only in case of emergency.” Dylan held out his phone. “Queue up whatever.” Handing over your phone was basically the twenty-first century of touching someone’s hand without a glove. Handing over your music was basically a proposal.

Ryan seemed surprised. “Really?”

Dylan nodded. “I think you can handle the responsibility.”

Ryan took his phone, scrolling through it. A song byThe Smiths that Dylan vaguely recognised came on. It was a little angsty for a party but he didn’t comment. He liked the little glimpses into Ryan’s music taste he got. “Ryan?”

“That’s your name,” Dylan said.

“No, the playlist.” He looked over at Dylan, seemingly thrown off. Making someone a playlist was like wearing a locket with their face in.

“Oh fuck.” Dylan leaned over and saw Ryan had found, but thankfully not opened, the playlist he had named after him. He had made it on the subway home after their cinema date where they had first kissed. “Um, that’s about a different Ryan?”

“It is?” He asked, completely serious. “No,” Dylan admitted. “Please don’t look at it. I’ll die and you don’t want that on your conscience.”

Ryan handed over the phone. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snooped.” He held on a moment too long, the warmth of his hand brushing against Dylan’s. He had only had one drink so far but it felt like the room was spinning. “I’d like to listen to it one day.”

“Only if you make a podcast about me?” Dylan said, regretting it straight away once he noticed the hurt flash across Ryan’s face. He wanted to be serious about their relationship but he couldn’t stop the dumb shit that came out once he panicked.

“A podcast about you?” He repeated slowly. “I think a Dylan playlist would be more fair.”

“Yeah. Totally.” Dylan moved his hand away, tucking his phone and its embarrassing secrets into his pocket.

It’s Friday I’m in love! Declared the next song and he winced.

“So,” Ryan said, breaking the silence, “I wanted to talk to you about something. Could we go somewhere quieter?”

#the quarry #the quarry fic #Ryan Erzahler #Dylan Lenivy #radioheads #in case anyone was wondering the 80s night with no 80s music was an actual compliant my friend had at a party #and the film bros expirence was very real too #*through gritted teeth* shut up about pulp fiction #i am a film student so thats said from explirence lol

[sparkbeast20]

Get me a picture of Solomon Shirtless

“The first person who can get me a picture of Solomon shirtless, I’m officially yours.”

The room fill with sound of spilt takes, things falling, and hand slamming on the table. All the brothers turn to you, some widen eyes and others mouths open.

Lucifer asks you why would want a picture of Solomon.

Your simple answer “I want to see his pact marks” you got up and walk out the room, leaving them with “I’m dead serious”

Lucifer

· Child’s play

· He calls Solomon over to discuss “human” topics

· They were in the library with books display about pacts and effects.

· He’ll asks Solomon about his pact marks.

· But Solomon natural self, asks Lucifer to make a pact with him.

· Lucifer refuse, and ask about a certain demon he “knows” if Solomon made a pact with that demon.

· His say yes, unbutton his uniform, and points on the pact mark.

· Lucifer quickly brought out his phone and took the picture.

· But Solomon hands were in the way.

· Darn, he wasn’t quick enough.

· Solomon tells Lucifer, he’ll let him take a picture, if he says please.

· I WILL KILL YOU.

· he wants this to be over so, he took a deep breath, gives Solomon a fake smile and said please, through his teeth.

· With that, Solomon opens his uniform and let Lucifer take one photo.

· Thanking Solomon, and walks away.

· He asks you to meet him in his study.

· You came, sat on the chair right in front of his desk while sat on the opposite side.

· He brought out an envelop with the picture, and slowly bringing closer to you, but quickly taking it back.

· His ask to you to only seeing it once, you nod and he gave it to you.

· You took it out of the envelop, take a long good look of it, then tearing it in front of him.

· Shock Lucifer was about to get up, when you place a hand above his

· squishing his hand tell him.

· “You won Lucifer, I’m all yours”

Mammon

· He will get that photo at all cause.

· A loud knock at the doors of Purgatory Hall.

· Poor Luke had to get up to answer the door.

· He opens it to see Mammon with a camera that he “borrowed” from Levi or Asmo.

· He asks where’s Solomon with an aggressive tone.

· Luke tells him to go home, but Mammon just repeats the question.

· Luke just wanting to go back to bed, he points Mammon to Solomon’s room.

· Solomon making potion, heard his door kick open, he turns to see Mammon in the middle of the door frame.

· “Mammon! What are doing here- “

· “Take off your shirt”

· “What!”

· “I need a picture of your pact marks”

· “NO!”

· Mammon ran toward Solomon, he quickly dodges the demon, he grabs a potion and throw it at Mammon.

· He got hit, but for whatever he powers through the effect of the potion. (Power of love, I guess.)

· AH! It hurts but I NEED THAT PHOTO

· And he starts throwing potion, this fight took why too long.

· Early in the morning, you heard a knock on your door, you got up and walk over there.

· You open to see a tired Mammon, half of his hair colored, his shirt and pants is complete mess.

· Before you could say anything, handed over the camera with Solomon picture display on the screen.

· He drags himself to your bed and complete collapse on it.

· You called to him, he looks up to you, you’re still looking at the photo, then you look at him, with the camera screen face him.

· With one press of a button, you deleted the photo right in front of him.

· Mammon jaw drop, but you sat next to him.

· Cupping his face, rubbing your thumb on his cheek you tell him.

· “Congratulation Great Mammon, I’m all yours”

Leviathan

· He didn’t believe it at first.

· But when he saw his brothers is thinking, especially Mammon, he knew this was for real.

· Then a light bulb lit up in his head, his face grows devious smile.

· He has a plan.

· He invited Solomon over to help him with something.

· He opens the door to Levi’s room to see, a green screen and four sets of cameras all facing the center of the room.

· Levi greets Solomon, and tells him that he needs someone to model for his 3D character his making.

· Solomon agrees, but Levi say that he has to be shirtless for first part.

· Solomon asks why.

· He answers because the character has to have a default look, so he can add outfit in the future.

· With that, Levi got the photos, and proud of himself for not making things awkward.

· But he didn’t expect for Solomon to stay and watch how to make a 3D model.

· Oh I didn’t think this through.

· After a couple of hours of faking doing 3D model in a computer, the results were horrible.

· Levi feeling embarrass, he hides his face on the desk with his arms covering his head.

· Solomon tells him to find a different hobby, and leaves.

· It was the middle of the night when you heard a knock on the door.

· You told them to come in.

· The door open to revel Levi exhausted and red on the face, he raises his hand with the picture of Solomon.

· You got up, walk over to Levi.

· The two of you walk to your bed and sat down, you took the photos.

· You stared in each photo, then tear it in to pieces.

· Levi was about to scream because of your action, when lean your head on his shoulder, nuzzling it.

· Then you when near his ear and whisper.

· “Lord of shadow, I’m all your”

Satan

· He got angry a little bit about the task.

· there’s has to have a reason.

· Being cautious he messages Solomon about this.

· A laughing emoji pop up, then a text “they’re that desperate”

· Rage did begin to describe how piss of Satan was.

· Solomon had the gall to call you desperate.

· Later the evening, Solomon was in the common room of Purgatory Hall.

· Still thinking about his text with Satan, when he notices the window is crack open.

· He walks over, he was about to close it, when a hand grabs his wrist.

· Solomon looks out the window to see Satan in his demon form, mouthing “TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT”.

· At breakfast, everyone was eating and planning, when suddenly Satan walks in with a smile on his face.

· He saw you eating your breakfast, he walks over place the picture of a scare shirtless Solomon next to your plate.

· You almost choke to see it.

· While everyone else is shock and disappointed that Satan manage to get the picture.

· You grab the picture off the table, took a long good look then tear it.

· Most of the brothers were shock, and Satan was about to break something, when you gesture him to come closer.

· He leans near you, then you whisper in his ear.

· “Thank you, Satan I’m all your”

Asmodeus

· That’s easy, Solomon wouldn’t say no to him, right?

· The next day, Asmo want to Purgatory Hall to get the pictures he needed.

· But when he asks where’s Solomon, Luke said that his hiding from him and his brother.

· Oh so, he wants to this game… well challenge accepted old friend.

· Asmo use all his socials give out a message.

· “If you spot Solomon, DM me his location”

· Within the hour, Asmo knows where Solomon is.

· But every time he gets close, Solomon manages to get away.

· After 20 attempts of catching Solomon, Asmo finally cornered him, but at a cause.

· Determine, tired and anger, a messes Asmo tells Solomon to give up.

· Knowing Asmo rage can rivel Satan, Solomon gave up.

· After taking the photo, Asmo asks Solomon why he was hiding.

· Solomon simple answer “I like a challenge”

· You were in the common room, when Asmo show up with the photos.

· He was is a mess when gave you the photos.

· After giving them a good stare, you rip up the photos.

· Asmo gasp, then quickly engulf in your embrace, and tell him.

· “I’m all yours, Asmo”

Beelzebub

· He’ll just ask him, what could go wrong.

· He just when over to Purgatory Hall to get the photo.

· When he saw Luke and Simeon speed walking away from their dorm.

· Are they going out somewhere?

· The door open, Solomon welcome Beel.

· I have a bad feeling.

· Once inside, Beel when straight to the point, and asks Solomon a picture of his pact marks.

· He would gladly accept, but he has to finish his dinner all on his own.

· Sweat drip down from Beel’s forehead, he knows where this is going.

· With one final breath, Beel tells Solomon that he’ll help him with his dinner.

· Solomon smile and asks Beel to follow him in to the dining hall.

· Dizzy, Beel awakes up from a food coma.

· He saw Solomon taking picture of himself in the mirror.

· He turns to greet Beel, and hand over his phone.

· However, Beel asks him one more thing.

· “Sure, what is it?”

· “Tell me all about your pact marks, while I write the down”

· You were at the kitchen making cupcakes, when Beel comes in.

· He gave you the photos and notes about the pacts.

· You folded the note and hide it in your pocket, but the photos you tear it up.

· Beel’s jaw drop, but you place a cupcake in it, and gave him hug.

· “You did so much Beel, I’m all yours.”

Belphegor

· He thought to himself “just a picture, hm easy”

· When luck comes his way, Belphie saw Solomon at their gate.

· Solomon was about to enter woods nearby, Belphie asks what he was doing here.

· He said that, he was get some ingredients for a potion his making.

· Belphie tells Solomon, he’ll help him in exchange he wants one photo of him showing his pact marks on his torso.

· Solomon agrees, and the two when into the woods.

· The first thing they need was salamander slim.

· However, those things are slippering every time Belphie grab on to it, the Salamander slide out of his hands.

· After 5 attempts, they manage to get the slim.

· Then a certain fur from a cougar fang.

· Belphie got scratch.

· Then finally 10 seven leafs clovers

· Fuck! those things are rare, are you insane.

· After hours of looking, they found ten clovers.

· Once they got out the woods, Belphie brought out his phone and gave to Solomon.

· “Deals a deal I don’t want to see you shirtless so, take them over there”

· You were in the music room listening to favorite songs, when Belphie walks in, phone in hand.

· He sat next to you and gave you his phone with the picture.

· You look at the picture, while you took of your earphone off.

· Belphie widen eyes when he saw you delete the photo.

· You hand over his phone back, with an angry look on his face grab hold on the phone, but you didn’t let go.

· Instead, you place your other hand over his, rubbing it, he looks back to you.

· You smile and grab his hand, and tell him.

· “Wonder work Belphie, I’m all yours”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epilogue

You were leaning in bed with the winner, the room was peaceful and quiet, you turn over him seeing his calm and happy.

A moment of silent was break by a sound from your D.D.D, you grab it and got out of bed, you bend over to kiss him on top of his head, and told him that you were going to the bathroom, he sleepy nod, then you walk out.

You close the door of the bathroom, and see how texted you.

Solomon

That was really daring of you to ask them that.

I told you, I’ll get you back

But I didn’t expect him to that.

I always make things hard for your “champion”

You really did, but that not what a reply to you.

Oh! What is it

I want to thank you

Thank me for what, I gave him a hard time, well hard time for him.

Exactly, he when so far to get a picture of you Shirtless.

He was confused at first but I show him that I don’t need a picture of some else.

So, Thank you, Solomon I got a Boyfriend out of it.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me Belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me reader x lucifer #obey me reader x mammon #obey me reader x leviathan #obey me reader x satan #obey me reader x asmodeus #obey me reader x beelzebub #obey me reader x belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me mc

[moistmailman]

SCP AU part 2

*Jaune is pushed into a room with a bag over his face before the door shuts on him*

Jaune, slightly muffled: H-HEY! I SAID LET ME GO DAMNIT! *cautiously reaches for bag and touches it before ripping it off*

Jaune, immediately turning to the door and banging on it: I SWEAR TO GOD YOU GUYS BETTER LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW! WHAT KINDA FUCKED SOCIAL EXPERIMENT IS THIS?! *continue banging*

Jaune, continuing his assault on the door: MY MOM’S A LAWYER BY THE WAY! SHE’LL SUE YOUR ASSES, I SWEAR IT! SHE’LL SUE YOUR ASS SO HARD THAT WE’LL GET FINANCIAL CONPENSATION FROM YOUR DAMN GRAND KIDS! *bangs louder* YOU HEAR ME! HELLO.....IM SERIOUS.....nobody can hear me, can they?

Pyrrha: I can hear you.

*Jaune squeaks loudly before getting in a karate stance while turning to see a tall redhead girl around his age with vivid green eyes sitting on a bed*

Jaune, internally: What the fuck?! How long has she been here?!

Pyrrha, awkwardly waving: Hello.

Jaune, awkwardly waving back: Uh..hi.

*an awkward silence fall on the two, with the blonde slightly blushing and the redhead staring at him with interest*

Jaune, internally: Holy shit, she’s pretty. My god, she absolutely stunning. She has got to be the prettiest girl I’ve seen in my li— Wait Wait, Jauney-Boy, you're getting side tracked. What the fuck is going on in here, and why did those guys put me in a room with a very hot girl with really long and smooth legs— GAH, HORMONES THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO ATTEND TO!

Pyrrha: *giggles while slightly blushing*

Jaune, terrified:......w-was I t-talking out loud?

Pyrrha: Hmm? Oh no. *smiles teasingly* Why? What were you thinking about?

Jaune, voice cracking: N-nothing. Nothing at— *clears throat* H-hey, I’m Jaune.

Pyrrha, smiling: Pyrrha, charmed.

Jaune, internally: Wow, even her name is pretty.

Pyrrha: *snickers cutely*

*Jaune looks around to see what she’s snickering at to see nothing*

Jaune, shrugging it off: So uhm....they tricked you with the social experiment, huh?

*Pyrrha thinks for a moment, before a coy smile gets plastered on her lips*

Pyrrha: Yeah, you can say something like that.

Jaune: Damn. Who the hell are these people, and you have any idea what they even want from us?

Pyrrha, shaking her head: Your guess is as good as mine.

Jaune, sighing: Great. Isn’t today just wonderful. Should’ve known that offer was too good to be true. *slide his back against the wall until he’s sitting* Teach me not to read documents people tell me to sign.

*MEANWHILE, SOMETIME LATER*

Cinder, sighing: Wow, great plan, Roman. We are learning things about her so fast.

Roman: This takes patience, Cinder.

Cinder, frustrated: The boy haven’t even said anything to her for the past 5 minutes! He’s just sitting his ass on the floor. The boy is socially handicapped!

Roman: That’s not my fault! You're the one who pick him!

Cinder: Well you were the one to make this stupid plan in the first place! How will the boy even ask her about her powers in the first place if he doesn't even know that he needs to ask?!

Roman: Geez, I don't know! How did I know about you being an only child?

Cinder: Be—

Roman: Because I asked you as a curious person who wants to know about my friend! Now believe it or but if I got under the assumption that you started reading my mind, you bet your ass I would ask you about it, especially if I was trapped in a small room with you!

Cinder: But why would SCP-312 answer the question if she knows what we're trying to—

Roman, urgently: Hush! Something's happening!

*MEANWHILE*

Jaune: *has been moving uncomfortably on the floor for the past 5 minutes*

Pyrrha, scooting in her bed: Hey, you wanna sit next to me? The floor looks pretty uncomfortable.

Jaune: Really? You're alright with that?

Pyrrha, smiling warmly: Of course. The bed's large enough. *Pat beside her* Here.

Jaune, slightly blushing: O-oh, Uh, sure then. Thanks.

*Jaune walks over to the bed before sitting down, his cheeks crimsoning*

Pyrrha: There, is that better?

Jaune: Y-yeah. T-thanks.

Pyrrha: Youre welcome:

*Once again the room fall to silence as the boy looks everywhere but at the very attractive girl he's shoulder to shoulder with*

Jaune, internally: God, what's wrong with me?! I just got kidnnapped yet I'm more worried about this super hot girl sitting next to me! I can barely form coherent sentences around her! Damn, my hands are all sweaty too! She's so close! I can feel her body warmth! Just calm down, Jauney. Calm down already. Take a deep breath, and try to strike up a conversation with her. This silence is deafening.

Jaune, taking a deep breath: So, what—

Pyrrha: *Facing Jaune with a warm smile*

Jaune, voice wavering: —y-y-your.......*turns away in embarrassment*

Jaune, internally: For god sake! I can’t get used to that smile! It’s like beautiful personified. God damnit. I need to keep a conversation going, at least until those guys come back! Okay think! What did mom tell me about talking to girls?

A memory starts playing inside Jaune’s head with his mother’s voice: Remember Sweetie, women love wedding rings, but they love babies more.

Jaune, internally:.....is...is that it?! Really?! That’s literally the only advice my mother has ever given more for girls. How the hell is baby propaganda supposed to help me in this situation?! What kinda— okay, calm down. I have another parent. What did dad tell me?

Another memory starts playing in Jaune’s head, this time with his father’s voice: Son, I have absolutely no idea how I managed to make your mother fall for me. I am not the man you should be asking. You’ll probably have a better shot asking the stars that question.

Jaune, internally:.........I’m going to die alone, aren’t I? My parents managed to make the opposite sex so completely alien to me, despite me having 7 sisters! What he actual fuck?! This is an absolute disaster! This can’t get any worst!

*Jaune then remembers one crucial detail of the predicament he’s in*

Jaune, internally: OH GOD! I FORGOT I WAS ALSO KIDNAPPED! WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS TODAY?! I’M PROBABLY GOING TO DIE IN HERE AND I CANT EVEN STRIKE UP A CONVERSATION WITH THE GIRL WHO WILL POSSIBLY DIE WITH ME! I AM A DISGRACE TO EVERY ARC TO EVER LIVE! I CAN FEEL MY ANCESTORS LOOKING AT ME WITH DISGUST! OH GOD! WHAT THE—

*Suddenly Jaune’s nerves instantly drop and a calm aura surrounds him, almost like it just completely disappeared and got replace with an warm and inviting energy*

Jaune, confused: Huh?

*The weight on Jaune’s hand then became evident, as he looked down and found Pyrrha’s hand gently lying on his, almost reassuringly*

Jaune, slightly blushing:.........

Pyrrha, in soothing tone: So, tell me about yourself.

Jaune, no longer feeling nervous for a reason he doesn’t know why:...........well, I just graduated from college.

*MEANWHILE*

Cinder, frantically: WRITE THAT DOEN, WRITE THAT DOWN!

Roman, equally as frantic: I AM! I AM!

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #Jaune arc #arkos #pyrrha x jaune

[gukyi]

the heiress and the hotelier | ksj

summary: when you share a kiss with a mysterious but gorgeous stranger on the night of your unwanted, lavish masquerade birthday party, the last thing you expect is for him to vanish at midnight on the dot. but when, as punishment for always arguing with him, your father assigns you to oversee the company’s newest resort hotel, you begin to realize that the handsome stranger may be closer than you think.

{cinderella!au, heiress reader!au, hotelier seokjin!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol consumption (nothing major), workaholic characters, face blindness, idiots to lovers a/n: hello and welcome to guyi is a nonstop writer!! that’s the fuck right !!!! thank you so much to @aurawatercolor​ for commissioning me for this (again!) and for being genuinely wonderful. happy birthday! oh--and i’ll be on a socially-distanced vacation this upcoming week, so i’ll be a little more inactive than usual, but here’s this fic to keep you occupied while i’m gone!

Your birthdays have never belonged to you.

Not when you were little, when your mother was always the most excited for you to open your presents and host your birthday party. Not when you were older, and your parents started using your age as a reason for you to start learning the inner workings of the family business under the understanding that you would one day inherit it. And certainly not when you’re an adult, when all your birthdays ever remind you of are the years gone by, blowing past you like dandelion wisps, glimpses of memories that are too nimble to catch between your fingertips. 

When people say that time goes by faster as you get older, they aren’t saying it because your life is getting exponentially more interesting with each day that passes. They aren’t saying it because you’re having more fun or doing more things, things that distract you to the point of looking out your window and realizing that it’s dark outside. 

They say it because the more years that you have lived, the more years you have to remember. And when you have to recall something as overwhelming as your life, your brain makes shortcuts. The days, weeks, and months blur together, leaving behind snippets from events that your memory deems worthy, events that have become less and less frequent with time. You can’t remember the last major celebration you had. Perhaps your university graduation?

The thing about birthdays is that you know that there will always be one next year. So why bother with celebrating now?

You would give anything to have everyone pretend that your birthday is just a normal day. 

Unfortunately for you, you are the only one in your family who seems to have adopted this mindset. 

Heaving out a sigh, you look at yourself in the mirror, reflection bathed in the white light of the bathroom, stark and unforgiving. In the merciless glow of the bathroom, you barely recognize yourself. Gone are the deep eye bags that you’ve so dearly acquainted yourself with, tired eyes covered with contacts to bring back the shimmer that has long been lost. You gaze into your eyes and they don’t even feel like they’re yours anymore. 

In your hand sits the masquerade mask you had ripped off the moment you entered the bathroom, having been desperate to take it off from the minute you arrived at the hotel. The feathers brush against your skin, soft and black, a custom-made accessory designed to match your gown, an ink black floor-length piece with onyx gems that sparkle silver in the light. 

Hoseok was going for a black swan theme—said that it would match your personality perfectly. You’re not exactly sure what he meant by that. 

Frantically, like there is a timer ticking down inside of you that you cannot turn off, you pull the mask back on, adjusting it over your eyes until it sits just right, resting atop the bridge of your nose. Hiding behind it, you can almost deceive yourself into thinking, if only for this one night, you are someone else. 

The door swings open next to you, revealing a guest that you don’t recognize, someone on the list of hundreds that your mother invited, none of whom you know very well and could certainly not identify beneath a masquerade mask. She smiles in that polite, awkward way as she rushes into a stall, deep maroon train trailing behind her, leaving you stuck between a rock and a hard place, having no desire to go back out into the fray but also not wanting to stay in the bathroom and listen to other people do their business. 

Thank God she didn’t recognize you. Your mother was insistent that you be recognized as the guest of honor despite the whole point of a masquerade party being the inability to correctly identify people, so you might as well be walking around in a t-shirt with your face on it. At least the mask is doing something. 

You blink at yourself, hoping that maybe if you close your eyes enough, when you open them you’ll be someone else. When that doesn’t seem to work, you take a breath and fix your mask one last time before heading back into the ballroom. 

Immediately, amongst the crowd of people, all of whom are only here to elevate their own statuses by being associated with an event hosted by your family, you spot the back of Jungkook’s head, deep brunette tufts of hair deftly styled by a whole team of people, a slicked back, Phantom of the Opera style. He’s got on a tuxedo and mask to match, but even with that on you could recognize him in your sleep. He is your brother, after all. 

He’s talking animatedly with the pianist, an old mutual friend of your family’s named Yoongi, who isn’t wearing a mask and is thus immediately identifiable. Not to mention the fact that your family has known his since before you learned to walk. As you get closer to them, you notice that his maskless-ness is because Jungkook’s got it snatched up in between his fingers, dangling it in front of Yoongi like the taunting claw of a rigged toy machine. You decide not to bother them. He’s always been closer with Jungkook, anyway.

You really wish your mother better understood what a masquerade-themed party meant. You can’t get more than three steps in before being stopped by someone you can hardly recognize, all smiles for the birthday girl. They wish you a happy birthday and give you a lifeless compliment that goes in one ear and out the other before going on their way, positively thrilled that they’ve been invited to an event as grand as this and determined to make the most of it. 

Eventually, after far too many interruptions, you make it to the catering table, helping yourself to a piece of the five-tiered, golden-iced cake your parents had ordered. At least they got your favorite flavor right—chocolate and vanilla swirl. You wait happily beside the rest of the catered food as you eat, hoping that you are just out of reach enough to go unnoticed. The least your birthday party guests could do is leave you alone. 

“Y/N!”

Never mind. 

You look up to the source of the sound and find only your father approaching, all dressed up in a crisp suit from the same tailors that made Jungkook’s. He isn’t wearing a mask and apparently doesn’t need one, since it is your birthday and not his. Not a good enough excuse, in your opinion. 

“Dad,” you say with a smile, wiping away the icing you feel sitting just off the corner of your lips. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks heartily, all smiles because he’s always felt rather at home surrounded by this sort of grandeur, almost as much as your mother. No wonder the two of them get along so well. 

“The cake is nice,” you dodge the question. 

“Ah, glad you like it,” he says, helping himself to his own piece. “We were going to get red velvet but then Jungkook reminded us your favorite flavor was the swirly one,” he laughs to himself, like it’s funny that they almost got it wrong. “Had to call the bakery last minute and change it.”

You purse your lips together in a tense smile, fork picking at the crumbs left on your plate. 

“Have you been chatting with your friends?” He asks. 

“Here and there,” you respond. Nobody here, except perhaps Jungkook and Yoongi, would be people you considered friends. Acquaintances at best. And besides, it’s not like you can even identify half of the attendees anyway. “You?” You always do much better when the topic of conversation is not your social life. 

“Ah, yes, of course, you know me,” he jokes, always the aristocrat. “I was just speaking with Mr. Oh about that corporate investment deal that I had been arranging with him.”

“Dad,” you say, exasperated, “You know that I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Y/N,” he says, already beginning to get frustrated. You and him have shared this conversation countless times already. “You aren’t the final decision maker. You know that.”

“Yes, but you value my input, don’t you?” You challenge. He nods tensely. “So listen to me. I don’t think this deal will be good for us. Even though the Oh’s have more money in their investments, they aren’t transparent with it. If you make this deal you won’t know where our money is going.”

“Nonsense,” your father rebukes. “Mr. Oh and I have known each other for years. I trust him. You’re just saying this because you don’t like their son.”

“Sehun has nothing to do with this,” you argue, even if it is true. Your mother had set you up on a blind date with him a couple of years ago and from the moment he walked through the door, you knew it would go south. He’s got the same conceited attitude his father has. “I don’t think it’s a wise business decision.”

“You mustn’t let personal grievances get in the way of your work and you know that,” your father commands sternly, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you. “What will you do when you are the CEO of Jeon Group? Are you going to let pettiness get in the way of major advancements for the company?”

“No!” You insist, though you are far too gone for your father to believe you. 

“This deal is happening and that’s final, Y/N,” your father declares harshly, eyes narrowed at you. 

“But, Dad—”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you about this,” he directs. “You should know better than to argue with me about this sort of thing. Especially here. Your mother worked very hard on putting this party on for you, and you should be grateful.”

You exhale, incensed. “I am, Dad, but the business means more to me than—”

“Stop. You can’t change my mind.” Your father sets his finished plate down on a cart an arm’s length away, piled high with discarded dishes, glasses and utensils. “Go talk with your friends instead.” You frown at him, nose scrunched up in contempt. He gestures you away from him. “Go.”

Sighing, you wipe away the sweat that has gathered along your temples and go back out into the center of the ballroom, watching begrudgingly as your father steers you from him, having deemed your conversation over even if you weren’t finished talking. It’s obvious that there’s no more getting through to him. Unless all of the Ohs are suddenly arrested for embezzling funds or mail fraud, that deal is happening.

Standing in the middle of the room, you turn around once and you’re immediately lost amongst all of the guests, surrounded by people everywhere you look. You turn back to where your father was standing but he’s vanished, and when you turn the other way, Jungkook has disappeared from beside the grand piano as well. It feels like you’re outnumbered, like you’re trapped in a maze of people with no end in sight, like one wrong move and suddenly they will all turn to look at you, stare you down like camera lenses, relentless flashes of light. Nobody to talk to, nowhere to run. 

You’re stuck. 

Now that you think about it, you sort of always have been. 

The room gets blurrier.

“Hey, are you alright?” A voice asks. 

You feel like you spin around several times before your eyes focus in on the man it belongs to. 

“Here, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Your feet move against your mind’s better judgement, the man ushering you away from the center of the room and out of the crowd. You barely notice the direction he’s taking you in until you feel the cool late night air blow past you, tickling your skin and sending shivers down your spine. 

It’s the balcony.

The glass door shuts behind the two of you, sending a stream of wind against your back as it effectively removes all of the background noise of the party, containing it within the ballroom, leaving the both of you shrouded in the stars’ silence. 

Out here, you have a perfect view of the city. Even though it’s nearing midnight, the lights are still on, coating the town in a twinkling glow, yellow lights flickering on and off, as if someone were looking at the universe from far beyond it. Some parts of the city go to sleep when the sun sets. Others are just waking up. 

Next to you, the man removes his suit jacket and drops it ceremoniously on the floor at his feet, arms resting on the balcony’s railing as he gazes out into the distance. As you look out into the same deep navy sky, it’s almost as if the rest of the night has faded away. You don’t know who he is and you can only hope that he doesn’t know you either, hope that he has rescued you from the crowd to talk you down rather than talk you up. But you don’t miss the way he hasn’t said a word to you since you stepped foot outside, hasn’t dared to initiate contact just in case you were looking for a respite from all of it. 

At this angle, you can turn your head just enough to get a good look at him, at the way half of his face is enveloped in shadow while the other half is letting the moonlight do all of the talking. From here, the light from the full moon is faint, a barely-there silver glow, but it casts him in just enough light to make him seem as though he belongs in a dream. Like he isn’t even real. It highlights the sharpness of his jaw, the peaks of his cheekbones, his round button nose. But what it really makes gleam are his eyes, almost pitch black in the night. They reflect the sky like nothing else, glimmers of faint starlight in an ocean of ink.

Quite frankly, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for the rest of the night. 

“Thank you.” You breathe out the words and immediately feel his gaze jerk sharply towards you. “For getting me out of there.”

“Of course,” he says, and oh, goodness, his voice is thick and warm and comforting, like a fireplace on a cool night, like a blanket after a nightmare. “You just seemed like you needed a break.”

“You could say that,” you say, shrugging to yourself. You could use more than a break. A general pause on life is something you certainly wouldn’t object to—if only it was that easy. But hey, you take what is given to you and never miss an opportunity if you can help it. There’s a lot that you can (and do) complain about but even more than you should be grateful for. Your father was right. This party took a lot of planning on your mother’s part and you spent half of it in the bathroom wishing you were anywhere but here.

“A lot on your plate?” He asks with a smile, a real one, one that isn’t forced like everybody else. Almost like he’s smiling because he’s actually enjoying himself. 

“I feel like it’s endless,” you say, keeping it vague because, as it stands, this gorgeous man does not know who you are, and you would like to keep it that way.

“As is all of life,” he says sagely, almost as if it’s a reminder to himself as well. You wonder what he must have on his mind. You wonder if it’s worth sharing your life with a stranger. “It looked like you had a lot on your mind back in there.” He gestures weakly back towards the door. 

“I have a lot on my mind no matter where I am,” you correct, and you try to make it sound funny but instead it just comes out sounding sad. Normally you wouldn’t be cracking jokes at your expense in front of someone whose name you don’t even know, but you had a couple of drinks tonight and the taste is still fresh on your tongue, sitting alongside all of the words you want to say but don’t know how to. 

The man leaves it at that, not wanting to push any further, but you aren’t finished yet. Someone might as well know how you feel, since you bottle it up around everyone else. 

“Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?” You turn to look at him, heaving out a sigh. He doesn’t say anything, simply gazes back at you, like he’s willing you to carry on. It, in a way, worries you. “Ugh. I feel ridiculous saying it out loud.”

There’s a tense, pregnant pause between the two of you. It makes you feel like talking was a mistake. 

“It’s not ridiculous.” It almost sounds like the words are coming from someone else. Like this whole thing is just a figment of your imagination, created by your mind to keep you company because there’s no one else to turn to. 

He’s staring out over the balcony now, waiting for you to continue. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling utterly idiotic, like a fish out of water. “Sometimes I just wish that I could go somewhere else and be someone else and not have to worry about all of the things in my life. Things like my family, and my work. There are so many things that people expect of me. All the time. It feels like I’m living for them instead of myself.”

He nods along, holding back to see if you have anything else to say. You must sound like such an ungrateful little rich girl, you think to yourself. Complaining about this fabulous party and incredible life that you live, a life filled with wealth and grandeur and power, a life that most people dream of having. What will he think of you?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I probably sound like such a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t,” he immediately assures you, taking a step to his right and closing the gap between you two. “It doesn’t sound like that at all.”

“Then what does it sound like?” You muse to yourself, forcing a laugh. 

“It sounds like you have a lot that you feel like you owe to other people,” he says organically. “You know, like you feel like you have to do all of these things because you can’t let other people down. I get it. I know that everyone nowadays is all, ‘You shouldn’t give a shit about what other people think of you, just do whatever you want,’ but it’s hard not to think about what other people think of you. And what other people expect from you. Letting them down sucks.”

You chuckle. Sounds about right. You may not be completely satisfied with your life right now but that doesn’t mean you’re going to fling your responsibilities onto the shoulders’ of other people. Your father works hard, your mother works hard, your brother works hard. The least you could do for them is offer up the same diligence.

“You’re quite the smooth talker,” you joke, looking him up and down and nodding your approval. He’s definitely figured you out, at least. 

“I’m just a people person,” the man admits. “I like talking with people.”

“And here I was, thinking that I’d be confessing my secrets to a brick wall,” you say, making him crack a smile, another real one. You like the look of them. A part of you wants to do it more often. 

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

You’ve been listening to compliments all night but this one makes the heat rush to your cheeks like nothing else, a fire set alight in your veins. 

“That’s a secret, is it?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy, looking all around you just so you don’t have to look him in his eyes and feel your legs turn to jelly. 

“Not anymore,” he reminds you. “What about you? Anything else to share with me?” He’s standing dangerously close to you now, barely half a foot of space between your bodies as he leans into you, hands hovering above your waist. 

Slowly he begins to tilt his head towards you, and while you’ve never been one for dramatics, you have to admit that you haven’t felt this way since your schoolgirl crush days back when you were a teenager, giddy and electric and desperately craving more. 

You watch as his lips flutter above yours, feel transparent underneath his steel gaze, and you say, “I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

The fireworks thing had always been over the top for you. Like it was impossible for a kiss to feel that explosive to anyone, setting you alight over and over and over again. But his lips pressed against yours come pretty damn close. It makes your whole body go weak, like you can barely hold yourself up, hands clutching onto his sleeves just to make sure you don’t go topping off the balcony. He kisses you and you swear that you would never do this sort of thing normally—go about your romantic interests like a professional, a couple of dates and then perhaps a kiss on your doorstep—but goddamn, it feels like you might just give up everything for him. It feels like there are sparks running all across your skin, sending jolts of life into your heart. It feels like he is someone you are going to miss.

It lasts too long and ends too quickly all at once. You distantly hear the party celebrate the clock striking twelve indoors, cheers and screams and shouts as people rally themselves to continue long after the mark of a new day, and feel him pull away from you at the very same instant. Shamelessly, you instinctively reach up to try and meet his lips again, refusing to believe it’s over, but already he’s separating himself from you. 

“Hey, what’s wrong—?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, I promise,” the man says, the words barely registering in your kiss-drunk haze. He scoops up his jacket from the floor and immediately begins to head back inside. “I just have to go, really. It’s nothing.”

You freeze, mouth agape. “Wait, I don’t even know your—”

“It was really nice meeting you, I hope that we can see each other again!” He pulls open the door with one final grin, one beautiful, brilliant smile, and then suddenly, he’s gone. 

You feel the rush of wind blow against your skin, holding you hostage on the balcony as you stare at the closed door, almost like he had never been here at all. 

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. He was real, and he was here, and then he was right in front of you, his hands were on your waist, his lips were on your lips. And still, it’s almost as if it never even happened. 

You blink back at the door, trying to convince yourself that you are still awake, that you haven’t gone mad with loneliness, when you feel yourself step on something. 

It’s his mask. A plain, black one with a couple of decorative touches. The string meant to secure it to his face is broken, having probably snapped in half in his rush to leave, leaving it as the only reminder that you didn’t dream up the entire ordeal to begin with. 

You reach down to pick it up, letting it rest between your fingertips, and you laugh. Here you are, having fallen for a man whose name you don’t know and whom you don’t think you’ll ever see again, the only piece left you have of him being a broken, forgotten masquerade mask. Like the worst rendition of Cinderella ever. 

Leaning back over the balcony, you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that even if tonight was more eventful than you thought it would be, you will have to get up tomorrow morning and go to work, just the same. 

And you suppose that that really is what the man was talking about when he said life was endless. 

It’s not that it has no end. It’s just that it doesn’t really feel like you’re ever beginning something new. 

You wake up in a cold sweat and are convinced you dreamt of the whole thing until you see the mask sitting on your chest of drawers, grounding you back to reality. 

You wonder what it is about him, about last night, that so easily deceives you into thinking it never happened. Perhaps it was the time, or the alcohol on your tongue, or how storybook the whole thing felt, from the talking to the kissing to the disappearing into the night. Or perhaps it was the fact that you can’t remember the last time someone made you feel the way that he made you feel, can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like he did. Like your brain was convinced it would just never happen. 

At least you know that there’s still a little hope for you.

A part of you almost thinks that, for the rest of time, you won’t be able to think of anything but the mystery man and his excellent kissing skills. Even the morning after, the tingling feeling on your lips still lingers like lint on a blazer, like a scar that won’t fade. It feels like it won’t ever go away, dancing along your lips every time you look in a mirror. You hardly remember anything else about that night besides him, besides talking to him, besides his lips on yours. 

You continue to live in this post-kiss bliss for another ten minutes as you help yourself to breakfast and hum a mindless tune. Then your phone lights up. 

“Hey, Dad!” You say cheerfully, practically bouncing on your feet. 

“Y/N,” he says gruffly. “You haven’t left for work yet, have you?”

“Nope,” you say, stuffing a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into your mouth. “Why? Do you need me to bring something?”

“Actually, Y/N, you won’t be coming to the office today.” His tone is stern and sharp, no-nonsense. The same way he speaks to interns who have fucked up. 

Oh, no. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to keep your tone positive even though you already know you’re toast. 

“I’m assigning you to watch over the new resort hotel at the edge of the city.” Your father has never been known to beat around the bush. 

“What?” You gasp out, shocked. “Dad, you know that I—”

“You wanted more independence and more input in decision-making, didn’t you?” He says pointedly, a reminder of last night.

“Yes, but I—”

“Good,” he declares. “This resort is going to be your responsibility and I want to see that you are doing well with the tasks at hand.”

“Dad, that sounds good, but you know I much prefer more corporate responsibilities—”

“And at this resort, you will have that,” he informs you. “It’s high time you take on your own tasks instead of doing the ones that I hand down to you. I expect to see this resort flourish.” You don’t understand his logic. Isn’t he literally handing you an entire resort to oversee? A brand new one, too?

“But wouldn’t you rather manage such a new hotel? What if it starts to encounter deficits?” You plead, a final attempt to get him to take your name off of this project so you can go back to doing what you’re used to instead of being flung a brand new resort you definitely aren’t keen on overseeing. 

“Then I should hope to see you solve them quickly,” he clips, effectively dissolving any hope you had that he would change his mind. Normally, you love your father’s typical hands-off approach when it comes to business, usually because it allows you to gain working experience without him carrying you every step of the way, but right now, you just wish he was more of a selfish businessman. For once, it would actually work out quite well for you. 

“Dad—”

“I’ll be checking in.”

He hangs up. 

Standing in the middle of your kitchen, you huff, nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrow as you try to think your way out of this. Getting through to your father is impossible, getting through to your mother, even more so. She’s always preferred to stick to philanthropy, anyway, having zero interest in what you and your father do. You scowl to yourself, already beginning to run out of options. Is your list really that short? Who else in your family could help?

Suddenly, you smack your head, shocked at how forgetful you’ve been. You grab your phone from where it sits on the counter and dial his number. 

“Y/N?” Jungkook asks from the other end, voice still groggy. At least he gets to sleep in. 

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say, sighing out your hello to sound more casual. 

“What’s up?” He asks in between yawns. 

“Listen, Dad just assigned me to oversee that new resort hotel on the beach just outside of town,” you say economically. You’ve always gotten straight to the point with your brother. It’s the only reason the two of you aren’t constantly at each other’s necks anymore. 

“Really? That’s awesome!” Jungkook says excitedly, voice jumping up half an octave. 

“I mean…” You begin, because it’s really… not.

“This probably means that Dad’s going to retire soon, don’t you think? Since he’s giving you such a big responsibility, right?” Jungkook asks, a suggestion that nearly sends you into a coughing fit at the mere thought of it. Retirement?

“You think so?” You ask, a little terrified. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, and you can hear his nonchalant shrug through the phone. “Maybe. He has been talking a lot recently about what’s going to happen when you take over the company.”

“Don’t you want that same responsibility, though?” Jungkook has never been treated as a business equal the same way you have, despite having the same expensive education as you and being much better with people. You’ve always wondered if that’s bothered him. 

“Not really,” Jungkook tells you, and you can hear the familiar log-in sound of his computer in the background. “I mean, I’ve always known you were going to inherit the company. This sort of thing just makes sense to me.”

You frown to yourself. “You don’t want to be involved with the business at all?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jungkook says with a sigh, voice still groggy. “I’m happy that I’m getting the work experience and everything. But it’s just never something I’ve seen as part of my future.”

Mostly because it’s always been yours. 

The fact of the matter is that Jungkook, even if he is younger, and a little more rambunctious, and a little bit more impulsive, has always been the better candidate to take over the family business. He excels at task-driven jobs and has charmed the pants off of everyone he’s ever met, from Yoongi to your florist to the nice woman at the customer service counter at your local grocery store. He’s a quick decision-maker and never second-guesses himself. He also has zero problems with his love life and potential partners, something that your parents are desperate for you to figure out. He’s perfect for the position. 

So why are you the heir?

“What, are you just going to livestream video games for a living, then?” You ask snarkily, already knowing that he’s sat at his desk, ready for another match. 

“Probably. I could probably double the family’s fortune, you know,” he says, and he’s right. What he does is equally as profitable as what you do, and he gets bonus points because it’s something that he genuinely enjoys. 

“You better get started then, gamer boy,” you say, hearing his bubbly laugh echo through the phone before you hang up. 

Jungkook would take over the resort hotel management if you asked, and you know it. He’s got the experience and the expertise to do it flawlessly, no questions asked. But he won’t, because you won’t ask that of him. Because even if you don’t want to do it, it is better you than him. Someone in this family deserves to do what they love for a living. And nobody deserves that more than him. 

The Honey Nut Cheerios slosh around in the milk in the bowl in front of you. You aren’t very hungry anymore. 

Your father has always had an eye for design, a trait he never seemed to pass on to you. It’s no wonder why he’s the one the architectures and interior decorators run everything by while you manage the finances. It’s something your mother always says she loves about him. So, even if you are assigned to oversee a resort hotel that you have zero interest in whatsoever, at least it looks nice. 

“Whoa, this place is fancy,” Hoseok says, gasping as the two of you step out of the car beneath the golden awning that covers the hotel entrance. There are little lights lining the structure, something to bathe the canopy in a sparkling glow when the sun says goodbye for the day, light it up like stars in the night sky. 

“You’ve been to my house, this is nothing,” you say with a shrug, making him laugh as the doors open for you, carpet plush and hardly touched. From what you read in the file your father sent you, this place hasn’t been open for more than two weeks. 

It looks like it’s barely been occupied. 

The security guard, a gruff, stout man, nods a hello to you as you enter. 

“Uh, your house doesn’t have security guards,” Hoseok whispers into your ear as you pass him, pointing rather conspicuously to the man behind you. “Your dad really went all out on this one.”

You huff, gritting your teeth. Good thing it’s not an eyesore, otherwise you don’t think you’d last a week here. “Well, he’s always loved the beach.” 

“Why does that not surprise me,” Hoseok lilts, whistling as he gazes away from you, guilty. 

You smack him with the back of your hand in the middle of his torso. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, backing off even though he knows he’s the only person (well, besides Jungkook) who can get away with saying that sort of thing in front of you. “You two have always been polar opposites, I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well, say it in your head,” you sulk, hitting him again so that he straightens up. You both have a duty to make a good first impression, though Hoseok’s red suit is doing half of the work for him. 

As you enter, all of the staff behind the desk scramble to get to their positions, hands together neatly in front of them as you peer over your wire-rimmed glasses to get a good look at the place. It’s clean, elegant, with touches of luxury here and there, a golden coffee table, an accent along the lining of the walls. It smells faintly of lemon and mostly of the ocean, a scent you are going to have to get used to. Everything seems to be in order. 

You stroll up the front desk, eyeing everything closely. Behind it, the three employees currently on front-desk duty wait patiently for you to speak. Their names are written in capital letters on gold-plated tags, pinned to the pockets of their blazers. You nod as you memorize their names. Irene, Seohyun, and Seokjin. 

Seokjin looks positively wide-eyed, flabbergasted to be seeing you, to be standing in front of you. There’s this faint sort of recognition on his face, like he’s just realized something life-altering, and he’s doing a rather poor job of hiding it. Perhaps he’s just starstruck.

“Well, we might as well get the introductions over with,” you declare, clapping your hands together. The sound makes the three of them jump. “If you didn’t know, I’m Y/N, and I’ll be overseeing this hotel for the foreseeable future. So let’s get along well together. For all of our sakes.”

They nod, polite smiles on their faces. 

“Which one of you is the hotelier?” You ask, looking between the three of them. Your father had written it down in that file somewhere but quite frankly, you were so exasperated that you had been assigned the hotel that you hadn’t really looked it over properly. 

“That would be me,” the man, Seokjin, says with a tense, small little grin, nodding his head when you turn to face him. He looks strikingly familiar, this sort of picturesque nostalgia that you can’t quite place, angles sharp in the bright light of the hotel. You wonder where you’ve seen it before. Possibly in some magazine or at an event. He certainly is worthy of being photographed. 

“Excellent,” you declare happily. “Then you’re on my staff, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I just received word about that last night,” he affirms. 

“Wonderful,” you say, fingers tapping against the granite countertops. “I can tell that this will all go smoothly, so long as we all make sure to stay on task. Sounds good?”

“Of course, Miss Jeon,” Seokjin says. 

“Please, call me Y/N. I do hate formalities,” you request. “So, shall we get started? I trust that you all know exactly what you’re doing. But I would like to receive a few updates here and there about the goings-on here. Mostly, I would like all total daily income numbers to be faxed to my office, transcripts of all of the customer service requests, and an updated menu. The pizza is far too cheap and the lobster just as expensive. How’s that for a starting list?”

“Would you like those numbers in an Excel sheet or graphed?” Irene asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Both,” you answer. She and Seohyun get right to work, leaving you feeling confident that this won’t be a complete train wreck. “Seokjin, you are with me.” You gesture for him to come out from behind the desk, and begin to walk around the lobby of the hotel, hoping to put some distance between you two and the other employees. He stays a solid two feet behind you the entire time, taking quick, short steps so he doesn’t dare start to catch up. 

“How can I help, Miss Jeon?” He asks, eyes wide.

You smile, shaking your head. “I told you that Y/N is fine. In any case, since you are the hotelier, I will need a little more from you.” He nods. “First, I need a summary of all expenses and income since you opened, preferably in Excel and formatted cleanly. I’ll also need a list of all of the employees, their respective positions, and their salaries. It would be great if we could begin to eliminate the part-time slots and allow the employees to become full-time so that they receive the same benefits as you and I. I’ll also need information on their schedules.” 

You notice he isn’t writing any of this down, simply bobbing his head as you lift off everything you want and a few things that you’re throwing in just so you don’t have to do them. 

“I assume that you don’t have constant contact with my father, but I don’t mind being the messenger in regards to hotel infrastructure and design. Any and all malfunctions should also be reported to me. It would also be great if we could maybe lose the curtains in the lobby. I think they close up the room. But, your choice.” You narrow your eyes, looking around to see if there’s anything else that needs urgent attention, when you see Hoseok already beginning to hunt through the concessions room, picking up bags of different themed Jelly Belly. “I think that should be enough for now. Update me whenever possible, please.”

“You got it,” Seokjin says, heading back to the desk as quickly as he had walked away from it, concentration washing over his features. It does, at least, bring you comfort that nobody seems particularly incompetent. 

Behind you, you can hear Hoseok muttering a few things at the front desk, most likely having to do with you and your attitude. But you don’t think it’s that big of a deal. You’ve always been work-oriented. It’s always been your biggest focus. Lingering in the lobby, you gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the entrance, the slick, newly-paved asphalt, the tropical flowers that surround it. You have always preferred a city to a beach, but at least the time might pass quicker here with people who know how to do their jobs.

Perhaps this might not be so bad after all. 

Then, your phone vibrates in your pants pocket. 

“Mom,” you greet, surprised that she’s calling you during work. “Hey, how are you?”

“Wonderful!” She shrieks, always the energizer. “Your father told me all about how he assigned you to oversee that new resort. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” you respond, lifeless. 

“You know, you have a lot of responsibility now,” she reminds you, as if you had already forgotten how much work goes into supervising something like this. “Directing a hotel and its staff is a big deal. I don’t want you to think that you can just slack off.”

“Mom, I’m not going to slack off,” you explain. “You know I care about this stuff, just like Dad.”

“I know, I know, I’m just making sure. We want to make sure the company is in good hands when your father retires. He doesn’t have too many years left, you know.”

“Well, whenever he’s ready, I’ll be too,” you assure her, a promise you have vowed to uphold, no matter what becomes of you or your social life. 

“Good.” The conversation ends there. Or, more takes a quick pause, which can only mean one thing. Your mother has something else she needs to tell you. “Speaking of seeing you off…”

“Yes—?”

“Your father and I both think it’s high time you start to settle down with someone. You know we don’t want to see you end up all alone,” she begins, the same argument that you’ve had with your parents time and time again. 

“Mom, you know that I’m not really interested in going out and finding people right now.” Or ever. 

“Yes,” she begins, sucking in her breath between her teeth. Oh, goodness, what’s she going to say now? “But luckily, you don’t have to. You’re so busy, we can’t expect you to just drop everything. So we did.”

“You what?”

“Your father and I have set you up on some dates—just a couple!—with some of his associates’ sons,” she explains, but you are already livid. “We just think that you should be taking more time to see—”

“See what?” You demand. “See his friends’ bratty sons tell me how much money they make? See their cars and their clothes and their stupid Italian leather shoes? See them tell me how I work too hard and that I should just stay at home while they go out and change the world? No thank you.” You can’t name a thing in this world less appealing. Except perhaps supervising a resort hotel against your will. But even that’s better, because the men here actually know what they’re doing.

“Honey, you just aren’t giving them the opportunity—”

“Mom, they don’t deserve an opportunity. I don’t need to be dating people right now. At all!” You exclaim. “Like you said, I’m busy. If Dad is going to retire soon then I need to be ready for it. I have other priorities.”

“Your happiness is our priority,” your mother insists, convinced she’s doing you a good deed by setting you up on blind dates with rich men who care more about their watches and Italian leather shoes than they would a woman. 

“Working makes me happy,” you say between gritted teeth. “I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

“Will you please just give them a try, honey? You never know,” she pleads, desperate to get you to agree with something.

“Fine,” you say, caving in just to get her to stop talking about it. “But don’t expect anything out of it.”

“Yay! That’s all I wanted to hear.” You can hear her relief through the phone. 

“Anything else?” You ask, rubbing at your temples, wishing desperately for this day to be over so you can just go home and take a nice, hot bath, and dream about the mystery man in his black masquerade mask. You’re not interested in dating, sure, but for him, you think you'd make an exception. If only you knew who he was. 

“That’s it. Love you, honey, congratulations on the new resort!” She hangs up in that same voice that she started with, bubbly and animated, and the moment you hear the line go dead, you throw your dignity to the dogs and groan to yourself. 

“God almighty,” you mutter angrily, shaking your head as you rest your head in your hands, fingers massaging at your forehead. Another blind date? How could you possibly have agreed to that? The more you think about the more you wish that this part of your life was the dream instead. Fairytales are overrated but quite frankly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if that man from the party waltzed right into your life and swept you off your feet. He certainly had no trouble doing it last night. You wonder what he’s up to, now—

“Miss Jeon?”

You jump at the voice, scaring both you and Seokjin as you turn, a little cry escaping your lips instinctively. “Oh my God, you frightened me. And please, Y/N is fine. Better, actually.”

Seokjin looks like a deer in headlights, terrified to even talk to you, let alone address you by your first name. You appreciate the professionalism but have never been too fond of the whole ‘Miss’ thing. As if you or your parents need any more reminding that you’re single. Your first name feels much more natural. He flounders twice, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it again, as though whatever he says will suddenly enrage you. 

“Do you… need anything, Seokjin?” You ask, prompting him since he doesn’t seem to be taking matters into his own hands. 

The sound of his name from your lips snaps him out of his daze. “Oh! Yes, I do, actually. I just wanted to ask if you wanted me to include personal expenses on the part of the hotelier in the Excel sheet.”

“Personal expenses? Did you receive a credit from my father?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in surprise. 

“Yes, it was mailed to me just last week. I’ve only used it for a couple of items, though—”

“Like what?” You ask, head tilted. 

He blushes red, cheeks rosy like cherries in summer. “The curtains in the lobby.”

You bark out a laugh, amused at how unexpected this whole thing is. The one thing Seokjin spends money on, you instruct him to take down. At the sound of your chortle, Seokjin backs away, like a cat scared of thunder claps. “Of course,” you say, looking up at the sky and exhaling. Fate. “Please include those.” He nods, already making to scurry back to the front desk, but another sentence from your mouth stops him in his tracks. “Oh, and if you think that the curtains look nice, then leave them. I was never good at interior design anyway.”

You crack a smile, hoping that Seokjin will at least recognize that you’re attempting to be funny and grin, validating you and your lacking sense of humor. He doesn’t, but he does nod once more, and you at least feel like the ice between you is beginning to crack. 

Seokjin rushes back towards the front desk, taking on the enormous list of tasks you’ve assigned him without so much blinking an eye. You watch as his eyebrows furrow in concentration, knitting themselves together above the scrunch of his nose, as his eyes zero in on his computer screen. It’s obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing and has no issues regarding his work whatsoever. Good thing he’s the hotelier. 

From here, you can use supervision as a cover for the way that you are blatantly ogling him, his figure and his face, finding yourself rather impressed at the sight in front of you. Here, in this lavish, modern hotel, he looks like a prince rather than a manager, clean button-down shirt and fitted slacks, tailored to fit his short torso and long legs. His hair hangs in front of his face in strands, the same sort of hairstyle that the attractive male love interests get, messy and tousled but still fresh. It looks good on him. He certainly wears it well. 

You don’t think being here will be too bad, so long as you have him. 

“Hey.” You feel Hoseok wrap his arm around you, joining you as you stand by the windows. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you promise. “I am.”

Hoseok motions back towards them, where they work diligently behind the front desk as they wait for the next guests to arrive. Seokjin, thinking you aren’t looking, steps back from his computer for just a moment to take some breaths, catch some air. He stretches, arms above his head as his shirt is pulled out from where it’s tucked into his pants. Even from here, you can see the toned lines of his torso, his healthy, slim figure. 

Something about him is so familiar. Maybe you met him in a past life. 

“I think you’ll be fine, Y/N,” he promises, bright white smile gazing back at you, happy as always. “You don’t have anything to worry about. They all look like they know what they’re doing. Especially that Seokjin guy.”

Being here wasn’t your first choice. It wasn’t even your second. But you have people that you can’t let down, and responsibilities to uphold. Besides, you don’t think it’ll be that bad. At least, not with someone like Seokjin around. Perhaps there is always a silver lining. 

“Yeah,” you repeat again, exhaling. Hoseok turns to look at you, fondness lacing his features, and you smile to yourself. “I know.”

Very seldom are you shouted at by people that your family has employed. The fear of being fired due to disagreeing with your boss is enough to keep many people quiet. Submissive, even. 

But not Hoseok. 

“What is with these eye bags, Y/N?” He exclaims at you, exasperated as he picks up the color-correcting pot from his kit and turns around to face you. “I thought we agreed on eight hours of sleep per night. Getting less than that is a death sentence!”

“I’m fine, Hoseok,” you insist, even though the bags underneath your eyes are deeper than the Grand Canyon. You, admittedly, have not been sleeping as much as Hoseok has insisted upon. 

“No, you’re not, look at you! Earlier today you shoved your toothbrush into your ear when I called you while you were about to start brushing your teeth,” Hoseok reminds you, an embarrassing moment in your life that you would prefer to keep just between the two of you. Sometimes you just mix up what’s in your hands. It happens. 

You frown. “I thought we agreed not to mention that.”

“Your skin is looking dry, too,” Hoseok says, dabbing on the product underneath your eyes. “These are all signs that your body isn’t doing well.”

“Okay, Dr. Jung,” you say with a roll of your eyes, making Hoseok scowl playfully at you. “But I’m fine. I’m just working a little bit harder right now. That’s all.”

“That’s what you always say,” Hoseok points out, unimpressed with your measly excuse. “Every time I talk to you about how you aren’t taking care of yourself, you always go, ‘It’s because of work, I’m fine,’ or ‘Don’t worry about me, I just have a lot to do right now.’ It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t sound like that!” You object, offended at his mocking high-pitched impression of you. You don’t sound like Hoseok on helium. You refuse to accept that. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok says, shrugging you off as he pulls out the concealer. “I’m serious, Y/N. You work yourself way too hard. This event is supposed to be a fun business gala and you’re probably going to spend the whole time checking your email.”

“I will not!” You will.

Hoseok frowns, seeing right through you. One of the many benefits of being your personal assistant is the fact that he can read you like a children’s book. He also knows that he can say whatever he wants to you without fear of getting fired—not that he cares about that, either, because he’s probably got enough money in his bank account to put three kids through college. If he ever wanted to have kids, that is. So this is how conversations like these usually go. 

“If I didn’t like your live text updates on the stupid things people wear to these things so much, I would make you leave your phone at home,” Hoseok tells you. “You really do need to take time for yourself.”

“I do take time for myself,” you rebuke with a pout, thinking about how you’ve started waking up five minutes later so you have more time to sleep in. It means that you don’t get to read the morning news like you used to, but sometimes putting off politics until after you’ve had coffee is a good thing. 

“A once-a-month ten-minute bath while you put on a rose face mask doesn’t count,” Hoseok tells you pointedly. “You need to be incorporating this sort of thing into your everyday life. By taking time off. All you ever do is work.”

“It’s not my fault,” you huff, closing your eyes so Hoseok can do some eyeshadow. “I have a whole hotel to oversee after my dad assigned it to me. There’s a lot that I have to manage. Plus, my mom is making me go on these stupid blind dates with their associates’ snobby sons who still think that the pay gap isn’t real.”

Hoseok tuts to himself, shaking his head as he brushes color onto your eyelids. “Your parents have such bad taste in men for you.”

“I know!” 

“This is even further proof that you need to relax more,” Hoseok says economically, brain immediately connecting your predicament to his agenda to get you to take more time off, as always. “Because men stress you out.”

“Just them, but yes,” you correct.

“What do you mean ‘Just them’? Is there someone you’re interested in that doesn’t stress you out?” Hoseok demands, tapping your cheek to get you to open your eyes. You do and the first thing you see is Hoseok’s face, two inches from yours, staring at you as he waits for an answer.

You sigh. You might as well tell him about the mystery man. Clearly, you underestimated his power, because it’s been a week and you’re still thinking about him. “Yes, but—”

“‘Yes’?” Hoseok asks, shocked. “What the fuck, when did you meet him? What does he look like? What’s his name? Job? Is he rich?”

“At my birthday party,” you say. You can picture the scene perfectly in your mind. The balcony, the stars, the mask. The feeling of his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. They’ve been etched into your brain. “We talked on the balcony for a little while and then we kissed.”

“You what?”

“Don’t overreact, it’s not that big of a deal,” you order. The mere recollection of it is already making your body restless and your cheeks burn.

“What do you mean? It’s a huge deal!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” you interrupt, sighing to yourself, “because he ran off at midnight Cinderella-style and I don’t know his name, or his job, or even what he really looks like because he was wearing a mask the whole time.”

Hoseok stops dead in his tracks, the loose power leaving a puff of smoke in between the two of you as his words sink in. Yeah. That’s how you feel too. You finally develop an interest in somebody after years of going it solo and you don’t know a damn thing about him. Other than the fact that he is a fantastic kisser. Which is not an appropriate identifier. You suppose that you could use the mask, but you don’t even know half of the people your mother invited. How are you supposed to narrow down who was wearing a black mask and who wasn’t?

The fact is that unless a miracle happens, you don’t have any way of figuring out who that man is. Yet another thing that you have to dwell on while you worry about everything else going on in your life. 

Hoseok sits on his words for a few more moments, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Eventually, he settles on, “Damn. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do anything to find him?”

You shake your head, resigning yourself to a life where the mystery man will forever remain a mystery. “No. I don’t even know who was on the guest list.”

“What if you ask Jungkook?” Hoseok poses. “Maybe he knows him.”

“Jungkook does not need to know about my barely-there love life,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. You and your brother typically keep your conversations far away from that realm of topics, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Jungkook is rather flush with admirers. Many of whom have gotten to know him a little bit… closer. “It’s no big deal, ‘Seok. I’m not really desperate to find love. I just need to focus on work, right now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard, Y/N,” Hoseok says with a melancholic smile, knowing that no matter what he tells you, you’ll always be too determined for your own good. At least he tries. 

You purse your lips in understanding. Hoseok just wants what’s best for you, but what’s best for you right now is being ready for your father’s impending retirement. “There’s just too much that I have to do.”

“At least you’ll have help with the resort,” Hoseok offers, always looking on the bright side. “That Seokjin fellow seems like he really knows what he’s doing.”

You think back to your visits to the resort. Your longest stay was the first day you arrived, but you’ve been making frequent trips back to check in. And every time you arrive, Seokjin is waiting dutifully for your next orders, always getting your completed requests back to you on time, formatted perfectly. He listens to your every word and asks the right questions. He knows exactly what to do and he has no problems admitting when he doesn’t. He’s even started bringing you the occasional coffee.

He’s also terribly handsome, but you try to think about other things when you look at him. 

Hoseok’s right. At least you have Seokjin. His impeccable work ethic is half the reason you aren’t wearing yourself thin worrying about the resort. He was definitely meant to be a hotelier. 

“I guess you’re right.” You nod, letting Hoseok brush a deep maroon lipstick onto you as he finishes up with your makeup. “It could be worse.”

Hoseok mumbles in agreement, stepping back. “Let me look at you.”

You stand up, gown, heels, makeup, and all, letting Hoseok gaze at you to make sure that everything is flawless. You’ve never liked the events you have to attend, but getting dressed up is always something you rather enjoy. Especially when Hoseok is the one doing it. 

The dress drapes down your figure perfectly, hugging your sides as it gathers on the floor, leaving just enough space for the tips of your heels to peek out. Your necklace hangs low on your torso and your earrings dangle, soft golden strings with gems at the base. Your eyes sparkle with the help of the glitter that Hoseok has added, touches of shimmer on the high points of your face. You look into the mirror and for once, you feel satisfied.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, proud and beaming. “Look at you.”

There you are. 

Days at the resort hotel pass by faster now. 

Granted, no work day could ever top the speed at which the days passed when you were younger, playing outside with friends or running around in the yard during recess. But being here isn’t as terrible as you had first made it out to be. At least you don’t have your father constantly looking over your shoulder, even if he does call you every day to ask for updates. And at least the people here have integrity, more so than any of the usual executives you work with up in the central building in town. The people here aren’t brown-nosing you every minute of every day. 

And yes, getting to see Seokjin every day is also rather enjoyable. From a professional perspective. 

Hoseok says you need to take more time for yourself and relax more but quite frankly, being at the resort hotel is a vacation. It’s a respite from the hustle-and-bustle culture that your father has cultivated in his office building. It’s a break from the neverending business deals, the meetings, the agreements and bargains and contracts. And most importantly, it’s something that you can do without your father’s help. 

For once, it almost feels like a little taste of freedom. 

Of course, Hoseok would also tease you terribly about the fact that you consider overseeing a resort hotel a break, as opposed to an actual holiday where you take real time off. But he must know that that’s never going to happen. At least, not anytime soon. 

You hadn’t realized your father’s retirement was so close. The years pass by in a blur but you have always thought that your father has much too much to finish, tasks and projects, and events that will take another few years to come to fruition. Too many loose ends that he needs to tie up, deals he must close and finances he must track. You’ve been groomed to take over for him since you were young, even before you graduated, but retirement has always felt like a distant future. 

Not an imminent happening. 

Jungkook hadn’t even sounded surprised when you told him that you would be overseeing the new resort. 

You wonder if you’re the only one in your family who hadn’t expected your father to be planning his retirement so soon. The money and savings isn’t an issue—he will continue to invest long after he leaves his office—but the time is. Perhaps he has finished more than you thought he would. Accomplished more goals than you expected he’d do. 

Or perhaps, you just grew up too quickly. 

Time has always gone by much too fast for your liking. When you were little, when you were in school, when you graduated. You closed your eyes and suddenly all of your youth had whizzed by. You woke up and suddenly you were in and out of four years of college and two years of a Master’s in business. You blinked and suddenly you are about to inherit a company you thought you never would. 

The fear of everything ending is enough to keep you away. Away from that skyscraper in the center of the city, where your father’s office sits at the top floor, where he works nonstop to make sure that everything is ready for your arrival. Away from a future you thought you could avoid, until it reached you. 

Having this resort hotel, a brand new building in the beachy part of town, with efficient, competent staff and a gorgeous view, is enough to make you want to live in the past forever. 

Your phone screen lights up with your father’s contact for the third time today, the green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘decline’ button waiting patiently for your decision. Staring down at it, you frown. You normally aren’t one to purposely miss your father’s calls, but today is the day that the deal with the Ohs is finalized, something that you have zero desire to celebrate. 

After a few more moments, your phone stops vibrating in your hand, the screen going back. You roll your eyes and stuff it into the pocket of your pants, not wanting to wait for it to light up once more. You have a feeling that your mother will be phoning shortly to berate you for not answering your father’s calls, a call that you have every intention of ignoring just like the previous ones. You aren’t sure how to make clearer the fact that you think the deal is a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Mostly because the Ohs are horrible people.

Still, you cannot resist pulling your phone out when you feel it buzz against your side.

[Today, 12:27PM]

Jungkook: dude dad’s flipping out because you aren’t answering his calls

Ugh. Not Jungkook, too.

You: Tell him that I will congratulate him on the deal in person later. You: I’m busy right now.

Jungkook: he’s calling just to check in on the resort

You: I give him weekly updates and forward him any pressing news. He’ll manage.

Jungkook: just call him or mom’s gonna call you

You: Tell her that I will congratulate him on the deal in person. You: Later.

Jungkook: are you gonna be like this until dad retires?

You: Like what?

Jungkook: -_- Jungkook: don’t play stupid Jungkook: you’re being stubborn and you know it.

You: Dad already knows that I didn’t approve of him going through with the deal. I don’t imagine he’s expecting a party from me.

Jungkook: you can’t keep ignoring him just because you didn’t approve of one thing Jungkook: how is that professional???? Jungkook: you’re inheriting the business soon Y/N Jungkook: you need to start acting like it

You: Don’t tell me how to act when you aren’t the one busting your ass trying to make sure the business is ready for when he retires. You: You have your own life to lead and your own things to do. It’s not your place.

Jungkook: as a businessman, it isn’t Jungkook: as your brother, it is

You scowl at your screen. The brother card. Jungkook pulls it whenever he and you both know that you’re being unreasonable, and the worst part is that it always works. It always works because Jungkook only ever wants the best for you, wants to see you succeed as a businesswoman, as a future CEO, and as his sister. And who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

You: I just have a lot on my plate right now. Dad and I can talk later.

Jungkook: yknow Jungkook: like, occupationally, you are more than ready to inherit the company and you know it. Jungkook: you work so hard 24/7 and you never take breaks, you know exactly what you’re doing and you can command a room better than anyone i’ve ever met Jungkook: but Jungkook: oh idk

You: What?

An impromptu psychoanalysis from your wise-beyond-years younger brother is certainly not something you had been expecting today. But Jungkook always has and always will know you better than anyone else, something that is both a blessing and a curse.

Jungkook: you are so fucking ready to inherit the business Jungkook: i just wish you would realize it

Silence. You pause, watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again, Jungkook typing and deleting what next he wants to say. Chuckling to yourself, you read his message over and over again. 

What’s Jungkook on about? Doesn’t he know what you do? The position you have? Just because you’ll eventually take over the business doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Isn’t Jungkook aware of how much work you have to do? About how your father assigned you this resort hotel as punishment for disagreeing with him? 

You aren’t ready. 

You’re barely halfway. 

You: Yeah, right.

Jungkook: i’m serious Y/N Jungkook: can’t you see how prepared you are

You: I still have lots to do, Jungkook. Just because I’ve been given more responsibility doesn’t suddenly mean Dad’s going to retire tomorrow and that I’m ready to take over.

Jungkook: that’s not what i meant and you know it

You: I don’t feel like talking about this anymore. Tell Dad that I’ll talk to him about the deal later. 

Jungkook: … Jungkook: fine Jungkook: but don’t say i didn’t try to tell you

You angrily switch your phone off, fuming at the fact that the deal’s gone through, fuming at how Jungkook thinks that suddenly because you were given a resort hotel to oversee it means that you’re ready to take over from your father, and fuming at how, above all, there’s a part of you and a part of Jungkook that both know that he is, as usual, right. 

There’s a knock on the door to your makeshift office at the hotel and you lose it. 

“What?” 

You look up just in time to see Seokjin jump slightly at your shout, coffee sloshing around in the cups in his hand. Ah. You hadn’t meant to scare him like that. 

Exhaling, you rub at your temples as you set your phone down on the desk, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Seokjin. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please, come in.”

“Coffee?” He offers, a small smile on his face as he holds it out.

“You are a lifesaver,” you declare, taking the cup from him happily and having a sip. Perfectly scalding. Seokjin waits patiently behind your desk until you’re finished, swaying slightly. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Just thought that I’d let you know that I’ve just got more files on the finances.”

“Oh, excellent,” you declare happily, accepting the small manila folder from underneath Seokjin’s arm. You open it just to browse, and everything seems to be in order. An easy thing to file away for future reference if necessary. And there’s no doubt in your mind that Seokjin’s already faxed you an electronic copy as well. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Seokjin nods. He turns to leave but seems to linger, noticing the tension in your shoulders and the irritation on your face, the way you drink up the boiling coffee like it’s nothing, relishing in the burn down your throat. He almost stops himself, opening his mouth slightly and then closing it, but then he just sighs, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

You sputter out the coffee all over the manila folder in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you say over coughs, the beverage going down the wrong pipe in all of the chaos. “What—what did you say?”

“You just seem more stressed than usual, is all,” Seokjin says, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ink black slacks. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been snappy recently,” you say, admitting it. “There’s just a lot I’m dealing with right now. Mostly to do with work.”

“I hope I’m helping, then?” He says hopefully, a hesitant grin on his face. 

You nod in agreement. Without him, you definitely wouldn’t be sleeping half as much as you do now (which is apparently still not enough, according to Hoseok). At least Seokjin’s there. “You definitely are. I don’t think I’d have made it without you,” you chuckle. 

Seokjin smiles. “If you need me to do more, I’d be happy to. Just ask.”

“Thank you, Seokjin. I really appreciate that,” you tell him. In the short time you’ve known him, Seokjin’s kindness has outshone even his stellar work ethic, a trait that you’ve come to admire in him, mostly because you know you can only dream of being as generous as he. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he says, and he means it, too. “I’ll always be here for you.”

And standing here, in your makeshift office, with a matching cup of coffee in his hand, and a gorgeous, toothy smile on his face, you know that he means that, too. 

Sometimes, you can’t even believe a man like Seokjin exists. He’s practically flawless.

“I will bear that in mind,” you promise. “You really are a wonderful person, Seokjin. Really.”

Seokjin grins, the compliment going straight to him, blushing furiously as he exits your office, waving a tiny goodbye on his way out. You return it, watching fondly as he nearly crashes into the door frame, hand slamming onto it before he realizes. He laughs at his clumsiness and even from here you can see his cheeks get redder, heating up like the coffee in his hand. 

Work is hard. Being the unprepared heir to an enormous conglomerate even harder. But Seokjin’s right. 

At least you’ll always have him. 

You’ve never been one to develop friendships with your employees, but there is something about Seokjin that’s different. Something about him that makes him a confidant first and a hotelier second. Something about him that pulls you in, an electric, magnetic touch. 

You feel like you’ve known him longer than you feel. Feel like you’re closer than you really are. 

Some people are just like that, you suppose. Some people just make you wish that you had known them forever.

Quite frankly, you don’t think you could name a single thing wrong about Seokjin even if you tried. He gets your coffee order perfect (not that it’s hard, it’s just that you’ve never told him what it is), he does all of his work before you’ve even asked, and he runs the damn resort hotel better than you do. He’s obviously a people-person and can make others laugh without trying. He’s even figured out how to compliment you, a trait that not even grown businessmen have learned.

The days pass in a blur, made quicker by the ease of working with him. Of being around him. Seokjin lifts up your spirit and he doesn’t even have to try. His competence in the workplace is enough to have you coming by the resort daily instead of weekly, hourly instead of daily, just so you can spend time in a place that, for once, makes you feel relaxed. 

Hoseok would say that Seokjin is a miracle-worker. 

You would say that he’s just brilliant.

Honestly, sometimes you think that even Seokjin is more well-equipped to run your family’s business than you are. And you’re the heiress. 

The differences between Seokjin and all other men you’ve had the displeasure of interacting with (besides Jungkook, because he’s your brother, and Hoseok, because he’s the best) become abundantly clear after your second mother-mandated blind date. 

The first one that you went on a couple of weeks ago was alright. He wasn’t an asshole, but also he had the same amount of flavor as the plain white bread that you were served prior to the meal. But no points is better than negative points, right?

You mentioned to your mother that you probably wouldn’t be interested in a second date with him. She didn’t sound surprised. 

Unfortunately for you, your second blind date was not nearly as uneventful. 

The good part about your date was that it was a brunch arrangement, which is unabashedly your favorite meal of the day and also saves you the trouble of having to get all dressed up for a fancy dinner in the center of the city. But that is where the good parts end. 

You don’t know what your parents were thinking, setting you up with a man like Sangmin. Every single thing that you have ever complained to them about a man, Sangmin either did or was. The first red flag was how he showed up to your brunch meeting wearing a navy blue suit. It didn’t get any better from there. 

You know that your parents just want you to find someone and settle down, someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and get you to stop working so hard, someone who will make you happy and who can keep you comfortable, someone who is something that you genuinely will want to spend time with, but you can’t explain why, with this knowledge of your preferences and dislikes, they still send you on dates with men like Sangmin. 

Men who boast about their money with every chance they get, checking the time just so they can flash their Rolex watch even though their phone is right there, telling you how many fancy cars they own that deserve a woman like you in the passenger seat. Men who try to explain economic practices that your family pioneered to you. Men whose eyes flash with dollar signs when they hear that you’re going to be inheriting your family’s company. 

Your parents want you to find someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and keep you comfortable? They should let you pick. 

At one in the afternoon and not a moment later, you storm into your office, flinging your bag onto your chair as you groan aloud, staring out the window and fighting the urge to punch right through the Plexiglass. There’s no word for the way you’re feeling, the unintelligible growl that you let out. You just aren’t having a very good day. 

Your desire to interact with men is at an all time low, and yet, you can’t help but turn around when you hear his voice. 

“Knock, knock,” Seokjin says from the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hand. He strolls up happily to you, placing the plastic cup in your outstretched hand. “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” you spit, not wanting to say anything else.

“Oh, no, really?” Seokjin asks, genuinely disappointed. At least someone was rooting for you. You don’t even think you had been rooting for yourself. “Worse than the first guy?”

“Say the first guy was just… slightly stale white bread, okay?” You begin to explain, because Seokjin doesn’t need the details and you don’t need to relive the experience. “Then this guy would be… how would you put it—?”

“Really stale white bread?” Seokjin offers.

“A rotten egg mayonnaise sandwich that’s been sitting in a dumpster for two weeks,” you correct. 

Seokjin winces. A perfect reaction, as always. 

“It was just bad. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You decide once and for all, moving to your desk and slamming the coffee cup onto the wood. It sloshes over the edge and splashes around the side, leaving behind a ring that you know you’ll have to clean up later.

Seokjin goes to stand by the window, looking out into the back gardens of the resort, all tropical red flowers and vibrant green leaves. “You have a third one, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine. And not the good kind. The fact that the dates aren’t even over yet is enough to send you into a tailspin. “God, my parents are just desperate, at this point.”

“Why?” He asks, turning to face you, brown eyes wide and curious. “Are they worried about something?”

“Ugh,” you begin, on the verge of slamming your head onto the mahogany. The problem isn’t that your parents are worried you won’t find someone. It’s that your parents think that it’s their job to find someone for you. “I think they’re scared that I’m never going to marry, or that I work myself too hard and need someone to spend time with to calm down. I don’t understand. Even if I were to never marry, that’s not a bad thing. I can do what I want. I’m perfectly capable of running my family’s group without someone else.”

“Do you not want to get married?” Seokjin asks. The reason, you realize, that Seokjin is so refreshing, a respite from the rest of the executives that constantly surround you, is because he doesn’t expect anything of you. He doesn’t assume that you’ll eventually marry and become disparaging when you suggest otherwise. He doesn’t assume that you constantly need guidance on official matters that you alone have been tasked to handle. He doesn’t assume that you aren’t capable. 

(He did assume your preferred coffee order. And he is an excellent judge.) 

“I mean,” you begin, rubbing at your temples in a desperate attempt to relieve your body of the stress that sits upon it, “I suppose that eventually, it would be nice. But I’m in no rush if I haven’t met the right person, you know? Like, I’m not going to force myself to if the time isn’t right. There’s no deadline to get married.”

Seokjin nods in agreement, mouth shut. One of your favorite things about Seokjin is how, whenever you begin to speak, he begins to listen. 

“My parents are just putting all of this pressure on me to get married because they think that I’ll need someone’s help when I take over after my father retires. Or they just think that I’m sad and lonely. Which, maybe they’re right about the second part, but I just hate how they’re putting all of this pressure on me to go on dates and get married and work hard when there isn’t even a timeline for me to take over yet. I don’t even have real confirmation that my father is planning on retiring anytime soon. I just—ugh!” There really is no better way to put it than to just shriek and throw your hands up in the air. You sigh, dragging your hand down the side of your face. “Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?”

Seokjin’s eyes widen when he hears your words, like they’ve set something off in his brain. Even sitting on your tongue, they feel familiar to you. Where have you heard those before?

He seems to wait for another few moments, contemplating what he’s next going to say, like if he just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out he’ll say something wrong. Little does Seokjin know, in your eyes, nothing he could ever say would be wrong to you. 

“You aren’t sad and lonely,” he begins, a nice, comforting pep talk even though you sort of are both sad and lonely. You work nonstop and have three friends, two of which are employed by your family, the other one being your brother. “And you don’t need to rush into getting married if you don’t feel like it, no matter what your parents say. I mean, at least I think you don’t. You’re obviously much more focused on your career and how you want to succeed in the future, and that’s good. It’s something that means a lot to you.”

He takes a few steps towards you, setting his coffee cup on your desk. You look up to him from where you’re sitting in your office chair, letting his words carve themselves deep into your heart, rest within your soul. 

Sometimes, you don’t realize you’ve gotten yourself down until someone is trying to pick you back up. 

“You do have control over your life,” he tells you, and for once in your life you actually feel yourself believing it. “What you are doing, what you have been doing, is right. Things will come with time. You’ll learn and grow more as you keep living. And even if you aren’t looking for them right now—” he says, eyes wide and knowing and promising, looking at you so desperately because God, he just wants you to listen to him. To let his words mean something. “—there is someone out there who will love you.”

The sound of his voice dissipates into the air, sinking into the floor, dust after a storm. 

“You really think so?” You ask, hopeful. You never believed in soulmates but you have always believed in love. Believed that when the feeling was right, you would know. 

(That kiss still lingers in your mind, like morning dew after a rainy night. Like frost settling over the grass. Is it possible that you can feel like that again?)

Seokjin nods, firm and true. He does think that. He does. “I do,” he says. “I really do.”

The third date is forgettable. 

Or perhaps Seokjin has just enchanted you. So much so that your brain doesn’t even choose to remember interactions with other men. They just aren’t as memorable. 

You finish up this round of parent-mandated rich boy blind dates and get back to work, knowing that you might as well make the most of your now-unoccupied time before your mother decides once again that it’s time for you to go on dates again with men you have no interest in. Work, unlike so many other things in your life, will always be a constant. For better or for worse. 

Today, it’s barely even dawn before you arrive at the hotel. In recent days, the resort has become your hub for all of your work, even the work that doesn’t have anything to do with it. There’s just something calming about being here. Something that makes you feel more productive. That makes you want to work more. 

You slide into your office with ease, coffee in one hand and messenger bag in the other, surprisingly awake considering the sun is hardly over the horizon, soft orange rays peeking out from between the trees and skyscrapers. You don’t imagine there’s a lot of tasks of immediate priority waiting for you on your desk, but there’s always other work to be done. Administrative orders, emails to send, requests to be made. Even here, there’s no shortage of items on your never-ending to-do list. 

Seokjin’s not due to clock in for another several hours, at least. But he works long days and longer nights, and he deserves at least the morning off. He should at least be afforded that small luxury. 

Sitting down in your office chair, you pull yourself into the desk, elbows resting on the hardwood, head in your palms. The smell of coffee wafts through the air, thick and potent, waking up your nerves, one by one, sending small waves through your brain. You close your eyes, almost drifting back to sleep, sighing happily. 

Today feels like a good day. 

The hours pass quickly when you’re here, the sun rising slowly in the sky as it always does, day in and day out. You rely on it as much as it relies on you, wakes up this little corner of the world, says hello to the people stepping out of their doors and onto the street. No matter what, you know that the sun will always be there to greet you when you wake and say goodbye before you sleep. Within thirty minutes your coffee is finished, within the hour your emails are answered. 

One by one, you check the tasks off your list, responding to a phone call or two, forwarding some files to your father, rejecting a business proposal and requesting changes to another. You don’t even notice the minutes blowing past you until the sun is high in the sky, and the clock is chiming twelve. Noon, already?

“Knock knock,” a voice from the doorway calls. 

You feel your body relax when you see Seokjin standing there, peeking his head into your office like he always does. He looks much more casual today, a sweater vest over a button-down shirt, looser beige pants in place of his usual tailored slacks, hair sitting in a tousled mess atop his head, forehead peeking through the strands that hang low over his face, brushing his eyelashes. Instinctively, you glance down to your usual pantsuit attire. Did you miss a memo?

“What, no coffee for me today?” You tease, an eyebrow raised as Seokjin enters, coffee cup-less.

“Not today, sorry,” he says with a guilty smile. “I thought that maybe we could get something else to eat.”

“Oh!” You exclaim happily. “Sure, we can order some delivery. What are you feeling? Sushi? A burger? Oh, I know this wonderful brunch place that’s just a few blocks away—”

Seokjin laughs, a hand reaching out to push your phone done. The mere sensation of his fingertips upon your skin are enough to have you looking back up at him, shellshocked, heart frozen in place. “I was thinking something a little different.”

“Like what?” There are plenty of options for the two of you to pick from.

“How about you and I take a break this afternoon?” He asks, eyes wide with ambition. 

You frown, nose scrunched up at the notion. “A break? You mean… leave?”

Seokjin nods. Oh, so you did hear him correctly. “You’re always working so hard. You should take some time off.”

“Ugh,” you respond, rolling your eyes, having had this conversation thousands of times before. “You sound like Hoseok.”

“Hoseok’s right, Miss Y/N,” Seokjin points out, much to your chagrin. “You’ve been working so much lately. Just a little break, alright? We can get out of here and do something fun.”

“Nice try, Seokjin,” you say with a scoff, turning back to the work in front of you. “Maybe some other time.” Which means never, so long as you can help it. 

“Oh, come on,” Seokjin says, a pleading lilt to his voice. He’s beginning to pout in front of you, lower lip turned outwards. “Just a couple of hours, please? We can go into the city and walk around for a little bit. Eat some food in the park, or something.”

You look up to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. That does sound good… but you have work to do, items to cross off your list. This hotel isn’t going to manage itself, and neither is your life. “A couple of hours?” You clarify, interest piqued. 

“Just a couple,” Seokjin promises, fighting off the grin that’s etching its way across his face. “Please?”

You sigh. 

Twenty minutes and a Lyft ride later, you and Seokjin are standing in the middle of the city, along the streets known for their high-class fashion boutiques and expensive restaurants with afternoon tea. There’s a park a couple of blocks to the north. It’s a part of the city that you rarely get to spend time in, usually trapped in the business skyscraper sector a ten-minute subway ride away, but for that reason alone, it feels brand new. 

Seokjin buys you both a cup of expensive coffee despite your objections, and the two of you walk along the sidewalks side by side, sipping from your paper cups with plastic lids, letting the warmth wash down your throats. 

It’s nice, being out here. Away from anything that reminds you of work. With someone you’ve wanted to spend more time with for a while, now. 

Out here, you can almost pretend. Pretend that you aren’t the heiress to a major global conglomerate, pretend that you aren’t being groomed to marry up, pretend that life is just a little more normal. 

Out here, you can almost pretend that you and Seokjin are more than just friends. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, look at this shirt!” Seokjin gasps, stopping in his tracks in front of the window of one of the most expensive luxury boutiques you can name. You’re pretty sure that Jungkook shops here sometimes. 

The shirt in question is a satin white button-down with hand-stitched birds decorating the fabric, wispy little designs that seem to be fluttering off of the material itself. It stands front and center in the window, a masterpiece meant to have people stopping in the streets just to gaze up at it in awe. It’s doing its job rather well. 

“You wanna try it on?” You offer, motioning towards the door of the shop, a sleek, black one with metallic silver accents. 

“What?” He asks, turning to you with an eyebrow raised. 

You smile, pointing up at the shirt, eyes tracing the drape of the fabric. “Come on, just for fun.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing to have Seokjin marching up to the door and pulling it open, giddy like a child walking into a toy store. He spots what he’s looking for immediately, a single shirt on a silver rack, hanging from a simple wire hanger. Other than the one on the mannequin in the window, there seems to be no other option. 

“It even feels expensive,” Seokjin sighs happily, hand brushing over the satin fabric. He holds it out to you, and it’s so light and pliable that you can barely feel your fingertips touching the material. 

“There’s the fitting room,” you say, pointing to the back corner, black velvet held up by a rod, muted gray paint lining the walls. Seokjin grins excitedly at you before rushing off, disappearing behind the curtain with a flourish. 

Instinctively, your eyes trace the interior, jumping from the hangings on the walls to the decorative shelves, the pastel cashmere sweaters and shiny leather loafers, the silken white button downs and navy striped ties. Every item in this room practically screams Seokjin’s name, and even when he isn’t in front of you can you picture him wearing each piece, picture him in an oversized light pink sweater or a sleek white suit. 

It’s weird. You’ve never been able to imagine things like that. Not even on you. 

The clothes in here are some of the most gorgeous garments you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on and yet there is something else in this room that outshines them all. 

“Ready?”

You turn back to the fitting room, watch as the curtain shifts slightly. “Ready,” you say.

A hand comes out to push the curtain to the side, satin sleeves covering his wrist, but not even that glimpse of skin could really prepare you for the sight before your eyes. 

Seokjin steps out of the fitting room and you almost gasp aloud at the sight. 

The funny part is that he isn’t wearing anything else designed to complete the look. His hair is loose and floppy, like he had brushed through it with his fingers once or twice before deciding it was good enough. His pants are a roomy beige, hardly even complimenting the monochromatic shirt, white with black accents. He’s wearing sneakers. 

And yet, he looks stunning. 

Standing in front of you, Seokjin looks like the kind of person that your parents would want to set you up with. Rich, well-dressed (not that he isn’t already), powerful, educated. But he looks like more than that, too. He looks like someone straight out of a painting, like a sculpture that belongs in a museum. He stands tall and mighty, the hero after defeating a villain, the love interest in an old-timey film. 

God, he looks amazing. Looks like he belongs in those clothes, belongs in this store. Belongs in the kind of life that the usual clientele of this store live in. Something about him is just so familiar. Like he has always fit into the crowd that your parents want you to associate with. Like you’ve seen him before, once upon a dream. 

“So,” he says, interrupting your thoughts with a smug smile. “How do I look?”

He must already know the answer to that. 

You’re speechless. “I—Wow, Seokjin. You look great.”

A hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you correct. “It fits you perfectly.”

The fabric shapes his shoulders but drapes over the rest of his torso, including his ridiculously small waist. It both hangs loosely and hugs all of the right places. Your family regularly gets clothing tailored and yet you still don’t think you’ve ever seen any item of clothing fitting someone as well as this one does him. It’s as if the damn thing was made for him. 

“It feels like I’m wearing a cloud and a blanket all at once,” he says dreamily, relishing in the feeling. “If only the price tag made me feel this way too.”

“How much is it?” 

Seokjin holds out the sleeve to which the tag is attached for you to inspect, and the moment you see a comma in the cost, you understand why. No wonder Jungkook’s fine with shopping here. To your family, that amount is pocket change.

“But you really like it, don’t you?” You ask, looking back up at him, closer now. Seokjin nods, lips pressed together in a thin line, wanting something that he knows he can’t have. You know that feeling, too. 

“I would get it if I didn’t mind taking out a loan for it,” he jokes, admiring the detail at the cuffs, the way it cinches in towards his wrist. 

“Then let me buy it for you,” you say before thinking twice, because you have more money than you realistically know what to do with and Seokjin deserves it. He looks gorgeous in it and more importantly, he feels gorgeous in it. He emerged from the fitting room and it was almost like there was this white glow surrounding him, this fluorescent halo that made it seem like the shirt was melting into his body. 

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “What? No, I can’t let you.”

“Please?” You plead, eyes gazing up to him. “You deserve it. Plus, you look amazing.”

“It’s so much money,” Seokjin reminds you, shaking his head. “I can’t. No.”

“Seokjin, do you even know who I am? I can afford it, don’t worry,” you assure him, already pulling him towards the register, his old sweater vest and button down still hanging on the rack inside the fitting room. 

“No, I can’t let you. It might not be a lot of money to you, but it is to me,” insists Seokjin, refusing to back down. 

You roll your eyes, figuring out the game that he’s playing. “Then consider it a thank you. For all of the things that you do for me. The least of which is bringing me coffee every day.”

“That’s just my job, Y/N—” He reaches out a hand to stop you from getting out your wallet, his enormous palm cupping yours as you stare at him, fighting over the shirt like two friends with a restaurant bill.

“No,” you tell Seokjin, because his job is to be a hotelier but he became a friend instead. And he didn’t do it just because he was told to. “You deserve it,” you say, placing your free hand on top of his. It makes him look at you, eyes glossy and big and beautiful. “You really do, Seokjin. This is the least I can do to say thank you for being there for me.”

“Ma’am?” 

The lady behind the counter catches you both off guard. “Will you be buying this shirt?”

Seokjin looks down at you in disbelief, almost like he doesn’t expect you to say yes. Like he doesn’t think he’s worthy of a shirt with such a high price tag.

But little does Seokjin know, if you could buy the whole universe for him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

You walk out of the boutique with a light heart and a lighter credit card, with Seokjin by your side and his old clothes in a cardstock bag with ribbons for handles. Even if he had resisted at first, you’re happy that he caved. He looks stupidly handsome. You’re actually somewhat regretting agreeing that he should wear the shirt out instead. 

A block away from the park is a little macaron store with more available flavors than you can count on both of your hands and toes. Feeling insatiable, you buy a box of twenty-four and decide on the spot that you won’t be leaving the center of the city without having finished them all. The mere scent of the shop as you walked in was enough to send you into a tizzy. 

Seokjin scopes out an open spot on the grass, in the shade of a big Japanese maple tree, and the two of you immediately settle down in the park, the blades tickling your ankles as you set the box of macarons in between the two of you and get to work filling your stomachs. 

“All of my friends are going to think that you’re like, my sugar mommy for buying me this,” Seokjin says, taking a bite out of the lavender one. 

“If you’re really that embarrassed, you could always say that I just gave you a raise,” you offer, peering over into the box to pick your poison. The problem is that you just want to shove all twenty-three into your mouth. 

“No way,” says Seokjin over a mouthful of macaron. “A sugar mommy is way more exciting. I’m just lucky I have a boss with a bank account.”

“Well, unlike all of the other men that my parents have sent me on dates with, you actually deserve to have someone treat you once in a while,” you say happily, eventually deciding on a lemon flavored macaron and popping the entire thing into your mouth. “I’ve met very few men who are as charming as you, Seokjin. Charming and kind.”

“‘Very few’?” Seokjin repeats, interest piqued. “Who dares upstage me?”

You laugh at his brazenness, his attractive confidence. “Oh, no one,” you say with a shrug of your hand. “There was this one guy I met at my birthday party, but I didn’t even catch his name.”

“Too busy mingling to ask?” Seokjin teases, looking sufficiently less confident than he did ten seconds ago. Like someone you had just said caught him off guard. 

“Yes, actually. And you don’t really need to know this, but he was an excellent kisser, too. Really sent me into a tailspin,” you say, feeling the faint sensation dance across your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. “But he ran off at midnight like Cinderella and left only a mask behind to remind me that I didn’t dream up the whole thing.”

“Ah,” Seokjin says with a nod, a strangely succinct answer for a man as wordy as he. A silence settles over the two of you as you continue to eat, slowly emptying out the box of macarons between the two of you, a light snack to keep you occupied when your mouths aren’t running circles around each other. “My dog gave birth a few weeks ago,” he says randomly. “Want to see some photos?”

At your enthusiastic reply, Seokjin pulls his phone from his pocket and opens up his camera roll to reveal a gorgeous terrier with four equally adorable puppies nursing from her, and your heart nearly melts. Nearly all of his most recent photos are pictures of them as they’ve grown older, opened their eyes and learned how to walk, started play-fighting with each other and eventually tracking into new territory (the living room), but you don’t miss the couple of selfies you see here and there. Even with the warped iPhone camera does Seokjin still look positively flawless. 

“They’re adorable, Seokjin,” you tell him, heart soft. “I’m in love.”

“Me, too,” Seokjin says happily. “Two of the puppies have future homes but I think I want to keep one of them. I just love them too much to let them all go.”

“You’ll make a great dog dad,” you assure him, sighing contentedly. “God, don’t you even know how perfect you are, Seokjin?”

He is silent. 

“Like, you bring me coffee every day and do all of your work and never talk down to me or assume that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve raised a family of dogs and have shown them more love than anything else. You even got me to leave the office for once even though you knew that I’d be really annoying about it,” you declare, partially to him, partially to you, and partially to the world, who deserves to know that there is someone out there like Seokjin that is equal parts wonderful and generous and kind and handsome and funny and lovable. 

It’s not just the fact that most of your interactions with men your age go sour. It’s the fact that Seokjin is good just because he is, not because he tries to be. It’s the fact that he cares so deeply and loves so much. It’s the fact that for once, there is someone out there who really does understand you. 

“You deserve a break,” Seokjin points out. “You work too hard.”

“Hoseok will be so angry that you accomplished what he’s been trying to get me to do for months, now,” you say. You’ve already missed three phone calls and seven texts from him within the last couple of hours. 

“It’s my charm,” Seokjin teases, a soft watermelon macaron grin on his face. 

“It really is,” you agree, feeling the gap between you close, inch by inch. “There’s just something about you, Kim Seokjin.”

“Mmm, do tell,” Seokjin murmurs, beginning to lean in, your bodies moving of their own accord. Your mouth tastes like lemon and sugar and coffee, but you can’t find it in yourself to care any less. “Because there’s something about you too, Miss Y/N.”

Slowly, you feel your eyes begin to drift shut, craving more than what you already have, itching to feel his lips press against yours, to feel that same fire in your feins. Of course, the next time you kiss someone would be here, underneath a giant Japanese maple in the middle of a city park, the furthest cry from a hotel balcony beneath a starry sky. But something about this is distinctly familiar in a way that you can taste, in a way that you will know once his lips press against yours. Beside you, Seokjin is barely an inch apart from you, pink lips with macaron crumbs hovering over yours. God, he’s so close. 

You want him to be closer. 

And then—

“Aw, what the—?”

The two of you jerk apart to find a giant stain on Seokjin’s shoulder, courtesy of an unknown flying park visitor who has long disguised themselves amongst the leaves of the maple, waiting for the right time to do its business. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin groans, looking down at the white and brown stain that now rests squarely on the fabric of his brand new shirt, an unpleasant splat front and center. “Thank you, bird,” he declares, throwing his hands up in the air. 

You fight the urge to laugh at how uncanny all of this is. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin says, grabbing a couple of the napkins from the macaron shop to dab on the stain. “A little soap and laundry detergent will be enough. No big deal.”

“I just feel bad,” you tell him. 

“Me, too,” Seokjin agrees, pressing gently against the fabric. “Great timing, too.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, dejected. 

Perhaps, if you were a little bit bolder or a little less fearful, you would try again. You would throw caution to the wind and press his lips against his, bird business and all, and never look back. You would relish in the sensation of his mouth on yours, of his hands on your waist, itching to feel that same feeling again. Itching to know that there really is someone out there who will love you. 

But you aren’t, and the moment is over. And you can’t, because you just don’t know how to. And you ponder if you will forever wonder what he tastes like, what he feels like. 

The clock strikes three. 

Some days you come in early, and some days you stay in late. 

Later than usual, that is, because you regularly stay past eight in the evening without blinking an eye. 

But some nights, you just don’t feel like going home. At least, not yet, you do. Some nights, you would rather stay here.

Home is where you’re supposed to feel at ease, where you’re supposed to relax and unwind, take off your heels and jacket, pour yourself a cup of tea. And that is what your home is to you, a place that you try to keep as free of your work life as possible. 

But sometimes, you would rather just work. 

Rather work and feel productive and get home a little bit later than go home and feel like you still have so much to do. Rather work than dwell on all of the other parts of your life that don’t involve work, things like marriage and retirement and your family. Things that you feel like you have no say in, no control over. You go home and waiting for you is another phone call from your mother telling you that you need to find someone. You go home and your father drops by to hand you a pile of late-night tasks reminiscent of how hard he’s been working lately. You go home and even if you’re all by yourself, your thoughts take control over your mind. Your worries and fears are magnified. 

So some nights, you would rather just work. 

Peering out the window of your office, you notice that the stars are just a little bit brighter out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Not nearly as clear as they were on your birthday, at a hotel overlooking the town from afar, but clearer. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the stars twinkle above you, waving hello from millions of light years away. 

Nights like these are too rare to spend indoors, huddled over your computer as you draft another email. Just because you’re still at work doesn’t mean you still have work to do. Well, you do, but you’re trying to be kinder to yourself. Trying to cut yourself a few more corners of slack. 

The rooftop is not off limits to guests. But you know a couple of secret places that can afford you the privacy you want, the space to lie back against the cement and feel the breeze tickle your skin.

When you arrive, there’s already someone there. A familiar tuft of brown hair, an oversized pink sweater. You wonder how long he’s been out here. 

“Knock knock.” Your sounds like a whisper but feels like a shout, the wind carrying the words from your lips to his ears as he turns around, hardly surprised to see you here. 

Seokjin laughs when he sees you, this fond, wonderful smile as you stroll up beside him, where he’s sat with his legs crossed on the rooftop’s edge, looking out over the distant city, the waterfront. “Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says. 

“I could say the same for you,” you retort easily, setting down beside him. If you were any braver, you’d rest your head on his shoulder. 

You’re not. 

“You must know by now that I practically live here,” Seokjin jokes.

“Well, I’m starting to pay rent as well, so you better get used to it, don’t you think?” You tease back, looking out into the same city, illuminated by the same moon. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I thought that you were going to start taking it easy on yourself,” he reminds you pointedly, one of the lasting lessons you had learned from the day out on the town. The other being not to sit underneath Japanese maple trees. 

“What can I say, I just love to work,” you say, and even though you try to make it sound like a joke both you and Seokjin know you’re not kidding. Work always has and always will be your biggest priority. Never have you lived in a world where anything else comes first. Never have you cultivated that sort of life for yourself. 

“How’s your family?” He asks, a broad question with a loaded answer. 

You don’t even feel yourself letting out a sigh until the groan leaves your lips, settling like dust. “The same as always,” you say, not even attempting to sound cheerful or happy about it. “They work me hard because they want me to succeed. And I want that, too.”

“But don't you ever want something more?” Seokjin asks, but it’s not the sort of question where he wants you to give him a yes or a no. It’s the sort of question where he already knows that you want to say yes, that there is a whisper deep inside of you that wants to have a life outside of your job, your workaholic family. But you can’t. Because your family is counting on you. 

“I just can’t let them down,” you say instead, because you and Seokjin both already knew how you were going to respond anyway. “There’s so much that they expect of me. What kind of heiress—no, what kind of daughter am I if I don’t at least try?”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” Seokjin muses. 

You force a chuckle. Obviously you have. Whenever you aren’t working, you’re thinking about what next you must do, what next is on your list. You’re thinking about how your family is counting on you to succeed. And how you want to do it for them. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Do a lot of people know how you feel?” He poses, looking at you curiously. 

You shrug. “Not really. My parents, no. Jungkook, sort of. Hoseok, yes. And I suppose you, now, too.”

Seokjin cracks a small smile, this lopsided grin that makes you feel like you’re missing something. “So I guess they’re secrets, aren’t they?”

“Secrets?” You respond naively, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment. 

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh my God,” you say aloud, dumbfounded. “Oh my fucking God. It’s you?”

Seokjin laughs out loud at that, clapping his hands together at your positively shocked face, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He seems very amused by this, for some reason. A reason you can’t ascertain, mostly because you had no idea. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even figured it out from that. It took you forever to realize.”

You’re so scandalized you don’t even have the right words to respond. “What do you mean, ‘it took forever for me to realize’? Why didn’t you say something?” You demand. 

Seokjin’s still fighting off the remnants of his laughter, hiccups escaping from his parted lips every few seconds. “Because it was obvious you didn’t recognize me at first! And I had no idea it was you until you showed up at the hotel that first day anyway. And I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was worried it would have made things weird.”

“Look at us now!” You cry, positively mortified. Seokjin knew it was you the moment you stepped through the sliding glass doors and you still hadn’t figured it out, not even after weeks of knowing him, of getting to spend time with him. “God, I just—I can’t believe this.”

“The funny part is how I knew you had no idea who I was and yet I fell for you anyway,” Seokjin says, but his words aren’t making you laugh whatsoever. 

Your heart freezes in place as they sink in, etching themselves into your thoughts. “You—you what?”

“You befriended me without knowing that I was the man you kissed on the balcony that night, let me bring you coffee and confided in me and bought me the most expensive item of clothing that I currently own,” Seokjin says, a list of things that you loved him for all the same, “and I realized that it didn’t take that kiss to get me to fall for you. It took knowing you. Learning who you are. Who you want to be.”

You feel your heart getting lighter with every syllable that leaves his mouth, every breath that he takes. 

The truth is that no man had ever made you feel the way that the mystery man did when you kissed that night. But no man had ever loved you the way that Seokjin did. Treated you the way that Seokjin did. The kiss was a spark. 

The friendship was the fire. 

“All this time you were right here,” you muse, looking at him. Here in the moonlight you finally understand why he looked so familiar, why the light hit his skin in all the right places, why the sound of his voice had always struck a chord within you. He glows silver in the moonlight and yellow from the halo above his head, he sits beneath the navy sky and lets the starlight decorate his irises, sparkles in a deep brown ocean. “All this time, and I had no idea.”

“I’m sort of glad you didn’t know,” Seokjin admins sheepishly. “We got to fall in love another way.”

Love?

Could it be?

You’ve never truly been in love. Not the way that your parents are, or the sneaky way you see Yoongi looking at Jungkook sometimes when he’s not looking. But if it feels anything like this, anything like electricity beneath your skin and embers inside your chest, then you think you might be on your way. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask. 

“Kinda, yeah,” Seokjin admits crudely. 

You feel your cheeks heating up, your heart bubbling within you. You lean in close, watching faintly as he does the same, eyes trained on your lips. “Do you have any other secrets for me?” You murmur, the words hot and heavy on your tongue. 

He inches closer to you, lips hovering above your own, this soft, contented smile on his face as he gazes down at you, at the way that you are beginning to love him back, at the way that you already do. 

“This.”

The words barely leave his lips before he’s pressing them against yours, and the moment you touch him you know, you know that it’s him, that it’s Seokjin, that he is the man that you have been waiting for. Immediately your body lights up, electric shocks tearing through your veins, blood set alight. He is so familiar, smells and tastes and feels so familiar, like you have known him for a thousand years and you’ll know him for a thousand more. You get the same sensation you had when you last kissed him, all those nights ago, your body going weak, your skin turning to flames, but there’s something else, too. 

A burst in your chest. A puff of smoke in your heart. 

A fireplace. A little room in your heart, just for the two of you. For you. For your love. 

You think you could get used to this. 

He pulls away after a few moments and immediately you feel dizzy, like his lips were the only thing keeping you stable, closing your eyes as you burn the feeling into your brain, memorize how his mouth presses against yours. 

When you finally open them, there Seokjin sits, kiss-drunk and in love, this goofy, wonderful smile on his face. 

“I’m still angry at you for not telling me. You could have saved us so much time,” you declare, not wanting the moment to last too long for fear that you’ll become obsessed.

Seokjin laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “Even if you forgot who I was tomorrow, I wouldn’t tell you,” he says, this stupid perfect grin on his face, this gorgeous, brilliant grin, “because I would happily fall in love with you all over again.”

God, he is so beautiful. A dream come true. A happy ever after.

The following morning your father saves you the trouble of having to awkwardly explain why you don’t feel comfortable continuing to oversee the resort hotel by letting you know that you’re welcome back in the central building in town and that he’ll have another executive replace you. Thank God, because that would have been one strange phone call. 

Luckily, when your parents do eventually meet Seokjin, they are pleased to see that he’s been a loyal hotelier to your family’s conglomerate for several years now, and that he excels at his job. You also think that your mother’s just gotten softer over the years, wishing more for you to be happy than for you to be married to someone you hate. 

It’s a good thing Seokjin’s charming. Otherwise, you have no idea what could have happened. But he’s here, and he’s with you, and your parents are happy and so are you. What more could you ask for?

“Your mom really didn’t have to throw this whole party just for me,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as the music plays on inside, this soft classical sound that Yoongi had composed not too long ago. 

You turn around to look back in through the window, watching all of the guests waltzing along to the song. Jungkook’s in the back corner, behind the grand piano, and you can see him throwing winks Yoongi’s way every now and then. The sound of the party is barely audible from out here, in the stars’ silence, in the faint way the night whispers, this distant white noise.

“Throwing parties is her thing,” you explain helplessly. “Besides, you’re part of the family now, aren’t you?”

“Hey now, we aren’t married just yet,” he reminds you pointedly. “Unless you—?”

“Only after my father’s retirement next month,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. It’s not that you don’t want to be married. It’s that you don’t have time. You’re about to inherit an entire empire. You would prefer not to be juggling two major life events at once, if you can help it. “Besides, you don’t even have a ring.”

“How do you know that?” He asks innocently.

You smack him in the torso with your satin-gloved hand, shocked. “What?”

“I never said anything,” he teases, looking off to the side far too guiltily for your liking. 

You place your hands on your hips and turn firmly to face him. “Kim Seokjin, do you want to marry me?” You demand. 

Seokjin laughs, twirling you around before pressing a kiss to your lips, the two of you giggling. “Always!” He declares to the world. “I think about marrying you every day of my life.”

You grin. “Then we will. Then let’s get married. After my father’s retirement, of course.”

“Of course,” Seokjin agrees. 

“What do you think the theme should be?” You ask, racking your brain for potential options. You like the idea of a rustic, cottage-y wedding. Or perhaps a more celestial one. Or maybe, if you wanted to go full circle, a masquerade.

Seokjin smiles. It’s clear he already has his answer. 

“How about Cinderella?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#bts x reader #jin x reader #bts fic #jin fic #seokjin x reader #seokjin fic #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #seokjin scenario #jin scenario #bts scenario #bts au #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #bts imagine #w: the heiress and the hotelier #AND NOW I TAKE MY LEAVE #aka go on vacation and finally relax for once

[introvert--weeb]

Hi Laura! Happy 300!! We should throw a party or something... I wanted to make a request for your 300 follow event for prompt #7 "How did the night ever get like this?" - Adam Lambert - Runnin' for Takeomi(Tokyo Revengers, Platonic)? Honestly, go wild with it because I totally love what you come up with and I'm totally a sucker for domestic Takeomi RIP Thank you for always writing such amazing things for us, and I'm looking forward to what you write for the event! <3

300 FOLLOWER EVENT

Thank you so much lovely!! I really hope you enjoy what my tired brain has produced :3 <3

--

Prompt: "How did the night ever get like this?" - Adam Lambert ~ Runnin'

Characters: Takeomi Akashi, Wakasa Imaushi, Keizo 'Benkei' Arashi

Genre: Platonic

TW: mentions of alcohol consumption, drunken shenanigans aftermath, passing out, forgetting what had happened

--

It had been a random invitation. Takeomi had decided to invite the First Gen Black Dragons and yourself over to his apartment to spend a night relaxing and catching up on the events that happened. Put simply, a night of booze, video games and general fun.

You and Takeomi had been friends for years, having met in middle school. It seemed like you both just clicked, your chaotic thoughts and his calm demeanor balancing your lives out. Through this friendship, you had been introduced to Shinichiro Sano, Imaushi Wakasa and Keizo Arashi, forming a close friend group.

At the time the text came through, you were chilling on your couch and scrolling through your socials. So you really didn't have any reason why you would refuse. Sending the reply that you would attend, you went to get ready. That meant shoving some comfortable bottoms on as well as an over-sized hoodie. Grabbing your bag to carry your stuff, you shoved your phone, wallet and keys into your pockets as you headed out. Might as well stop at the convenience store on your way to get snacks and some alcohol, you thought as you started the journey.

Takeomi greeted you at the door, a lit cigerette held loosely between his lips. He was dressed comfortably, a loose t-shirt and baggy trousers. Perfect attire for the occassion. Past him, you could spy Wakasa and Benkei already lounging on one of the couches, cans of beer in their hands.

The night continued in a similar manner. All of you were downing drinks as stories were told and laughter echoed around the room. It really wasn't that long until you had suggested a round or two of Mario Kart 8. But what had probably started as an innocent suggestion soon became a way to get drunk. The rules of the game turned into the losers having to down their drinks. Wakasa had chosen the Inkling girl as his driver; Benkei going for Bowser; Takeomi had decided to play as Shy Guy; and you had gone for your usual King Boo. With all the characters and karts selected, the game began.

Hours later and you were all smashed. None of you seemed to be in any way sober and a lot of shenanigans can happen. And they did. Would any of you remember this in the morning? I highly doubt you would want to.

Groaning, you woke up against the couch with a headache forming. No matter how hard you tried to recall what happened, nothing came to your hazy mind. Fumbling around, you found your phone that had ended up on the floor besides you. You turned the screen on to find that it was 04:32am. Too early to be awake but with no knowledge of when you passed out, you may have slept for hours.

With tired eyes, you scanned the room to try and find some clues of what happened. You found a lot, but all of them only raising one question: What the hell happened last night?

Wakasa was passed out on the floor, out of his previous outfit and wearing one of Senju's skirts and crop tops. You had to cover your mouth to prevent the laughter from leaking out. But you couldn't deny that he suited the look so well. After all, he had the feminine build for it.

Keizo was somehow lying upside down on the other couch, his face covered in marker. As you squinted your eyes to make out what the lines were, you were shocked to find a name and number of someone none of you knew on his cheek. That was going to be a shock when he woke up. But how did he end up getting that? A question you would not find out the answer to. Littered around the rest of his face were obvious doodles of dicks and the like. Normal things people would draw on their friend's face.

Something moving to your side had moved your attention away from the tanned man. You glanced down to find Takeomi sleeping next to you, his head nuzzled into you while his arms cuddled a... traffic cone?! How the hell did he get one of those? Your eyebrows furrowed and your nose scrunched as you tried to come to an answer. Nope, still nothing. With a sigh, you gave up on trying to recall the events, just accepting that whatever had happened must have been fun.

Opening your camera on your phone, you took photos of the boys as both something to show them and maybe some blackmail. Maybe you could turn them into memes to send in the group chat? That idea had you laughing quietly. But for now, you had got comfortable and allowed sleep to take you again.

No-one seemed to recall what had happened. But maybe that was a good thing. After all, a drunken kiss can make a friendship awkward.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #platonic friendships #anime drabble #300 follower event #takeomi akashi #akashi takeomi #wakasa imaushi #imaushi wakasa #benkei tokyo revengers #keizo arashi #arashi keizo #requested

[omiscurls]

omi doesn’t like flowers

sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader fluff

 cw: the reader has a little sibling, i hope nobody minds, there’s one line of very slightly implied nsfw, you won’t even notice

meant for kiyoomi’s birthday! happy b-day to my favorite boy <3 

one of the first things you’ve learnt about your boyfriend, even before your relationship started, is that he rarely shared personal information with anyone. he’d go as far as put up a fake birthday on his social media to avoid the awkward wishes and tons of yet another gifts from fans he so didn’t like going through. apart from that, there was a lot of weird things going on with birthdays, in his opinion: for instance people automatically thinking about zodiac sign or assuming other things, insisting to have a party, (a surprise one was his biggest nightmare) and a whole lot of other stuff he found appalling.

so it was just simply easier to say his birthday is “mid november” and get on with his life as if he didn’t just straight up lie. and truth be told, many times had you heard that “oh, in summer” or “right before christmas” before you got to know the truth. it wasn’t that easy on its own, but ever since his first little white lie, you knew he wasn’t true with you, and kept insisting, until he finally pulled you to the side and told you his real date of birth, the one only komori, atsumu, and, as he used to say, “unfortunately” his family knew.

march 20th was the date, and since you wanted to tease him, a grin appeared on your face before you mumbled “so a pisces, huh?” and earned a glare so cold and deadly, you visibly shivered before apologizing.

the next thing you learned about him and his birthday, was that he was picky about gifts. which went well with that “i’m an old fashioned gentleman” facade, because he could just say “oh, you don’t have to buy me anything. your company will be enough” with a slight smile he’d practice for years, and people thought he was just being humble and polite. spoiler alert: he wasn’t. he just didn’t want to deal with his own pickiness, and explaining to people what precisely would he like to get was too much trouble, and took away the magic of it even for someone as blunt as kiyoomi sakusa.

it’s not like birthdays were such a big deal for him, anyway, he didn’t need any gifts or parties to celebrate the fact that he just got one year older. what was so fun about that? but like the pain in the arse you were, you kept asking him what he wanted for the occassion way before he asked you out, and he hated it, but not more than he hated the way his heart jumped at the possibility of getting something you spent your time on. 

the first year of your friendship, you got to know the basic thing: omi doesn’t like gifts. gifts make him uncomfortable, he didn’t know what to say, how to act, what to do with it... does he open it right then and there, or wait, but why would he immediately thank someone if he doesn’t even open it? schroedinger’s cat: if he doesn’t open it, it might as well be thin air inside the box.

it was confusing, and weird. you also learnt that it was all caused by the fact that no one was in the house to celebrate young omi’s birthday back in his childhood days, since his parents were working and his siblings long away in college, so he just assumed it was a holiday to be overlooked and not dwelled too much on, and got so used to it, that now it bothered him to be in the center of attention for once. 

the third thing you learnt that year: it was almost impossible to find him a good enough gift, at least from your perspective. you spent literal hours at the store, looking at the different things he might’ve wanted, but nothing caught your eye. you called all his friends, yet he hadn’t mentioned the thing he’d like to anyone, not even komori. so you decided you’d go with instinct and remembered one cold morning when he showed up to practice grumpier than usual, and when he was asked what’s wrong, he answered:

“i woke up late and didn’t have time to make coffee”, half mumbling, half actually speaking, eyes too tired to be annoyed, legs slowly sweeping one before another as if he was forced to come here. And that’s where you got your idea. 

His first birthday with you, being his 21st, had started terribly, because it was wishes from his family. He’d told you multiple times he’d rather have them forget that send those copied off the internet lines that mean less than a “go fuck yourself” 

later on atsumu insisted or telling everyone and it took poor omi more than twenty minutes to convince him not to, and as both the setter and the spiker weren’t in their top moods nor form, MSBY lost a match they had that day. so all he wanted to do march 20th 2017 when he came home was to lay flat on his couch and play with his dog’s fur while watching a crappy TV show. he most definitely didn’t expect you sitting in front of his apartment’s door, tired, almost asleep. 

he sighed, approching you and slightly nudging your foot with his, making you shake your head and look up. 

“you’re back!” you said with a smile, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“and you look like a homeless person” he responded upsentmindedly, avoiding you to reach the door lock. only after you got up did he see a small package you held behind your back. “it’s not a right day to be celebrating me, y/n” he added, opening his apartment’s door and letting you in with a hand gesture. you went inside, not for the first time ever, but every time the feeling was the same, intimidating and cold. 

“why do you think that?” you said, taking off your shoes and putting them on a rack, and turning around to see him navigate you to the bathroom. you placed your bag and the gift on the floor before following his steps. 

“didn’t you see the match? i fucked up big time” he chuckled ironically, looking at himself in the mirror, and you could witness the disappointment and anger in his eyes. 

“so every time you guys win and you get the credit, you say that volleyball is a team sport, but if you loose, suddenly it’s your fault?” you smirked, but to your surprise he nodded. 

“precisely”. 

“well, regardless, it’s a minor set back. you’re still the best they make” you tried to cheer him up, but only received an eye roll in return. “aaaand, you’re a birthday boy today!”

“don’t remind me” he sighed, walking over to the kitchen to see what he can make for dinner for himself and his uninvited guest, meanwhile you grabbed your gift and walked up right behind him, tapping his shoulder lightly. 

“happy 21″ you whispered, a slight, soft smile on your lips, as you handed him the package. he looked at you with a tired look in his eyes. 

“you know i’m not the biggest fan of gifts” 

“just open it, grumpy face” you whined, and he gently took it from you, placing it on the counter and carefully unwraping it, to see a thermal mug. he sent you a questioning look, before you explained “you were complaining about not having enough time to drink coffee before leaving, right? well now you don’t have to drink it before leaving” 

there was silence for a long while before he looked up from the mug and gave you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s so thoughtful of you” he said, and laughed a tiny bit, probably to cover his emotion, which obviously didn’t work “thank you.”

omi likes thoughtful gestures. 

over the second year of your friendship, as he and his career gained more recognition from the public, he was “forced”, as he’d reffer to it, to share such a personal information that is his birthday date. the managers always claimed that it’s not a big deal, that it’s just gonna be added to the oficial page and his wikipedia, but judging from the amount of gifts atsumu, bokuto and hinata always received, he had his reason to doubt that. 

and as it turned out, he was right. 

because starting from march 10th, his personal mailbox as well as the oficial MSBY’s mailbox has been FLOODED with different things that he really had no energy to go over. and so, he invited one of his best friends to help. 

so it was late at night on march 19th, and you were both sitting on the floor of his apartment, a mess of ripped wrapping paper all around you, loads of different stuff laying on the table, as you still had a lot of things to open. 

“what even is the point in sending presents to someone you’ve never met? i mean less to them than their neigbour’s dog and yet i’m the one getting gifts? this is messed up” he kept on complaining, opening another package. 

“it’s called being famous, sakusa-kun. you mean very much to people you’ve never met, because your journey to where you are now inspires them to keep going on their path until they reach their dreams” you said with a smile, confident it’ll ease his worries, but it didn’t. 

“don’t know if i consider being in the Jackals my dream, though”

“you mean, you don’t think being a key player in a division one team is not a dream come true?” you asked, shocked. 

“no, no, of course i think it is, i’d never thought i’d reach this far, but, there’s more things to be done, it’s not like i’m an accomplished person just yet” 

that, you found interesting. 

“really? than what are your dreams, sakusa?” you asked in a low voice, eyes fixed on his face, as he focused on reading a letter in his hands. 

“national team” he murmured “MVP, a golden medal, a legacy that goes beyond just me” he opened up as if it was nothing, as if he was talking about his grocery list “but that all wouldn’t mean a thing if i were there alone, though. i’ve received plenty awards and mvp’s over the few years that i played, but i guess what would really matter, and make everything else worth remembering, would be... having someone be proud of me, i guess”

you felt your heart getting soft and fuzzy at the confession, wanting to respond, before he handed you the note he was silently reading. 

“this is a poem, y/n, a POEM! what the hell, i don’t even understand what’s going on there” he whined, throwing his head back to rest on the couch seat, as you giggled, reading the note. 

“it’s nice” you said in a high-pitched tone, pushing down a laugh. 

“it’s too... sophisticated” he uttered, looking at you, a tired look in his eyes. “that’s my mother’s thing, to be sophisticated, i like simpler wishes, they’re easier to believe” 

omi doesn’t like fancy words.

you nodded, but before you could say anything, your phone rang, and both of you looked at the screen. the hour on display marked midnight, and as the alarm ranged, the words “omi’s b-day!!!” appeared on the screen. he smiled subconsciously, noticing how you always address him as “sakusa” or “sakusa-kun” but the notif in your phone stated “omi”. 

“looks like it’s the 20th already, birthday boy” you grinned, turning off the alarm. 

“don’t call me that, what am i, six or something?” 

you decided to ignore the comment, and smiled at him warmly before speaking, almost under your own breath:

“happy 22, sakusa. i wish you only to be here to hear me say happy 23 next year. and say so with pride.”

his eyes appeared foggy and glossy, but it was probably fault of poor lighting and tiredness. 

“why stop at 23?” he asked, before standing up, and offering you his hand to pick you up, too. 

omi likes very real wishes. 

over the third year of your friendship you became very close. ever since that night on his living room floor, both of you couldn’t wrap your minds about anything other than each other. neither of you oblivious idiots found out what it was about, but day after day and month after month it was harder and harder to spend time apart. 

before he could notice, sakusa always tried to find you in the crowd before serving, and that’s how he always used up most of his time. once, he even heard ushijima complain “how much longer are you going to take? be a man and beat me without your good luck charm!” 

his good luck charm, huh?

you kinda liked the sound of that. 

you also found yourself texting him every random thought that came to your head, sending pictures of everything, becasue you wanted to share as much of your life as possible, meeting up whenever you could and facetiming whenever you couldn’t. 

it all started to go downhill when atsumu, bokuto and hinata started noticing. noticing the way he’d smile at his phone, the way he’d wink, smile, tease, joke, speak, even the way his eyes wondered when left unfocused, and a dreamy look covered his vision. 

and they started to tease, and joke, and make his life all more difficult, just because “omi has a crush!”

because he didn’t. right? he didn’t have a crush on you, for sure, and it only annoyed him, how childish they were about it, how insufferable. they got on his nerves so bad that he stopped responding to all the messages, stopped smiling, joking around, and all, just to prove his point, 

his point he knew was no longer standing. 

and so atsumu would ask, after one of their practices, “hey omi, is your lucky charm picking you up? some birthday dinner, maybe?” he’d nudge his side with an elbow, raising his eyebrows. 

“i don’t know” he mumbled “and stop calling them that”. the brunette kept looking for something in his bag, just to avoid atsumu’s tiring, curious glance. 

“fine then, how about your significant other?” he continued teasing. it’s not like sakusa would hate that scenario, of course he wouldn’t, yet his mind kept spiraling - what if you came in and heard that? what if you assumed he was calling you that behind your back?

what if you didn’t feel the same?

“stop butting in my relationships for once, miya! how many times am i supposed to tell you i’m not in any way romantically involved with them? i don’t even like them that much!” he lied, straight in his best friend’s face, fed up with all the jokes and smirks behind his back, and judging from atsumu’s shocked expression, and the color running away from his face, it worked. 

“what, don’t you have anything to say to me now?” he kept going, before atsumu shook his head, and pointed behind kiyoomi’s back wordlessly. the spiker raised an eyebrow, turning around to see you, in the flash, eyes wide open, a tiny little package in your hands, wrapped so neatly in colorful paper, with a little bow tie at the top. 

even from a distance he could already half see, half imagine tears prickling your eyes before you smiled sadly, dropped the box from your hand and let it fall to the floor, and began walking out of the gym room. 

“no, no no, y/n, wait!” he started shouting out, but your ears seemed deaf to his pleas, as he ran up to the door you just walked through, leaving atsumu alone, but with a condescending smile. 

“i don’t like them that much my ass, omi-kun” he whispered to himself before walking over to grab his things. 

meanwhile sakusa ran out to the reception room of the stadium, but as it turned out, it was filled with fans waiting for them all to come out, so they could wish him happy birthday, and it seemed impossible to get through the crowd and reached you, especially considering you were already at the exit door. 

he looked around himself and noticed all the people, how many of them were there, and how close to him, and got paralyzed in place, wanting to move, or disappear, that’d be for the best, and yet he couldn’t even move one foot. 

soon enough he felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back inside, his savior apologizing to the public.

“sorry guys, we have one more thing to go through! he’ll be out shortly” atsumu laughed off, before closing the door and handing omi the gift you left. 

the spiker mindlessly opened it, only to find out a spotify code inside, put in between a glass frame. he took out his phone from the bag and scanned it with his app, gasping audiably when the page loaded. 

lay back in the arms of someone by smokie showed up on his screen, and a smile crawled up his lips before he remembered how badly he fucked this up a second ago. 

he narrowed his eyebrows before looking up to find the blond setter’s eyes. 

“atsumu” his friend’s eyes widened in surprise upon hearing his first name, instead of surname “is there a back exit from here?” 

atsumu miya smirked. 

“bet ya there is, mr i-fucked-up-big-time” he answered, theatrically offering his hand, before taking the lead. 

you on the other hand, came home peacefully, although hot tears were streaming silently down your cold cheeks as you entered the apartment’s door and looked at the calendar, showing the date of march 20th. in a sudden wave of aggression you ripped it off, knowing that there’s nothing to be so pressed about: he had no duty of feeling the same way towards you, why would you even expect it?

you went on with your day, ordering takeout for dinner, snuggling up on your couch and rewatching a series, not granting your thoughts access to yourself, and it was really going well, until you heard the doorbell ring. 

“nobody’s home” you yelled, assuming it was either atsumu or bokuto on their way to cheer you up, and they’ll probably let themselves in as soon as they hear your voice, but that didn’t happen. instead, the doorbell kept on ringing. “ugh, just come in!” 

they didn’t come in, so you lifted yourself off the couch and walked over to the door, opening it and gasping a tiny bit when instead of your dumbass friends holding McDonald’s you saw a one hundred and ninety two centimeters tall figure of a man, struggling to catch his breath, leaning on your doorframe, his black coat unbuttoned, cheeks red, eyes puffy and hair in a mess, not even gelled into place as they always are. 

“can i help you?” you asked in a cold manner, voice sending daggers into his poor, confused heart, as he finally looked up to meet your glance, an apologetic look in his eyes when he tried to form a sentence. 

“i think i can... no, way, i think i might...” he kept struggling, to which you only rolled your eyes, waiting for the continuation of that sentence. 

“spit it out, sakusa” you stated, sending shivers down his spine with how annoyed you seemed. 

yeah, spit it out, sakusa, he thought to himself before taking a breath and finally speaking up correctly:

“i think i might be in love with you.” 

your eyes widened for a second as you tried to find evidence of honesty in his expression, tone, voice, because you definitely didn’t believe his words. 

his heart dropped when you scoffed. 

“i don’t need your pity” 

that’s when it hit him:

omi doesn’t like to spend his birthday without you. you make it not only bearable, but fun. 

in fact, he never wanted to spend it without you again. and as that realization made it’s way into his brain, he caught you closing your door. 

“i respect you too much to pity you” he spat out as he placed his hand in between the door and the frame, making you unable to close it, even if you wanted to. 

and there was the honesty you looked for. 

“then why—” you started to wonder, but he shook his head before interrupting, a helpless look across his face.

to lay back in the arms of someone

“i’m afraid of... of this, okay? i’m afraid of falling in love, if this is any explanation for you. it’s like... you make me feel as if i’m on the top of the world” he laughed nervously, making you raise your eyebrows, before continuing “and it’s fucking scary to imagine falling from that high” 

you give in to the charms of someone

his glance wondered all over your face to find crumbs of understanding, scared you’d laugh his confession off, a grimace of worry replacing the insecure smile painting his lips, and he was just one step away from shouting “i’m telling the truth!” at you, but you cut him off by opening your door fully, and welcoming him inside with a warm smile on your lips, and a reassuring sentence on your tongue.

happy 23rd, kiyoomi

“i think i might love you back”

omi likes feeling loved. 

the next year flew by on both of you pushing each other’s limits, challenging each other like the both of you always needed, being there for each other, finding out how nice it feels to have someone there. it was coming home with a sore throat after a night of yelling “one more point, omi-omi!”. it was carefully intertwining your pinkies together while shopping without even realizing. it was awkward dates, because the label “date” always changes the atmosphere. it was taking weird selfies, it was having to part for out-of-town games and facetiming from hotel rooms. it was butterflies in the stomach and a ball of fluff in mind. 

it was everything. 

the first year of your official relationship flew by in no time, kiyoomi finding new joy in his birthday since now it was really a day to be remembered, marking your anniversary. 

and just as you got home to his apartment after dinner, ready to unpack all the fanmail once again, the janitor of the building stopped you. 

“sakusa-san, there was a flower delievery for you” he sighed, going towards a locked shelf and coming back with a bouquet, at which kiyoomi stared for a whole five seconds before you decided to take it. 

“thank you for taking care of it” he muttered with a slight bow, you pushing him to go up the stairs. “who’s it from?” he’d ask you a minute later, halfway through the staircase. 

“don’t you wanna check yourself?” you asked, but he frantically shook his head. 

“check it for me, please”

omi doesn’t like flowers.

you nodded wordlessly before checking a card. 

“well if i’m not mistaken this is your surname” you furrowed, struggling to read the handwriting. in your defense, the kanji for “sakusa” are quite complicated. 

he looked over at the text before admitting “yeah, that’s from my aunt, she insists on sending those ever since i got into MSBY” he finally got to his door to unlock it “kinda sad how she didn’t even bother writing a text before” he chuckled, making you want to throw the flowers away. 

you knew he considered them worthless if that’s the story behind the nice gesture. 

the apartment door remained opened, but he didn’t enter, you almost stumbled over him, focusing on the note, and glanced over to see what caught him attention and prevented him from going inside. 

“this is your surname, for a change” he stated, showing you a buffy envelope over his shoulder, but didn’t let you take it when you tried. instead he opened it himself, a neatly wrapped package inside, with a note at the top:

i wore glowes making it! i swear!

there was a typo in gloves, and the writing style could use a little work on it, but that didn’t affect kiyoomi at all, as he was hypnotized with his package after noticing your surname on it. he carefully opened it, to find a keychain, made from cubes, as the ones used in different boardgames, on every one there was a letter or a number, together forming the writing “kiyoomi 15″ with a heart at the end. it was all on a black string, and almost shined with how many times it was wiped before sending. after holding it in his hand for a while, he noticed another card at the bottom of the package, taking it out and reading out loud:

“please take care of my sibling. happy 24th!” he uttered in sheer amazement, as he grazed his fingers over the delicate ornament, before wordlessly going inside the apartment. 

you followed him, closing the door behind you, worried about his reaction about your little sibling’s present, only to find him crouching before his couch, his training bag laying there as he tried to attach the keychain to the it’s zipper, smiling when he managed to do so. 

before he got to turn around to face you, you managed to take a photo of him smiling at the newest addition to his training gear, and send it to your family with a caption:

omi likes personalized stuff. 

over all the years of knowing kiyoomi, you’ve learnt so much about him, his life, his habits, everything. you knew him inside and out, and so he knew you. you’re laughing at your confusion and fear while you were buying his first birthday gift, as you sit on the floor in your shared apartment, plotting his 25th, biggest yet gift, as if he isn’t about to walk through the door, coming back from practice. 

it’s almost ridiculous, how you struggled, wondering if he’d even like a gift, when right now you have a whole list in mind:

although omi doesn’t like gifts, he likes little thougtful gestures. he doesn’t like fancy big words, but likes real, honest wishes he can really take to heart. he doesn’t like spending his birthday without you, he likes feeling love, doesn’t like flowers, but does like his gifts personalized and touching. 

you realize all the moments in your relationship made you know his every emotion and expression, but you’ve never seen your precious boyfriend cry, ever. 

and you decide to change that. 

you’re gonna make him something that’s gonna mask all the memories of his birthday being forgotten, walked pass by, pushed into the back, and not properly celebrated. that’s gonna outshine every single gift he’s ever got. that’s gonna make him so happy, he’ll cry.

an idea pops into your head as you get a pen and start writing. 

dear kiyoomi,

_______

“dear kiyoomi” you get to hear him say a couple of nights later, he reads it out on your plea, with a smile across his lips, as you, atsumu, bokuto, meian and hinata, as well as omi’s older siblings and komori and osamu sit at the table, a cake and two traces of his favorite cupcakes are taking all the space possible.

omi’s voice is colored with a couple of glasses of wine, so it’s easier to him to relax and genuinely grin at the paper as he’s reading, all part of your plan. 

“when i first met you, the first thing i found out is that you’re a private person. not that i was freaked out or anything, but you did have, and probably you still do, a heavy aura around you that may have flustered me a tiny little— a tiny little bit? smiles, your hands literally shivered” he stopped to comment, making you roll your eyes at him.

“zip it and keep reading, birthday boy”

“... a tiny little bit, i agree. nevertheless, the first thing i actually felt, was that you striked my soul as someone weird. thanks, baby” he interrupted again, but you urged him to keep reading. “... weird in a way that made me feel like i’ve never felt before, the kind of safe and terrified at the same time. terrified of what, you might ask? well, kiyoomi, here i’d like to quote you. you once told me that me loving you is like i had the power to break you, and you loving me back was like giving me a map with all the points to strike at. well if that’s the definition of love we’re going for here, than i not only give you a map, i’ll grant you a whole GPS. the trust you put in me every day to not take advantage of what you’ve given me is inspiring, and hence, i surrender every single point of ressistance i’ve held against you, i’m yours to snap at a wish, and trusting you that you won’t do it is something i can spend my life believing in.” 

at this point kiyoomi had to stop and take a deep breath and a sip of his wine before continuing, clearing his throat a bit, chocking back his emotion. 

“... throughout my years by your side, i’ve memorized everything there is to memorize about you and gifts. you generally aren’t a fan, but you like them carrying a lot of thought, dedication, you like them meant exactly to you and to you only. you don’t want pointless blabbing and overused sentences, you enjoy sincerity. you need love radiating from them in order to truly acknowledge them as something special. now, the last thing i know is that you don’t like flowers, but i hope you won’t be too angry with me and with what i’ve prepared for you. enjoy, signed, your smiles” he finished, looking up at you, already moving towards the counter, grabbing a bouquet from behind it. 

he watched in amazement as you handed it to him, taking it in his hands, realizing that- 

it was a bouquet of origami flowers. 

“please, y/n, this is so—” he tried to find the right words, but once again, nothing came to mind as he watched your careful work from every side possible. 

“shh, there’s a special thing to them” you explained, sitting back in your seat, exactly in a straight line from him, watching every single change in his expression as he tried to find what you meant. 

he realized every flower had a little card sticking out from it’s center, and pulled the first one, the closest one to him. 

“the first reason i love you” he read in a weak voice, chuckling nervously again before he found the courage to read it out loud “you make me feel protected” 

he looked up at you with such a gentle and caring note in his eyes that you almost didn’t want to encourage him to keep reading it, but you did. 

“two. you don’t smile too much” after that he raised an eyebrow, but read the next one “three. ...but when you do, you outshine the sun itself. four. you memorized my coffee order within the first two times we’ve been to a caffee. five. you got supplies to redo my coffee order without going to the— hey i swear i didn’t mean anything bad by it!” 

“that’s literally the reason they love you for, idiot” atsumu laughed, urgining him to keep reading with a hand gesture. “come on, this is adorable”

“six. you have a playlist with songs that remind you of me. yes, i know this, omi, we share a spotify account. seven. you claim you don’t like interacting with people, but let a little girl propose to you with a cereal ring in the park.”

“this is too cute, omi is a softie” bokuto whined, hiding his face in his hands, but sakusa only slapped them off. 

“am not. eight. you keep a mental score of all the times you won over ushijima. nine. you take way too much pride in beating atsumu in service aces”

“true that!” atsumu shouted, hiding behind his glass. 

“ten” sakusa shook his head. “you don’t enjoy PDA, yet gave me the kiss of the century when i met your mother, just to annoy her. eleven. your childhood photos are too cute. twelve. you blasted hopelessly devoted to you the morning after we— i’m not reading that, idiot!” he half laughed half whined, in a high-pitched voice. 

“omi-san knows how it’s done, apparently” hinata wheezed, komori accompanying him. 

“did i ask?” he rolled his eyes and went back to picking lines from the flowers. “thirteen, you tug the corner of my sleeves when you’re stressed in public. fourteen, you have me saved in your phone as your good luck charm. fifteen. you put my head on your chest when i can’t sleep at night, to calm me down. sixteen. you make me laugh when i’m sad. seventeen. you almost never intent to make me laugh, yet always do. eighteen. you always make sure i’m carrying all the emergency items all me at all times. nineteen. you make me call you when i get home from a party, if you aren’t there to pick me up. twenty, you always insist on picking me up from wherever i am, because you’re worried about me. i mean yeah, what kind of a boyfriend would i be if i weren’t?” he genuinely asked, half of the guest shaking their heads. 

“come on, five more to go, you adorable, clueless idiot” motoya pat his back and looked over his shoulder to see your careful handwriting, before sakusa hid the message from him. 

“twenty one. you make me not worry about my future. twenty two, you try to do all your little morning rituals in advance when you leave, so i don’t miss you too much. i still do. twenty three, you’re never afraid to be bluntly honest with me. twenty four, you always ask if you can hug me when i’m low or crying. and twenty five—” he stopped more suddenly than anywhere before, eyes visibly watering before he dropped his head down and his it in his arms. 

“what’s on there?” several guys asked over themselves, as omi kept laughing slightly, hiding tears in the sleeves of his fitted shirt. 

“you’re gonna be the death of me” he murmured into the material, making everyone laugh, including you, who decided to walk over to him and hug him, resting your head on his, taking advantage of the fact that he was sitting and you could reach it. 

after a moment of weakness, he showed his red and slightly puffy face, two trails of tears fitting his smiling expression as he struggled to say 

“twenty five. you make me prouder and prouder every day.” he kept laughing through his tears, really trying to hide his emotion and failing miserably. “you really did try to make me cry on my birthday, didn’t you?” he looked up to you still embracing him. 

“i suppose i did”

“well then, i’m gonna outshine you” he said, shifting in his seat in order to get up, wiping the last remains of tears from his face. 

“what do you mean?” you asked, met with his confident smirk. 

“you’re gonna see in a bit, trust me” he huffed, dusting off his pants’ material on the knee level, and reaching over to his pocket, in his hand a tiny, little box. 

with a little more than an origami flower. 

#haikyuu sakusa #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #hq fanfic #hq prompts #hq scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #fluff #hq fluff

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Oils

Cult girl socializes at the opera and receives an unexpected call. 

Note: I tagged this as “anti mlm” as in multi-level marketing and not men-loving-men. 

Trigger warnings: Discussions of cults and emotional manipulation

It wasn't until after the opera was over that people began to notice you may have had a little fun during intermission. Hannibal's hair wasn't in its usual perfect side part and his jacket was slightly wrinkled in places. You could cover most of his love bites with your stole, but nothing could hide that post-orgasm glow.

Most opera-goers stayed to socialize for hours after the show concluded, making an already long night even longer. It was like clubbing, but for rich old people.

"So you're the future Mrs. Hannibal Lecter?" A woman with silvery hair said. She dragged her husband into the conversation by the arm. "I've heard so much about you."

You were about to say something witty, but noticed the way she was looking at you. Scanning you up and down. Looking for anything out of place to grill you about.

"Only good things, I hope." Hannibal said in your silence. His voice was vaguely threatening. "She is a doctoral student, in her second year of her graduate studies in clinical psychology."

The husband, who, up to this point, hadn't spoken a word, perked up. "Is that right?"

You smiled, excited for the chance to talk about your passion. "Yes sir. I've still got quite a ways to go, but I love my work."

"You should be proud." The man praised, looking at Hannibal. "You've got yourself an ambitious wife."

"Oh, we're not married yet." You corrected.

"So when can we expect an invitation?" The woman asked.

"Six months from now, isn't it?" Hannibal answered. "Memorial day weekend. Then I'm taking her to Italy for a lengthy honeymoon."

The woman threw her head back and sighed. "That sounds heavenly."

"You young modern girls are always so intuitive." The man commented. "I'll bet you tricked him into marrying you."

You wanted to call this guy out for his sexist bullshit, but he wasn't far off. It was Hannibal who tricked you, though.

Technically, he proposed to you within the first six months. You just didn't know it. It took until shockingly recently to find out.

It was during a ballroom dancing lesson of all places. You were sweaty, but loved the feeling of your lover's hands gently guiding your movements. You stepped away from the lesson to get some water, and innocently asked when he would propose to you.

"I believe I already did." He said with enough conviction to blur the lines of seriousness and sarcasm.

"You pretended to." You corrected. "Remember? We were just pretending to be engaged for Anna's wedding."

"But it didn't end after the wedding, did it?" He observed. "You kept calling me your fiancé long after that weekend passed."

You paused, then threw your head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Hannibal."

Hannibal laughed. "I told you. Someday it won't be a lie."

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" You pressed your fingers to your temples. "So we've been engaged this whole time?"

"What can I say?" He said, gently. "I knew you were my one and only even then. It was just a matter of circumventing your inhibitions."

"I'm not complaining." You folded your arms. "But a little notice would have been nice."

"Well, if you insist." He laced his fingers between his own. "[F/N] [L/N]. Will you be my wife?"

Even though the question was truly just a formality, you were still as giddy as a schoolgirl to hear those words.

"Yes, Hannibal Lecter." You said, cheeks stinging from smiling so hard. "I will marry you."

Then you just went back to the dance lesson like nothing happened. It was shockingly in-character for both of you.

"No." You shook your head. "We killed someone together and took a blood oath to never separate."

The couple laughed. Hannibal looked down at you with pride.

“So [F/N].” The man said. “Have you given any thought to your doctoral dissertation?” 

“Oh, Charles.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she didn’t come here to be grilled about her studies.” 

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled. As long as you were talking about school, you weren’t being interrogated about the thirty-year age gap between you and Hannibal. “I have been thinking about my dissertation. There are plenty of fascinating topics to choose from, but I can’t not write it about, well, the reason I began to study psychology in the first place.” 

“And that is?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Cults.” You said, grinning ear to ear. “Understanding them, their leaders, their followers, why people join them. How they evolve and grow more insidious as time passes. What form they’re starting to take in the digital age.” 

“That is interesting.” The woman’s voice rose, connoting genuine engagement. “And what form are they taking in the digital age?” 

You looked up at Hannibal, as if to ask for permission. Permission to rip into her and burn that bridge for good. He answered in the affirmative. 

“Ma’am, could I take a look at your bracelet?” You asked, already knowing exactly what she would say. 

Her face lit up. “Oh, do you like it?”

She pulled it off her wrist and handed it to you. You brought it to your nose and took a whiff, confirming your theory. Then you handed it off to Hannibal, whose sense of smell was much more refined. He took one breath, then recoiled. 

Hannibal covered his mouth and nose with his hand and coughed. “That is... quite strong, Mrs. DeMarco.” 

“It’s Affirm, by doTERRA.” She revealed, her voice growing defensive. “It helps you ground yourself and remember your worth.” 

You handed the bracelet back to her. “Do you sell doTERRA, Mrs. DeMarco?” 

“Well, now that you mention it...” A small smile appeared on her lips. “Why? Would you like to buy some?” 

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, ma’am, but...” You lied. “You’re actually in a cult.” 

She had nothing to say to that. She just stared at you with her mouth agape, urging you to explain yourself. 

“Multilevel marketing companies employ a host of cult manipulation tactics to con people out of their savings.” You explained. “Just because the promise is financial independence instead of a spot in paradise, doesn’t mean it’s not a lie. Research conducted by the Federal Trade Commission shows that the vast majority of participants actually lose money. The statistics are just a google search away, yet thousands of people still insist on the legitimacy of the companies they sell for.” 

“Well, I-” She protested, but couldn’t find the words to defend herself. “I’m there for the community, really. For the first time in years, I have a sisterhood of like-minded women who love me!” 

You smiled through a cringe. “That’s another pretty common cult manipulation tactic. They appropriate familial language to make people feel more connected to the group than they really should be.” 

Although you didn’t expect her to, she looked to be genuinely considering it. 

“Next time you see your ‘sisters’,” You began. “Pay attention to how they talk about people who are not in the group. Or, better yet, tell them that you’re considering leaving. You’ll see how conditional their love is.” 

An awkward, deafening silence followed. The woman looked at her husband, as if willing him to do something. To stand up to the evil twenty-something grad student who had the audacity to cite her sources. 

Instead, the husband just burst out in riotous laughter. 

“Miriam!” He nearly shouted, heaving like he was about to collapse. “I told you that oil business was up to no good! No honest company makes their employees pay to work!” 

The woman’s face turned red. You almost felt bad for her. The feeling vanished when the man put his hand on your shoulder. 

“Seriously, Dr. Lecter, you’d better keep this one.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye. “She’s an absolute godsend.” 

“No divine intervention was involved whatsoever, Dr. DeMarco.” Hannibal smiled to himself and brought a glass of champagne to his lips. “She is a woman of her own making."

"Oh, we all know that's not entirely true." The woman snapped, slipping into passive-aggression. She glanced at Hannibal. "How much are you spending on this mouthy little know-it-all? Isn't it about $80k a year?"

You, of course, brought this on yourself. You threw down the gauntlet by going after this girlboss's side hustle, so now nothing was off-limits.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Mrs. DeMarco." Hannibal said, calmly. "My soon-to-be wife's education is a much better investment than that overpriced napalm you wear on your wrist."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. It was a laugh you shared with the man. Hannibal looked down at you, admiring how your face lit up.

"You'll forgive my wife's rudeness." The man requested. "Please, Ms. [F/N], tell me more about your dissertation."

"Well," you laced your fingers together. "I'm planning to write my dissertation on the cult of academic elitism."

"I would tread lightly, dear." The woman warned, eyes darting to Hannibal. "You wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

You adjusted your stole, giving them a quick glance at the love bites along your neck.

"I assure you." You said. "He quite likes it when I bite."

Your clutch started to aggressively, audibly vibrate. You could have sworn you'd put your phone on silent, but it buzzed nonetheless.

"Probably just, y'know-" you stuttered, embarrassed. "An amber alert or something."

"We are expecting a snowstorm, I believe. I was warned of it a few minutes ago." Hannibal said, always ready to cover your ass whenever needed. The couple nodded along in understanding.

You pulled your phone from your clutch. Your eyes widened and your face turned sickly pale at the sight of a caller you thought you’d never hear from again. Without thinking, you slid the deny icon across the screen. 

“Right.” You said, tucking your phone and your secrets back into the clutch. “Winter Storm... Theresa is headed this way.” 

Hannibal cleared his throat. “In that case, [F/N] and I must take our leave before we get snowed in. It was very nice catching up with you. I will see to it that [F/N] and I have you for dinner very soon.” 

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #cult girl #doterra #anti mlm

[julyarchives]

Baby, pull me closer || (M)

If you had ever believed in soulmates, it was because of Jo Jinho. When you were just hanging out at a bar with a few coworkers on a Friday night, the last thing you expected was to be confronted with your past.

→ A/n: Jinho x Female Reader

→ Genre: Angst; Smut

→ Words:  3K

→ Contains: Exes to Lovers; some angst; Talk about feelings; Break up.

→ A/n: We might have gotten carried away with the word count 😅 but we hope we could live up to the request! Thank you again for the anon who did it! We hope you all like it 🥰

If you had ever believed in soulmates, it was because of Jo Jinho. You two met in High School and were inseparable since day 1. He was your prince charming, the love of your life, your ride or die. Your life with him was a fairytale, and you caught yourself wondering so many times how lucky you were to have him in your life. You two worked hard to get into the same college and the time you spent there only made your connection stronger, and you knew it in you that you were his forever.

Which only made the break up more painful.

When you were offered the scholarship of your dreams, your first instinct was to go running to him and share the news, so you could celebrate together. But it was only seconds later that you stopped to think about everything that it would implicate. Jinho’s dream job required him to stay in the city and you would never want to be the person to make him give up everything for a relationship. You were selfish enough to put your goals first, but not selfish enough to rip him out of his.

So, after a lot of thinking, you made the most excruciating decision of your life.

“What do you mean? You can’t possibly be serious. You’re joking, right?” Jinho asked, voice trembling and tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.

The lump in your throat almost took your voice away, but you quickly swallowed it, convincing yourself that this was the only right decision.

“I told you, Jinho, I just don’t feel anything anymore. This relationship won’t work if I’m not in love with you. You deserve better, and it’s best if we break up now so you don’t get any more hurt. I don’t want to hurt you, Jinho.”

“Y/N, please” His tears fell freely now. He held you close by the waist, fists curling around the hem of your shirt “Please, don’t say this. I don’t believe you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, and you closed your eyes, trying -and failing - to hold back your own tears.

“Please” he whispered

His lips grazed against yours and you let him kiss you, tasting the salty tears that were completely unrestrained by now.

“I’m sorry” was the last thing you whispered before leaving without looking back. Completely heartbroken at the sound of him calling your name in between sobs.

That’s why when you hear his voice calling your name again, almost 2 years later, you almost couldn’t believe your ears.

You were just hanging out at a bar with a few coworkers on a Friday night, the last thing you expected was to be confronted with your past.

“Jinho?” you turned around, knowing who you would see.

You always thought Jinho was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and it is not like you haven’t checked his social media after the break up, but nothing had prepared you for the way he looked in front of you.

So much had passed, so obviously he looked way more mature than the last time you actually saw him in person, with traces you couldn’t see over a photo, but adorned his face like it had always been there, and only complemented his charming self.

The suit and glasses added to it as well, but what made your heart stop was the smile. It was like traveling back in time, to when you could see him everyday in comfortable sweatpants and loose T-shirts, playing guitar by the window of his apartment, the golden dawn light shimmering on his skin.

Your daze was broken as he approached and you tried to find anything to say at all, but it felt like you forgot each and every word in your own language.

“Hey” was all that came out of you, and you cursed yourself mentally for being a grown ass woman acting like a teenager again.

"I did not expect to see you here." he said, a confused look on his face

"Yeah, I live here now." You offered a smile, but you were actually nervous thinking how living in this city is basically what broke you two up.

"Nice to know I'll have a familiar face around! I got a job here now, I just moved in"

"Really?" You were surprised "congratulations on the new job"

"Thank you" He smiled in return, eyes turning into crescent moons "since we're here, would you like to grab something to drink? I would love to catch up with you"

You always thought of getting in touch with Jinho over the years. Every time you thought of him or checked him online, you thought of texting. What actually stopped you was the thought that what you did was unforgivable and he probably hated you after you ignored the many times he tried to reach you after you told him you wanted to break up. The last time you saw each other was when you went to return his stuff, and get yours' from him, and that did not go well. You two barely looked at each other and you don't ever remember saying anything, but you couldn't forget how heartbroken he was.

It threw you completely off guard when invited you to catch up because you expected him to hate your guts. But then again, it was a long time ago, he probably was over it, like you were. At least you thought so.

"Sure, why not?" You answered shyly.

He led you both to a table while your coworkers grinned at you, and you silently shushed them.

The conversation started a little awkward, both of you walking on eggshells to avoid the "ex" subject. You caught up eventually, and you were glad to know that he actually achieved the job he always wanted and was very focused on his career, and he was happy to know that the same happened to you.

Before you two realized, the conversation was flowing easily, and you were laughing together and messing with each other, feeling like nothing actually changed between you two. The connection was still there and you honestly felt happy about it.

When the bartender warned about the last call Jinho offered to share a cab home with you because it was already late, and you gladly accepted it, just so you could stretch the time spent with him.

"I'm glad we ran into each other" he said like he could read your thoughts.

"Me too, I'm having a lot of fun." You admitted, you two reaching the front door of your house.

"I gotta be honest, though, I thought we wouldn't see each other again." He said with a half-smile "the way that things happened with us…"

"Yeah, I know…" you gently interrupted, too embarrassed to bring that up "But I'm happy to see you, really. I didn't even see the time passing."

"Right?" He agreed "it ended too fast."

"I might have a bottle of wine we can open if you would like to come in" your mouth ran faster than your brain, and you felt really stupid for asking that like you were pushing some kind of limit there.

You felt a little more comfortable when he didn't take long to make up his mind and accepted your invitation.

You entered your house and kicked your heels off to the side while you heard Jinho closing the door behind himself.

Out of a sudden, you felt too shy to look at him, so you kept yourself busy with other stuff.

You tried to take your coat off, but the collar got caught in your necklace's chain, and you simply couldn't undo it yourself.

"Here, let me." Jinho promptly helped, gently untangling it.

He went further and pushed the coat off of your shoulders delicately, his fingers grazing on your bare skin exposed from your sleeveless dress. His knuckles ran all the way down your arms and you were too aware of his body next to yours, goosebumps rising on your skin when his warm breath hit the back of your neck.

"Please tell me you don't have a boyfriend." He whispered, his fingers grazing on your waist while he stood behind you.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you knew the implications of that question. You also knew that what he was suggesting, you wanted just as much.

"No, I don't." Your voice was just a barely audible whisper

You almost couldn't finish your sentence when his grasp on your waist tightened and he spun you around, pulling you closer to him, chest to chest, and his lips didn't hesitate to find yours.

Your body reciprocated him in a reflex that comes with a habit, like you never were not used to having him holding you like that.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, your hand messing his hair while he explored every new curve of your body, grasping for any skin he could find.

Jinho pressed you against the wall, trapping you in between the surface and his body. He wrapped one hand around your leg, lifting it up and squeezing up the hem of your dress, his kisses trailing down your neck.

"Fuck, I wanted to do this since I first laid eyes on you." He whispered against your ear before sucking a spot just under it.

All you could answer was a breathy moan, leaning your body to press harder against him.

You took your time exploring his body and couldn't help but notice that his muscles grew stronger as you grazed your nails on his toned chest.

He grinded his hips forward, and you could already feel a semi-hard growing in his pants, the thought of it making you clench in anticipation.

You chased after his lips again, never having enough of it, nibbling at the plump bottom lip that you always loved

"Bedroom?" You whispered in between kisses, your breath already heavy.

Jinho only nodded eagerly, and you held his hand while walking down the hall.

As soon as he figured out the way he was all over you again, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and he didn't stop kissing you as you both settled on the soft mattress, every touch of his was very rough and commanding.

He kneeled up and you watched him discard his shirt carelessly, the sight making your mouth water. You bit your bottom lip, admiring his body, and he smirks proudly.

Next thing you know he's grabbing you by the hips and pulling you closer to him, making you slide down the sheets and yelp in surprise.

"You've changed" you addressed his manhandling with a naughty tone to it.

"You have no idea" his husky voice hit your ears like music, a tone as mischievous as the grin on his lips.

He pulled your dress up, off of your body, and you followed his lead without hesitating. Your panties were next and soon enough your hands were opening his fly and button, only letting go so he could get his pants and boxer off.

Jinho kissed you again and you moaned. You didn't think you'd ever need him this much again but you could feel your body trembling for him with only kisses. He pulled away and stood there, heavy breathing, eyes focusing on your every detail.

"I never thought I'd have you like this again", he seemed so sincere that made your heart ache.

"You do now", was all you could say before his hands were all over you. Gently caressing from your shoulder to your thighs, his strong hands guiding your legs to be around his waist.

"I don't think I can wait much more. '' Jinho didn't seem pleased with himself, staring at your chest instead of your face. You could see his hard shaft twitching whenever your skin rose up in goosebumps to his touch but the wetness between your legs was not any better.

"Please…".

Before you could say anything else, Jinho was already touching you, hands firmly grasping your breasts and squeezing, playing with your nipples while slowly grinding against you, his dick moving easily against your folds with how slick you were.

He groaned when you moved your hips back, hands exploring his toned chest and arms, touching all parts of him you could reach. You missed him so much that all these years apart only made you desperate to have him.

You were the one who moved lower and grabbed his member, smirking when he groaned lowly. You guided him to your entrance without a word, knowing you wouldn't be able to say anything. Jinho thankfully went along with it, letting go of your breasts and supporting himself with his hands on top of you while slowly entering you.

It felt like the world stopped. He felt so good inside, filling you up completely. Both of you moaned, his forehead leaning against yours. When he moved, you couldn't stop looking at him, his intense eyes and mouth open, his arms flexing from the movements, his hair already messy. Jinho was perfect and you wished you never let go. Looking back into his eyes, you could see he was watching you just the same and soon enough he was moving intensely with you, never breaking eye contact.

Everything started so easily and so intimate but even then it surprised you when you realized you two weren't just going on a nostalgic casual fuck. Jinho was making love to you, moving gently but also hitting your spot perfectly, his muscles flexing in the most delectable way. Your hands rested on his waist, caressing the skin as much as you could while you both moved, too deep in the moment to realize you didn't let go of each other's forehead.

It didn't take long for you to feel the fire burning hotter inside of you, the pleasure being too intense, and feeling a white-hot shock through your body. Neither of you said anything, your moaning, and heavy breathing filling your room in the most sensual way possible. One of your hands moved to his chest, right above his heart and his eyes widened. Jinho picked up his movements, chasing his orgasm as yours took over your body, making you arch and move closer to his body.

Thankfully you had recovered seconds later, just in time to see, and feel Jinho climaxing, his eyes squeezed shut and a low deep grunt falling off his lips beautifully. He laid gently on top of you and kissed you again, deep and longingly. When you pulled back, you couldn't help the bright smile you gave him, a soft giggle falling off your lips at the feeling of him in your arms again. Unfortunately, Jinho only half-smiled back and your guts twisted.

"I think we need to talk".

You could only manage a small "yeah", your smile died down. You pointed at the corridor, getting up after his nod. You didn't take long in the bathroom, too anxious to hear him out but also dreading what was about to come. You picked a sweater from the bathroom that surely wasn't supposed to be there and came back to the room.

Jinho was laying down in your bed, boxers back in place, and had half of his body covered with your comfy blanket. He was fidgeting with the hem of the blanket and you knew he was nervous as well.

"I felt cold, I hope you don't mind", he said with a shy smile.

"Of course not", you said, moving to lay with him under the blanket. He moved until he was laying on his side facing you, you mirroring his position.

"So", you both said at the same and that got a nervous laugh out of both of you. You motioned for him to go first.

"Why?", Jinho said, looking into your eyes. "Why did you leave me back then? Be honest this time, please".

"I-", you froze. You knew he'd say something about that but why was he so sure you lied? "How do you know I was lying?"

"We were perfect, Y/N", his voice was soft, his eyes gleaming. "We were in love and we fit perfectly together. You made me believe in soulmates, I felt like I would spend my life with you. And I know you felt the same".

"My scholarship", you said bluntly. "I couldn't have you give up your life for my dream and I knew you'd do it. I couldn't let go of my dream scholarship but I could never let you jeopardize yours".

Jinho closed his eyes briefly and breathed deeply slowly. Your eyes were filled with tears suddenly, a lot of feelings coming back at once. Regret, love, sorrow, how you missed him.

"I don't know if I feel relieved or even more hurt", he chuckled but you both couldn't see the humor. "I mean, I was sure you loved me but you were so hurtful that I was starting to believe you never actually even liked me".

"No!", you sit up quickly, eyes wide. "I thought it was the only option but I never stopped loving you", you blurted out.

"You… what?"Jinho sat up too then, slowly but surely.

"I know I made a mess and hurt you, but I always loved you when we were together, loved you when I broke up with you and… I honestly think I never got over you completely".

Jinho moved as if he could scare you off at any second. He slowly lifted his hands, thumbs wiping away the tears that fell. It only made you want to run. You had hurt him so much and even then he was taking care of you.

"I'm here now. I- I don't think we can go back to how we were even if we tried. It hurt too much and I don't think we are still the same person we were", he moved until his face was inches away from yours. "I feel the same and always did. I want to heal, I want to help you heal too".

Nodding, you moved to kiss him and sighed in relief when kissed you back.

"We can be friends", you said, lips moving always completely against his. "We can learn about each other again, I can redeem myself", you finished the sentence with a small kiss on his lips and he laughed.

"Friends that may kiss?"

"Friends that definitely will kiss".

#ksmutclub #jinho #smut #exes to lovers #jinho x reader #jo jinho #pentagon jinho #pentagon imagines #pentagon imagine #pentagon scenarios #pentagon #kpop pentagon #pentagon smut #kpop scenarios #kpop scenario #kpop writing #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop story #kpop fanfic #kpop

[spencers-renaissance]

I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for. 

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia 

Pairing: Gen 

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered. 

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis. 

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label. 

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information. 

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods. 

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised. 

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well. 

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases. 

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps. 

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes. 

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?” 

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case. 

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner. 

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better. 

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.” 

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.  

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully. 

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly. 

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that. 

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively. 

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away. 

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air. 

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer. 

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand. 

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning. 

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important. 

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.” 

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you. 

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it. 

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it. 

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch & spencer #spencer #hotch #my writing #autistic spencer reid #autistic spencer #dad hotch