#hes repressing something in the hopes of his old man idols noticing him

[actual-corpse]

I think people like Ben Shapiro would benefit from gay sex.

I'm being serious.

Some dudes just need to feel the tender embrace of the old men they're trying so hard to impress.

#its really gay #and it reads just like the gay pining fanfiction #ben shapiro #he obviously hates women.. #hes repressing something in the hopes of his old man idols noticing him #i know this reads like a shitpost #but im serious #theyre trying too hard to impress each other #its like fucking famfiction

[jeogiyall]

Two To Tango; C.SN

❥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟷𝟾.𝟺𝑘

❥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥 (𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇), 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝘴𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖, 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠 (𝙖𝙧𝙞’𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚!)

❥𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗌𝖺𝗇 𝕩 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳! 𝗒/𝗇 (ʏ/ɴ ɪs ɪɴ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ)

❥𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗐𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍!); 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅/𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕪 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂'𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝐩𝐠𝟷𝟹 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾- 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐬𝗺𝐮𝐭!!

❥𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾! 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗈 ☺︎☻ -𝕒𝕣𝕚

“What do you think, Y/N?”

You had never seen choreo anything like this before.

Which was a fairly bold statement on your part, seeing as you'd had plenty of exposure to all kinds of dances. Being the lead dancer of your group, you'd trained in almost every category out there during your years in the academy, mastering each technique and style one by one.

But sensual?

You'd never been trained to dance to sensual choreography.

This was likely the reason you appeared so floored when Mimi, your company's head of collaborative marketing (and your personal manager) shared her latest idea with you, something about a duet dance with another idol; she said that bringing such a foreign concept into a collaboration stage would give your group the increase of attention that you so desperately needed.

You couldn't disagree with her logic. It was much harder than it seemed for a group to stay afloat in the idol industry.

"Y/N," Mimi was explaining to you, "I know I speak on behalf of the entire company when I tell you that you are the most talented dancer to walk through these doors. If anyone can pull off this stage, it's you."

You felt your cheeks flush from the professional compliment, but you were still trying to wrap your mind around the brief choreography video you'd just been shown.

You absolutely loved to dance; you always have, ever since you were old enough to walk.

From ballet classes when you were four years old to jazz and tap in your tweens, then modern hip hop and interpretive in your adolescent years, and then from a dance major onwards to learning choreography with your group after debuting a year ago- you were always dancing. It was a piece of your life that held so much meaning, so much joy, that you don't think you'd ever be able to live without it.

So maybe this is why you decide to ditch your initial disbelief at the proposal, your mind opening up a little to the idea. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be a failed stage, and you're sure that the company wouldn't have too much trouble sweeping things under the rug if that happened. How bad could it be, right?

You eventually give in to Mimi's attempts at persuading you, your face breaking out into a grin. You're sure that if you say yes, you'll wonder for the next two weeks who your partner will be from the group you're collaborating with; but you also know that it'll kill you inside to say no.

You nod firmly once Mimi asks you again if you're okay with this. You've made up your mind that you definitely are; you push off any lingering doubts about the sensual stage, and the feelings left behind are ones of excitement and anticipation.

Mimi is visibly pleased, and her happiness is infectious as she claps her hands together joyfully. "It's settled then! I'll let the team from KQ know that both parties are in agreement." She announces with a broad smile.

When you leave the conference room, you feel butterflies in your stomach instead of dread, and a sudden eagerness arises at the prospect of learning a brand-new type of dance.

You can't wait to see what will happen in two weeks.

Day One- 8:53 A.M

You step into your new joint studio building two weeks later, a bright smile on your face and your first-day jitters pushed to the back of your mind.

You're beyond curious to see which member of Ateez you'll be paired with for the collaboration; you secretly hoped it would be Song Mingi, as he was alluring to you both through dance and through his abnormally deep voice. (Okay, so maybe you had a bias already. There was surely no harm in that though, right?)

Mimi was now urging you to make your way up the three flights of stairs as fast as possible, having ditched the building's elevator in favor of a quicker route. There had been a mixup at your company that morning with transportation, which made you more than twenty minutes late- you were supposed to arrive at 8:30.

You could only pray that the hired choreographer wouldn't hold it against you, and that they'd still give you time to properly warm up.

Your nerves are starting to resurface when you push open the doors to your practice room. Both of the occupants have their backs to you, bending over a stereo system along the wall without a mirror. Your manager bids you a hasty goodbye and exits the same way you just came, and you're struggling to catch your breath, standing in the middle of the room gripping the strap of your dance bag for dear life.

The choreographer leaves the stereo to greet you, giving you a warm smile as he introduces himself.

You've looked forward to meeting your instructor for a while now, and you bow to the man respectfully while doing your best to repress the childish glee bubbling up within you, not wanting to seem unprofessional.

Your thoughts are so consumed with greeting the choreographer that you fail to notice the other figure in the room turning to face you.

"Hello, Y/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you!" The choreographer says. "My name is Jung Deojun, and I look forward to working with you for this stage." You set your bag down and grab an elastic for your hair, still focused on Deojun. "The pleasure is all mine," you respond, "I truly admire your work."

Jung Deojun is happy to hear the compliment, and you're opening your mouth to ask him about his most popular moves when you finally, finally come face-to-face with your new partner.

To say he was handsome would be the understatement of the year.

While you obviously hadn't been paired with who you'd hoped for, (Mingi, the tall rapper) you weren't upset in the slightest. The dancer was standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, and the sight was enough to make you want to wipe your hand along your chin just to check if you were drooling.

Any words you'd been preparing to say died on the tip of your tongue as you surveyed your partner. Tall, lean, and stupidly gorgeous, he radiated an aura of confidence and striking intensity that both scared you and intrigued you. His shirt dipped low enough to make your heart skip a beat, and it looked too good on him for him to be standing there in the studio.

His eyes were dark and seemed to pierce straight into your soul- though you had to wonder just how well he was able to see you from behind his long black hair.

He was, without question, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. But why the hell did he look so pissed?

You gulp down your wave of apprehension and stick out your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it (seeing as that would be the polite thing to do).

"Hello, I'm Y/N of Star Entertainment." You manage to stumble through your self-introduction despite his less than encouraging reaction. He makes no move to shake your outstretched hand, so you awkwardly pull it back and continue talking, "I look forward to dancing with y-"

"You're late."

You hope you don't look as much like a fish as you feel; his monotonous interruption has your mouth opening and closing repeatedly as you try to remember what you'd been about to say.

"I'm sorry," you eventually gather your thoughts long enough to respond. "There was a mixup with transportation from my company, and my manager ended up having to take me herself-"

"I don't care what happened, just don't be late again. It's rude." The guy cuts you off again, visibly impatient. You hold back a scoff at his words; he's definitely one to be talking about rude.

"The name's Choi San." He adds, but he sounds almost bored, as if he'd rather be anywhere else but with you at this very moment.

You don't deem any answer necessary. You hardly trust yourself not to make a jab back at him, but can you be blamed?

You're more than a little peeved that your partner, the man you've been wanting to meet for two very long weeks, seems to have a giant stick up his ass; but you reason out that it's got something to do with the first-day nerves you're sure must be racing through him, too.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as you begin warming up, walking away from the entrance and hoping to escape the rising tension.

Meanwhile San is cursing every dance god out there for sticking him with you. Not because he despises dancing with other people or because he doesn't want to dance with you- but because he's the exact opposite.

He loves dancing with his entire being, and he expected his new partner to love it just as much as he did.

So it was fairly annoying for him to arrive thirty minutes early that morning, excited and eager to get to dancing, and then have to wait nearly another half an hour after the first day was scheduled to begin just for you to get there.

That being said, San almost regrets snapping at you- it wasn't your fault you weren't on time.

But when he catches a glimpse of your pinched, offended expression through the mirror while you take your sweet time warming up, the idea of apologizing immediately flees his head.

He couldn't believe how many prissy dancers there were in the kpop industry- and he was certain that you would just be one more he'd have to work with.

So far, things were not off to a very promising start.

Day Four- 10:15 A.M

"Guys, I think you need to take a quick break." Jung Deojun says as he presses pause on the stereo.

You're more than happy to do so, jumping out of San's grasp so quickly you're concerned you may have pulled a muscle. San has no complaints about the break either; he springs away from you as if you have a contagious disease, and he's intent on not catching whatever disease that may be.

The first day hadn't gone nearly as well as you'd hoped it would. After the initial shock and irritation upon meeting him, you gave San as little attention as you could, and he did the same to you.

Or he tried to do the same.

You both seemed to have forgotten the key concept of the entire dance: sensuality.

And although it was only the first day, the cold and tense atmosphere between the two of you did nothing but increase throughout your time together in the studio- a factor that didn't settle well with your choreographer when you were meant to be dancing as if you were madly in love.

By the end of the second day, you were positive you and San were only ever meant to be enemies. It was like every move he made was done specifically to annoy you, and you had to admit that if that was the case, then it was working like a charm.

The way he spoke to you- when he bothered to speak at all- was so insensitive and cocky that you wanted to clock him in the face. He never cheered you on when you got another step down; all he'd said to you during the past forty-eight hours was backhanded comments on the technique you should have, or how you should move to accommodate him better.

This wasn't how dance was supposed to be.

Two people were supposed to move in sync, in the same fluid motion when they danced together; but with him, it was all give and no take.

Of course, it didn't help that you went rigid as a board every time he so much as shifted towards you.

He wanted to get along with you at first, he really did. But you were making it so difficult to be friendly when you made zero effort to put any feeling into the dance moves that required him to touch you, that any hope he had of being your friend went flying out of the window.

He'd been ready to quit right then and there during your third day in the studio, when you outright refused to let him do the first truly sensual move of the choreography about forty seconds in. San would barely even be able to graze your sides with his fingertips before you jumped away, giving him a steely look that made him all the more eager to push your buttons.

He reasoned that if you were going to be such a priss about things, then there was no danger in him getting you all riled up while you practiced.

And as if you weren't already stressed out by his antics, you were also highly aware of the pressure that was on you guys to learn the dance by the end of the month- you had only five weeks to completely master the choreography for the collaboration stage and for the performance video.

You wished the song wasn't so long- there were six and a half total minutes of choreography, and you'd only gone through about two minutes of it all.

To make things worse, the steps you'd learned so far didn't look good by any means. Jung Deojun knew it would most likely take another week or two just to get to the halfway point, at the rate things were going now.

You knew that the clock was ticking; this morning marked your fourth day at the studio.

Deojun's goal was for you and San to get a feel for each move you learned as you learned it, which was why it had taken so long to memorize such a small chunk of the song.

His philosophy was that people can learn two ways: they can learn it all and perfect it later, or they can learn it all perfectly the first time with a little more effort. (It was very clear which way of learning you and your partner were going through based on how many times you'd pressed 'restart' on the stereo.)

You made sure you arrived on time each morning after that first day, not wanting another reason for San to pick on you. Currently, the two of you were tackling the first moderately sized snippet of the song, the buildup to the chorus. You'd been at it for around two hours today, and you didn't seem to be making any real progress.

There's a move where you and San need to glide across the floor and into each other's personal space, and he's supposed to trail his hands slowly up along your sides to cradle your head. Your step is to push San away from you and then grab him by the collar to bring him right back until you were practically breathing the same air; and while the pushing away part was the easiest thing you'd learned so far, tugging him towards you again was proving to be difficult to do without scowling.

That same scowl threatens to appear after another hour of practice when San tosses you a Snickers bar from his bag, and you look down at it accusingly without picking it up from the floor.

"This isn't exactly part of my company's diet regulations, San." You huff, knowing you'd like nothing more than to eat the candy bar right this very second but remembering you can't eat anything if it isn't on your meal plan.

San just raises an eyebrow and motions for you to pick it up anyways. "I thought you'd want it. I mean, you're not you when you're hungry, so maybe if you had a Snickers bar then you'd be more fun to work with."

You don't bother hiding your lethal expression from him.

"Choi San," you hiss, "I swear once we finish doing this dance I'm actually going to strangle you."

Your choreographer chooses to break up the conversation at this moment, not hearing the whispered reply of 'kinky' that makes your blood boil.

"Alright you two, that's enough," Jung Deojun cuts in. "You don't seem to be comfortable with each other yet, so why don't we all sit down and take some time to eat lunch? You've worked hard anyways, so you deserve to rest." He offers.

While the idea of actually sitting down to eat your salad, instead of inhaling it between sessions, sounds incredibly tempting, you know you'll be too busy fuming to really enjoy a lunch break.

You kick the Snickers bar back towards San and put on a bright smile for Deojun.

"No, thank you, I'd rather get back to practicing. We've got a long way to go." You give your partner another nasty look with your last statement, implying that he's most of the problem.

This implication doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he actually has the nerve to wink at you. To wink- as if he isn't the legitimate most infuriating human being on the planet. You ball your hands into fists to refrain from pulling at your hair in frustration.

San watches on in dry amusement; he never saw it coming, but he's quickly discovered that he loves to get a rise out of you. He chalks it up to the simple fact that you interact the most with him when you're angry.

Sensing the tension in the room, Deojun shakes his head and insists on taking a real break for lunch. He doesn't miss the exchange of killer glares between you and San, and it brings a frown to his face as you begin to argue with your partner over the offending Snickers bar.

Jung Deojun has taught many choreographies in his time as a dancer. He's quite honestly lost track of the number of pairs he's worked with who had no chemistry together, or the countless dancer duos who simply didn't warm up to the other person.

He has also seen his fair share of enemies on the dance floor- the exes, the competitors, and even one couple who broke up in the middle of a rehearsal.

And yet, despite all of this, he has never seen anyone who fights quite as passionately as you and San.

But rather than getting annoyed at your nearly constant bickering, he finds himself feeling curious about it; he wants to know why your animosity towards each other seems to run so deep when you'd only met three days ago.

And frankly, he wants to see just how thin the line is between love and hate.

Your instructor sighs loudly once your voice raises in volume, wanting to roll his eyes at the childish feud taking place over a piece of candy- though it seems the argument has gotten to the point of being ridiculously useless, and Deojun is sure that one of you is bound to give it up in the next few seconds.

Your accusations of San being a total jerk continue to fall on deaf ears as he quickly proves the choreographer correct, checking out of the argument altogether by pulling his phone out and playing on it.

San's rude behavior makes you want to stomp your foot angrily like a petulant toddler, but you don't.

You instead go silent, biting your lip and getting yourself together because you are a mature and professional dancer- unlike someone- and you're already very embarrassed that Deojun has seen how worked up you get over your partner.

So in an attempt to save face, you take a deep breath, count to ten, and walk to the mini refrigerator in the corner of the studio to grab your lunch.

Deojun seems relieved that the Snickers spat is over, and immediately invites you into a less irritating conversation as you take a seat on the floor beside him.

"So, Y/N, what do you do for fun besides dance?" He asks you. You have to think for a moment about that.

What do you do when you're not rehearsing or promoting?

"Well, I spend most of my time dancing, but I guess I like to hang out with my group between promotions." You eventually come up with an answer.

"What do you do with your friends when you're hanging out?" Your instructor prompts. You shrug and finish eating the forkful of salad before you reply, "We normally go out to the city together to walk around, listening to live music and visiting cute cafés or restaurants."

San nearly snorts at how typical your response is until you add as an afterthought, "But we never have time for those things anymore."

Jung Deojun asks you "why not?" and you tell him, "We practice nearly sixteen hours a day together, and when we aren't in our studio, we're in our dorms perfecting every dance movement or every song for our company. We can't afford to slip up with so much at stake, so we just kind of... I don't know, stopped going out."

San acts like he isn't listening; but in reality he's paying close attention to your words, and he tells himself it's only because he needs more ammunition to use in order to tease you later.

You continue to elaborate on your struggles as an idol to Deojun, and it feels good to be able to talk about the pressure being put on your shoulders with someone other than your managers.

"When I first started training to become an idol, I was always content to just dance for the sake of dancing. I wasn't used to the expectation that I had to be better than someone else; I honestly never thought the competition would happen off of the stage. It caught me off guard when I realized I'd have to fight for every chance to do what I love, and even after making it into an agency and debuting in a group, we're still always fighting to be on top, to be the best."

"And to me dance was never about being the best. It's about expressing something you feel, something so deep words can't explain it well enough." You shrug, and you miss the fond smile of your instructor as he remembers the days where he was in your shoes.

San lost interest in his phone a while ago; instead he now holds his lunchbag in his hands.

And when you turn your head to steal a glance at him, you find that he's giving you the first non-irritating look you've seen on his face since the day you met.

Well then.

You certainly hadn't expected to see that reaction- nor had San intended for you to catch it.

If he's being honest with himself, he never really thought he'd connect with you, especially after the disastrous first day together. But your words resonate deeply within him, to a point where he thinks that maybe, you might not be quite as uptight as you appear.

He finds himself hoping that that's the case; hoping that there's more to you than just a prissy lead dancer who refuses to loosen up.

It makes your stomach twist to see him look at you with anything other than annoyance or spite. If you didn't know any better, you would say that it almost seems like he's... impressed? Like he might not hate your guts after all?

But you'd be stupid to forget how intently you despised each other just a few minutes ago, how you bickered over that candy bar; and the sudden change in his demeanor has left your head spinning.

Whatever it is, you're not sure why it affects you as much as it does, so you ignore it and keep talking to Deojun so that you don't have to engage with San until you're done eating.

To make things even more confusing, once your lunch break is over and you begin to go through the choreo again, he isn't throwing his usual insults and criticisms your way like he had done every afternoon for the past week.

You're not sure what to make of the unspoken truce- and you're not sure why it unnerves you as much as it does. But San is acting totally opposite of how he's been acting so far, and it lasts through the remainder of your fourth day.

He doesn't even bother to give you a half-assed "you're too stiff" the way he normally would.

You have to force yourself not to think about how easily the routine flows when you aren't arguing; and you can't help but wonder whether this random, unofficial friendship will last- and if it does, then what changed?

But when the fourth day ends and you walk into the studio the following morning, he's back to wearing his cocky little smirk and teases you for the Starbucks frappuccino in your hand, telling you that it's fake coffee and reminding you of how against your meal plan the drink is.

You nearly cringe at yourself for thinking things would ever change between the two of you in such a short amount of time. But, if you're really being upfront, you can't pretend as though you don't look forward to pushing his buttons each day, getting immense satisfaction from knowing you get on his nerves just as much as he gets on yours.

Jung Deojun, on the other hand, is simply looking forward to the day you guys get through learning the steps so that he can sit back and watch the sparks flying through his studio.

Day Twelve- 4:55 P.M

Deojun is out using the restroom down the hallway at the end of your twelfth day, and it's just you and your partner standing together in the mirror while he's gone. You're intentionally avoiding San's piercing gaze as you stretch out your sore limbs, choosing to move towards the stereo so you can play the music one more time before the end of today's session.

He had been driving you crazy throughout this entire past week. It was the usual stuff at first: pointless arguing, name-calling, bickering, and insults flung at each other for no good reason.

And then, something shifted.

On the sixth day of choreo, you waltzed through the studio doors with a bright smile and your hair down out of your ponytail, looking a bit windblown. You'd woken up late that day but you were still determined not to be late to practice, so you didn't have time to put your hair up or grab your coffee.

It was the day when San noticed just how hard it had become for him to take his eyes off of you; but how could he not stare when you come twirling into the room like you've been dancing with the wind and looking as if you've just been kissed by the sun?

You'd caught him staring more times than you could count on that sixth day, and while it unnerved you a little, you couldn't deny the pleasurable rush you got from knowing he was looking.

But it did make things a little more tense when you had your pointless arguments; you weren't sure how to curse him out when he looked at you with that strange glint in his eye- the glint that made you question if you even really hated him in the first place.

The tension only skyrocketed after that. By the tenth day, the pressure between you and San was so strong that it was bound to explode any time now. A new side of your (already strained) relationship had developed- in addition to his irritating habits and your stinging insults, you now shared burning glances, soft touches, and the feeling of wanting just a little bit more.

The change wasn't entirely unwelcome, much to your dismay. You hadn't expected him to affect you the way that he did; but when you find that your skin sears instead of crawls when his hand brushes against you, you know that you can no longer ignore the magnetic pull between your bodies, the one you're secretly begging yourself to cave into each time he holds you close during the dance.

But just because you aren't able to ignore the pull towards San doesn't mean that you won't try.

You keep your back to him as you approach the equipment; but you can hear his footsteps right behind you when you walk to the other side of the studio, and you have a hunch that he won't go away without bothering you.

San follows you until you reach the sound system and you huff in annoyance before you turn around to face him.

"Shouldn't you be stretching right now, Fireboy?" You ask tiredly, hoping he'll get the point and stop closing in on your personal space.

You didn't intend to call him that- you've referred to him as Fireboy in your mind for a while now, the title fitting his disposition perfectly; one minute he was smoky as embers, and the next he was blazing with heat. Like an unpredictable wildfire.

He shakes his head and answers ironically, "Nope, I'm already all cooled down for the day, Miss Priss."

You go back to the stereo, thinking that the discussion is through, and you practically jump three feet in the air when he spins you around again, the hand gripping your waist not making you nearly as mad as you'd wanted it to.

You can't move backwards at all with the stereo poking into your spine, but you've got nowhere to run once San places his free hand on the wall next to you, successfully trapping you. You wish the action pissed you off enough to push him away- but your hands fall weakly against his chest, and the sudden contact makes your pulse race.

"San, what the hell are you doing?" You ask him, exasperation evident in your voice.

San flashes his stupid smirk and leans closer to your body, making your cheeks flush at the proximity. "I thought maybe we should try to get rid of some of the tension Deojun keeps talking about, since it's interfering with the dance. Don't you agree, Y/N?"

You sneer at him and shove his chest harder.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You reply sharply, "The dance is perfectly fine San, you're being ridiculous. We aren't even done learning the choreo yet, so have some patience." San's smirk only grows, along with your annoyance.

You eye him distastefully and give him a once-over before looking to the doorway, continuing to insult him despite the way his sleeveless shirt makes your heart flutter. "But something tells me that patience isn't really in your vocabulary, is it?"

And just like that, you find yourself holding back a noise of surprise when his hand grips your chin like a silken vice, forcing you to keep your gaze trained on him. You're helpless to his strong hold and the feeling of his body heat radiating against your skin is messing with your head, further supporting your idea that this man is a scorching ball of fire; even his touch is hot enough to burn.

You fight off a shudder when he refuses to break eye contact. The cocky grin is gone, replaced with some foreign expression that you don't think you want to put a label on just yet.

He dips his head down next to your ear. His next words, mixed with the way his hair tickles your face, manage to send sparks through your veins as he murmurs, "You know, princess, I wasn't expecting you to be so damn bratty."

You have to remind yourself that the sentence is, in fact, offensive- and that you should be getting mad at him for it right about now.

Thankfully that part always comes easy to you.

"Oh, so I'm the brat?" You retort sarcastically. You poke a finger into his chest and question him further, "I'm the bratty one for showing up late one time and getting shit about it from you before you even told me your name?"

San's grip tightens as you speak, but you're so focused on chewing him out that you hardly even register it.

"Please enlighten me as to how I'm the brat when it's always you who has a problem with something." At this point you've forgotten that you're only venting about him to distract yourself from his touch, and now you're just plain pissed off.

"Honestly, I thought you were at least a little bit brighter than this, Fireboy. Anyone with a brain would be able to tell that the only brat here is you, but you're so set on being 'holier-than-thou' every second of the day that you don't even bother to see it. You're such a child." Your words are positively scathing.

San has had enough of your sassy remarks and cuts your rant short, "Oh come on Y/N, you don't seriously believe I'm the only one to blame. You're not as innocent as you try to appear, Miss Priss; don't think I've forgotten the names you call me when you think Deojun isn't listening. You're as much at fault here as I am. As a matter of fact, I'd go as far as to say that the 'childish' one is you."

"And this is coming from the one who called me 'more useless than an appendix' not even twenty minutes ago, right?" You scoff.

He rolls his eyes at your quotation of his most recent insult and says, "Cut the crap and just admit it already."

But between the compromising position, the bite in his voice, and the sheer irritation coursing through your body, you're getting sick and tired of your partner's little mind games.

"What do you mean?" You ask, "Admit what? What're you playing at?"

"Admit that you're no different than any other self-absorbed, uptight lead dancer I've worked with, and you only hate me because you wanted to be paired with another idol." He answers, every syllable causing you to see red. "You're just a classic prissy princess who won't cooperate when you don't get your way, and you're refusing to do the dance right because I'm not the one you wanted to dance with. It's stereotypical lead dancer behavior, and you know it."

Oh.

Oh hell no.

Did he really just call you self-absorbed and prissy?

If you weren't already mad enough, then now you're practically seething. San knows purely by the look on your face that he's fucked up, that he's taken things a little too far- but both of you are too wound up right now for him to try and make amends.

It's all he can do to stay impassive when you shove his hand away from your chin and grab fistfuls of his shirt, roughly bringing him down to your level.

"Choi fucking San," You curse, "you take that back this minute, you piece of shit."

His eyes drop to your mouth- a mistake that has enough meaning to turn the tables in your favor in an instant.

It's a mistake, one simple mistake. Just one small moment of indulgence as he memorizes the curve of your lips; yet all sanity immediately vanishes from his mind at the sudden urge he has to kiss you senseless, to shut you up in the most romantic way possible.

He's fighting the urge so hard that he doesn't even think about the next four words out of his mouth- Mistake Number 2.

"And if I don't?"

Your knuckles are turning white from the grip on his collar; you come to the realization that maybe your heart is beating a bit too fast for someone who's arguing with a mere dance partner.

You end up making Mistake Number Three- you don't release your hold on his shirt, and you don't push him away when his head drifts closer down to yours.

Three strikes and you're out.

"Then I'm walking out of this room and never dancing with you again." You pray your voice sounds at least half as spiteful as it did at the beginning of all this, but you aren't sure.

San finally tears his gaze away from your lips and is back to giving you a blazing glare. Part of him hopes you can see the passion and desire burning behind his expression so that you'll understand he doesn't really mean it when he snaps, "Fine with me, princess."

It's the same part of him that secretly thrives off of the electric tension and the lingering hands; the side of him that wants to hold you just a little longer when the music stops.

He really hopes he isn't going crazy when he thinks he sees that side in you, too.

"Fine," You snap back halfheartedly as the fight goes out of you all at once, "have it your way."

You both know your words are empty.

Unlike San, you have been intentionally unaware of how your body reacts to your partner, constantly choosing to ignore the tugging in your gut when you go through the choreo with him.

You always did your best to diffuse the tension that crackles between you two every time you dance; but the more choreography you learn, the harder it is to keep acting as though you aren't drawn to San like a moth to a flame.

You can whine and argue and call him names all day (you already do). But under the loathsome looks and sharp words, you can't deny the underlying attraction you feel to him.

You try with all your might to remind yourself of how insufferable he can be, but it's no use; the anger drains out of you the second you notice how close San still is to you. Your hands are still attached to his shirt, his face is an inch from yours, and his arms are on either side of you, with the stereo still poking into your spine.

Even the thick atmosphere around the room seems to be holding its breath as you both stay put in this position, wondering who would make the first move.

You think you should probably get going; after all, you've just given him the dance ultimatum. Shouldn't you be hightailing it out of the studio and never looking back...

...but you never get to finish that thought.

Because the second that the thought crosses your mind, San is reaching up to take your face in his hand, his heated touch softer than you would've ever guessed it to be.

His fingers skim your cheek delicately, with all the grace of a musician playing his instrument; your eyes begin to flutter closed in expectation for what is about to happen, and you unknowingly lean into the palm of his hand, not putting up a fight.

But you wouldn't dare fight against what's surely happening now- not after having the image of it plague your nights for weeks on end.

He's closer than he's ever been. He doesn't stop; he comes closer, and closer, and closer...

And then, your rotten luck seems to remember it's purpose in your life.

Jumping back in to ruin the moment, it causes your elbow to bump against the stereo and the music comes on at top volume, shattering your eardrums. It's all that the moment needed to come to a screeching halt before disappearing completely.

You wince at the sudden noise and release your grasp on San's shirt, pushing him away from you to tend to the sound system. You quickly turn the music off and put a hand over your racing heart.

San feels like he's rooted in his place, and he can't erase the image in his head of what was about to happen.

He can't shake the way you so easily leaned into his touch; the way he knew he was definitely going to kiss you, and how you were definitely going to let him. He nearly shouts when you break contact to shut the stereo up, leaving him high and dry, waiting for a fire that is no longer burning.

The clock on the wall snaps both of you back into reality, chiming to signal the end of your twelfth day- and for the first time since all of this began, you're reluctant to leave the studio.

What now?

You give San an uneasy look, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. "I, um, I guess I'll be going now." You tell him.

You're expecting him to shoo you off, to comment about how you insisted you weren't coming back once you left today; but he can't bring himself to tease you when he's still feeling so vulnerable.

The idea of insulting you is suddenly unappealing when he realizes that he would much rather be kissing you.

"Yeah, me too." He replies simply; and that's all there is to it. There's no more bickering, no more teasing or conversation once he bids you goodbye.

You stumble over your words like a runner over a hurdle. "See you tomorrow, Fireboy."

You're the first to leave the room, grabbing your bag and making a beeline for the exit. You have no idea what just went down, but you have a sneaking suspicion that things will be much, much different by this time tomorrow.

Meanwhile San is still glued to where he stood next to the stereo, cursing himself for letting you leave without doing what he's wanted to do since the day you argued over the Snickers.

Day Sixteen- 8:35 AM

On the morning of your thirteenth day of practice, Jung Deojun thinks the world must've flipped on its axis in the middle of the night.

It's the only scenario he can come up with to explain why you and San no longer act like you want to slit each other's throats when you walk into the building together, the tension pulsing between you and him having shifted without any notice or warning.

He doesn't expect the truce to last long; but you prove him wrong when three days pass in relative peace, and when you and your partner enter the studio on the sixteenth day, Deojun knows something must have happened.

However, the choreographer thinks it would be too unprofessional to pry, so he decides to pretend that his pupils have been friends all along.

"Good morning you two, did you sleep well?" Deojun greets you both with a wary grin. You nod wordlessly, and he says, "I hope so, because we're finishing up the last few moves of the choreo today. I grabbed some extra waters and snacks to carry us through, but I've informed your managers that we might stay late at the studio tonight. Are you guys opposed to that at all?"

He intentionally leaves out the fact that your manager, Mimi, had chewed him out about working you too hard for almost an hour over the phone when he asked.

You and San share an apprehensive look, but you shake your heads anyways, knowing you'd both rather stay late and finish the choreography as soon as possible.

"Great. Let's get started."

*

By the time you walk through the very last step of the dance, the clock on the wall reads 7:15 in the evening.

It was the longest day you'd had; though it seemed to you as if the hours passed at lightning speed- and you were pretty confident you knew why.

It was because you'd finally stopped holding yourself back when you danced, and neither you nor San could get enough of the new passion that was rapidly igniting at each little motion. It was like a dam had been broken; all you'd needed to open those gates was a push, just one hard shove in the right direction, for everything to fall into place.

You simply hadn't expected the shove to push yourself into San's waiting arms.

If your choreographer noticed the ease with which you and he now practiced the sensual movements, he didn't say anything about it; but you were both aware that sparks were blazing to life with every dip and sway- but neither of you wanted to be the first to put out the fire.

Rather, you found yourselves doing all you could to keep fanning the flames; it especially helped that you no longer needed to yell at each other in order to communicate. You'd been finding much more civil ways to talk since your twelfth day of dancing.

You and San reluctantly move away from each other once the dance is done and the music stops, spinning to face your instructor as he packs up. You refrain from coughing to cover up the way your insides feel like they're turning to mush.

"Awesome job guys!" Deojun claps and walks over to the stereo, a proud smile on his face. "That's it for the choreography, so if you two are ready to leave for the night then you're fine to do so. I'm finished for today, but if either of you stay longer, make sure you lock up after you're done."

You nod and gesture towards the door. "I'm starving, so I'm gonna leave, too." You look at San with a smile that is no longer lethal, and your gaze shines with something other than anger and irritation- a sweet combination that's almost too much for him to handle. "You coming?"

San licks his lips and shrugs, eyes trained on you. "Sure, but I can stay back and lock up while I grab my things, so I'll meet you out front."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and follow Deojun out of the studio, willing your brain to quit focusing on how flustered San's stare makes you.

You stop by the restroom to change out of your dance gear into a pair of light jeans and a loose shirt, trading out your dance shoes for comfy slip-ons, and you hope that the dazzled look on your face disappears soon when you head out.

You never imagined that the same guy who's been driving you insane for two weeks would ever cause you to blush; but here you were, hands pressed to your cheeks in an attempt to chase away the pink flush before you step outside, the image of your almost-kiss playing on repeat in the back of your mind like it usually did these days.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the line, you realized that you never really hated San.

You reacted to his insults and his accusations, sure, but a part of you knew that the words were always empty; and even with as many times as you'd said it since meeting him, you honestly didn't hate San.

You just hated that you hadn't kissed him yet.

Jung Deojun has already left the building when you hear the entry door open and close, San approaching where you're standing alone outside of the studio and preoccupied with taking down your ponytail. The hand you were running through your hair halts when you feel his palm hover over your lower back, and his mere presence is enough to give you chills.

You gulp and drop your arm, spinning around.

The breath is practically knocked out of San when you turn to face him. He registers that the hand he's placed on your back now serves to pull you closer, but that's the last thing on his mind when he notices how your head cranes up to look him in the eyes, your almost hopeful expression being the cutest thing he's ever seen as your mouth forms a slight smile.

He's decided that he definitely prefers this look on you over the pissed-off ones he used to earn himself.

"Hey," He says simply, "you ready to go eat?"

You raise an eyebrow. "We're eating together? What about our managers, don't we both have places to be?"

San subconsciously guides your body closer to his, and you force yourself to ignore how droolworthy he looks in his skinny jeans and the black long-sleeved shirt he's tucked into them, keeping your eyes trained on anything that isn't the thick belt around his waist.

The outfit only does more to affirm how San is practically the e-boy of your dreams, posing a stark contrast to your light clothes and soft cardigan; your pulse quickens just from seeing the chain he's looped through his jeans. He looks dark and dangerous, and you love it.

The thought of grabbing that chain to close the gap between you is too tempting to entertain- so you banish it immediately.

"I contacted my company and they said we're free to do whatever we want until ten, as long as we stay out of trouble." San eventually responds to your question.

Your smile widens at the information, and you don't even feel yourself leaning into his arms, peering up at him happily. "In that case, I'm good to go wherever, because Mimi is always trying to get us out to eat more. As long as I get some food I don't really care what we eat." You say.

San so desperately wants to tighten his arms around you when you melt into his hold; but he isn't sure how well you'll respond if you aren't aware of what you're doing now, so he settles for keeping both of his hands placed on your hips, pushing away his desire to trace his fingers over the sliver of skin exposed by your shirt.

"Mimi is your personal manager, right?" San asks to keep up conversation.

"Yeah, but she's more like a friend than a manager," You tell him with a fond look in your eye, "she's always had my back, ever since day one. We're really close."

San has to supress a sigh at how irresistably cute you are; he doesn't know what to do with himself, aside from trying not to melt into putty at your touch. This is a far cry from the rigid stance you normally have around him, and he can't believe how much things have changed in the last four days.

If this had been happening a week ago, you would've laughed in San's face at the offer to go eat together, and he would go back to his dorm at KQ and tell his seven friends about how insufferable you'd been that day.

But now?

Now you're voluntarily spending time with him outside of the studio, and he's wondering why you guys didn't do this sooner.

"I'm feeling partial to pizza, how about you?" He suggests.

You nod quickly at the idea, "That sounds great, but I haven't had pizza in so long; we'll have to Google directions."

"I know a good place down the street, about two blocks away. It's close enough that we can walk from here." San offers. He points to your left, towards the downtown area, and you hoist your bag higher up on your shoulder.

"Then by all means, lead the way." You tease.

You don't exactly hold hands as the two of you walk towards the closest pizza place side-by-side; but you're not at all the sworn enemies you'd been at this time four days ago.

And by the end of the night, you go to bed with a full stomach and a voice in your head that says, maybe Choi San isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Day 19 - 7:50 PM

"Oh my god, you're kidding!" You hide your laughs behind your hand, elbows resting on the table.

Deojun shakes his head rapidly, affirming the truth to the wild story he's been sharing with you and San over your meal at the diner three doors down from the studio (which your other managers barely even agreed to let you go to after taking one look at the menu; thankfully, Mimi was able to convince them that you deserved a treat).

"No, I'm serious! They walked into the studio in full clown suits and told me they were ready to dance!"

You snort so hard you're afraid your milkshake might go up your nose. You couldn't believe all of the crazy stuff he'd seen as a mentor, and some of the things his students had done while dancing were amusing enough to bring tears to your eyes. But the day had been long enough- and exhausting enough- that maybe you were just feeling giddy out of tiredness.

San is currently clutching his sides and shaking with laughter across from you in the booth, and he doesn't seem to be too far from tears himself. "Then it's no wonder we seem so normal to you after you taught a group like that. That one couple makes mine and Y/N's silly fights look mature, don't you think?"

Deojun waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh even harder. "I wouldn't exactly say normal. You two were about as difficult as any other students I've ever had when you first started. I'm actually kind of surprised we're all sitting pleasantly here right now, given the circumstances up until recently..." He trails off, the playful expression slipping from his face when the three of you realize what's being implied.

It was so strange to think that you'd gone from hating your partner's guts a couple of days ago to where you were now, eating dinner together with Deojun after a long day of rehearsal.

You and San had definitely become friends at this point, much to your relief; but the passion with which you danced together always left you wondering if there was something more.

After all, friends don't dance like that- even if your managers instructed you to act like lovers.

"I know you'll need to get back to your managers soon or else Mimi might bite my head off, so I'll go on up and get our bill." Deojun announces, pulling you from your train of thought as the choreographer nudges you urgently, gesturing for you to move so he can get out of the booth.

You let him out and slide back in when he leaves for the front counter, an uncalled-for nervous rush zipping down your body when you catch San's eye.

The dancer stares you down from across the table and twirls his tongue around the straw in his milkshake, immediately taking note of the way your eyes follow his movement. He chooses not to tease you about it but smirks nonetheless, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

You stay silent; and despite the newfound friendship that has made talking much less difficult for the both of you, you can't form a coherent sentence to save your life when he looks at you like you're a ten-thousand-piece puzzle that he can't wait to solve. You know you won't last long under his intense gaze before you start blushing.

The air in the booth is practically humming with tension- it seems to do that quite often when he's in the same room as you.

"You know, I'm kind of with Deojun on what he said. I never thought we'd end up here." He admits suddenly.

You look up, wondering if he's talking about eating here at the diner or if he's talking about something else entirely. You think it's the former, but your heart flutters at the subtle double meaning.

"Me neither." You respond softly, wrapping your hands around your cold glass. Your milkshake is now nothing but a puddle of leftover whipped cream at the bottom of the cup, but your lack of words makes you wish you hadn't finished it quite so fast.

He leans forward to put his weight on his elbows, coming closer across the table, and the inexplicable gleam in his eye is back; with the intimacy of it all, you feel as though he's about to let you in on a big secret.

You gulp nervously.

"After the first week with you, I expected to just go through the motions and then move on," San says in a voice so low it's nearly a murmur, "but you proved me wrong. As a matter of fact, you proved me wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you, and this is probably the first time I've ever been glad I wasn't right."

You're taken aback by his words, and it's a little too vague for you to understand.

You hope your voice doesn't sound as wobbly to him as it does to you when you ask him, "What things were you wrong about?"

He shrugs, taking another long sip of his shake, before he regards you with a stare so intense it seems to almost pin you to your seat.

"You're not the selfish prissy princess I thought you were." He eventually says.

Your eyes narrow at this, your suspicions about his confession rising even though he's not insulted you at all since the twelfth day in the studio.

San sees the way your guard goes up and laughs, shaking his hair out of his face. "Relax Y/N, there's no need to go on the defensive." He reassures you, "I'm just saying that I assumed too much about you when we met, and I should've said sorry sooner for not giving you a chance to show me that you were different."

You feel the tips of your ears burn at the unexpected apology.

You want to tear your gaze away from him so you can stare intently at your shoes; but some invisible force is keeping it glued on him, where there's a softness you've not yet seen glimmering in his eyes.

You know that you should say something in return, that you need to accept his apology and keep the conversation going- but your thoughts are spinning and racing and wild; and they're so full of him that you're afraid of what you'd say if you opened your mouth.

You never really let yourself cave into the way he makes you feel before. After all, you were way too annoyed by him in the beginning for you to register the other feelings he stirred up inside you.

But now that you've given up on trying to hate San, the ache to know him, to really know him- his touch, his kiss, his smile and his story- is almost overwhelming.

"Alrighty, everything's paid for." Your choreographer chooses that exact moment to arrive back at the booth, effectively slicing through the thick tension. "You're both free to go, and I'll see you tomorrow bright and early!"

You and San follow him out of the booth without any more discussion, but neither of you need to speak to know that another shift has occurred between you.

He can tell you sense the rising pressure when you leave that night, walking you to where your company's car is waiting.

San is quick to open the door for you like a gentleman; but when he raises the back of your hand to his lips in a move that would normally be just as gentlemanly, the depth of his expression when he makes eye contact is more than enough to put fire in your veins.

The encounter makes you wish you were bold enough to do more than just curl your fingers loosely around his hand.

You give yourself away with the breathy tone of your voice as you tell him good night, for once letting the tingling sensation on your hand have some meaning, and his lips pull into a soft grin at the sight of your pink cheeks.

As you close your door and the car pulls away from where San stands, your heart starts pounding in anticipation of seeing him tomorrow.

You wonder if you'll finally have the courage to show him the effect he's had on you.

Day 22 - 8:15 PM

The days continue to fly by in a whirlwind of teasing touches and sensual stares, until only three more remain before the night of the collaboration stage.

You read the time on your phone as you pull off your dance shoes, the screen showing that it was currently 8:15 in the evening.

Earlier today, you and San had shot the official performance video for the song, a three-minute-long clip that you hope had captured all of your hard work and effort. It had been done in a newer section of the studio building, on a floor you'd not been to before; but you were sufficiently elated at the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the walls of the dance room, and the lighting they provided was perfect for the video.

But despite the pretty setup, you felt like the dressing rooms in the back were somewhat... lacking. It was too small, poorly separated, and alarmingly unsupervised- the perfect recipe for disaster.

You see San's shadow moving around behind the flimsy screen that divides the empty room, and you rush to change out of the costume into normal clothes. You shimmy your jeans up quickly and tug your favorite sweater on over your head, hurrying because you know that if you can see him, then he can probably see you, too.

You try not to yank on your hair as you pull it out of its elaborate bun. Running a hand through it, you suppress a snort when you're met with a crunchy, knotty mess; between the uppity stylist and the mega-hold hairspray, your hair is practically standing up on its own, the strands feeling more like hay than hair.

You grab your brush and get to work, carefully detangling the knots and working from the bottom upwards. Mimi wouldn't be too pleased if you gave yourself split ends.

"Is it safe for me to come in?" San's voice startles you, and you jump with the hairbrush still in your hand, catching violently on a clump of stubborn hairspray. You yelp at the pain in your scalp and shoot him a burning look, but your anger is more directed towards your brush than at your partner.

San raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue, his footsteps sure as he approaches you. "Here, let me help you." He offers. You don't think twice before handing him the hairbrush and sitting on the cosmetics table, your cheeks flaming as you whisper a thank you.

You don't expect him to be very gentle, but you're surprised at the feather-light touch when he begins to work out the remaining knots, and it sends pleasant sensations to your scalp that make your eyelids slide shut.

He moves your hair to the side and combs through the crown of your head. You almost shudder when you realize you can feel every time he exhales, warm breath fanning over the back of your neck. You don't even notice the way you crane your head slightly back, your spine pressed against his chest, the proximity keeping your cheeks stained pink.

But oh, does San notice.

He also notices another reaction that you've failed to see- your reflection in the mirror across the room.

His grip tightens on the handle of the brush at your blissful expression, eyes closed and lips subconsciously pouted. San nearly wishes you'd stayed in your bland dance clothes, because with the way your jeans hug your hips and the tantalizing dip of your sweater's neckline, he's struggling to keep his cool.

As a matter of fact, nothing in the room was cool anymore- his hands, your face, and the atmosphere surrounding you both had all become maddeningly hot.

Your eyes flutter open when San stops moving.

"San, I can take care of the rest, you don't have to do this for me-" You begin to say, but your words abandon you when San puts the brush down and trails a finger in lazy circles on your neck. You do shudder this time, unable to conceal the way your body responds to him; and it brings a smirk to San's lips as he watches your defenses start to chip away.

He's determined to finish what you'd both started- and he doesn't plan on leaving this room until he's felt your mouth on his and his hands on your skin.

"But I want to, princess." He says smoothly, the hidden meaning of the word want driving you nuts, while the pet name makes your heart leap like it always does.

You brace your palms on the surface of the table, hoping for some sort of stability because God knows your mind is far from it.

You summon up all the courage you have and finally, finally ask the question that's been tossed around in your head for the last two or three weeks.

"Is that... is that all you want?"

You're surprised at the strength of your own voice- though now that you've said it, you want to curl into a ball and hide away forever.

San knows exactly what you mean. He knows you're not talking about hair or dancing, and he knows the answer he would give you if he were man enough not to twirl around the truth.

He knows he wants to be yours; what he doesn't know, however, is how much you'd be willing to risk to be his.

But he'll be damned if he lets anything stop him from finding out.

"I think you know by now what I want." He tests the waters hesitantly, afraid you may take it the wrong way. Because although he can't deny his attraction to you physically, San is drawn to you more by your fire and your passion than he is by your body.

You can sense it, the uncharacteristic doubt and uncertainty in his words, and it puts a lump in your throat when you realize how vulnerable you both are at this point.

You swallow hard. "I do." It's simple, short, and barely above a whisper, but it's out there now; you've placed the ball back in his court, so it's up to him to make the shot.

You never were much good at basketball, anyways.

San rounds the table to stand in front of you, eyes searing with that familiar intensity that always leaves your knees weak, and his arms reach out on either side of where you sit to balance his weight on the table. He hovers over you- but he's just far away enough to keep himself from touching you.

His voice is gruff when he speaks next. "You've known for a while now that we aren't just partners." It's self explanatory, and you don't interrupt when he tilts his head to give you a sweltering gaze. "And you're not too good at hiding how you feel, so I know it's probably a safe bet to say you feel exactly the same as I do."

His black hair falls into his face, and your hand itches to brush it away; so you let it. You're slow to comb through it and you raise yourself up a little to get closer to him as you rake through the dark strands, letting them twist and twirl around your fingers. "And what is it that you think I'm feeling right now?" You ask, meeting his stare straight on.

San flashes his killer smirk. "Attraction." He says confidently. He wedges his way into your personal space, his hands now resting on either of your thighs with his body between your legs. "Desire, maybe." He continues with a squeeze.

You know where this is heading- and you don't plan on stopping it anytime soon. Hell, you want it to go full steam ahead, because you've been waiting for this for four weeks too long.

San laces his fingers through yours and leans in to place a teasing kiss on your cheek, close to your ear. "Y/N, tell me something." He murmurs lowly, "Do you want this, too? Because if you still hate me as much as you did four weeks ago, I'll stop right now and walk out of the room."

You spring to life at his offer, throwing one arm around his neck and successfully trapping him into his position. Your faces are only a few inches apart now, the air between you radiating with electricity; you wrap your other arm around his shoulders and eliminate almost all of the space.

You have no idea where this bravery is coming from, but hey, you're not complaining.

"Don't you dare walk out on this." You say darkly, the words stealing away the last of San's sanity. "We're in too deep now, so if you're gonna kiss me, you better kiss me like you mean it." You threaten.

It's all the encouragement he needs to bring your lips to his- and the result is more incredible than anything either of you had imagined.

You don't melt together the way that you've heard others describe themselves doing. No, you and San are too passionate, too full of sparks- this kiss isn't melting.

It's blazing.

There's no uncertainty or gentle hesitancy in it; not even a little bit. From the moment his mouth is on yours, you kiss with an unmatched fervor and passion, feeling more like an explosion than like fireworks.

You're fighting fire with fire, and nothing has ever felt so good before.

You push and pull and meet right back in the middle in an exchange of powerful sparks, the kiss seeming to last for hours as you both fight to outdo the other in true 'fake enemies' fashion. San's fingers are digging into your hips and your hands are tugging on his shirt for some semblance of balance; everything is on fire, and yet everything is positively and passionately perfect.

You sigh against his lips in sheer bliss, your legs hooking themselves around his torso and bringing him impossibly closer. His fingertips skim across the hem of your sweater before slipping under it, and you nearly moan when he runs them up and down the curve of your back.

You've never felt this connected to a person before; almost as if from the moment you met, an invisible thread was strung between you and San, winding tighter and tighter over time until you were much too entangled to stop this.

You didn't ever want to stop this, anyways.

This kiss, this moment, and the last few whirlwind weeks with this man who's made of sweetness and pure sin- it all seems to be stitched together to create an emotion so strong that it rolls off of both of you in waves; an earth shattering romance that must be written in the stars themselves.

San mentally sends a thousand thanks to those lucky stars as he ends the kiss, regretfully pulling back to see what a mess he's made out of you.

He isn't disappointed either; your puffy pink lips and pretty glazed eyes make his already-tight pants feel three sizes too small, and he has to refrain from diving right back in for another soul-searing kiss.

He does his best to contain himself and leans his forehead against yours in a move he's cringed at every time it happens in the movies, though he finds it to be a lot less cliché with you.

In the aftermath of your passionate makeout, your eyes are gazing headlong into his own, and San swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight than this. He feels close, so close; his hands are pressed securely on the small of your back, though you sure as hell aren't thinking about that.

You're too busy thinking about how you finally have a name for that special look he's been giving you.

Adoration.

Sure, it's obviously mixed with a dash of unbridled lust and a bucketload of his signature sizzling attraction, but the adoring expression on his face says it all. Whether or not anyone knew things would happen this way, San has always adored you; you and your fiery temper, sweet smile, and ridiculous, incredible passion.

You feel yourself going shy again as he continues to stare at you, your blush already as deep as it can get, and you have half a mind to bury your face in his chest to escape the knowledge that your moment is beginning to fade away.

You don't want anything about the moment to fade, ever.

"Y/N," San's voice is soothing as he softly traces shapes into the skin beneath your sweater, "I hope you haven't changed your mind about wanting me to walk out."

You smile sheepishly, shaking your head. "No, nothing's changed." You manage to murmur around the tightness in your chest. It's not a bad tightness though; it's just the coil of raw emotion that's settling into your heart at the pure vulnerability of the last ten minutes.

"So does that mean we're still going to just keep doing what we've been doing this whole time?" He asks, tilting his head, "Or can I finally call you mine?"

Your lungs stutter briefly at his question, the word "mine" sounding so perfect to you when it falls from his mouth.

You don't answer immediately despite your inner self screaming at you to say yes. You have plenty of realistic things to consider, and anyone with a brain would say no in your position; but all of it is overshadowed by what you feel for San.

Both of your contracts, your fames and fanbases, and even your careers as idols are on the line, but you know with every beat of your heart that you'd risk all of that for this boy.

You'd risk anything to be his, you're sure of it.

"Yes." You agree quietly. "But only if it means that you're mine, too."

The smirk is back, and it turns the butterflies in your stomach into fucking pterodactyls at how effortlessly he can do that. It should be illegal for someone to switch the way San does, going from being a swoonworthy sweetheart to looking like a sexual fantasy on legs in the blink of an eye.

"I thought that was a given, babe." His tone has returned to its usual cockiness, but instead of getting on your nerves, now it just sounds plain hot. He gives you a mischievous wink as he says, "After all, it takes two to tango."

You don't bother hiding your laugh while you slide off of the cosmetics table; and you're still laughing at him when you walk out of the unsupervised dressing rooms hand in hand, feeling like it was meant to be this way all along.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if a mere twenty-three days is too soon to call it love.

You don't think so.

Day of Collaboration Stage - 4:30 PM

You hadn't seen San all day.

Today was the end of your promotions, and in three short hours, you'd be dancing together on a stage in front of the whole world, doing the moves you'd spent more time rehearsing than you'd spent sleeping throughout the last month.

You were on edge, to say the very least.

Currently, you were sitting in your designated room at the site of the event, staying as still as possible while being attacked with makeup brushes from all angles.

You would normally have a conversation with the group of people pampering you; but the desire to see San was making it hard to focus on talking about the weather or finding out the latest gossip.

You and San had shared three more kisses since the other night. Two of them were in the studio during rehearsal when Deojun left the room, and the third had been in the doorway of the building last night, when you and he had said goodbye after your final practice.

Your body was aching to see him. It wasn't that you just wanted to kiss him again (though you won't object to a kiss either); but you longed for some reassurance, for the steadiness you felt from a hug or even just the simple look he gave you that made all of the doubts and worries disappear in its wake.

"Mimi," You call to your most trusted manager, "has anyone heard from KQ since lunch?"

Your team giggles at your request, and Mimi gives you a fond smile as she shakes her head. "No dear, I'm sorry. We'll be sure to tell you as soon as they contact us though."

You nod quickly and try to relax a little bit, willing your hands to loosen their grip on the arms of your chair. If your stylists can sense how jittery you are, they don't let on; they continue to chatter mindlessly as they get you ready for tonight's much-anticipated performance.

*

On the other end of the building, San is only one brain cell away from calling your company and asking them if he can finish getting ready with you- because the seven lively boys crowded around in his room are becoming very, very distracting.

"Mingi, for the last time, please don't mess with my costume." The dancer chides his tall friend, who ducks his head and mumbles an apology.

The redheaded leader, Hongjoong, is trying to help San keep peace in the chaos that began when Yunho decided to twerk in the hallway- but reigning in the band of childish idols proves to be a challenge when his best friend Wooyoung steals his phone and tries to guess his password so he can text you, the mystery girl.

"Sannie!" Wooyoung pouts, "Won't you at least give me a little hint? I promise I won't text her anything too embarrassing."

Before he can answer, the oldest boy, Seonghwa, snatches the phone from Wooyoung and hands it back to its owner. "Woo, don't be a burden. Let San finish getting ready." He scolds. Wooyoung sighs dramatically and skips over to the lone couch in the dressing room to bother its occupants, Yeosang and Jongho; San's arguably more level-headed friends.

San's manager pays no mind to the loud group wreaking havoc and continues with prep, swiping on the finishing touches to the stage makeup and doing a final fluff of his hair.

The manager steps back to survey her work and smiles, already gathering up her things and packing away the tools. "You're all set San, try to keep your hands away from your face and hair. Good luck tonight." She says, promptly retreating from the noisy group and closing the door behind her.

The moment the manager leaves, Kim Hongjoong is standing behind San's chair and crossing his arms, staring him down in the mirror. The question leaves his mouth before anyone can stop him.

"San," His tone is demanding, "no more vague answers. I wanna know straight up if you're into this girl or not, and don't you dare try to beat around the bush."

San gulps heavily, not expecting to get drilled about you so soon today. He should've known better though- after all, he's always been horrible at keeping secrets from his team.

He takes a deep breath before finally confessing to his leader, "Yes, I'm into her. More than I've ever been into anyone." He admits, still trying not to make it obvious how deep his feeling for you run.

But he can't help the foolish grin that crosses his face as he continues to say, "She dances with more passion than any girl I've ever worked with, and you should see the way she looks at me when she doesn't think I'll notice. You'd never pick on me again if you danced with her like I do."

He shuts his mouth before any more mushy words can make it past his lips; but the damage is already done. Choi San has completely blown his cover, letting everyone know exactly how often you've been on his mind- or rather, his heart.

Wooyoung and Mingi both stop what they're doing at the outburst and stare at San, jaws dropping. Park Seonghwa seems frozen in his seat, Yunho and Jongho's heads both snap up at the same time, and even cool, unbothered Yeosang turns off his phone and raises one eyebrow.

"Somebody's majorly fuckin' whipped." Yunho mutters under his breath. Seonghwa only halfheartedly nudges him for the comment, and San feels his ears burn from the intense scrutiny of his seven best friends, all eyes turned to him.

It's too late to backtrack now.

"Shut up, Yunho." San whines, shoulders slumping with defeat. Wooyoung's triumphant smirk goes unnoticed in the mirror as San exposes his humongous crush on you, not even trying to deny it anymore, and Mingi sighs loudly knowing he'll have to cough up $15 to Wooyoung once the night is over.

"So it's true then?" Seonghwa voices what everyone must be thinking, "You and the mystery girl? Are you... are you dating her?" His voice lowers on the word dating, and Hongjoong holds his breath, suddenly not quite as playful as he was before.

He knows Choi San is a wonderful person, and that the last thing he'd ever do would be something that intentionally hurts the group. But he also knows that the boy tends to let his heart run away with his passion; and if he's in a secret relationship behind their backs, then there's more at stake than just the dating ban contract.

Thankfully, San's eyes widen and he shakes his head side-to-side. "No, I'm not! It's not like that! I swear, we really aren't together. I'd never hide something like that from you guys." He states honestly.

It's not a lie, either. Despite the kisses and touches that he's shared with you lately, and the heated confrontation after the dress rehearsals, he truly isn't in any official relationship at the moment.

But that doesn't mean he has no desire to be in one with you.

He knows what's at risk, of course he does; but even so, he knows that once the dust settles and the cameras are no longer pointed at him, he wants to be by your side long after the collaboration is finished.

He wants to be yours just as badly as you want to be his. And tonight, he's determined to prove it.

Yeosang sees the confidence flickering in San's expression and nods his head, hiding a small smile of pride. "Go get her, San. We'll all be rooting for you."

And with those words of encouragement, San is dashing out of the room like a man on a mission- a mission to see you.

*

It takes an hour of discreet texting while you're being pampered to death for San to come up with a valid excuse to see you.

You eventually agree that he'll interrupt your prep to do one more walkthrough of your ending scene; but you both know that it's just an excuse to have a little more time together before the stage, and that knowledge makes you giggle like a schoolgirl when San messages you.

Fireboy: wish me luck getting past ur managers !!

Your grip relaxes on your chair when you finally hear a knock at your door. Mimi shoots right up to answer it, and her polite smile grows mischievous when she sees who's on the other side.

"Hello there, Mr. Choi," Mimi greets, "how can I help you?"

San blinks and clears his throat. "I, uh, I'm here to go over a few steps with Y/N." He doesn't sound overly convincing, and you hide a chuckle with the palm of your hand. "Just to make sure we've got everything right before the performance, you know?"

Your lead manager shares a look with the other girls on your prep team, opens the door wider, and beckons for everyone else to leave.

"We'll give you some space to rehearse. Come find me if you need anything, Mr. Choi." Mimi tells him with that same smirk painted on her face as she practically tugs San the rest of the way into the room. They all go at once, leaving you sitting alone in your snazzy chair when they close the door behind them.

You glance at him with a shy smile, peering beneath your newly mascara-coated lashes at the handsome sight in front of you.

San is styled in a costume very similar to the one he wore for the performance video- black pants, a red harness belt, and a billowy long-sleeved white shirt with three buttons undone at the top. It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping; though you don't really need to worry about it since San is having no problem openly staring at your legs.

But you can't blame him for looking, because you think your legs are a hundred percent worth staring at in the pretty red swing dress that you'll be wearing tonight.

"My eyes are up here, buddy." You snap your fingers playfully, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

"Sorry, Y/N." He's not sorry in the slightest.

You push yourself up from your chair and cross the floor to where he stands, his back resting against your dressing room door. "What do you really need?" You ask him, stopping when he's an arm's length away.

He doesn't hesitate to pull you the rest of the way into his embrace and loops his arms around your middle, all but sweeping you off of your feet.

"This." He says, tone leaving no room for debate.

He kisses you swiftly, not even giving you a moment to breathe before his lips are on yours and he's softly tracing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. It's a sweet kiss; slow and languid, as if you have all the time in the world, but still heavy with meaning and want.

"San," You mumble, "I don't really think-"

"I'm not gonna ruin your hair, Miss Priss." He instantly answers your halfhearted concern and is back to kissing you, tongue sliding hastily along your bottom lip. It's enough to give you just a taste of what you want; but you remember that your entire prep team is probably listening outside of your room, and you have more to worry about than a messed up hairdo.

You move away to save your makeup- an action that ends up taking every ounce of your willpower to do- and press a lingering peck to his cheek. "You're cute, San. Was that all you came here to do though?"

He stops an embarrassing blush from rising onto his cheeks and clears his throat again, face turning serious.

"I actually did come to talk to you about something," He admits, taking your hands in his. "I wanted to check in with you to see how you're feeling about tonight's stage. Are there any fears of crowds or cameras that I should know about?"

Your smile droops slightly and his grip tightens, his hands warm on yours and giving you the courage to voice your concerns.

"I, um..." You manage to get out, "I've never performed a dance like this before and... well, I'm really nervous and worried. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off well enough."

You purse your lips as you add, "And as ironic as it is to say this, even though I'm a dancer, I've never been too fond of big audiences."

"Y/N," San whispers softly, "Don't think about the crowds tonight. If we're gonna do this, then I'll need to you keep your eyes on mine, baby. Don't look away from me while we're dancing, okay?"

Your hands cling onto his the way your heart clings onto his words, hoping that they might chase away your nerves.

"I'll try." You tell him plainly. It's the truth- you don't know if you'll be able to ignore the countless eyes watching you or the cameras that will capture every move; but you're going to try. If not for yourself, then at least for him.

His face breaks into a gorgeous smile, making your heart flutter with something other than nervous panic. "Good." He says with finality, giving you one more intoxicating kiss while he makes sure he hasn't messed up your hair. "We're gonna do great, Y/N. I can feel it."

You hear your team gossiping and giggling out in the hallway, making you shake your head. He winks playfully at you and blows you a kiss before backing away.

"See you out there, Miss Priss." He teases when he opens the door. The nickname makes the edges of your lips turn upwards, and you smile against your will.

You roll your eyes but catch the kiss nonetheless. "Famous last words, Fireboy." You say as you shoo him off, and Mimi swoops back into the room, steering you back to your chair to sit you down. You're not able to summon enough words to describe your encounter when your prep crew asks; though you think the dreamy look on your face says it all.

You still aren't totally sure if you can pull the performance off tonight.

But you know that if your handsome partner is half as talented on stage as he is in rehearsals, then there's no reason for you to worry.

"Y/N, are you ready to go?" Mimi asks, "We need to meet up with KQ in the next twenty seconds if you want to be backstage on time."

You nod against your better judgment, allowing her to take your arm and gently guide you out of your dressing room and down the corridor. Your heartbeat is drumming a quick rhythm in your ears, your mind buzzing with last-minute what if's and oh no's.

Your heeled shoes alert the group of stagehands that's already begun to gather behind the sound booth to your presence, all heads turned towards you; and almost as if he could hear your internal doubts, Choi San sends you a thumbs up and winks, causing you to laugh.

"Are you ready to knock about three hundred socks off?" He asks as soon as you're in range, walking up to you. He unashamedly loops an arm around you, not seeming to care if the pose is a little too close for coworkers.

"It depends; are you ready to become the country's ultimate bias for the next month?" You tease back. He laughs playfully pokes your side before letting you go.

"Absolutely." He says without hesitating. You roll your eyes, mouth opening to crack another joke, but the stagehands start calling out directions before you can think of a good one.

It's almost showtime.

The realization is jolting, and scares the ever-living shit out of you more than any spider could.

Your heart immediately plummets to your stomach and your nerves return with full force. You all of a sudden don't feel quite as confident in your heels as you did, your ankles threatening to wobble and give away your weakness.

But as always, San swoops in to rescue your thoughts before you get too lost in them; strong fingers lace together with your trembling ones when he raises an eyebrow as if to say, get it together, y/n.

"Oh no you don't, princess. You don't get to chicken out on me now. We can't have you collapsing on stage, can we?" He taunts. You give him a familiar glare in return.

The simple question is enough to get your blood rushing as you recall all the times he's said things like that to you and meant it, all of the heated- yet pointless- fights you'd had during your first few weeks together. You remember how annoying he used to be with you; though looking back on it now, you suppose he was just doing it on purpose.

There was certainly blame to share for the childish spats you had during those twelve maddening days where you couldn't decide if you were enemies or lovers. But you think that, if given the chance, you wouldn't actually want to go back and redo it- you don't want it any other way.

You always secretly kind of liked the tension you had together.

A smile is pulling at your lips when the stage lights dim and the velvet curtain begins to rustle, San's hand still fully engulfing yours. He notices your change in demeanor and squeezes lightly, your attention turning to him and his stupidly handsome face.

"What's that look for?" He presses.

You shrug and squeeze his hand back, "Just thinking about how much I used to hate you, that's all."

You expect San's mouth to fall open in shock, for him to whine and say something like "you're not very nice!", but instead you get a dark chuckle and a meaningful stare.

"Come on, baby. You never really hated me, did you?"

You pretend to think about it, ignoring the burning blush on your cheeks. "I guess not," You sigh wistfully, "but I definitely couldn't stand you when we were starting out. You used to get on my nerves like no tomorrow, Fireboy."

The sounds from the crowd in the arena are floating backstage, but you don't even register the noise as you relive your memories with San.

He nods his head, "It's been an interesting few weeks with you too, Y/N. I don't know how I missed what was really there for so long; I must've been such an ass to you. At least now we're making up for lost time..." He trails off with a suggestive smile, detaching his hand from yours when a manager pops up out of the blue.

You nearly curse- because now you really want to make up for lost time and kiss him until you're breathless- but the manager grabs both you and your partner by the arm and drags you to stand over two red x's in the middle of the stage, and you sense the panic rising up in spite of your handsome distraction.

"Two minutes until your cue, you two. Are you both fully prepared?" The manager interrupts to check on you, and your mind boggles as soon as you hear how much time is left.

Two minutes?

How could there only be two minutes left? And weren't you kissing San in your dressing room just a moment ago? It feels like the seconds are flying by, the hours and minutes blending together in your nervous haze.

San's eyes dart to you and his tongue comes out to sweep over his lower lip; something you'd find desperately attractive if not for your frantic inner dialogue. "Yes, thank you." He bows slightly and the manager scurries off, allowing San one more moment to have you all to himself.

He can detect every ounce of anxiety in your eyes when they meet his, and he cups your face in his palms, the sweet gesture not allowing you to duck away from him.

"Y/N, what did we talk about earlier?" He prompts you with a tone that's uncharacteristically soft. Your lips form an adorable pout when you try to find an answer, testing San's ability to resist you.

"Umm... we talked about not getting nervous?" You attempt. He shakes his head, placing a single chaste kiss on your lips while no one can see you.

"No, not quite. I told you that when you get nervous, you'll need to focus on me. Right?" He tilts your chin up with one finger, "Didn't I say to keep your eyes on me when we dance?"

You're taken aback by the authoritative edge to his voice, but whatever the cause for it is... it works.

You blink and respond, "Yes. I will, San, I'll try."

He breaks into a grin that sends butterflies to your tummy for an entirely different reason. "That's all there is to it, then. Any time you aren't confident, just look straight at me and I'll take the lead."

You aren't sure why the phrase is so comforting, but you're nodding your head anyways, reassured just enough to keep your anxious doubts at bay.

"Okay." You whisper.

And before you have time to fully process what's happening, the directors and operators are flying to their booths around the two of you and the curtains rustle one last time, the din of the workers backstage going completely quiet when the lights go out and San takes you into his arms.

"Cue!" You hear Mimi say from the wings, along with what sounds like "Knock 'em dead, Y/N!"

You feel like your nerves are going to get the best of you when the curtain starts to lift, positive that they'll overtake your body and freeze your limbs solid.

But they never do, and you know exactly why.

It's because when the spotlight lands on you and San, you're already in position, and his eyes are staring confidently back into your own.

Almost like he's daring you to break away.

"Game on, Fireboy." You say under your breath.

The beginning notes float through the speakers, and the spotlight flares to life, trained on you and your partner as the music fills your bodies.

One, two, three... concentrate. You hear Jung Deojun's voice in your head when you spring upwards, officially beginning your dance. Feel the heartbeat of the music like it's your own.

Your hands grasp at San's shirt, your legs carrying out each move with perfect poise, and you're absolutely, 100% sure that every member of this audience can blatantly see the desire that burns in his eyes as he spins you into your mark.

A spark of pure confidence makes its way into your system, giving your arms the strength to wrap around your partner and let go of his collar, and the complete trust you have in him is the only thing that makes the next move remotely possible.

Your mind flashes back briefly to day thirteen, when you'd first successfully done the lift. You'd jumped into San's waiting arms with more trust than anyone would've guessed you had for him, surprising even yourself.

You remember how hot his hands had been on your sides when he picked you up gracefully, how flustered his touch had made you back then- but you also remember how proud you'd been of finally letting go and giving him the reins.

You feel just as proud now as you were then when he lifts you; you're weightless, flying like a fiery phoenix in the air with San twirling you around, and you can almost hear the collective gasp when he lays you down, sinking effortlessly into the one move that's always turned your mind into putty.

It's the move that took you two entire days of rehearsal to conquer, and holy fuck was it worth it.

San's got a shit-eating smirk on his face as he controls his hips while balancing above you, doing that roll with his lower body while keeping his legs in the air, and you get so lost in his burning stare that you almost forget to do the floor work you've practiced so often.

"You're doing so well for me, Y/N." He whispers for just you to hear, the words hot against the skin of your neck, and your eyes fall shut momentarily at the sensation.

Then he rolls up in one fluid motion while tugging you with him, and you surge straight into the next step: something Deojun had described as taking a classic foxtrot and adding a pinch of 'spice' to it. It'd be scandalous if it wasn't choreographed.

You sway to the pulsing rhythm as you glide across the stage hand-in-hand, and the dazzling lights are no match for the fire that's crackling to life between you and him. You never expected the flames to make it to the stage- but you're glad it did, because right now, it's helping you to dance with more passion than you were even sure you possessed.

His arms circle your torso sensually and you rock together like starstruck lovers, one hand trailing a path down the side of your face; and the longer you dance, the less aware you are of the eyes watching your performance.

"How's it going, princess?" He murmurs hotly, doing a flawless tango with your body pressed firmly against his.

You rake one nail across the exposed skin from his shirt, making a mark just below his collarbone, and a feeling of satisfaction bubbles in your chest when he tightens his arms around you.

"Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself." You don't know where this courage is coming from, but you shoot him a teasing smile anyways, "What about you, Fireboy?"

He runs the palm of his hand all the way from the base of your spine to the back of your neck and bends you beneath his touch, your red lips parting when he moves into a perfect dip.

Your arm is slung around his shoulder, and it takes a lot of self-restraint for you not to kiss him senseless when he raises an eyebrow and responds, "It couldn't get any fucking better than this, baby."

San has always known exactly what words to say to set you ablaze.

There's a simmering fire in his touch as he pulls you out of the dip and the tempo quickens, leading you into what you can't believe is already the last chorus of the song.

Have you really been dancing for almost six minutes now?

"Are you ready for the finale?" You ask lowly, unable to hear if he says anything once you're sent spiraling across the floor.

But when you meet back up like lovers who can't bear to be apart, he leans in to tell you cockily, "I was born ready, Y/N." You suppress an eye roll at the statement, your heart fluttering nonetheless as he puts his hands on your hips and swings in step with you.

San's hands grip you tightly as he pulls you against him, your mouths hovering tantalizingly close together when he guides your arm up to skim the curve of his neck. The sensual music drifts through the arena in time with your movements, each step flowing smoothly and each touch driving you wild as you perform your finale with your hearts on your sleeves.

You've never felt this before Choi San; you've never experienced such an intense desire for someone the way you're desperate for every brush of his skin against yours.

You slide slowly out of his arms and make your way down, down his body and to the floor, taking your sweet time walking your fingers down his chest as you sink to your knees on stage; the sight of you in such a compromising stance earns you an earful of traumatized murmurs from the crowd, but you pay them no mind.

Nothing else matters when San's knees hit the stage floor three beats later, hands tangling in your hair and pulling you close enough to give the cameraman a run for his money.

All that matters in that instant is San- his touch, his gaze, and the dance that feels like it was made just for you and him.

"That... was amazing." You comment breathlessly, careful not to give any wandering eyes a chance to read your lips. He nods and says nothing, letting his fiery eyes do all the talking for the both of you.

The moment feels incredibly intimate as the music fades out, and you're breathing the same air as your partner, only separated by an inch at the most; you want nothing more than to grab him by his too-damn-sexy shirt and make out until your lips are swollen.

But you can't do that, because you're still somehow on stage with him, crouching in a sensual pose in front of hundreds of people.

The last notes float away and you're immediately met with deafening cheers, roses and carnations already beginning to litter the platform. You're shocked by how much your performance seemed to affect the audience; but it makes you smile wide, your cheeks aching when a group of girls start chanting your name, and you feel like you're on cloud nine.

The MC's voice booms over the speakers as the crowd whistles and yells, "What an incredible performance from Choi San of Ateez and Y/N of Indigo! Let's have another round of applause for the stars of tonight's show, everyone!"

The clapping continues, following you and San off of the stage and back behind the wings as you're rushed into a hug from Mimi. She shakes your shoulders wildly, eyes shining with what looks like happy tears; she congratulates you over and over, all but crushing your lungs with her excited hug.

"You did it Y/N!" She squeals, "We're all so proud of you, honey!"

When you turn to face San, a group of boys approaching the wings from behind him catches your eye, looking more like a blur than a band. One blonde boy in particular zips ahead of the others and catapults himself into San, arms latching onto him like a leech.

"Woo, what the hell?" Your unsuspecting partner exclaims, hugging him back nonetheless.

"You fuckin' killed it, man!" The blonde screams. The rest of the group engulfs San into a huddle and say the same thing, not paying any attention to the manager trying to remind them that idols shouldn't curse.

You recognize the seven rowdy men to be San's group, Ateez; you watch on with a fond smile as they praise his performance, slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.

He fights his way out of their embrace and rolls his eyes, brushing himself off as if he didn't enjoy their congratulations.

The blonde boy notices you standing to the side and a sly grin crosses his face, head tilting to the side.

"And who might this beautiful lady be, Sannie?" He questions mischievously. You feel yourself blush beneath his curious stare, fiddling with the material of your dress, but San walks over to you in a few short strides and wastes no time in using two fingers to lift your chin upwards.

"This is Y/N," He says with a voice that reminds you of spiced cider, "the one I've been telling you guys about."

Your eyes widen. "You never said you talked about me..." You trail off at the flicker of want in his expression, mind blanking out.

He smirks back at you like he knows something you don't. "You never asked, princess."

You don't feel the seven pairs of clueless eyes on you when San brings your face closer to his; you don't even bother to remember that Mimi is still right behind you, nor do you care that the collaboration team is probably just around the corner.

All you can feel is San- his presence overpowering your senses and blocking out anything that isn't him.

"Choi San," You murmur dangerously, "if you don't kiss me right now, I think I might go insane."

He ignores the chorus of annoying ooh's from his friends and rests his other hand on the small of your back, tethering you to him. Your eyelids start to lower in expectation, hands finding their way into his hair; and you can feel his smirk long before your lips even touch.

"That won't be necessary, darling." He mutters as you finally, finally collide, every nerve ending on fire as he kisses you like a man starved. Wooyoung's wolf whistle falls on deaf ears as you kiss with more meaning than any romance movie couple you've seen on screen; your lips clash and melt and push and pull with a spark that only true dancers possess, the world around you disappearing instantly.

Even Mimi, your dedicated manager, has nothing to say to you when you eventually break apart, San's heated gaze keeping you trapped in his arms, and he can tell you've got tunnel vision too when your eyes never leave his.

Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest- but the pace is steady and sure, as if you've been kissing this man in front of your superiors all of your life. You're utterly entranced by the look of love and adoration that dances- pun intended- in his dark eyes; and in the split second it takes to realize the weight behind this kiss, you decide that you want this to last forever.

You're ready to be his.

"Y/N," San says softly, "I know we've got a lot to talk about if we want to make this work... but I can't walk away from you tonight without asking you one thing."

You raise an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

He traces your jawline with the tip of his finger, leaving sparks in its wake.

"Miss Priss," He says teasingly, the nickname stirring up your insides, "will you officially be mine?"

You reach up to press a swift, firm kiss to his lips, sealing your decision better than words ever could. You pull away with a grin that matches his own, and he thinks he's died and gone to heaven when you answer him, "I thought you'd never ask."

The seven boys watching the ordeal clap obnoxiously, cheering just as loud as the audience had been a few minutes ago, and San pulls you in to rest his forehead on your own.

"After all, you said it best yourself, Fireboy," You meet his stare confidently, "it takes two to tango."

And after twenty-five days of wanting and waiting, playing this game of cat and mouse- you finally get what you've truly desired since the moment you met Choi San.

You get to call him yours.

the end.

#san fluff #san angst #san smut #ik it isn't smut but damn imma tag it anyways #choi san #ateez san #san fanfic #two to tango #admin ari #kpop fanfiction #ateez au #the writing tag #choi san fanfiction #choi san fluff #choi san angst #ateez fluff #ateez angst #san x reader #choi san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ignore the fact that i used way too many tags pls #ateez drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #san drabbles #this is not a drabble don't be fooled by the tags pls #i am incapable of writing short fics hence why i haven't posted a real fic in two years

[descendantofthesparrow]

Interlude - Rewrite POYW - Harry Hook x reader - Part 3 - invitations

=

The Smee twins stared wide-eyed at the crisp white letter that was clearly and openly inviting them, both of them, to Auradon prep, signed by King Ben and Ms. Evie of the isle. They heard that Harriet, CJ, and their older brother Sammy had gotten the same letter around the same time that they had gotten theirs.

His Royal Majesty, King Ben of Auradon, and his Councilor Ms. Evie of the Isle, hereby request the pleasure of your company, Skipper and Sterling Smee, for the upcoming academic year at Auradon city middle school. Please notify his Majesty’s couriers of your response to this request.

-we’d love to have you two with us here in Auradon, don’t worry, your brother has been given the same invitation, will you come? - King Ben

-Don’t let this go to waste boys, I’ll see you soon - Harry H.

Skipper and Sterling looked at each other, then back to the letter, the older twin, skipper, picking up the letter and holding it gently in his hands, reading it over and over for any small hints that might reveal the letter to be a whole joke and they would never be coming off the isle.

Skipper slowly looked at his brother with a grin “it's for real” he whispered, shaking the letter in Sterling's face “they really want us to come to Auradon!” Sterling took the letter and examined it for himself, a bright grin matching his brothers growing on his face.

The twins threw their arms around each other, jumping and spinning around the room. the door to their room opened, the twins pausing in their celebration as their older brother, Sammy, and dad, Mr. Smee, looked in on them with just barely repressed smiles. “Dad look!” Skipper took back the letter from Sterling and shoved it into his dad's face, the old man smiling and picking up his son as he examined the letter “they invited us to go to Auradon! And Harry signed it too!!”

“they invited your brother as well” Mr. Smee hummed, setting Skipper back down on his feet and examining the letter again, smiling at the note from Harry. “Harriet and CJ too”

Sammy flipped his invitation between his fingers “yeah, Harriet said something about how they finally assigned guardians for us so they were finally able to send the invitations, all that’s left is for us to tell the dudes who gave ‘em to us that we accept” Mr. Smee, handing the twins letter back to Skipper, the two going over it once more.

“when can we tell them?” Mr. Smee asked, walking back out of the twin's room to the living room of his apartment that he had acquired after (y/n) had dismembered his ex-captain.

“well, Harriet got a letter from (y/n) saying that the next shipment of goods tomorrow, will have some of the couriers that are expecting our response so we can tell them then.” Mr. Smee nodded, moving into the kitchen to start making dinner for his sons.

“so after we tell them you three are all for Auradon, when will you be picked up?” Sammy pursed his lips, trying to remember what Harriet had relayed to him from the letter that (y/n) sent her informing her of the timeline of events for the vks transfer.

“uh, after we tell the courier dudes tomorrow? the limo should be here sometime next week…no clue what time yet but im sure well be told at some point before the day” Mr. Smee nodded, setting a pot of water onto his stove and turning it on, waiting for it to boil so he could add the pasta.

“I noticed on the twin's letter, it said “Auradon middle school” while yours said “Auradon Prep”, so the twins will be going to a different school?” Sammy nodded at his father's question, helping him get the ingredients ready for the chicken alfredo spaghetti he was about to make.

“Yeah, they are only 10 after all, and Auradon prep is a high school so I’m guessing when they turn 14, they’ll go then.” Mr. Smee nodded again and started to chop up some parsley.

Sammy grabbed the chicken from the fridge and placed a pan on the stove, starting the flame and grabbing some seasonings for the chicken.

The two worked in comfortable silence, the sound of the twins playing in the background providing the much needed “white noise”

Sammy sighed, slicing up the chicken and tossing it into the pan, watching it cook as he thought of the fast-approaching future.

Only a week from now, he and the twins would be across the sea in Auradon, away from their father for the first time. Now Smee wasn’t the best father, hardly anyone on the isle was, well maybe except for Dr.Facilier which was mostly a surprise to…well everyone, the once voodoo doctor turned principal and arcade owner held his daughter in high regard and strived to give her the best life he could on the isle.

But back to his father, while he wasn’t the best, he definitely was far from bad, and tried to the best for his kids when he could. And right now, the best for his kids was sending them to Auradon.

Sammy knew the twins would miss their father, yes, they would have the hook siblings and their older brother but nothing could take the place of their dad. Sammy hummed as he wondered if he could request visitations for the twins to see their dad.

-

CJ balance-walked the curb as she kept pace with Harriet, both heading back to the older sister's ship for the night as darkness began to set over the isle.

“so when are we goin ta Auradon?” CJ asked Harriet, grinning as she gave an annoyed sigh, it being the seventh time CJ had asked that question within the last five minutes.

Then again, Harriet hadn't bothered to answer her so CJ thought it was perfectly reasonable to continue to bug her with it. “at some point within the next week” Harriet muttered; she had wanted to keep her answer as loose as possible as to not get CJs hopes up. Harriet was a cynical person, unlike CJ who was oddly optimistic, and she didn’t want her little sister to be disappointed in case the limo never came.

But thanks to CJ’s constant babbling of the same question, Harriet just decided to blurt it out if only to make her shut up. “sweet~ is Harry gonna be in the limo thing?” Harriet sighed, question after question, and if Harriet didn’t answer CJ would babble it over and over again until Harriet snapped.

“I don’t know, I just know they are aiming for next week to pick us all up, (y/n) said I’ll get another letter about two days before we get picked up so we have time to pack ‘n stuff” CJ hummed at that and lept off the curb, skipping up next to her sister and clasping her hands behind her back.

“so what was (y/n) like? I didn’t get to meet her when she came to demolish dad” Harriet stopped for a moment, of all the questions for CJ to ask that was one she wasn’t expecting.

“well,” Harriet starting, moving forward again as her ship came into sight “she was really…expressive, very protective of Harry, um-damn good with a sword….I don’t know I wasn’t around her for a long enough time to gage her properly but what I've gotten about her from her letters, she’s a thorough person and makes sure everyone is taken care of before going through with a plan” CJ hummed again, Harriet’s “description” of (y/n) was different than the image she had made in her head due to Harrys “description” but either way (y/n) sounded kinda cool and she would have hella fun annoying the hell outta her.

The two hook sisters arrived at Harriet's ship and climbed aboard, moving into the lower decks where the kitchen was to eat dinner.

-

Dizzy hummed happily to herself as she moved about the salon, cleaning up the last of the clipped hair and globs of dye before the salon opened at midnight.

In one week, ONE WEEK, she, Dizzy Tremaine, the daughter of Drizella Tremaine, would be going to Auradon!!! With Evie!! Her idol!!

As the day drew closer to the fateful pickup day, her excitement built up inside her, bursting out in sleepless nights and constant ideas to sketch down in her sketchbook.

She let out a squeal and spun on her heels, sweeping up the last pile of hair and disposing of it. She just couldn’t wait! There were so many things in Auradon that she wanted to try! From ice cream to swimming pools, it was an endless list of joys she had yet to experience!

“Dizzy!!!! Finish up! Time for dinner!” her aunt Anastasia called from the apartment upstairs, Dizzy set her broom and dustpan against the wall and skipped up the stairs, unable to keep the bright grin off her face.

“Coming~!!”

-

Ben looked at the papers the couriers had given him of the responses of the six invites he had sent out the day before.

All of them said yes.

Ben couldn’t help the wide grin from growing on his lips, and he didn’t resist the urge to dance as excitement swelled inside him.

‘Finally!’ Ben thought as he danced stupidly around his office ‘finally! After more than half a year I can finally bring more VKs over! Nothing can stop it now!’

Mal knocked gently outside his office, it was lunchtime and he had yet to arrive at the pavilion where he and the vks plus (y/n) would be eating (lunch celebration for the invitations being sent out). After a few moments of silence, other than the sounds of Bens dancing footsteps, Mal opened the door, calling out for him.

She burst out laughing as she spotted Ben dancing around his office, a wide grin on his face “They all accepted!” Ben sang, pulling Mal into the room and making her dance with him “they all accepted! Six more vks next week!”

Mal laughed again and let herself be pulled into the moment of joy, gigging as Ben spun her around and lifted her into the air “Six more vks!” she echoed, squealing a bit as Ben dropped her into his chest and spun them both around some more “Ookayyy!! Im gonna throw up lemme down!” Mal smacked at his shoulders until Ben grinned at her and set her on her feet, laughing a bit as Mal tumbled into a chair from dizziness.

“Come on, let's go tell the others!” Ben grabbed onto Mal's hand, dragging a still slightly out of it fae from his office and to the pavilion, where the rest of their friends waited for them.

“There yeh are, an’ here I thought yeh keeled over from paperwork” Ben let out a few sarcastic laughs as he looked to Harry, who just grinned back.

“harde har Harry, but! All six of them accepted the invitation!” Evie and Carlos let out a gasp and Evie stood from the table, bounding over to Ben and slamming into him for a hug “I know! Next week we’ll finally have more vks!”

Gil and Harry burst out laughing as Evie took Ben's arms and spun them around in a dance, “He was doing that in his office” Mal sniggered, sitting down next to Jay and leaning on him, Jay holding up his phone and laughing as he recorded Evie and Ben dancing.

“adorable” you purred, curling against Harry's side as his arm wrapped around your waist. Carlos and Dude ran around for a moment, hyped up from Ben's visible excitement, and slid to a stop in front of the table.

“come on! Let's eat! Then we get ice cream! For celebration!” everyone cheered at Carlos' suggestion and Ben and Evie quickly sat down, Ben tapping his hands on the table to rid of his excess energy.

A few moments later Ben's personal chefs appeared with trays of food, setting them down in the middle of the table and pouring their drinks “thank you, Cherise, Tulio” the two chefs smiled at Ben and nodded, waving the eight teens goodbye and moving back into the castle.

“to the new vks!” Ben called, raising his glass and laughing as the rest of you followed his action.

“to the new vks!”

“and many more~!!” you finished, the vks grinning even wider than that. That was the plan, as soon as Harry's sisters, the Smee kids, and Dizzy were in Auradon, the process to bring another six would be immediately put in action.

The only question to that was ‘who would be chosen?’

-end of part 3-

 yeeee P3~!!! the new vks have been invited to Auradon and things are lookin up~!!! and writing excited Ben was so fun, hes a fun character to write and create for, i don't get why the official writers pushed him to the side so much, after all without him the Descendants storyline wouldn't exist (yes this is heavy side eye to the writers of descendants) 

anyway Permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @rintheemolion

@verboetoperee​ @imtryingthisout​

@thecaptainsgingersnap​ @jatp-rules-my-life​

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook descendants #interlude #rewrite #part of your world #finale #shuffle playlist

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. III

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: swearing

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 1300

links: prologue, chap. I, chap. II, chap. III, chap. IV, chap. V

note: lower case letters intended

“i did nothing wrong”, jungkook whines in your direction as you sip on the just creamy enough pina colada in your hands. your best friend is glowing in the tropical sun. the both of you are spread across loungers with your feet brushing against hot sand.

“you are so wrong it hurts”, you snort and look at his skin. he gets tanned so easily, you think in envy. you arrived two days ago – a long weekend made your last-minute escape possible. that and jungkook’s private jet at your disposal. you can hear taehyung and jimin arguing in the water, their bare chests pushed against each other in mocked hostility.

“cut it out”, seokjin shouts from the shore. the boys are as chaotic as every and even after all the practice juggling elementary school students daily, their boastful energy still overwhelms you. so much so that you don’t notice how jungkook gets up and moves closer to you. without asking – as if he ever does – your best friend snatches your drink.

“hey”, you complain and try to push him away. but he is too close too fast, his skin smells like summer and you can’t bring yourself to touch him. the man in question looks at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly confused by the missing repercussion. you normally fight harder for your alcohol.

“tell me what i did wrong, ____”, he orders you and presses the chilled cocktail glass against your warm arm. you flinch at the contrast – the drops of condense water too cold for your body.

with your eyes fixed on the tiniest scar high up his cheek, you answer his question.

“jungkook, you flew away… invited your friends… and not your fiancée.” you don’t know why you have to spell it out to him, but he still seems clueless.

“she has an important meeting tomorrow. there is no way she could have just packed her bags for a weekend get-away”, he sounds more like a son defending himself to his mother than a fully grown man.

“so, why didn’t you ask her? a question doesn’t hurt. and… it shows her that you care.”

jungkook shakes is head in frustration; you just won’t understand him, you are not even trying to see this from his perspective.

“but i did request that it’s added to her calendar… that’s basically asking.”

you wrinkle your forehead in confusion. wait… no, he didn’t, did he?

“jungkook, did you… did you talk to her assistant rather than her in person?”, you ask in astonishment. your friend looks at you like you’ve swallowed a jellyfish in front of him.

“i had to know her schedule, ____. it’s only logical for my secretary to call hers.”

yeah, sometimes you are glad that you’ve buried your crush under layers upon layers of repression. jungkook is a lousy fiancé.

“you… this is unbelievable... i ca-“

before you can finish your rant, there is a cold, wet body pressed against your back. you hiss in surprise, clearly not expecting taehyung to sneak up on you like that. his dripping hair is tickling your neck and you shiver at the closeness of jungkook’s friend.

taehyung begins to rub soothing circles across your bare arms, still caging your body. jungkook’s stare is fixated on your neck, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watches the wet hair brushing against your skin.

“what’s unbelievable, honey?”, he asks and inserts himself in your conversation casually. jungkook huffs at the nickname. he will regret till the end of days that he introduced you to his former bandmates and close friends during a pancake brunch.

not only that you chugged a whole jar of honey as a dare from seokjin, no, jimin ate so many pancakes that day, it made him throw up all afternoon… in jungkook’s bathroom. the things he had to see… just because he presented a new… important person to them.

“jungkook letting his assistant tell her assistant that he’s going on vacation instead of… just calling her himself”, you answer him and look at your best friend. he has the decency to look ashamed, but taehyung just chuckles in responds.

“honey, that’s how it works.”

“thank you, new best friend!”, jungkook exclaims and points at the male hidden behind you. “thank you for understanding.”

you shake your head at both of them. “you both have no clue how a relationship works.”

with some effort you escape taehyung’s hold and get up from your lounger. jungkook looks the tiniest bit wounded at your words.

“you said she has a big presentation tomorrow, right?”, you ask him, more for show than for clarification. he nods wordlessly. “so, maybe she is nervous, overworked… or i don’t know... doubting herself. maybe she wants to practice her speech… for the millionth time. maybe she is biting her nails right at this moment… and maybe… she needs someone with her – because she can’t go on a vacation.”

both former idols watch your rant with wonder in their eyes. are you crossing a line here?

“just – whatever. if you business people do relationships like a transaction, then… be my guest. but her texting you that you did something wrong? that tells me she’s hurt, jeon.”

ouch, his family name does the job and your friend flinches under your stare.

“what kind of vibe is this here?”, jimin snorts and drabs one arm around your shoulder. him and seokjin just arrived at the lounge. taehyung clicks his tongue before answering.

“well, honey just told us we will never be good enough for her”, he summarizes. “we’re just mourning all the never born children we could have had.”

you laugh at his audacity and slap the back of his head. jungkook doesn’t respond, or move for that matter. he seems deep in thoughts.

“so… my chances just got better?”, seokjin asks and some of the tension leaves the air as everybody groans.

“come on, old man, let’s make some sandwiches”, jimin says and collects the oldest still chuckling at their banter.

“take me with you!”, taehyung pleads and gets up as well, “my drink is empty, and i’m not drunk enough to reflect honey’s relationship advice.”

soon, there is just you and jungkook, him still in his own head. you sit down next to him; now regretting your harsh words. why do you have this weird masochistic reflex to insert yourself in his relationship?

“hey”, you say and bump his shoulder with your own. there is an honest smile on your lips, which jungkook reciprocates after a beat. “hey”

“i didn’t want to be mean”, you apologize, “just, forget what i’ve said. i have no idea what i’m talking about.”

you really don’t. relationships only exist as a thought in your mind; your experience is so limited, it’s laughable that you are even trying to give advice. your friend squeezes your shoulder silently. there is a long moment without spoken words, only his touch.

“please, don’t have seokjin’s kids”, jungkook says and you snort very unlady-like.

*

that night, jungkook takes is private jet and flies back to seoul. he just makes it in time to see his fiancée before her presentation. there is not even a note left for the rest of you, now without transportation. seokjin calls in a few favors. still, you don’t make it in time for your session with yoongi. his disappointment only grows when he sees the faint taint on your summer kissed skin.

damn you, jeon jungkook.

__

hey! thank you so much for reading! I’ve had a bad day and needed something to lift me up! Hope you guys enjoyed this; please let me know if you did!

All the love and happy thoughts to you from, dana

taglist: @livewittykid​ @thequeen-kat​

#ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #joen jungkook angst #ceo!jungkook #idol!jungkook #rich!jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker CH31

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 4,782

- Author Note: Happy new year! the beginning of the year has always been crazy, hahaha sorry for late update~ my goals are still similar, to finish posting BTS caretaker before 2021 endss. stay safe everyone <3

Previous | Next

Chapter 31

“Nuna!” Hoon announced while making his way inside the shop with a bright smile. “You seem happy” Seul popped out behind the counter with a huge smile. Wongeun looked at Hoon quizzically, from the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of giggly high schoolers swooning over the young man in front of him.

He let out a small chuckle “Someone earns bunch of fangirls” Seul followed his gaze and cringed instantly at the sight.

“What is so good about Hoon?” she slanted a look his ways and found him frowning as he gazed up Seul’s face. His eyes narrowed as he sneered sarcastically “Do I need to remind you I appeared in a show which is insanely famous with bunch of other good-looking men on planet. Technically, I am a celebrity now” Wongeun stared at him in amazement, more like because of Hoon’s confidence.

“Celebrity my foot. The only good-looking about you is your smart brain. Drinks?” she repressed her giggle watching the younger guy pulled a long face, looking petulant. “Mango smoothies. Your treat” he trailed off to his seat before his sister could protest.

Wongeun nudged her, laughing heartily “I wonder where he got that attitude, he is a male version of you” she had a dissatisfied look on her face, and he couldn’t stop teasing her until she had enough. Seul ditched Wongeun and prepared Hoon’s drink as she was excited to hear the good news from him.

She prepared the drink with extra care and love knowing how things had changed between them. These days had been nothing but rainbows. Hoon opened up to her more, and they learned how to respect each other. That was more than enough to foster this relationship.

“Boo!” Hwasa came up behind her unannounced with hope to startle the girl, but only to get twisted on ears by Seul. “Ow, Ji Seul! You, horrible woman” she swatted her hand, rubbing her ears with a slight pout.

“That is what you get for fooling around like a kid. Why are you late today?” she pressed.

“There you go acting like a mom. I had to submit my final project. I will take over the night shift today, so you can head back early to meet your oppas” she was teasing Seul, wiggling her brows up and down.

Seul rolled her eyes at her “Meet my my oppas” she mirrored her making the latter to throw a nasty glare. “The only oppas that I approve is Jeon Jungkook, have you made up your mind yet?” Hwasa’s question paused her beating heart. It continued to pump not long after a little quicker and wilder than earlier. She was affected by it though she tried her best to get used to the fact that there were men lined up behind her.

Clearing her dry throat, she placed the drink on the tray along with a plate of brownies. She avoided her best friend wary glance, just when she thought Hwasa finally took her discomfort seriously, the girl spoke up again. “Lucky woman. You have Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around your little finger. You are basically living the dreams of every girl on planet” she pursed her lips.

“You don’t need to emphasize my small fingers. Gosh, if and only you know how hard it is to deal with those hormonal men” Hwasa choke up as her ears caught the last phrase clearly. She let out a high pitch squeal surprising everyone in the shop. Panickily, Seul covered her loud mouth with her hand hushing her down.

Hwasa was exaggerating her reaction which annoyed the hell out of her, “Oh my god, what do you mean by hormonal men? What did they do to you?” her voice was muffled underneath Seul’s palm. She pulled away her hand, glaring at her best friend signalling her to stop asking questions. To her dismay, questions after questions came from her without stop.

“Did you do it with any of the members?”

“If yes then who?”

“Goodness! Could it be Min Yoongi! I knew it since he is the most aggressive one!”

“Wait-Wait could it be Jeon Jungkook? He may be innocent, but I wonder what is hidden under those shirt”

Seul’s cheeks reddened like a ripe tomato as Hwasa continued to harass her mind with those wild imagination “Yah! It is not like what you think. Stop stop, I am getting dizzy. This is not working. Our conversation ends right now. Cover for me, I need to talk to Hoon” she shook her head and flee from the scene before her precious best friend explored another topic to annoy her.

Hwasa gawked in disbelief watching the girl disappeared from her sight without giving her any answers.

 --------------

“Guess what!” he clasped his hand, resting his elbows on the table. Seul scrutinized his face with a questionable look “You got dumped by a girl?” he reached out and flicked her forehead earning a nasty scowl from the girl.

Hoon frowned “No, you silly! Remember I went for an audition today?” he chortled excitedly.

“So, you got kicked out before you could even open your dirty mouth?” she joked.

Gasping dramatically, he placed a hand over his chest as if he just got shot by a bullet “Of course not meanie! I got in. Well, not officially as a trainee but I passed the first and second stage. Next month, I will be meeting them again for the final stage” Seul smiled fondly at her brother. He continued to share his story and his face lit up with a bright smile.

Just seeing the smile on his face was enough to keep her satisfied for the rest of her life. Hoon’s happiness meant the world to her. “Are you happy Hoon-ah?” he nodded without any hesitation.

“Then that is enough. As long as you are happy, I will always be with you. I promise..” she brightens her smile, grasping his hand in hers.

His large hand began stroking hers “Thank you nuna for having a faith in me. I will not waste this opportunity and make you and mother proud! Oh, by the time I become a big star like BTS, I am hiring you as my personal caretaker. You can quit your job at BTS” he cracked a silly grin.

“I am so not babysitting you Ji Hoon! Ew, that sounds torturous and hellish” she cringed at the thought.

“It is not that bad. I am your brother, so it is better to look after your own flesh rather than strangers. Wait, don’t tell me you are dating one of the members since you seem reluctant to leave them?” his eyes bore into hers, mentally judging his sister.

“Are you here to pick a fight? Don’t you dare to have those wicked ideas in your head. Now finish your drinks and brownies, I need to work” she whacked him on the back of his head making the latter to hiss in pain.

“What is that for?! I am stating the obvious! Just so you know I like someone dependable like Jin hyung or Namjoon hyung to look after a clumsy woman like you” rubbing his head, he pouted slightly.

Seul gritted his teeth “What is with everyone invading my personal life?! You and Hwasa need to mind your own business, my god. Give me a break will you!” she leaned back into the seat and squeezed her eyes.

She waggled at his direction, gesturing the innocent guy to leave “Don’t stay, you only bring more harm than good. I will pack your brownies and enjoy it at home instead. You’re giving me a major headache” she massaged her temples, groaning lowly.

“Yah you evil witch! I am still your customer. Should I report you to your manager?”

She rose out of her seat, shooting daggers at his way “You don’t even pay for your drinks. Get ready to leave, Ji Hoon-ssi” Hoon pursed his lips before muttering something just to annoy Seul again. “If you don’t want Jin hyung or Namjoon hyung. Yoongi hyung would suffice. He is a cool hyung.” she walloped his head again, cussing in her head.

“Ji Seul-ssi that is rude!”

“You deserve that”

 --------------

When the clock struck six, Seul’s shift ended and she was ready to meet the boys at their dorm. They spammed their group chat in the last two hours with tons of selfies and irrelevant messages just to get her attention. Scanning the messages briefly, she scoffed at their childishness and shoved her phone inside her sling bag.

She fixed her hair one last time before heading out, bidding farewell to her fellow colleagues. Wongeun who noticed her presence at the counter, stopped whatever he was doing and shifted his attention on her “Do you have to work again after this?” his eyes disappeared as he smiled.

“No, I am meeting my friend. Are you staying until the closing?” Wongeun pressed his lips, glancing at the round clock on the wall. “Seems like it. Our boss plans to pay a visit” her mouth agape in horror.

“Oppa! Why didn’t you tell me that our boss is coming? I can’t leave if he is planning to come. Would it be rude to leave since this is his first time visiting us?” out of habit, she chewed her nails and started to freak out.

Wongeun chuckled lightly “You are overreacting. That old man doesn’t even know who is working here, all he knows is the number of the employee. Don’t worry, your shift already ends. You don’t need to stay though. Enjoy your time with your friend” Seul stared at him suspiciously.

“But, what if he is not in a good mood and-“ the tall guy cut her off once again, chuckling softly. “That won’t happen, can you just leave peacefully and stop worrying about him” he said firmly.

Placing the dry dishes on the island, Hwasa nodded in agreement “We will handle him. Go and meet your oppas. They must be waiting!” Wongeun crossed his arms, gazing tenderly at Seul.

“Oppas? How many oppas that you have which isn’t me?” she let out a tired sigh, glaring at her best friend who had put her innocent façade. Sneaky woman.

“I am not going to have this talk again. Hwasa if I hear you spread another rumour about me, I will strangle you to death. It is a promise” she said, exchanging a hard stare with her. “I will see you guys tomorrow. Have fun meeting the boss. Take photos for me, bye!” she winked cheekily, making her way to the entrance.

Seul bumped into someone as she got close to the entrance and looked up into the stranger’s eyes. To her distaste, the stranger is not really a stranger at least to her. She remembered those eyes. Her mind and body froze suddenly. Every muscle in her body tightened as a flash of memories gushed in her mind. It was him.

She could tell his eyes flickered in amusement and confusion. He had aged since the last time she saw him. His face got thinner, there was an obvious wrinkled at the corner of his sharp eyes, but she remembered those cruel eyes. The evil eyes had thrusted into her iris causing her to squirm under his cold gaze.

Her face contorted in pain and disgust. She felt the need to escape from this place immediately, or else the horrible memories might come attacking her again. This time there’s no Jin’s kisses to save her.

His hands almost rested on her body but shield away before they could. He gazed at her with heavy eyes that gleamed darkly “It has been a long time” this man’s voice disgusted her and sent chills down her spine. How was it possible to meet him again after years?  

Seul clenched and unclenched her fists. Seul’s silent treatment caused him to frown in disapproval. He disliked her coldness and rudeness. “You never change, I can see..” he sneered with a smirk.

Fighting dizziness, she managed to get back her sense and walked pass the man avoiding his fiery gaze. The only thing matters right now was to escape from this evil man. She would not allow him to control her life or worse claiming her as his. Wongeun and Hwasa were left in daze as they watched her figure disappeared from their vicinity.

Realizing that he had been staring way too long at the older man, Wongeun gathered his thought and hurriedly welcoming the man, forcing a smile on his face “Good evening Sir” Hwasa eyes widened upon hearing the greetings. Her body automatically bended over into a deep bow mirroring Wongeun, showing respect to their employer.

The man moved his eyes down scrutinizing the young man before him as he finally straightened up “The young lady just now, is she one of the employee here?” his questions startled Wongeun.

“Yes, Sir! Ji Seul has been working here for two years. Please forgive her cold demeanour, she has no idea that you will be coming. And, she doesn’t know you are the owner” said Wongeun. He sounded like he’s pleading the old man to spare Seul’s life.

A small smirk edged the corners of his mouth “Interesting. Let’s get back to business. Bring out the annual report” he ordered.

 -------------------

7 Years Ago

Scanning the dark room, Seul squeezed the hot tears out in despair. She had tried to open the oak door using every ounce of her strength. Unfortunately, it came to no avail. There was no sign of Mr Kwon coming to mentally and physically tortured her today.

Every day was hell.

She suffered an intense psychological harassment, which drained her energy.

The cruel man would tie her up to the bedpost leaving her only in her undergarments. He would use different toys or equipment just to torture her. To see her body squirm and writhed under his touch was driving him up the walls. Even so, he had never go beyond the boundaries. As much as he wanted to take her in that manner, yet he had a better plan for the young girl.

He must make sure she’s ready to receive him.

He liked it raw and rough, so he cared of her ability to take him in fully one day.

And, that one day happened to be sooner than he thought.

He was satisfied with his work of art, Seul was not an easy girl but she handled the torture so well which made him even more eager to taste her.

Mr Kwon was not a normal paedophile but a sadist. He was sick in the head.

The sound of the door opening made her squirm in fear, she backed away, until her back hit the brick wall. She shuddered as she heard the faint footsteps approaching. Seul couldn’t feel her body anymore knowing what would happen to her in a minute.

The usual torture.

The usual pain.

She collected her knees to her chest, burying her face in her knees and started to bawl her eyes out. Screaming in her head, she wanted to push the old man away from her only with her powerful screaming. How she wished it worked that way?

The man kneeled in front of her, oddly he didn’t smell reek alcohol and tobacco. That was very unusual since she was used to his dirty scent. She could tell from few feet away with her eyes closed with a mere smell. This time around the person in front of her showed no sign of Mr Kwon’s signature smile and horrible breath.

“Hey..Are you alright?” at the sound of his voice, she lifted her head with an effort. Tilting her head confusedly, she stared at the individual in bafflement. He looked around his age with his cute bangs almost covering his eyes. For some reason, he gave away some kind of glowing aura that made her feel secured and safe.

The young boy spoke up once again garnering her attention “You are Seul right? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he reached out to touch her arms but watching her flinched and ducked away from his touch, he murmured a soft sorry.

“We have to get you out from here. Can you trust me?” she averted her gaze and shook her head like he expected.

He sighed softly “Look, Mr Kwon is my uncle. Yeah, I know I have a bastard uncle.  Hell, he is not even my real uncle but a week ago, I saw him brought you in. I thought he finally adopted a kid from the orphanage, but I was wrong. I..watched how he tortured you every day. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I planned to save you from this house. Trust me, I don’t like him either. If there is one person that you can trust in this house, then it is me. I will help you to escape” as soon as he began to talk of this, her lips trembled, and her tears began to fall.

“Seul.. please give me a chance. I can help you. I can help your mother and your brother. Your father won’t be able to bother you anymore”

Seul croaked “H-ow.. you find out about my family?” she shifted her gaze away from her afraid this was another way for the old man to fool her.

“Let’s just say. I.. pretty much spied on my uncle. I went through his office, I saw the contract that he made with your father. I knew about his money issues that he sold you in exchanged of freedom from his debt. I am sorry Seul that you have to suffer this way, but I am here to help. Trust me please. We don’t have much time..” he muttered desperately as he eyes darted at the door in case his evil uncled made an appearance there.

Seul bit her chapped lips, feeling remorseful at this sudden appearance of her knight and shining armour. She had nothing to lose anyway.

Reluctantly, she nodded weakly “Okay. Let’s go! He will be back in 10 minutes. I managed to distract him for a bit, so I can sneak in. Brace yourself this escape will be nasty” Seul blinked her eyes cluelessly watching him grabbing clothes from the closet.

He bended forwards and whispered “Can you stand?” she palmed the wall behind her for support as she pulled her strength to stand on her own feet. The latter flashed a quick smile and helped her to put the grey sweater on.

Reaching out to her hand, he interlaced their hand together. She flinched at the contact of their skin and looked up at him with a glint of hope. Their gaze locked, and he gave her an assuring smile “Let’s go Seul” Seul nodded obediently following his every step, exiting the dreadful room.

I will trust you. I will follow you. Seul chanted in her head encouraging herself to do this without regret.

 ------------------------------

Present Day

There was no text or call from Seul causing the boys to have cold feet. They had planned to watch movies together with Seul before they flew to Japan tomorrow. God knows when they will be able to meet her again once the tour starts.

Jimin had brilliantly suggested to have a movie marathon today and thankfully Seul didn’t have to serve her usual night shift.

8PM.

9PM.

12AM and there was no sign of Seul.

Tired of waiting, some of the boys ended up falling asleep on the couch whilst Jungkook stayed up waiting for her arrival.

He tried to reach her numerous times, yet it brought him straight to the voicemail. Yoongi sat up groggily and his eyes landed on Jungkook whom looking anxious at the corner “Any news from Seul?” his rough voice brought the maknae back to reality.

“Still can’t reach her” his lips emitted a heavy sigh.

Yoongi glanced at his phone “It is unusual for her to leave us hanging without a text. Don’t worry she will be fine gukkie, something must come up. Head to bed. It is late” he stretched a little, running his hand to his sore back.

Jungkook smiled meekly “Hyung, sleep in your room. I will clean this up and head to bed right after” he stood up from his seat with distressed face. Yoongi bid him a goodnight and went straight to his room though deep down inside he’s worried sick of Seul. The least that he could do was to be optimist about the whole thing. She is a strong lady, nothing would happen to her.

 Seul wandered aimlessly around the city dragging her soulless body to find peace. An escape from this awful reality is all she needed. Recollecting the memories back only to pain her even more and it reopened the wounds. She had somehow ended up in front of Bangtan’s apartment, with a single move she will be reunited with the seven sunshine.

It dawned on her, that she was in no place to burden them with her problems. They had enough things to deal in life. Her hand curled into a tight fist, as she turned her heels to leave the place right way.

This wasn’t right.

She shouldn’t come here.

She must go.

“Seul…I know you will come” she heard her name being called. Seul turned around to find the owner of the voice stood at the entrance handsomely in his oversized white tshirt. Just when she assumed her world was dark and loney, there were Jungkook presence radiating love and grace transported her to a higher place called, hope.

He closed their distant, looking at her confused “Seul.. Where were you? God, you are worrying us” Jungkook’s voice rang in her ears, weakened her knees. The young man noticed her puffy eyes, and his brows furrowed in concern.

Giving her no time to respond, he inquired “Have you been crying? What happened baby?” he reached his finger to caress her wet cheeks. Little did he know, his little action made her to cry her heart out again. This emotion is overpowering her. She couldn’t handle it.

His eyes rounded in sheer surprised, and like a reflex he wounded his arms around her tight, embracing the girl closely. “Baby, what is wrong” he whispered. Jungkook lower down to match his height with her, running his hand up and down on her back. He hummed softly to calm her down “I am here. It is alright” her body trembled due to the intensity.

Sera ran his finger to his chest, clutching onto his shirt listening to his beating heartbeat. They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other before Jungkook led her inside the apartment quietly. The couple reside in his room, while Jungkook went out to get a warm drink for Seul.

He came back few minutes a later with a cup of warm water which she gladly took and gulped it down in one shot. Jungkook chuckled lightly and place a gentle kiss on top of her head “Cute. Now mind telling me, what happened to you?” she looked down, feeling the sadness came creeping in again.

Jungkook took her small hands in his, as he stroked it affectionately “Look, I wont force you to tell me if you are not ready. But, I will always be here to listen to your worries. Tell me whenever you are ready. Don’t bear the pain alone, it is meant to be shared” he tucked the strand of hair behind her hears.

She looked sadly at him, and mumbled “Will you listen to me till the end? Will you promise me that you will never hate me?” the despair and sorrow in her eyes were evident making the latter to frown in his seat. Just what happened to her that she looked this soulless?

He pecked her lips, smiling genuinely “I promise I will listen to you till the end. It is impossible to hate you Seul, I am listening” he stroked her hair, admiring her feature. She took a deep breath before finally revealing the pain that she kept to herself for years. Seul spoke to no one about her dark past making Jungkook as the first outsider to know about it. Telling him this was not easy but seeing how Jungkook would listen attentively to her story, with unreadable expression, Seul mustered up her courage until she reached the end of it.

“I…am not the girl that you think I would be Jungkook”

There was a long pause and silence, a cold silence. Her stomach sank. Did Jungkook feel disgusted of her? Dread and fear saturated her sense.

“Scumbag..” he said it at last. “He’s a snobby old ratbag. How could he do that to a fifteen years old girl?! Fuck, if I get my hands on him. I will fucking kill him without mercy” all this time, she never heard Jungkook spouting some nasty remarks and it really scared her to see this side of him.

Seul embraced him out of fear, baffling the furious guy in process “I..dont want to be reminded with this memory. Now, that I met him again.. I am scared Jungkook.. I am scared” she buried her face in his shoulder, damping his shirt with her tears.

“I will protect you from him” he encircled one of his arm around her waist, holding her close to his body. “I vow to protect you, I won’t let him touch even a strand of your hair” his voice was soothing even the promises that he made convinced her that she had nothing to fear as long as Jungkook’s there for her.

“Thank you..” she rubbed her face in his shoulder, leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder blade. He sighed deeply, pulling away from the hug, resting his forehead against her “You have me. No matter what happen, I will never leave you in the dark, baby” he whispered romantically causing her face reddened.

Baby. She made a mental note that Jungkook had been calling her baby for the umpteenth time tonight.

He rubbed their nose together, smiling handsomely which melted her cold heart. Jungkook slowly smiled before leaning down to take her mouth in a soft kiss. It turned passionate as they let their emotions took over. He was ticked off that the old man ruined her life just to fulfil his rotten lust. His sense of responsibility towards Seul thickened. Security and love, that’s what he’s willing to provide for her.

They stopped moving and looked into each other’s eyes. He rubbed his nose up against hers, blowing wisps of hair from her eyes before he moved in again. Jungkook gave her waist a deep stroke and dropped his head forward, moving swiftly and capturing her bottom lips devouring her sweetness. This time the kisses were not slow, they were hard and hungry.

Their lips moved together, overlapping each other’s. He pushed her body lightly onto the soft mattress, as he hovered over her. Seul moaned into the kisses, pulling him closer to her desperate to feel his warmth all over her body again.

His hand roamed down to cup her bottoms, bringing her flush against him. They gasped softly, feeling their body burn up to the sensation. He inhaled her sweet scent and moved to kiss down her jaw as his hand sliding down to her throat, caressing the skin gently.

Jungkook trailed a string of kisses across her shoulder, and inched closer to her neck. Pressing a kiss to her neck, he brushed his lips down over her soft skin drinking in the sweet scent of her. She thought her heart exploded from this ministration.

Seul stroked his chest over the clothes, moving down to his obvious abs. His biceps flexed as she skimmed her hand beneath the shirt, rubbing his hard muscle in the most torturous way earning a low groan from the man. Warmth spread throughout her as he stripped her blouse away, pressing their heated body together.

He returned to love every inch of her skin.

Every tug of his mouth on her sensitive skin sent a sweet spike of pleasure in her.

Jungkook never thought being closed to a girl like this sent wild spiral of sensual magic through him. Watching how she wrecked with pleasure under him, made him wanted to love her all night.

He wanted to make her feel special.

He wanted her to himself.

He wanted her so desperately.

The darkness of the night was not the clean blackness but a thick darkness which swallowed the sound of their desperate grunts.

 This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2021. All Rights Reserved

#bts series #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #kpop fic #kpop fanfiction #bts x oc #jungkook x oc #yoongi x oc #jimin x oc #seokjin x oc #jhope x oc #namjoon x oc #taehyung x oc #jungkook romance #bts idolau #bts romance #yoongi fluff

[steppesthetic]

I don’t really have a title for this one. It’s just the end of Yamamoto Taiga’s story in season 1 of @for-peace-war ‘s japanime game. It only really works after following along with a very dense tabletop campaign. But I was proud of writing it, and got emotional doing so. So I want to show it off.

In the afternoon heat, morning glories withered. Their vines, along with bitter gourds, clogged up the window as they sneaked up the side of the inpatient wing, forcing the light to filter through with a sickly jungle glow. Summer was coming, and earlier than last year. Time kept playing its games.

Taiga realized he’d slid the yearbook much farther down his lap from where he’d begun. How many hours he had spent glaring at one glossy page, seeing the warped dents of his and his classmates’ pens better than the ink used to write the messages themselves. Between them, fresher marks, leaving deeper wells in the page. There was no space for an unbroken line, so the kanji spilled out onto the page like rent innards. The results were much less poetic than he’d hoped after the almost choreographed haphazardness of how they were written.

garden of dying Wisteria there in she Made her last dance and I saw her lips move to extoll others…? No. 

Thirty-one characters made a poem much larger than this. The copy was already bursting at the seams and could barely recall a single moment crammed into the everything he’d written back at the complex. Just reading it cheapened what he felt that night, the last day of rest before the world all fell apart. More spilled out at the fringes, in ever more isolated syllables

Longing for death is masturbation ^ ??? What the fuck is that? Chaos…? An infinite number of universes? Wishing for an enemy is murder In want of one, I turn the pen on myself.

More general, like the original, but full of hokum lecturing. The hand holding the pen that offended him so whipped back and sent it on a vicious curve to the door. He immediately regretted it. Like a weak hand bolstered by gripping a sword, his deprived shoulder began to ache miserably in the absence. Hot shame rose up his cheeks. He couldn’t see straight. He shook from the effort to repress it before it welled up into something humiliating. It only shook more tears loose.

It was always Yamamoto Taiga’s greatest fortune in life for those females of his species to find him at his weakest and least appealing. So this trend was continued even in the better world to which he had been ferried when the door opened, a quick, confident step breaching the doorway before it hesitated.

“Tate... oh.” 

Though he avoided looking, from the sound of her voice, the way she stomped in, more like an athlete than a woman, and at the very least the name she used, he knew the source immediately. And he knew she could see. With desperation he rubbed his palms into his eyes, desperate to look sick, or groggy, or like someone worsening his eye strain--which he was certainly doing. 

“Hey, Taiga, if you need me to--”

“No!”

He almost shouted it, being much too quick to correct her assumption. “Uh--no, no. Stay, if you want.”

It felt wrong to ask her to continue this uncomfortable exchange, but his request was weakly worded, and it gave her plenty of opportunity to excuse herself. Surprisingly, she didn’t take the out. She stepped closer, no doubt noticing the unhinged scrawl before him and the glossy sheen on his face. Feeling brave, he hazarded a glance up. Annoyingly there was only concern. If she resented the way a grown man cried, she wasn’t showing it. He was grateful, and furious with himself.

She took the seat next to his bed, not saying a word. He could feel her eyes on the book. This made him feel defensive, and he slapped it shut.

“I’ve… already read most of it.” Chisaka tilted her head at him. She hesitated. Taiga could see she’d been trying to hold that remark in. 

In that moment there were remarks he wanted to make, too--like the last time he saw her, she was bleeding out on his bed, or like how she was good with a gun but hers was obviously shit. But strangely enough, other remarks bubbled up. Feelings, more than memories, like he lived vicariously through another Taiga. The Taiga he imagined holding a woman for reasons beyond her being on the brink of death. The latter won out.

“Is doxing me not enough? Yuu… idols are treated better than I am, right now.”

He could see a flash of something on her face before it settled into a more impassive annoyance, as she became her cool self again. “Wha? No, I was almost last in line. You can see. I didn’t have a lot of space left to write...”

“Ah… which means you saw my... fan club.”

She didn’t take the bait. “Are you trying to be subtle? Is this subtle to you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about!” He felt a smirk and hated himself for it, but it was too strong to repress. This finally got a sigh out of her.

Chisaka closed her eyes and bowed her head, readying herself for a prayer. “Fine… congratulations on losing your virginity, Yamamoto-san. May your impending doom as a salaryman in a shrinking economy be relieved, if for a moment, by the warm touch of experienced hands in the only non-transactional comfort you will find in your adult life. I am happy for what nearly losing a knife fight, in spite of having a gun, has earned you.”

A silence followed, awkward and stunned, but Taiga did nothing to help. He could almost hear the deliberations taking place in her head, her wondering if she’d gone too far, asking herself why she’d chosen that line of attack. For his part, he was a little stunned. But as he felt the sting, there was also the sweet salve of how much effort she had to put in to fire back. He relished it like the slowly shifting green light from outside.

“Well… I was supposed to give you this.” She pulled out a notebook from her bag, flipping through the pages. “I guess your mother noticed you scribbling your little notes, but I should tell her that you’ve already made all the addendums you wanted to…?”

His hand snatched at it. He was fast; but to his cheek-warming shame, she was predictably no pushover in a tug-of-war. Even he could see where this would go if he really tried for it, but still he clung on desperately. To see a mother’s love and her child’s love for the written word converge in such a way was too much for him to handle. Besides, he was bored.

“You wouldn’t stand in the way of a mother and her only son, would you?!” 

She smirked at that. “... Hm. What were you writing?”

At that, Taiga was truly taken aback. Yuu must have noticed this, for her grip on the notebook slackened just as his did. “... Poem,” he finally said. There was little to say for it except that it existed, and yet it still nearly felt a betrayal to speak out loud.

Not given much material, she finally let go of the notebook. It was cheap and thin, and felt light as he flopped it on his lap. A thousand scenarios played in his head at once. None were realistic. All assumed she would know of what happened, of the way a woman looked at a man she was prompting to run her through, with no fear but dreadful resolve burned in her near-black eyes. Or that she was a girl from a drama or anime, or one of the more pernicious fantasies he’d spun in his head once those commercialized distractions had bored him, so full of self-denying empathy that she could read into anything she didn’t know, accept her limited place, and give him comfort. How could she know? Why should she care? And wasn’t this all so masturbatory? He wanted to remember the horrific events of a world which might as well have been some insane dream. It was unsustainable. Even thinking about abandoning those thoughts brought a fresh wave of heat to his eyes. He became vaguely aware of a voice to his right, but in front of him saw the silent horror of a 14 year old girl hearing a love poem read to her.

In that moment, he could see perfectly that he did not run away from her misunderstanding. Even then, he knew, she wouldn’t hate him or strike him for what he had shared. He saw in those eyes a vulnerability, a crack in porcelain, and something writhing underneath. Whatever he was made of (old, wadded paper mache) was breaking apart too, as he could see reflected in her. What child wouldn’t run away when presented with such terrible truth? 

The only thing to bring him back was the impression of a figure moving, and the dreadful promise that it meant. He snatched the nearest part of it he could, finding a smaller wrist in his hand. It didn’t resist him, but he clutched it like a magpie would its treasure. “--No!” 

A long pause. Yuu and Taiga both looked down to where they were stuck together. “... I’m not leaving.”

In truth, he could feel, she wasn’t. Her body warmed the space between him and the edge of the mattress. Embarrassment. Humiliation, even. If anything, he couldn’t let those feelings bring him to tears again, so he repressed them, shuddered. Every breath out felt like an exorcism, painful. After the third one he knew something of what he wanted to say next.

“It was a love poem. I wrote it for a girl in middle school. Weird, huh?” His cheeks were wet this time. His resistance didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Writing bad poetry in middle school? No.”

“This is the funny part. At the end of all the bad things. Right towards the end. All I could think about was that poem, and the girl I read it to. She just… froze. Eyes wide as saucers. She looked--she was so scared. And I thought I’d… fucked it up somehow. So I ran. And tried to forget it. But all I could think about… was that girl, and the poem, right at the… end.”

Yuu groaned. It didn’t sound exasperated. More like she was working out a math problem, or finishing a stretch. “You mean, you were thinking of this poem when the knife maniac attacked...”

“Uh--yes,” was all he could say. What else? But there was something else. And after a retching impulse in his chest, it all came out, burning his throat as it went. “--And--and--she was so afraid. Like a deer, just frozen in front of me. I could see them in--in--in the shooting. In his eyes. She--he was just afraid, another life, and I could feel the jolt, I could feel the pain, I could feel the arms around me shudder. And you harm someone else and you think if it’s for something, and it’s meant to be, and it’s right, it should be rewarded, but it’s not. It’s simply someone suffering. And the least you can do is feel it--right? You caused it!”

The two memories merged. Both fake, both real. He ran through a mass shooter with an ancient katana. He saw Keiko before him, arms outstretched, ready to embrace him. He pulled the trigger. She was gone. He was a hero. A life lived beautifully, erased. A life squandered, made heroic. On this one action the world turned, the destruction of someone beautiful and good.

Her wrist had slipped out from his grasp, but in its place their hands were joined at the palm. She simply held it there, loosely. “... Who was the poem for?”

A final jolt. This time it felt like a relief. The last, lazy wave of the receding tide, but the furthest to reach in. She stood next to him on the bridge as they wondered, one aloud, one quietly, their luck in meeting again. “You’re never going to believe it…”

“Try me.”

A wan smile. It was almost comforting now, if it weren’t for all the pain needed to reach this point. He wiped his eyes. “Well…” He looked up at Yuu. She seemed to be gazing down with an easy calm, but unobfuscated concern, and… dread? He jerked his smile upward, apologetically.

“Well, Ka-ch… Yukimura Kazane and I have always enjoyed a… special--”

“--Hey, just remembered I need to go somewhere. Sorry!”

“--No! No! Wait! She moved out after that year. Don’t even remember her name!”

She stood up, but stopped there. He let go of her hand… but she didn’t let go of his. She sat back down on the bed.

“It’s… hard to make words out of why I thought about that poem. Even to you. But you remember the gun chat…”

She nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“I was deep in it. For a long time. I wanted to go out like a hero. Do something great, pay the ultimate price. Always about death, sacrifice. I wanted that great adventure before the world came crashing down. I craved it. And I got it. I got to live it. And the only thing I could think about… was that poem. The only good I’d ever done. Where that girl was. If she was safe. Happy. Loved. If you’d be safe. If the school... If I would survive. And now…”

There were more words, but they weren’t words. They were hardly even feelings. Hints of things that would frighten him in the future. Monsters under the bed. 

Yuu patted the mattress next to him.

“Hey, scoot over.”

“What--?”

“Just scoot over.”

He slid over to the far side of the mattress. Swinging her legs over, Yuu laid on top of the sheets. Separated, but not by much. The bed was certainly not made for two, even if neither was particularly broad. Her shoulder pressed against his. She looked straight up at the ceiling. A window A/C growled to life on the floor above.

“... You really cared about that bad poem.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You tried writing since?”

“Not… not particularly.”

“But… yes, you did.”

He looked over at her. “Explain.”

“Come on. They might as well make those conspiracy sites creative writing credit. You made up your own share of bullshit over the years. I even remember some of it.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled.

“So… share your work with the class, Yamamoto-san,” she coaxed with a nudge.

“Kay. Two things. First, it’s the last story I made up. And it involves you…”

“Of course. I’m prepared for some hiki bullshit.”

Feeling encouraged, even emboldened, he thought of something and smiled. “Do you… ever remember someone who went by Ran?”

A pause. He could feel the pillows dimple as she shook her head at the ceiling. “... No? Should…!! Wait!” She propped herself up on her elbows. “He like, tried to neg some nudes out of me. A couple years back. When I said no he’d send me these pictures of strangled birds… and… fish documentaries?! For like a year...”

He was already laughing at the thought. The difference between fantasy and reality merged again. He could no longer tell which was real. Or if they were merging into a synthesis of realities. 

Willfully, he burned the steely face of Fujiwara Keiko over this muddled memory. The dreamy face of Keiko in the garden. The doe-eyed fear of middle school Keiko in the courtyard annex. They wouldn’t be forgotten. They couldn’t. But in other things… maybe, this world could exist on its own rules. Even independent of the soul who birthed it. 

But he lost himself. One more memory would need to be said out loud before it merged. “So, when I doxed you, and we met on neutral ground…”

“When I doxed you, and we met at the Green Tea Palace…”

“--Mm, yes. Anyway. He was there. Ran, in the flesh. A living, breathing, PSIA stooge. Tracking us for years…”

[readerficsbyhyaku]

Blank Slate (Kazumichi Irie x Reader - Soulmate AU) Part 3

author’s note

This chapter is a bit longer than i expected, i kinda messed up my own chronology of the events but i hope it’s still okay. I really want to get to writing the next chapter too !

Today’s affair was about a man named Tsuchiya Kojo, who apparently committed suicide by jumping from his hotel room. He was there for therapy, since the wealthier part of the population preferred luxurious hotels to regular treatment centers. This time around, you weren’t with the team on-site, but you were in constant communication with them, as they investigated the room and saw the broken television, the locked doors and finally, the window that had been snapped off. You got to hear how Inspector Shindo identified there were some sorts of guards in front of the door, preventing Tsuchiya from getting out, from the footprints in the plush carpeting of the hallway. It wasn’t hard to guess that the deceased might not have been there of his own will, but rather detained.

You were in line with Kisaragi, who methodically said what clues they had found and what they were doing. The scenario got a bit erratic when Shindo almost jumped out of the hingeless window, barely caught by Ignatov. You felt that the Enforcer you were talking with did not understand fully the methods of the new Inspectors, but that she had decided to accept them. She was a stern, not very talkative individual, that had put very clear boundaries between her personal and professional life, not like Todoroki or Kazumichi. That did not mean the latter had no secrets, but Kisaragi had put up walls, and they were extremely tangible. It gave her an unreachable aura, which was why you had a bit of trouble keeping the conversation up with her, reminding her you were still listening to her by humming or saying “okay”.

When they were done at the hotel, you were asked to do a quick personality check on the gubernatorial candidates, Komiya Karina and “Herakles”. In the meantime, the Inspectors split up and went to interview the two potential suspects. While they were getting to their respective rendez-vous, you briefed the team about Komiya and Yakushiji.

Yakushiji Kosuke was an ex-fighter, partaking in human vs machine matches that were approved by Sybil. His motto was “a healthy mind in a healthy body”, and that was because he was genetically engineered to be a perfect athlete. Using eugenics, Yakushiji was supposed to have a set of perfect genes, thus making his Psycho-Pass clear.

Looking at the man, you also could conclude that he was the closest thing to a dumb but strong boy. He was a puppet, a front for his party to then do what they wanted, he was just there to sell a dream. “Therefore” you mused “I think his secretary or assistant will be the one to possess all the info, and they should be protective”. Considering the man’s past as an official fighter, you evocated the possibility of him having a strong sense of honor and responsibility as well as outwards enthusiasm, considering how well his Psycho-Pass fared. People that don’t worry for themselves are able to care for others.

Komiya, on the other hand, was the one holding the reins. She was a façade, but she also had a mind of her own. During the interview, there were chances that she wouldn’t hand over any info and that it would be her assistant that could possibly let something slip, but most likely because of body language. Komiya Karina was an idol, so she had mastered holding her attitude under pressure. It would be useless to try and pry information forcefully from her.

Shindo and Ignatov thanked you for your input and ended the call.

The interviews went pretty much as expected. You couldn’t go wrong with analyzing simple personality patterns like that, politicians were archetypes after all. It was just an issue of finding who they were, and who were they with. Looking at somebody’s entourage could tell you a good deal about that person, and professional contacts were no exceptions, especially when it was your assistant that you had to meet with on a day-to-day basis.

As the Inspectors and Enforcers came back to their offices, you received a message from Shion telling you there was a welcoming party for Shindo and Ignatov, held in the Enforcer’s lounge area. You tensed up a bit, the place holding some painful memories for you, but told the analyst you were coming for a few drinks anyways.

So much for not getting attached…

You had a bit of time before the party, so you decided to clean your room a bit, and take a shower. Since you had been working from your room, it was a bit messy and you were still in pajamas. Oops. The perks and downsides of working from home, you joked internally.

The hot water eased some of the tension accumulated by your definitely bad posture, and you felt refreshed and energized as you exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam. You dressed up in an oversized, soft knitted shirt, corduroy shorts, thighs, and fluffy cream-colored boots you never wore because they weren’t formal enough and you feared ruining them. Feeling decently pretty for an afterwork meeting, you turned off the lights to your flat and exited to the hall.

The lounge area was on the same floor as yours, since it was an Enforcer-only area. You had yet to meet any of your colleagues there, though… Probably because you spent most of your time inside, you were something of an hermit. As the door slid open in front of you, you could see that everybody was already there and chatting. Even Hinakawa looked like he was having a good time, once he got past his crippling shyness. You took a seat on the leather couch and poured yourself a drink, focusing on the tiny bubbles inside your glass. Taking a sip, you noticed Todoroki was looking a bit dejected next to you. He still had that grumpiness about him, but there was a tinge of sadness to his posture expression too. You didn’t know how to tackle the subject though, but you had an idea of how to get past his hardboiled shell.

“So, how did it go with Yakushiji ? Was he nice ?” you asked him with a smile. He looked back at you and sighed, nothing but fatigue gracing his features.

“I don’t like all this political stuff. The guy is being manipulated and his assistant held onto information like a vice” he grumbled.

“Yes but what about Herakles ? I’ve heard he was supposed to be a perfect athlete or something”

You felt Todoroki tense up a bit.

“Aren’t you supposed to already know what he’s like ? You were the one to brief us about him”

Ah, aggression. You were expecting it though.

“Yeah, but I could be wrong too. May I ask again : what is your opinion about him ?”

You were intent of peeling all the layers the gruff old man had, until he showed his true nature. You waited patiently for him to answer, taking another sip from your glass.

“I guess he was nice” he finally conceded “I think he felt something about what happened during the interview and wanted to cheer me up or whatnot…” his voice got lower on the last part.

“Outwards empathy, told ya !” you nudged him with a grin, and felt the older man loosen up a bit more.

“But what happened then ? Did somebody hit you ?” you asked again, ridding your voice of any mischief so that he understood you were listening to him.

There, you felt his shell about to crack as he rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his thinning grey-white hair. He stared at his almost empty glass, and without looking up he finally opened up.

“You must have heard of the Todoroki family; they try to breed “perfect” people by gene-editing”. You listened attentively, encouraging him silently to continue.

“My brother and father were there, they must have been affiliated to the eugenics campaign Yakushiji is leading. They resent me for not having perfect genes and they consider me a shame to their family”

You winced at the self-inflicted exclusion Todoroki voiced there. You were right about him hiding his pain and bitterness under a cynical and detached front.

“They reacted as I expected when they saw me, but Yakushiji encouraged me to love myself and other nonsense”

When he said that, you understood that Temma was, in some way, still the child accused by his parents and the rejection they inflicted him still hurt him deeply. The unconditional support Yakushiji had thrown at him had startled him, and he didn’t know how to process it other than retracting into his usual grumpy self. Considering his family’s objective, he was surely blamed solely for existing, and still carried that weight around.

“You should listen to him, Temma” you said while smiling, using his first name as a way to distinguish him from the ones that hurt him, the Todoroki. “You know, there is a saying that we aren’t born human but that we become human. That’s because the key to our evolution is learning and adapting. Our brains change at every stage of our life, and therefore our identities do too.”

He was looking at you, a little puzzled.

“That means it’s not too late to become someone you’re proud of. For yourself, I mean, not for anybody else.”

In the end, the only one person you have to bear with the most is yourself, so better make it agreeable.

Temma smiled, and even though his stare was still sad and thoughtful, you knew it had lifted some weight off his shoulders just talking about it with someone. Someone that listened to him and thought about his interests, not theirs.

It was getting a bit late, so you bid him goodbye and rose to your feet, only to stumble and wobble quite pitifully. Kazumichi, who had just lost his game of billiard, helped you restore your balance and asked

“You okay ? Do you want me to accompany you back to your room ?”

Fuck.

“It’s okay” you smiled while trying to repress your resounding heartbeats “It’s not far away and I just drank two glasses or something”

But as you took another step towards the stairs, the room started to sway and you almost fell to the ground.

“Yeah sure, now I’m definitely coming with you” he chuckled, lending you an arm so that you could rest on it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The trip back to your room was pretty uneventful, you hadn’t lied when you told him it wasn’t too long a way back there. You didn’t know if you were getting hot because of the alcohol, or because Kazumichi was so close to you. You could hear your heart in your ears, and you wished he couldn’t feel your trembling hands. Or maybe he thought it was because you were intoxicated, and you were okay with that.

“So, isn’t it hard for you to be treated like a latent criminal? Even though your Crime Coefficient can’t be measured ?”

The guy hadn’t heard about tact it seemed. Luckily for him, you were in a good mood and a rather compliant person, so you obliged.

“Latent criminals haven’t done any crime either, so it would be unfair for everybody. But it’s not hard, no.”

You had reached your door and you wobbled to it, unclasping your hand from Kazumichi’s arm and then turned to face him again.

“I have no memories of what life is outside of here, so I don’t have any reference of how it is to be free.”

You felt his sadness wash over you.

“But really, I’m treated well, I can access anything I want or need, and Shion is pretty cool” you grinned.

“Thank you for accompanying me back to-“

You spinned on your heels and were about to open your door when you tripped – again. The sliding doors identified you and opened as you were falling, promising a painful reception on the back of your head. You braced for the impact when you felt a sharp tug on your shoulder. You opened your eyes and realized that Kazumichi had caught your hand in his, preventing you from smashing your skull on the hard floor of your doorway.

At the contact, you felt a jolt of electricity, heat rushed through your arm and nestled right under your heart, in your ribs, right where your soulmark was. His hand felt large and warm on yours, and your mind suddenly flashed with suggestions of them roaming your body, embracing you tightly. The idea of him was dizzying, and you struggled to keep your grasp on reality.

Blushing profusely, you apologized to him as he pulled you back up. You were making a fool of yourself but he didn’t seem to mind, or maybe notice.

Cocking his head to the side, he flashed you a dazzling grin and you couldn’t help but notice the tips of his ears were red.

“Be careful, okay ?”

“Yeah, thank you… I’m sorry, I really must’ve drunk too much” you joked lightly while passing the threshold of your flat and hearing the doors slide shut behind you.

When you were finally alone in your obscured entranceway, you fell to your knees and hid your reddening face in your hands.

“HE KNOWS”

#kazumichi irie #kazumichi #irie #psycho pass #psycho pass season 3 #pp s3 #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #kissing #soulmarks #soulmates #soulmate AU #sybil system #anime #i'm trash #x reader #reader #xreader #you #enforcer #todoroki temma #bonding with temma

[dontmesswithnerdangels]

“Wait, why is this empty blog following me?”

Hey, so you may have noticed this blog is pretty blank... That’s because it’s brand new! I’m going to write some actual starters soon, but I want to give them a good amount of effort, so I’m probably going to get to that a little later. But I am planning to actually start rping soon, as soon as I find some good partners! If I followed you and you’re trying to decide whether to follow back, here’s a writing sample for Cas: 

“Castiel sighed, slumped against a tree in his heaven in exhaustion. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this.

It all went back to just before the apocalypse, really. Before that, everything had been so simple. Follow orders, repress doubt, be a good little soldier in his father’s name. Not that he had ever even met the guy. Sure, it had been a horrible existence, mindlessly doing the dirty work of his brothers and sisters, and feigning the resilience of his innocence while trying to hide the pain of his family tearing itself apart, but it was the only life he’d ever known. It had felt hopeless, meaningless, but it was simple. Before, everything had made sense. Following orders was what angels were meant to do, after all. Well. Most angels. He was beginning to question if somehow he was different. Questioning? This was his problem. He’d never allowed his questions to manifest within him before. It was forbidden.

And then Michael had asked for somebody to fetch his vessel. And he had been chosen.

Castiel had no idea how raising the Righteous Man had become his job. It wasn’t like he was ever that high-ranking or anything. He did what he was asked, and he was powerful, but he had never allowed himself ambition of his own. He supposed it must have been Uriel who nominated him for the job. Uriel had always concerned himself a lot with the prophecies of the apocalypse, even while Castiel struggled to put all knowledge of heaven’s plans out of his mind, hiding his doubts with them. Something about the apocalypse had always felt wrong to Castiel, even when disregarding all the horrible fighting that ravaged all of heaven as his siblings continuously fought over the one true destiny. He didn’t approve of it, even then. The apocalypse, he felt, was flawed. Not that it mattered. His opinion was nothing. He followed orders. If his father wanted the angels to follow this prophecy and create “paradise on earth,” then who was he to think that he knew more than God about what was right and what was wrong? When they asked him to find Dean Winchester and raise him from hell, he wasn’t about to refuse. Castiel had no plans to fall. Not ever.

But then Uriel kept on getting pulled into working towards the apocalypse, working towards the end of all, and Castiel was dragged along with him. Still, he hid his doubts. It wasn’t as if he could have these sorts of questions. Anna had had questions. And Lucifer. He was not like them. He was nothing like them at all!

But then his and Uriel’s work had led him again and again to Dean. Dean Winchester, whose soul shone brightly from within, even while he was so broken on the outside. Dean Winchester, who also thought the apocalypse was wrong. Dean Winchester, who fought for what he believed in. Dean Winchester, who believed in the type of family Cas had only dreamed of. Dean Winchester… who became his first real friend.

Such things were also forbidden. This, however, was not nearly so easy to ignore. How could he ignore it? Dean, giving him that look, as if he knew that he was different. Dean, making his own future. Dean, with free will. The more he talked to the human, the more fascinated he became. He couldn’t look away. It was ridiculous, but in many ways he idolized this tiny mortal. The other angels made fun of humans, which they almost all clearly saw as a lesser race, but it soon became impossible for Castiel to hide the fact that he liked Dean. Looking at Dean, and his bright, shining soul, was just like looking at the type of person Castiel had always secretly wished he could be. Sure, Dean had his flaws. A lot of them. There was no denying that. He was rude, and stubborn, and abrupt, and always trying to act like the rough and tough hunter his father had raised him to be, as well as entirely overprotective, selfless, and codependent on his little brother, but there was no doubt that despite his rough points, Dean always did what he thought was right. Castiel couldn’t have been more impressed. To think, it was actually possible to fight for your own fate, to think your own thoughts, to be who you were…! Castiel didn’t even know who he was. Nobody had ever given him the chance to figure that out before. Nobody else had cared enough to ask. And Dean… Dean seemed to believe in him. He welcomed him into his family, trusted him, allowed him to fight with him… And Castiel felt every fiber of his grace aglow. With every meeting, he felt closer to who he wanted to be, and closer than ever also to Dean. Well, Dean and his friends. But mostly Dean. There was something new within him. For the first time, he truly felt ready to die for a cause. For a human.”

It’s just a character study and a few years old, but there you go! I hope that helps while I’m getting things set up. Have a wonderful day! Xx

#psa #mun posts #castiel #supernatural rp #castiel rp