#enemies to lovers rom com perfection okay

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - off the record (part one)

part one ; breaking news and breaking points

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; okay. hi. hello. me again! this authors note is going to be delirious because it is quite literally 2am as i edit this and i am shot. regardless — welcome to off the record! this is my baby. my child. my toddler who can’t walk or speak yet but the concept is there

let’s get one thing straight: i am NOT a politician. i do not work in politics, i do not enjoy american politics and i most certainly am no expert. i almost failed government in high school. i’m not sure of the accuracy of White House journalism but i do know one thing. i tried my very best!! so gold star for ang <3

anyway! welcome to the disaster. this is a rom-com, emphasis on the com because these two idiots are so deep in denial. we’re talking enemies-to-lovers, but in the “we’ve been rivals since college and now sit two rows apart at white house briefings” kind of way. grab some tea. snuggle your cat. scream into a pillow. idk, whatever works for you

playlist here

series masterlist here

The thing about White House press briefings is, if you don’t speak fast, Jungkook Jeon will.

And then you’ll have to watch his stupid little smirk on the screens in the newsroom all night while your editor asks why you didn’t ask the damn question.

You raise your hand, nearly leap out of your seat to deliver the inquiry you scribbled messily in the margins of your notepad. It’s something about a new federal rollout; dry on paper, but a minefield of public and private backdoor deals if you phrase it right. The question is halfway out of your mouth before—

“Secretary Thompson,” comes a voice from three rows back, “can you clarify whether the administration still plans to partner with private sector organizations despite last quarter’s concerns?”

Goddamnit.

You slump in your chair. Of course he gets there first.

It’s a clean question. Sharp. Subtle accusation wrapped in neutral intonation. The kind of question that makes cabinet members pause and choose their words very carefully, which Secretary Thompson now does, leaning forward and clearing her throat, visibly recalibrating.

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s sitting back in his chair like he owns the damn room. The entire Metro ride spent rehearsing that question, complete with dramatic pauses practiced between stops, has been hijacked by someone who waited until your mouth formed the first syllable before swooping in.

You turn slowly, against your better judgement. The muscles on your face achieve that special brand of neutrality that actually translates to: I'm mentally signing you up for a lifetime subscription to minor inconveniences. May your phone forever hover at 1% battery and may your socks perpetually slip down inside your shoes.

Three rows behind sits the human embodiment of your nightmares, looking like he just won a gold medal in the sport of Question Sniping, expression carrying a level of smugness you want to smack right off his face. And like, yeah, it’s fine that he beat you to the punch but you’re oddly impressed by how effortlessly he did it.

He’s sporting a black suit with no tie. Because heaven forbid he follow even the most basic protocols of professionalism. Elbow slung across the chair next to him like this is a casual Monday coffee run and not a federal media gauntlet. He’s already relaxing in his seat like he didn’t just outflank you in broad daylight.

He grins at you from across the pressroom, a perfect display of professionally whitened teeth that makes you contemplate the legality of throwing your pen across the room.

Disgusting.

You whip your head back to the front before you commit a felony in front of a sitting cabinet member. Immediately, you’re pulling your phone out of your back pocket, opening up iMessage.

Okay, count to ten. One, two, three…

Mentally, you’re trying to imagine your therapist's voice saying something about "workplace appropriate responses to colleagues” (although your therapist has never met Jeon Jungkook and is therefore woefully unprepared to provide relevant advice in this situation.)

Physically, your jaw tightens with the force of some unspoken comeback.

He always does this.

And the worst part isn't just that his strategy works consistently, or that Secretary Thompson is now giving a rehearsed answer that will yield exactly one (1) usable quote for his article; it's that microscopic part of you that recognizes the brilliance of his approach.

You learned this the hard way four years ago, during your very first White House press briefing fresh out of Columbia University, notepad filled with questions you’d rewritten five different times, trying not to sweat through your blouse because Jeon Jungkook was five seats away.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. Not since he walked off that stage behind you; second in your class, already being courted by every network with a pulse. You’d hoped that being hired at competing outlets might mean distance. Space to build your career without having to look over your shoulder every time you submitted a story.

No such luck.

He was already there when you entered the briefing room for the first time. Already seated, sporting that annoying smile when he spotted you in the doorway.

You still remember the way his voice cut through the room like it belonged there. Just the right amount of bite to make the congressman answering the question squirm. It wasn’t even a bad question, but it was sharp enough to make everyone sit up, and that was the point when playing with American politics.

One doesn’t need to be liked. They need to be remembered.

You’d raised your hand right after. You were so determined not to let him win the room that you misread the energy entirely. And when the mic came to you, you fumbled. It wasn’t with the content — you’d done your research, you always did — but with the delivery. You were trying so hard to seem composed, to prove you deserved to be there, that your voice went flat. You didn’t breathe between sentences or really pace the question.

And the congressman, an older man with a short temper and a penchant for being rattled, cut you off mid-sentence. He waved a hand like you were a mosquito buzzing too close to his ear.

“Get to the point please,” He’d said, clearly annoyed.

You had, but the damage was done.

And Jungkook? He didn't even need to smirk — a restraint that somehow made his victory all the more infuriating. He just leaned forward, elbows on knees, lips pressed in a neutral line. But you knew him well enough to spot the amusement hiding in his eyes. He didn't look directly at you because that would've been too obvious, too much like admitting that this little press room dance of yours is his favorite form of foreplay, which is precisely the kind of vulnerability neither of you would ever confess to even under the influence of truth serum.

Either way, Jungkook never needs to gloat out loud. He just waits for you to see that he saw.

That’s how it started. The silent, deadly, professional tug-of-war that is probably so entertaining for onlookers that the White House should start selling tickets.

Four years later and nothing’s changed — except now you’ve learned how to play the game too. How to keep your voice calm, how to pace your brain, how to smile like a threat. You studied your opponents playbook until the pages wore thin.

So you sit there, pen poised, chin high, and let Secretary Thompson drone on for another minute while the reporters around you settle. Jungkook is probably lounging in the back like the cocky bastard he is, no doubt smiling like a motherfucker.

When the next lull in her sentence comes, you speak.

“Madam Secretary, given the administration’s recent walkback on infrastructure spending and the pivot toward incentivizing private sector, can you clarify what measures are in place for companies receiving federal subsidies, especially those with prior violations?”

The room stills like a sitcom freeze frame, where some narrator would quip "it was at this moment they knew..." as your question hangs in the air.

Thompson blinks twice. And then, to everyone’s surprise including your own, she smiles; it’s a genuine reaction, not the wide campaign-trail grin but the subtle acknowledgment that screams, finally, a real question from someone who did their homework instead of skimming the briefing notes.

She answers in detail. All lengthy and thoughtful and some political jargon you’re jotting in your notepad like a madman. Meanwhile your chest burns with the sweet, silent glow of victory, something your overachieving soul has been chasing since you color-coded your first set of flash cards in elementary school.

You know it’s there before you see it — Jungkook’s gaze.

There will be no swiveling of your neck to face him because turning would mean acknowledging, and acknowledging would mean giving away a fraction of this perfect moment; you don't need visual confirmation when you can practically feel him watching, probably chewing the inside of his cheek with that nervous habit he thinks nobody notices, calculating how he missed this angle while the room leans forward collectively, listening harder now than they were during his question.

God, it is tempting, though.

Just one glance. One raised brow. Maybe even a middle finger held discreetly under your notepad.

But you’re better than that.

…Mostly.

Still, the corner of your mouth twitches microscopically.

Game on, Jeon. Let’s see who wins this round.

The next thirty minutes go by just like this:

You raise your hand to try and get another question in, he mirrors you half a second later.

You jot down a quote, he glances up like he’s writing the same one faster.

You whisper something to the correspondent next to you, and he makes a point to become the world’s friendliest man.

By the time the briefing wraps, your notepad is full, your recorder has thirty solid minutes of good material, and your blood pressure is only slightly elevated — which you’re going to count as a win. Secretary Thompson gives her usual nod, the press secretary calls it and the room begins to scatter in that chaotic shuffle unique to people who have five minutes to rewrite a headline before someone else beats them to it.

You pack up, shoving pens and postits and a mildly passive-aggressive question list into your leather tote. It’s not like you’re in a rush. You’ve got what you need. Jenna — your editor, manager, queen of never being impressed — will actually be pleased for once. Last week she told you your questions were “good, not great” which you’ve translated to mean “where’s the political bloodshed?” But today, you’ve got enough edge to headline the next two cycles.

You’re halfway to the exit, steps quick against the marble floor, when you hear it—

Shoes.

Nice ones. Expensive, but already too broken-in to be new.

And they’re moving quickly like the fire alarm just went off.

Your eyes don’t have to spare a look. Your spine already knows who it is.

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, and keep walking. If you ignore him long enough, he might combust from the lack of attention.

“Smooth question.”

You blink up at the hallway ahead of you. What was that counting trick you were doing earlier? Oh, right.. four, five, six....

A sigh heaves from the depths of your lungs. Quite loudly it echoes off the walls.

“Jungkook.” you begin, not slowing your pace, “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask the intern to print it out and shred it for recycling.”

He laughs at that amusedly.

“Come on,” he retorts, falling into step beside you now, “You stole my topic and framed it better. That was… mildly impressive.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s got his press badge tucked half into his blazer pocket like it’s too cool to wear properly, and the top button of his shirt is now undone.

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “Mildly impressive? Should I frame that statement and hang it next to my degree? My… valedictorian degree, perhaps?”

He leans in, a little too close for comfort. “Don’t worry. Mine’s right behind yours.”

You bite back a smile that threatens to show face. “And don’t you forget it.”

“You know, you’re lucky I didn’t ask a second question just to steal the narrative out from under you,” Jungkook sticks his hands in his pockets, pulling out a packet of gum.

Your eyes roll back into your frontal lobe, “Oh, I’m counting on it. Watching you try to top yourself is half the fun.”

Your feet betray you before you have a chance to stop them, and they stop walking, finally turn to face him. “Are you like this with everyone? I’m starting to get a little flattered.”

He looks at you for a second longer than you like. No smirk this time, just that stillness he gets when he’s thinking. Or, worse… he’s about to be really, really honest.

He shrugs, pops the gum in his mouth, smile creeping back into place like it never left. “Nah,” he’s already walking backwards toward the exit. “You’re the only one who bites back.”

His body disappears into the hallway crowd as if he knows exactly when to exit a scene, melting into the Washington ecosystem of power suits, security earpieces, and polished shoes on marble.

Jeon Jungkook is an insufferable bastard — one of the best-of-breed kind of bastards, possibly the best one you’ve ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on the angle) of going to school with. Decidedly not bad on the eyes, which is unfortunate. Counterproductive, really. Because it’s hard to maintain a healthy level of hatred toward someone when their jawline could headline a fashion campaign and their smirks come pre-loaded with cinematic timing.

And yet, somehow, you manage.

Ever since freshman year when he walked into your public policy seminar and had the audacity to sit in the front row — the seat you always took, the one closest to the professor, the one with the best lighting for scribbling down notes. He didn’t even glance at you when he took it.

You clashed immediately. Over literally everything. Theories and tone and comma placement. Who should’ve been chosen to moderate the midterm debate and who had more credible citations in their annotated bibliography. You can’t even remember the first real argument anymore; all you know is it escalated quickly, something about a poorly formatted slide deck and a long-winded tangent on federalism that he thought was charming and you thought were grounds for expulsion.

To your luck, that turned into this.

Into years of mutual loathing, thinly veiled behind professional respect that makes your coworkers say things like “you two should interview a senator together!” while you fantasize about pushing him down a flight of stairs and then writing his obituary out of spite.

You can’t describe your relationship with Jungkook without sounding emotionally unstable. It’s not just because he got that one A+ in International Relations. It’s not some awkward sexual tension. It’s whatever exists in that middle ground between admiration and provocation.

Listen, you recognize his intelligence. He definitely recognizes your ambition. He’s just always been naturally, effortlessly good. Jungkook doesn’t have to rehearse or over-prepare or go through mental flowcharts in the mirror before a press event.

And the only thing worse than someone who always competes with you is someone who doesn’t have to.

That’s what always gets you. You’ve spent your entire career building scaffolding around every step forward and you are nothing if not methodical. And then he waltzes in with gel in his hair and throws out a line you write down immediately to send to Jenna.

You push the briefing room door open with your hip and walk in, tote clutched tightly.

Emma doesn’t look up. Her fingers are flying over her laptop, nails clacking against keys in short bursts of aggression. Brows furrowed, glasses slipping slightly down her nose, and her tongue is poking between her teeth the way it always does.

“Any luck?” you ask, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl that you’re 98% sure was only restocked because Emma guilt-tripped the White House kitchen staff with that one story she wrote about USDA budget cuts and “the symbolic death of the American apple.”

She grunts in response, closing her laptop quickly and swiveling to face you in her chair.

You bite into the apple, placing your heavy bag down on the floor beside your desk, which is conveniently always placed next to hers.

“How was Jungkook today?” She asks casually as if it’s not one of the most emotionally loaded questions a person can be asked. It’s a routine part of your dynamic at this point. Morning coffee, afternoon sarcasm, and one post-briefing debrief where Emma asks you how Jungkook was, and you pretend he wasn’t Jungkook.

“Obnoxious,” you shrug instantly. “Duh.”

Emma snorts while you continue on, rotating your apple to take another bite. “He was wearing this stupid smile today. I lowkey feel like he was more smug than normal.“

Emma hums knowingly. “That’s your favorite one.”

You ignore that. Just Emma being Emma.

“And of course,” you exhale, “he asked my question.”

That gets her attention.

She scoots her chair toward you slowly, like she’s gearing up for the best tea of her life. “Wait. The question? The one about partnering with private sector organizations?”

“The very one,” You sigh dramatically.

Emma gasps, places a hand over her chest. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, but he did,” you say, taking another bite of your apple, chewing long enough to build suspense. “Fell for it and beat me to it by two seconds.“

She clutches her heart like she’s just witnessed a murder. “War criminal. Both you and him.”

“It’s fine,” you snicker to yourself. “Took the bait like always. Already texted it to Jenna.“

So… there’s this minor (major) thing you do that if anyone finds out, you’re absolutely getting the boot off the Hill. You leave notes around the newsrooms with concepts that you plan to ask at the press briefings and your initials on the paper, and when Jungkook inevitably picks one up and asks them, you send the answer to Jenna. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Emma groans and throws her head back, dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders. “God, how do you come up with this? It’s diabolical.”

“I know.”

“You’re evil.”

“I know.”

She looks at you, tilts her neck, considers. “One of these days I’m gonna get it out of you… why you hate him so much. I swear to god, if the White House ever releases security cam footage, it’s over for you.”

You scoff, leaning against your desk. “Because he’s annoying.. and arrogant and—”

There’s a pause while your narrow your eyes like you’re compiling a legal case. “He’s allergic to shirts that fit.”

Emma just blinks at you.

“It’s not complicated,” You wave her off.

“Mmm,” she says unconvinced, already spinning back toward her laptop. “Sure. Not complicated. That’s exactly what people say before saying something really complicated.”

You flip her off.

She blows you a kiss, raising her watered-down iced latte as a toast, “I wish you a very get well soon.”

It’s nice having Emma. Someone who gets it. She was the only one who didn’t blink when you got hired straight out of school, the only one who didn’t second guess it when you worked your way into every White House event rotation. She never asks why you work late or why your standards are too high.

Emma’s seen you at your most terrifying and your most tired and knows they’re usually the same thing.

You finish your apple, toss the core into the bin, and stretch your neck. You’ve got a headline to punch up, an editor to impress, and a man to destroy.

Before you even have a chance to settle into your uncomfortable chair, Jenna, woman of the hour, bursts into the room like she’s just outrun a breaking news alert.

She’s breathless, auburn hair slightly windblown like she sprinted down the hall, which she probably did — Jenna’s never walked a day in her life. She’s powered exclusively by the adrenaline of publishing scoops before Politico can even spellcheck theirs.

“There you are!” she gasps, practically skidding to a stop beside your desk. Almost like you’ve been playing hide-and-seek instead of sitting where you’re supposed to be.

Emma startles, half-spilling her iced latte.

You don’t even look up from computer that you just rebooted on to life. “Hello to you too, Jenna. Everything okay?”

“Better than okay.” She’s already tossing her phone onto the nearest desk, face alight with manic glee that usually only happens when your publication beats everyone else to the punch. “We published first. That question you texted me. I’m already having it run the evening slot with a featured quote box and a goddamn infographic. Do you know how rare infographics are on pieces like this?”

Emma perks up immediately. “Infographics?”

“Motion animated ones. And it’s outperforming by like 400%. Who fed him that question? I know that was you. Don’t lie to me, you little minx.” Jenna’s eyes are sparkling, hazel flecks in her eyes popping out more than normal.

You blink at her, expression calm, the exact opposite of the excitement living beneath your ribs. “Hm. Was it me?”

“Was it?” Jenna nearly falls over the desk. “You literally texted it to me two seconds after he opened his mouth so I have my suspicions. I watched the tapes back.”

You shrug, sipping from your water bottle. “What can I say? Quick fingers. Predictable men.”

Jenna stares at you. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, I have noticed… if I leave a well-worded, question lying within reach, he’ll take it. Should I be reporting him?” Your degree was in Political Science, but right now, it’s sounding a lot more like Lying.

Emma coughs on her coffee. “Oh my god.”

“He delivers it perfectly. He never even changes the phrasing!! Almost like he wants me to know he found it,” You mimic a toddler who got pushed on the playground, all false petulance.

Jenna groans, facepalming. “Jesus, that’s terrifying. Worse than finding out you’re doing it on purpose.”

Emma gapes and plays along with it, your trusty sidekick. “He’s using you like a human press puppet.”

You smile. “Whatever. I got the best answer out of Secretary Thompson today anyway.”

You’re not wrong. Not entirely. In fact, you’re opening up Google Docs as you speak to start typing before any person beats you to the punch.

“Well,” Jenna begins, “Great job today.”

Mission accomplished.

Despite everything, you’re pretty pleased with yourself. Emma’s shoulders sag a little with those three words, though you hardly notice.

You sit back in your chair, fingers hovering over your keyboard.

Another question, another quote, another game won.

It’s not cheating. It’s journalism, baby.

Later that night, the building hums like it’s finally exhaled after holding its breath all day, kind of peaceful in the way only Capitol Hill can be when it’s past five and most of the egos have gone home. The usual bustle has evaporated into a familiar sound of click-clacking keyboards and the hum of vending machines that will forever only take singles.

You’re probably the only person left. Well. You and Jenna. But Jenna doesn’t really count — you swear to god she pays rent here.

She exists in this windowless purgatory like it’s her personal loft. Her desk is still lit, hair up in a claw clip. There’s a cold coffee sweating beside her keyboard and an unopened granola bar that’s been sitting there since at least noon. Her coat is slung over the back of her chair in a way that implies she might leave. News flash: she won’t.

Meanwhile you’re cross-referencing quote attributions for the day’s coverage when it hits.

Ping.

You barely register it at first. Just another email in the never-ending trickle of nonsense from Washington’s most noisy inbox.

But the subject line awakens something in you, jolts you back onto earth after being a zombie for the past three hours.

From: pressroom@cnnpolitics.com

Subject: URGENT — CONFIRMED LEAK: Rep. Monroe / Rep. Delgado

Your heart skips and then sprints to catch up. You open the email, trepidation bleeding into your every movement like it might bite. Skimming it at first glance, you see a bunch of buzz words: late night, caught, office, intern.

And then you're up out of your chair like you spotted free coffee in the break room before anyone else, your demeanor shattered by what's glowing on your screen.

“Jenna.”

No answer comes from your editor, who's apparently developed selective hearing after years of people bringing her stories that are "definitely going to change everything."

“Jenna!”

Her chair swivels, eyes already squinting. “What.” she says, less a question and more a verbal eyeroll.

You motion her over. She groans, wheels her chair two feet, and reads over your shoulder.

She doesn’t speak for a full five seconds, a silence so profound you’re starting to think you misinterpreted the email.

“Holy shit.”

Your head bobs up and down once. “Yeah.”

Both of you stand. Stare at the screen like the text might dissolve if you blink. The email is brief but pretty brutal. Something about a late-night vote hold, a closed-door committee session, and Monroe being seen leaving Delgado’s office at 1:43 a.m. by a very chatty intern with no understanding of political discretion. It’s like the equivalent of catching Romeo leaving Juliet’s balcony.

“Please tell me we’re already writing this,” Jenna breathes, pulling her phone out and typing. “Tell me we’re not about to get scooped.”

You’re already closing your laptop. “We’re not. I just got this a minute ago.”

“Crap, okay,” she undoes her claw clip, runs a hand through her tangled locks. “You think NBC and Fox got word too?”

“Probably,” You tuck your laptop into your bag. “But… we can figure out what the other teams are saying. If you’re game for it.”

There’s a knowing look you two share, an unspoken understanding that comes from years of working in close quarters.

Just like that, with only a few words shared, you’re both gone — shoulders brushing in the hallway, shoes scuffing in sync as you pass the security desk and head toward the press rooms. Tiny, overcrowded hives filled with correspondents from neighboring organizations who all know something but never enough, all refreshing Twitter, all waiting for the official statement that will inevitably say nothing and everything at once.

You pass two staffers whispering near the elevator, some dude pretending not to be texting frantically in the corner, and a communications intern standing so still you’re not sure if he’s waiting for an answer or just buffering.

Walk faster, you repeat to yourself. No shot you’re losing this battle.

This is it. Every correspondent’s wet dream. The moment when instinct meets information. When knowing the right people and knowing how to read them becomes everything.

Fortunately, you’re good at this. Like, really good at this.

Jenna tugs on your arm as you turn a corner.

“Remember what I said in March?” she mutters. “I told you, these senators get more scandalous by the second.”

“Well, yeah, but that was about the comms director’s divorce and a broken espresso machine,” You remind her.

“Still counts.”

A grin is suppressed from your face. Technically, it is true. In this building, nothing stays quiet for long. Rumors and gossip spread quicker than a high school hallway.

Even though CNN is the top news source in the world — objectively, indisputably, and according to your network’s annual conference PowerPoint — your rivals over at Fox, NBC, and a handful of other outlets you don’t care to name are often your best sources.

Everyone loves to talk and you adore talkers.

The Hill is built on whispers, and your favorite kind of people are the ones who don’t know how to keep secrets in the same breath they use to ask for anonymity. There’s something about long hours and winding hallways that makes people careless with information. Or maybe it’s the sense of power, that euphoric high of having access to things you shouldn’t, stories that haven’t broken yet.

Right now, you’re chasing one of them.

You and Jenna waltz into the Fox press room like you own it (which you don’t, but that’s never stopped you before.)

It’s mostly empty, except for a few people quietly panicking over the situation in that journalist way where they sit very still while their eyes scream.

It’s a solemn few feet of space, lit by flickering fluorescents and decorated with the same kind of soul-crushing government chairs that squeak if you so much as fart. Someone left a takeout container open on one of the desks and you do your best not to inhale near it.

A quick glance of the room tells you all you need to know and then, to your dismay — you see him.

Jungkook.

Hunched over his laptop at the far end of the room like he’s doing important work but probably just rereading something you published earlier to find holes in it. His blazer from the briefing is gone, slung somewhere out of sight, white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, sleeves creased and casual and — God help you — revealing the tattoos on his right arm.

You’ve only seen it a handful of times. Most people on the Hill haven’t seen it at all. It’s not exactly Capitol dress code.

But he’s Jeon Jungkook so rules were always more like suggestions when it came to him.

Whatever. Not what you came here for. You focus on his colleague, Sana. She’s sharp as hell, desk always covered in four phones and three half-charged battery packs.

Most of the time, you like her. She’s blunt. She doesn’t pretend to like you more than she does, and she gives enough if you know how to ask.

“Sana,” You say, all business-like, sliding into her personal space like this is a casual catch-up and not an intel sweep. Jenna lingers behind you like a henchwoman.

Sana glances up and sighs. “What now?”

“Looking for background on Monroe and Delgado,” You busy yourself with your nail beds, pretending to be focused on the fact that your polish is chipping slightly.

“I know that’s not true,” she says, still typing. “You never ask for background. You ask for the stuff that makes our lawyers sweat.”

You smile, full canines on display. “Come on. You know I’d never get you sued. Fired, maybe.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “What do you want?”

You’re about to lean in with the next carefully worded ask when he speaks.

“You could just ask me, you know,” comes Jungkook’s voice from the corner of the room.

You don’t dare turn around.

Begrudgingly, you sigh, loud enough for him to hear. “Didn’t realize you were qualified to speak on matters you didn’t fabricate.”

Behind you, Jenna snorts.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat.

“You wound me,” he fires back. You can smell the sarcasm in his voice. “Especially after I gifted you that question earlier.”

You spin your body slowly to glance at him. He’s already looking at you, fingers paused over his keyboard, head tilted, one brow raised like he’s genuinely curious how you’ll respond.

Sometimes he does this. Pretends you’re having a conversation when you’re in the middle of ignoring him. Like he’s the main character and you’re just the supporting plot that hasn’t fallen for his clown act yet.

“I’d say thank you,” you retort, “but I think you’re confusing mediocrity for generosity.”

His mouth twitches, doesn't quite reach his eyes but manages to rattle something in your chest like a perfectly aimed pebble against a window, making noise without breaking glass.

“Well,” he stretches slightly in his chair, ink on his arm catching the overhead light, “I guess we’re both useful to each other, aren’t we?”

Verbally, there’s no response you can come up with. Almost like you’re trying to capture a complex emotion with an emoji.

He refuses to look away from you. All you can muster up is meeting his gaze, forcing your eyes not to back down from his own deep brown ones.

Which is stupid and arrogant of him.

And deeply, profoundly annoying.

One day, you’ll create a PowerPoint presentation documenting all the reasons he should be knocked down several pegs.

But, also, he’s kind of—

No.

No, not going there.

You turn back to Sana, who’s watching the whole exchange with the vaguely interested expression of someone who’s seen this movie before.

“Anyway,” you say, tone firm, “back to the real work.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath sadistically.

Sana raises a brow. She adjusts her posture, closes out of whatever she was doing, and gives you that look. Sneaky one, might you add.

Jenna settles into the empty seat next to Sana with a soft thunk, all amusement and quiet observation, as if she’s pulled up to a live podcast and knows better than to interrupt the good part.

You lean in just a little, palms firmly planted down on her desk.

“You’ve always had great instincts,” you begin sweetly, “Way better than that guy over at NBC who thinks ‘no comment’ is an acceptable answer. And honestly? You’re usually two steps ahead of everyone in this room, including me.”

Sana’s face falls flat. “Flattery’s not free.”

“I’m just stating facts,” you reply, twirling your hair around your finger. “But if you happened to know anything about where Monroe actually was during the vote delay, and with who, and if that info happened to fall into my lap by accident…”

She taps her desk once.

You pause for dramatic effect. Jenna says nothing.

You know it’s working. Cross your heart and hope to die, Sana’s resolve is softening enough to consider it. This is the rhythm you’ve lived and died by for the past four years: collect the whispers, push at the edges, find the person who wants to feel a little important, and let them talk.

You hear the chair scrape before the words follow.

“Okay, you’re scalping her,” Jungkook says flatly, rising from his area like he’s decided to intervene on moral grounds — which is rich, considering he spent last week casually rephrasing your own coverage on-air without blinking.

You don’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.

“Boohoo,” you briefly flip through your mental Rolodex of dismissive expressions, “call the ethics board, Jeon.”

You hear his footsteps. He’s walking over like someone about to cut the red wire, like this is a bomb he’s been called in to defuse.

“Seriously,” he now stands a few feet away, arms crossed, that infuriatingly amused expression plastered across his stupidly symmetrical face. “You’ve got her in a journalistic chokehold. It’s not even subtle.”

You peer over at him and flutter your lashes innocently. “You’d prefer subtle? That’s funny, coming from the guy who once baited a senator with free Red Bull to confirm a time stamp.”

“That was different.”

“That was illegal.”

“It was unofficial.”

You scoff. “Right. Just like your fact-checking process.”

Jenna leans her chin on her fist and sighs. “Hereeee we go.”

Sana barely spares a look up. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to break a government scandal before midnight.”

Your lips are formed tightly in a line. “I’m so sorry. He just follows me everywhere.”

“This is literally the Fox pressroom.” Jungkook spits out automatically.

“And yet somehow I’m more valuable here than you are.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

You turn fully now, squaring your shoulders like this is war and he just stepped onto your side of the trench. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — something citrusy and woodsy that makes your thoughts inconveniently disorganized. Jaw set in that infuriating way it does when he thinks he’s being reasonable.

“You know,” he tilts his head slightly, “at some point, you’re gonna run out of tricks.”

“Jungkook, you still fall for all of them.”

Sana mutters something about noise levels.

There’s a smile on your face you do not mean. Jungkook’s watching you intently now, clearly waiting for the moment you lose your cool, which you won’t. You don’t lose your cool. That’s your thing. Your signature move. You’re composed, unbothered if you will.

If the others are tired of it? Too damn bad.

Both of you will continue to respectfully decline to flinch first.

“You’re exhausting,” he says, half-laughing, which would be charming if it weren’t directed at you.

“Good,” you snap, “I hope it costs you sleep.”

“I’ve started taking a higher dose of melatonin to account for that.”

Luckily, before you can retaliate with something that will absolutely haunt you in the shower later, Jenna cuts in, phone screen brightly illuminating her face. “Guys…?”

Neither of you turn. You’re in this weird standoff. First one to look away loses.

She’s louder this time. “Um. Guys?”

“What?” You and Jungkook say in unison, like children caught throwing hands in the sandbox.

She blinks at her iPhone once, then twice, and stands slowly, holding her phone out like it might spontaneously detonate.

“I just got the alert,” she swallows deeply. “CNN got invited to a press pool.”

The room stills. Nothing has technically changed, yet somehow everything feels different, like the universe just rearranged its furniture while no one was looking.

You snatch the phone from her hand without a second thought, scanning the email with speed, stomach already dropping because you know what this means.

Fox. NBC. CNN. Wall Street Journal. Pool assignment. Limited access. Confidential source briefings. Strict cooperation protocol.

Jungkook steps closer to read over your shoulder, and you can feel his body heat like a threat. You edge away out of pure spite.

Sana exhales, “Oh, that’s gonna be fun.”

“No,” you murmur, half to her and half to God, “it’s not.”

Jenna sits back down, hand outstretched waiting for her phone back, probably mentally forwarding the email to your entire team with ten exclamation points and the subject line ‘URGENT: PRESS POOL.’

But all your brain can focus on is the last line of the memo: PRESS POOL ASSIGNMENTS WILL BE FINALIZED BY MORNING.

You swallow, jaw setting in place. Currently, you’re trying not to imagine the absolute hell of being locked into a room with Jungkook and being expected to collaborate. Or even worse, share credit.

Press pools are the bane of your entire existence. It’s lazy reporting dressed up in exclusivity, a dog and pony show where no one’s allowed to ask real questions, just “coordinate coverage” and “represent their outlet professionally,” which basically means sit down, shut up, and don’t make your network look like a dick.

It also may have a tiny, minuscule detail to it that you deject everytime; it’s always you and Jungkook they send. The two best damn correspondents on the Hill, which everyone knows, even if they pretend they don’t. You’re the ones they trust to get the job done. To ask the things no one else will.

And that would be flattering — if it didn’t mean getting locked in a room with him, breathing the same recirculated air, trading quotes and knowing exactly which angle he’s going to try and spin. It’s not a compliment anymore. It’s a punishment dressed up in prestige.

Now — if you’ve read that email right (and you have, because you always do) — you’re going to have to share that twenty minute slot with the one man on Earth who treats interviews and policy like some sick game.

You lower the phone slowly, handing it back to Jenna in a daze.

Jenna looks at you, eyes gleaming. “If it makes you feel better, this is gonna be amazing for us.”

“Who’s us?”

You’re already praying for divine intervention. Or a natural disaster. Or a scheduling conflict. Or a press badge malfunction. Literally anything but this.

Really, there should be no surprise when Jenna is showcasing a small smile on her face, the words already forming on the tip of her lip-glossed tongue.

You beat her to it. “Let me guess. You’re going to ask me to go.”

She blinks, then nods sweetly, too sweetly for your liking.

“I mean,” she says, clasping her hands, “you’re the sharpest we’ve got. You’re strategic. Respected on both sides of the aisle—”

“C’mon, I’ve gone to every single one. Can you please send Emma?” You may as well get on your knees and beg at this point.

Jenna disregards that completely.

“I want you to own the scandal,” she corrects, beaming now. “Control the narrative. Just, you know… professionally.“

You roll your eyes so hard you see your own childhood trauma. Turning to Sana, you’re already half-defeated.

“Thanks for your help,” you sigh, giving her a nod. “And for not actively reporting me to HR during that conversation.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “It was close.”

You’re halfway out the door, already planning what stress snack you’re going to inhale before opening a shared Google Doc with 45 other correspondents when it happens.

“See you Thursday, then. Three o’clock.”

You freeze. Actually, scratch that. You malfunction.

Your body halts so fast you nearly swing into the doorframe. You swivel on your heel, well aware of how the universe personally loves to torment you.

Jeon Jungkook is smiling, cheek to cheek.

He’s leaned back in his own chair now, one leg crossed over the other like he’s settling into a fireside chat, phone lifted lazily in the air, Gmail open and illuminating.

You can only assume his own boss forwarded the press pool email to him. God isn’t exactly subtle when he wants you to suffer.

“They letting just anybody in now?” You muster up the insult.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t even have to ask. Must be fate.”

No part of you falters. You stare at him. “Or a curse. It’s also not even confirmed yet, dimwit.”

“I don’t make the rules,” He raises his hands in mock defeat, and somehow you know that’s a lie. You’re almost certain he knew this was coming and bribed someone.

Jenna pats you on the back as she walks past. “Think of it as a growth opportunity.”

You glance at her like she just told you to do trust falls into oncoming traffic. “I don’t want a growth opportunity. I want a restraining order.”

Jungkook hums solemnly. “You’ll miss me.”

“Like a migraine,” You quip.

You step into the hallway and exhale, followed by a brief intermission where you regret every life decision that led you here.

A few distant feet away, Jungkook calls out all bright and cheerful, like this is a fun little reunion instead of your personal hell, “Should I bring the talking points or are we winging it like last time?”

Not a fiber in your body stops. You just keep walking, steps fast, fury simmering beneath the surface like a pot that’s about to boil over.

Of course you’ll be stuck sharing air and quotes and probably a goddamn printer with him.

Like you said, press pools… bane of your entire existence.

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @somehowukook @lovingkoalaface @moroe-blog2 @almatiarau @hanamgi @yooniepot @strawberryberrygirl @rossy1080 @libra04 @kenzierj11 @senaqsstuff @dtownbae @xumyboo @chimchoom @satisfied18 @arcanekookz @vintagemoonsstuff @brokebitch-101 @taolucha @songbyeonkim @oopscoop @mochibites00 @whatevevrerr @lessthantmr @nesha227 @mar-lo-pap @jazzyb22 @lachesismoonmist @indyuhhhhh @sky-23s-world @jiminshi20 @khadeeeeej @withluvjm @anishasingh1233 @jksusawife @btstrology @youphoriajk @jadestonedaeho7 @diamondjeon @sharplycoldpaladin @annafarrr @tteokbokibyjk @prxdajeon @tatzzz-25 @bellefaerie @swimmingweaselzineegs

[2i1han]

pt. 3

not a romance story | park sungho

pairing : intern!sungho x intern!reader ⭑ wc : 6.2k

tags : office rom-com, friends to lovers, lovers to enemies

playlist : step by step / boynextdoor , amusement park / baekhyun , kiss me / sixpence none the richer , the perfect pair / beabadoobee , ghostride / crumb , panama / sports , ring my bell / suzy , from now on / vincent blue , toothbrush / dnce

with both your competitive streaks, it was only a matter of time before you and your office friend-slash-fling started butting heads over a promotion that could determine your future. the catch? only one of you can get it.

a/n : okay, so i was supposed to release this the same night as my last post, but when i was about to proofread and upload it through my laptop... it was freaking damp. like—damp inside my backpack... and a water bottle slightly ajar... i couldn’t use it because i had to let it dry out on the porch🫩 this isn't the first time my decade old lappy caught water, but hey, at least it still works! anyway, here’s the last part! have......fun!?

pt. 1

pt. 2

the rest of the week went by like both a japanese bullet train and a sloth drenched in glue.

tasks came flying in, one after another, making the days feel like a blur. but somehow, every minute in between felt painfully slow too. especially when you were stuck in the same room as sungho.

the two of you had finally stopped poking at each other’s work and egos, which sounded like progress, but it only made things stiff.

you worked on your parts. he worked on his. neither of you asked the other a single thing. no suggestions. no comments. just pure tunnel vision. the result? a project that looked like someone ordered pizza and chocolate and decided to shove both in the same box. individually fine. but confusing together.

but at least you survived. friday finally rolled in, and with it, the department’s outdoor team-building trip. finally a chance to breathe, laugh, maybe even touch grass without sungho breathing the same metaphorical air, or at least, that's what your pride said. and judging by the way sungho hadn't even glanced your way all morning, the feeling was all mutual.

still, somehow, you both ended up sitting side by side on the company bus. office etiquette had followed everyone. assigned desks turned into assigned seating arrangement of course.

you crossed your arms tightly, back stiff as you stared out the window, watching trees and street signs blur past like a moving painting. your bag sat firmly between you and sungho like a tiny boundary made of fabric.

sungho had done the same. only his bag was on top of yours. you side-eyed it, and pushed it down slightly. he side-eyed you, then pushing it back up. a few bumps, some elbow action.

he sat just as stiff. arms crossed, head leaned away, eyes glued to the opposite window like you were a disease he could catch through peripheral vision.

you kept your head tilted toward the glass, but your eyes shifted sideways. just as you started to glance at him, he did the same. you both snapped your heads forward like you'd just seen something cursed.

"what?" sungho muttered without looking at you.

"what what?" you shot back, rolling your eyes so hard it almost fell.

he exhaled loudly through his nose and made a dramatic show of crossing his arms tighter. his elbow bumping your arm. you narrowed your eyes and nudged him back just a bit harder.

he made a face. you made the same one back. you were five seconds away from turning the bus into a medieval mess when a voice cut in.

"all right, we're here!" sejeong chirped from the front, one hand gripping the overhead rail. supervisor yoo stood as well, clapping his hands once. "everyone, up! let's move!"

backs straightened instantly. bags were yanked up, slung over shoulders. chatter rose again as people filed off the bus like it was the first day of a school field trip.

you stood, brushing nonexistent lint from your pants as your sneakers hit the grass. the air was warmer than expected, the sun already peeking through thin clouds. you took a deep breath, and okay, fine. it did feel nice to be outside.

before you was a wide, open park. a field of green stretched in every direction. trees framed the area like nature's wallpaper, and dotted between them were colorful tents and foldable chairs from other people in the area. someone had brought bean bags. someone else had brought a guitar. sejeong's portable speaker was already blasting retro pop songs.

it was a total 180 from the gray cubicle maze you'd come from. even supervisor yoo looked more human today, swapping his leather shoes for sneakers and sunglasses.

"everyone, settle!" he called again, gesturing for people to gather. you squinted under the sun and adjusted your bag strap.

"this looks like it'll be fun," ningning said beside you, grinning as she carried a bright orange cooler in both hands.

you smirked. "i hope so." you dragged out the word, your eyes darting to sungho's back just a few steps ahead.

he was walking beside jisung, who was cheerfully pointing at a tree for no reason. sungho, meanwhile, looked like he was calculating how fast he could disappear into the area.

ningning followed your line of sight, then bumped her shoulder into yours. "yikes. still ice-cold?"

you sighed. "tell me about it."

you trudged along with the others, grass crunching under your shoes, the sun warming the back of your neck.

chairs clacked open, mats rolled out, and coolers landed with soft thuds on the grass. the lawn was starting to look like a summer camp. sunlight filtered through the trees in patches, and the air smelled like fresh grass, plastic packaging, and grilled food. the juniors moved fast, buzzing like worker bees—some excited, others clearly afraid of supervisor yoo’s sharp eyes andr clipboard.

sejeong moved through the field sharply, voice loud and cheery but with a bossy edge. she held a portable speaker in one hand and a long to-do list in the other, yelling directions around.

you stood off to the side, holding a folded table with ningning. the sun was warm on your back, and the table legs kept poking into your thigh.

"where does this go again?" you asked, shifting your grip.

"where the vibes are, apparently," ningning replied, pointing vaguely to a shaded spot under a tree. you both waddled over and dropped the table with a snap as the legs locked. you brushed your hands off, a small sense of pride.

"alright, next we need…" sejeong muttered as she paced nearby. "coolers lined up under the canopy, towels by the mats, drinks on the long table—oh! and where’s the blue tablecloth?"

"right here," came a voice from behind.

you turned around and instantly spotted sungho. standing a few feet away, holding a sky-blue tablecloth in one hand. you frowned as your eyes met. he sighed and lifted the tablecloth slightly toward you.

"you wanna do it?" he asked, already annoyed.

you walked forward, arms crossed. "move."

"i literally just offered—"

"then hand it over."

nearby, ningning pretended to organize the cooler while clearly watching with interest. she ducked her head to hide her grin and eventually, you yanked the cloth free and stomped toward the table. sungho followed a step behind.

"you’re putting it sideways," he said.

"i know what i’m doing."

"you sure? it’s crooked."

you slapped the table gently with your palm, smoothing the cloth out. "your eyes are crooked."

he let out a quiet breath and leaned across the table, pulling his end straight. the cloth stretched out neatly between you. you hesitated, then fixed your side to match.

the two of you stayed like that for a moment. heads bent down, hands still on the cloth, faces just a little too close.

you let go first, turning away. "there, perfect. happy?"

he cleared his throat. "not really, but sure."

you sneered, before you make your way to the coolers when you heard him behind you again. you crouched beside one, opening the lid and letting the cold air rush out. "do you not have anyone else to bother?"

"i’m on drink duty," he said flatly, kneeling beside you. his knees cracked as he lowered himself down.

the cooler was filled with ice, soda cans, and juice boxes. you started lining them up, making neat rows. he joined you without saying anything. every time your hands brushed by accident, you both pulled back quickly like magnets flipping poles. but neither of you moved away.

sejeong’s voice then suddenly rang out across the grass. "lunch time, gather up!"

everyone then shuffled under the canopy. foldable tables and chairs had been set up around. "food's here! help yourselves!" sejeong called out again cheerily, clapping her hands together.

every chair was quickly filling up. juniors clumped together in clusters. you spotted ningning waving from one table, but by the time you walked over, jisung had already sat down beside her, a space conveniently left empty beside—sungho.

you blinked, debating whether to take the L and sit with sejeong, but the thought of awkward hr small talk while chewing chicken skin felt worse.

so you sat. the second you settled in, sungho didn't look at you. didn't even flinch. he just took a careful sip of his cola and scrolled casually on his phone like you were background noise.

the lunch spread was perfect. metal food trays and plastic containers were laid out across the tables, and the aroma of fried chicken, soy garlic wings, and warm tteokbokki wafted through the area.

he didn’t announce it or make a face. just opened a cola can with that subtle hiss, and sipped as if this was just another lunch break in the office pantry.

it was quiet between you, but not peaceful. tense silence stretched like cling wrap. he didn’t glance at you, but you felt the weight of his presence, like static between two unplugged wires.

you focused on your paper plate, scooping some rice and eyeing the japchae across the table. the noodles shimmered with sesame oil. you stretched out your arm, chopsticks in hand, straining to reach the bowl without looking like you were trying too hard. a little more, just a bit more—

"don't pull a muscle."

sungho's voice cut through your concentration, low and dry.then, his arm reached past yours and grabbed the japchae with ease. he didn’t even look at you as he scooped a generous amount into your plate and set the bowl back down with a dull thud.

"i didn’t need help," you mumbled, trying to sound unbothered even though your ears were warm.

"sure," he replied flatly, already chewing on a kimbap roll like this was no big deal.

you picked at the noodles, refusing to look at him. but the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. just awkward in that almost comfortable way you hated admitting felt familiar. out of the corner of your eye, you saw him fold a napkin and slide it over to your side.

"there's sesame oil at the corner of your lips," he said, nudging it closer without glancing up.

you frowned. "i havent even had a bite yet..."

that earned you a short, sharp exhale from him, almost a laugh, but definitely not one he’d admit to. you bit the inside of your cheek, pretending your chopsticks needed adjustment. sungho’s hand rested on his knee, thumb tapping rhythmically like he was trying not to say something else.

across from you, ningning had her brows raised and lips curved into a smirk, whispering something to jisung, who snorted while stealing a chicken leg. you made eye contact with her briefly, and she just widened her eyes like she knew everything and said nothing.

you tried not to react. sungho definitely didn’t. but when both your chopsticks reached for the same roll of kimbap moments later and your fingers grazed his, your hand immediately jerked back and so did his.

"i’m still mad at you," you said, your voice low.

"good," he muttered. "same."

eventually, people started to get up, some stretching their arms and groaning about the afternoon games to come. paper plates were crumpled, juice boxes flattened, and the chatters shifted into groans of "i’m so full" and "why did i eat three servings of rice?"

you stood, brushing off your pants, turning just enough to grab your bag. as you did, something small flew in your direction. your instinct kicked in and you caught it mid-air with wide eyes. it's a small pack of apple candies.

you blinked, raising your brow as you turned to sungho, who was already zipping up his black bomber jacket and standing with his can of cola in hand.

he gave you a forced, flat look. "it’s gonna be a long and tiring day," he said simply. "just in case you forget your candies again and pass out from low blood sugar."

then he walked away like he didn’t just casually throw a piece of concern at you like an emotionally constipated teenage boy who refused to be emotionally available.

you stared at the candy pack for a few seconds, a tiny smile twitching at your lips before you shoved it in your pocket.

──────────────────────

"alright! game two's starting—get your butts up!" sejeong shot up and clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher on a field trip

groans erupted. one junior flopped face-down onto the mat on the grass. another rolled over like a log. still, curiosity won over inertia, and the crowd drifted toward the makeshift "arena"

mr. yoo, now sporting a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, looking like a dad in a summer sitcom, stepped up with a clipboard in hand. he cleared his throat, clearly enjoying every second of this.

"our game is simple," he announced, grinning like a man who weaponized team-building exercises. "uh—we're not calling it anything, just to test your teamwork." he continued. "one person wears a blindfold. their partner stands behind and guides them verbally to collect ten tiny flags planted around the field. most flags wins. sounds easy, right?"

"easy?" ningning whispered, eyeing the uneven terrain. "that sounds like a mess."

before anyone could comment, sungho raised a hand from where he was lounging on the grass. "can we call it... gps?"

everyone turned, confused.

he shrugged. "guiding partner simulator."

chuckles and smiles broke out. mr. han did too. "see? this is why hr is scared of the creative department."

you rolled your eyes, suppressing yourelf to even show a tiny twitch of lip muscle. you muttered out of the corner of your mouth. "wow, sungho. ever consider a side hustle writing slogans for popcorn bags?"

he leaned in slightly. "at least mine don't sound like they were ai-generated under a 'be professional' prompt."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes as the two of you walked over to where ningning and jisung stood.

ningning eyed you both with arms crossed. "okay. not you two," she said, gesturing between you. "you'll argue the whole time and end up in opposite corners of the field out of spite."

jisung nodded. "you'll probably find, like, one flag, argue about which way is north, and rage-quit."

sungho looked mildly wounded. "excuse me, i am very capable of multitasking while being petty."

"which is exactly the problem," ningning said, already turning to jisung. "so, us?"

but jisung paused, then grinned wickedly. "actually... i change my vote. you two go. interns' pride and all."

you and sungho frowned in unison. "huh?"

"you need to let out whatever weird tension this is," ningning said, not even glancing up from her nails. "think of it as couples therapy. with flags."

"couple? yikes..." you and sungho exchanged a synchronized side-eyes. sungho then stood with arms crossed, deadpan. "okay. i'll be the blindfolded one."

you squinted, slightly doubtful. "don't mess it up."

he bent slightly so you could reach. you took the blindfold from jisungs hand and tied it around his head.

"you don't mess it up," he muttered. "and please don't give me directions like they're the ikea floor plan."

you tightened the knot just enough to make him yelp. "let's just try not to go viral for the wrong reasons."

then, as you stood by the starting line and sungho took his place, sejeong raised her whistle. "ready? and... go!"

the field erupted into cheers as you zoned in.

"three o'clock, five steps!" you shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos.

sungho moved cautiously to the right, arms out like a stereotypical zombie. around him, the field was a minefield of lumpy grass, plastic cones, and flags dancing in the wind.

"slow down—dip coming up. step—no, no, not that left—yes! okay, crouch. it's near your foot."

he bent down, groping the ground. "got it!"

"okay!" you cheered. "twelve o'clock. eight steps!"

he powered forward, boots crunching over dry grass.

"stop—small bush ahead! veer left. now!"

he reached into the shrubbery and pulled out another flag. "two!"

"nice! okay, uh... nine o'clock—short sprint!"

he then carefully took off like he'd been training for this his whole life. then, then you stopped him. "obstacle!"

he skidded to a halt. "what kind?"

"cone. bright yellow."

then, he carefully walked away, then forward, crouching. "where is it?"

"near your knee—yes! three!"

the mayhem continued as you shouted like a gps in distress. he followed surprisingly well. each flag got easier. he stopped second-guessing you. you stopped yelling "other left!" like a drill sergeant. somehow, you both found rhythm.

by the time sungho grabbed the sixth flag beside a tree, mr. yoo blew the whistle to signal the end of the game. you and sungho had won. he ripped off the blindfold and ran back to you.

"we won!" he grinned, hopping.

"good job!" you hopped with him. he turned toward your voice and high-fived you. it was loud and satisfying. a moment of pure teamwork.

you looked at him and for one dumb second, it hit you how familiar this all felt. then both of you froze and dropped your hands, retreating into your usual indifferent personas.

"still not getting the last four though," he said, brushing off his pants. "i blame your navigation."

you gasped. "we literally already won at the sixth flag. you're so greedy and overcompetitive."

"mhm, so are you." he raised a brow as jisung and ningning finally ran up, hopping around and pumping their fists.

from the sidelines, mr. yoo and sejeong exchanged knowing glances as they watched you. mr. yoo gave you both a thumbs-up. "see? dynamic synergy."

you and sungho just looked at each other with barely suppressed smirks before jumping around with ningning and jisung.

──────────────────────

the sky now faded into a soft blue-orange gradient as the sun dipped behind the hills, ushering in the cooler breath of evening. the group had set up a semi-circle of picnic mats and foldable blankets across the park lawn, fairy lights from nearby trees blinking faintly like grounded stars. food wrappers rustled gently in the wind, and someone passed around a bag of chips while others tugged on their jackets.

it wasn’t a campfire, but it had the same cozy feeling. the juniors and interns sprawled together, legs crossed, backs slouched, and lively chatters.

"hey, sungho," one of the juniors piped up between bites of fish cake. "you were in a band back in college, right?"

sungho, who had been sipping from a juice box, glanced up mid-sip. "uh, yeah. i was."

"woah, for real?"

he chuckled. "yeah. we called ourselves dalbit because we’d always rehearse late at night."

that earned some amused chuckles. you were seated not far from him, your elbow just brushing the edge of the blanket you shared. it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn't easy either.

"we were together until our last year. then, life happened. one became a producer, one’s teaching music. everyone just… went their way, i guess."

"dude, that’s kinda cinematic," someone said, tossing a snack in their mouth. "like an epilogue."

sungho only gave a shrug. then ningning, who was scrolling through something on her phone, looked up. "wait, narin, you went to k-arts too, right?"

you blinked at the sudden attention, everyone looking at you. "yeah."

ningning added. "same uni as sungho, that’s crazy. did you know him before this?"

you shook your head, casually reaching for a drink. "no, we met during the internship interview. i didn’t even know he existed before that."

sungho didn’t comment. he just looked down, idly twisting the juice box straw.

"really?" someone said. "he was in a school band. didn’t you guys have those big festivals and performances?"

you shrugged. "maybe. i wasn’t interested in those. my department was pretty far from the performance wing. i wasn’t exactly the type to hang out at school events anyway."

there was a little silence after that. then a couple of nods from everyone while sungho leaned back on his palms.

then, the same junior who had asked about his band earlier stood up and jogged off. no one paid him much attention until he returned— holding a slightly battered acoustic guitar.

"i found this in the rec shed! come on, sungho, give us something!"

sungho raised his hands. "what? i haven’t played in months—"

"you’ll be fine!" the junior grinned, shoving the guitar into his lap.

a few voices cheered in encouragement. eventually, sungho sighed, adjusted the strap, and tuned the strings with gentle plucks. the guitar was old, its wood sun-worn and a little chipped, but his fingers treated it like a brand new.

the first chord filled the circle, soft and clear, the sound melting into the breeze. conversations faded, and the circle gradually hushed.

sungho’s voice entered gently. low, husky, and calming. an original song, he’d said once, written during college. something about moments slipping through fingers, about chasing time but letting go too.

you watched him, eyes caught not just on the way his fingers moved soulfully. but the small details, the way his brow furrowed with emotion, the subtle shift of his soft lips as he sang. the curve of his wrist as he strummed downward, the faint veins that stood out on his forearm with every chord change.

then, he looked up for a second right at you. just a non-dramatic glance, but it hit you anyway.

and maybe it was the song. maybe it was the way he looked so at peace while doing what he love, so unlike the version of him you’d been arguing with for weeks. or maybe it was just that for the first time in a while, you saw him without all the noise. you looked down, fingers curling into the blanket.

when he played the last chord, the group broke into soft applause, the mood gentle and easy. someone tossed a cookie at him. others asked what the song was called.

sungho just smiled, cheeks slightly flushed. "it doesn’t have a title. just something i never finished." he said as he bit the cookie he caught.

──────────────────────

the rest of the night passes in a fun you didn't expect. half-empty snack bags, someone telling a ghost story that makes ningning squeal and grab jisung. sejeong laughs so hard she nearly spits her drink, and the fairy lights overhead flicker like large fireflies. it feels like one of those nights you’ll remember fondly, though nothing huge happens. supervisor yoo really is effective with this.

by ten, the air turns cooler, and people start packing up. someone folds the wrong side of a foldable chair and gets booed in jest. wrappers get tossed, bags zipped, someone yawns in the corner.

you walk over to the tree where you left your stuff, crouching to pick up your tote bag and hoodie. the grass brushes your knuckles, cool and slightly damp. you’re just brushing off dirt from your palm when sungho approaches.

he doesn’t say anything. just shrugs at you lightly, like a silent "yo." you shrug back, a telepathic "yo" in return.

you fall into step beside him, the two of you walking toward the parking at a slower pace than the rest. the night feels quieter now and more peaceful now.

"i wish i met you back then," sungho suddenly said quietly, eyes forward, hands in his pockets.

you blinked, glancing up at him. "in uni?"

he nodded. "yeah, would've been interesting."

you considered that, thinking before your steps slowed down. "i don’t think college me would’ve liked you. you were that carefree band guy, right?" you said. "hanging out with cool kids, probably skipping class to go busking or something."

he lets out a chuckle. "okay, accurate."

you smile. "and i was very much the opposite. i didn’t go to school festivals. didn’t care about band performances. i just wanted to graduate, make art and move forward."

he nods, thoughtful. "i think we’d have clashed even more back then."

"more than we do now?" you teased, giving him a sideways glance.

"that’s different."

you nodded in agreement. "yeah, there’s lots of pressure. the internship ends the day after tomorrow. there's only one slot for the promotion. that’s why we’ve been…" you paused, slightly gesturing your hands. "tense. at each other’s throats."

sungho nodded. "yeah, maybe."

the air getsquiets again between you, but not in a bad way. he doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, both of you just walking, each step feeling lighter than the last.

then, from ahead─"hey, you two!" it’s sejeong’s voice, sharp and teasing. "stop trailing behind and get to the bus!"

you roll your eyes, and sungho groans dramatically beside you. "coming!" he calls back, hand raised lazily in acknowledgment.

you both glance at each other at the same time and end up grinning, just a little. not quite an apology, not quite a reconciliation but something fonder than the tension you both have.

──────────────────────

the bus ride, for once, doesn't carry that silent tension you had earlier. there were no pointed avoidances, no passive-aggressive shifting in seats. just quiet conversation, shared earbuds, and the occasional bump of shoulders as the bus bounced over potholes.

mr. yoo stood at the front of the bus, clearing his throat. "interns! good luck on tomorrow’s presentation. remember, the panel appreciates clarity, so be clear and avoid unnecessary remarks."

when the bus pulled up to sungho’s stop, he stood and nodded at you with a small smile like he always do every night before things got weird. he stepped down from the bus, already walking toward his building.

but then, on instinct, you stood too. mr. yoo spoke. "this isn’t your stop."

"i know," you said with a quick bow. he just gave you a knowing smile, like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than either of you had.

you hopped off the bus and called out, "hey!"

sungho turned mid-step. "narin? this isn’t—"

"i know it’s not my stop," you said, rolling your eyes with a grin. "let’s fix that mess of a project tonight and crush the presentation tomorrow."

sungho nodded, then let out a small laugh, tapping your shoulder. "took you long enough."

─────────────────────

the moment you stepped into his apartment, both of you wasted no time. "kitchen’s still in the same place, right?" you asked, already dropping your bag.

"unless it moved since last week," he replied, tossing his own bag to the side.

you got to work making strong coffee and dug through his pantry for emergency snacks. the ginseng strips looked questionably expired, but at this point, you both needed some sort of brain fuel. meanwhile, sungho cleared the table, printer grinding, folders laid out, and laptops open with slides on display.

you returned with a tray, setting it down jusr as sungho adjusts the monitor angle. there's no discussion, you just went straight to work. and for the first day in a week, you and sungho aren't getting into each other's nerves. just smooth exchanges of opinions over slides.

the hours pass with lighthearted chatters, edits, rewrites, and impromptu debates over font choices. and somehow, as the clock ticks past five, there’s not a single yawn between the two of you. the deck looks like a deck now, not a weird soup of milk and soy sauce someone tried to pass off as presentable. you’re no longer fighting your differences. you’re merging them, and the result is actually impressive.

there are moments you glance at him, and he glances at you, and neither of you says anything, but those small looks say, we’re doing it. at six, you both finally exhale, leaning back in your seats with the quiet satisfaction that follows a finished task done well.

by five in the morning, neither of you had yawned once. mostly thanks to the unhealthily strong coffee, but partly because, for once, this actually felt right.

"hey," sungho said, holding up the final slide. "look. it doesn’t suck."

"that’s the highest praise i’ve ever heard you say,"

and by 6 a.m., everything was ready. handouts printed. folder prepped. after practicing the pitch one last time, you both flop back on his bed, still on the same clothes from yesterday. arms stretched out like two crime scene chalk outlines.

you both turned your heads at the same time, startled. wide eyes, and then followed by low, tired laughter.

"why didn’t we just do this sooner?" you mumbled.

sungho exhaled, still grinning. "we could’ve saved a week and a half of pointless bickering."

"our fault."

"at least we’re finally proud of the work."

you smiled, closing your eyes. "so satisfied."

─────────────────────

it’s d-day. the waiting area outside the conference room is too bright for comfort, casting a sterile glow on the floor tiles. you sit shoulder to shoulder with sungho on one of the cushioned benches, opposite jisung and ningning, who are fiddling with their cue cards and sipping from matching tumblers.

it’s quiet at first, the way mornings are when everyone’s running on caffeine and nerves. but someone—maybe jisung—laughs first, and that’s all it takes to soften the edges.

"i still can’t believe it’s our last day," ningning says, hugging her knees to her chest. "it feels like we just got here."

you smile, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "i swear i still don’t know how to use the copier properly."

"same," sungho adds, grinning. "i’ve just been pretending i do. confidence is key."

"we should have taken more pictures," jisung says, opening the gallery on his phone. "i barely have any of us that aren’t blurry or cursed."

you all laugh. there’s a small lull, and then ningning says softly, "no matter who gets chosen for the promotion… i’m just glad we did this together."

"yeah," sungho nods, exchanging glances with you. "it’s been a ride. i hope we cross paths again."

"let’s not jinx our lives by saying goodbye too dramatically," you say with a half-smile. "just… see y'all again somewhere."

"somewhere better," jisung echoes.

the conference room door opens. a staff member pokes her head out. "team a, you’re up."

that’s you and sungho. you both rise at the same time. sungho nudges your elbow. "ready?"

"nope," you say, but you’re already walking in.

──────────────────────

inside, the room is colder. the panelists are already seated, each with a printed nameplate. cups of water, and that corporate poker face they must practice in the mirror. mr. yoo catches your eye from the corner of the room and gives a small nod or encouragement.

you and sungho move in tandem like you rehearsed this a dozen times, even though your "rehearsal" was really just earlier's caffeine-fueled cram session. he hands out the cleanly stapled handouts professionally while you set up the laptop and connect it to the projector, which thankfully doesn’t go against you with a tech malfunction today.

the first slide appears. clean title. fresh neon color palette, which sungho called a neon bowling alley just days ago. animated logo spinning just once for flair.

"good morning," you and sungho starts with a bow. "we’re here to present our concept for a new variety show, one that leverages the unique image and reach of your artist, yoon haeun"

he steps aside slightly as you take over. "we’re calling it 'off the script'—a candid variety format that breaks the fourth wall with miss yoon and her fans, while keeping things fresh, bold, and distinctly her."

your voices pass back and forth, effortlessly now. no stepping on each other and no awkward pauses. just flow.

one slide after another reveals concept art, pilot episode outlines, target audience data, and branding mockups, including one with a hilarious doodle sungho insisted on keeping "for personality."

from the panel, you catch one of them—ms. choi, based on her nameplate—scribbling something, her brows furrowed.

"can you clarify the runtime and pacing structure of your pilot episode?" she asks, pen still moving.

"yes," sungho nods, already ready. "we structured it for a 35-minute digital release, segmenting it into three parts. intro games, the behind-the-scenes shoot, and fan interaction. each segment is modular for flexible editing if needed."

mr. baek, a senior-looking exec with wireframe glasses, chimes in next. "you’ve mentioned this breaks the fourth wall. how do you intend to balance that with maintaining her polished image as an idol?"

you draw in a quiet, shaky breath through your nose. your hand tightens slightly on the clicker. for a second, the room tilts slightly, like your blood sugar just remembered i'ts on rock bottom.

sungho, standing beside you, notices this as he gently pats your back. light, reassuring, then leans slightly closer and whispers under his breath, "you’ve got this." a quick nod and a smile.

it’s enough. you exhale, shoulders relaxing as you take a small step forward.

"that’s a great point," you begin, voice steadier now. "our approach leans into... relatability, not randomness. the candid moments are designed carefully to highlight miss yoon's wit and sincerity. we’re giving fans access, not exposure."

another panelist, the youngest-looking one, taps their pen thoughtfully. "this concept feels bold. what’s the plan b if she—or the agency—gets cold feet about breaking this much format?"

you exchange a glance with sungho, and he gives a barely-there smirk.

"well," you say, "plan b is called 'the scripted show' same base, but less fourth wall, more structured games. still quirky, and still on-brand."

a small chuckle escapes one of them and nodded. you’ll take it.

as the slides wrap up, sungho clicks through to the final screen: a clean "thank you" slide with your names and contact info, plus a mock-up of an instagram teaser.

"thank you for your time," you say in sync, and bow.

they all applaused. mr. yoo offers a thumbs-up so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for a twitch.

outside, you’re met by jisung and ningning who are visibly vibrating due to nerve.

"how was it?" jisung whispers like it’s a prison escape debrief.

"we lived," you deadpan, fixing the hem of your blazer.

"knock 'em dead," sungho adds, flashing a quick smile.

"i’m already dying," ningning mumbles, gripping her flash drive like it’s a holy relic.

"you’ll do great," you say, passing them with a shoulder bump. "just remember, if you forget what to say, make eye contact and cry a little. confuses them. buys you time."

as you walk down the hall, sungho leans in. "i think we did okay," he says, hands in his pockets.

"you think?"

"we had panelists laughing."

you snort, the nerves from earlier officially melted into post-presentation adrenaline.

──────────────────────

back at your desks, you and sungho sink into your chairs, completely drained. for a few seconds, neither of you says a word—just letting the moment settle. then, without needing to say anything, you both raise your hands and do a small, tired clap. two sleep-deprived interns celebrating like champs in a cramped cubicle.

"we did it!" you grin.

"i think i blacked out after slide six," sungho mutters, rubbing his eyes. "did i say anything stupid?"

"you actually made sense," you say with a mock-surprised face. "kind of shocking, honestly."

he groans. "i should retire now."

you nudge him with your elbow. "not before coffee."

"god, yes."

you both head to the pantry, refilling your mugs with the bitter, lukewarm coffee that somehow tastes better today.

probably because sejeong didn’t get her hands on it this time.

some time later, after chatting with some juniors and talking to sungho about irrelevant things, jisung and ningning come back with mundane faces. you and sungho look up as they approach, both quiet.

"well?" sungho asks, eyes hopeful.

jisung scratches the back of his neck. "they didn’t really react much."

"not bored, exactly. but not exactly excited either." ningning added.

you give a small smile. "that doesn’t mean it was bad."

"they did ask questions though," jisung says. "so… maybe that’s a good sign?"

sungho raises his mug. "still proud of you two. cheers to that."

──────────────────────

after a few minutes, you all get called back into the conference room. the same panelists are waiting. mr. yoo clears his throat as he removes his glasses. a mannerism of his everytime he's about to say something revolutional.

"we’ve reviewed both projects," he says. "both teams gave thoughtful and creative ideas. it wasn’t an easy choice…"

you hold your breath and glance at sungho.

"…but we’ve decided to move forward with the concept by miss yang and mr. park."

your eyes widen. you look at sungho, who’s already looking at you. you both can’t help but grin at the same time.

"but," mr. yoo continues, turning to jisung and ningning, "your presentation had some strong points too. we’ll keep your idea in our internal pool. it showed real promise, especially with that interactive structure."

ningning gives a small, genuine smile. jisung nodding in acknowledgement. you all thank the panel and start to leave. the conference room door closes behind you.

the panelists walk past, giving you nods or quiet smiles. mr. yoo pats sungho on the back. "good job."

but then hr suddenly stops all of you. "actually," she says, "can we call all four of you back in? just a quick thing before the meeting officially ends."

you exchange confused looks but follow her anyway. back inside the now-empty conference room, the four of you stand stiffly before mr. yoo and the hr reps, feeling like high schoolers caught in the principal’s office.

one of the hr women clears her throat, glancing between the four of you. "so, as you know, we’re selecting one intern for a junior associate position after the program ends."

your heart speeds up. you sneak a quick look at sungho, he’s trying to stay calm, but his fingers tap nervously against his thigh. mr. yoo folds his hands on the table, smiling kindly.

"after reviewing your performance throughout the internship… we’ve decided to offer the position to…"

you drop your eyes to the floor, waiting, heart pounding like a drum. after all the praise you got earlier, you’re sure it’ll be either yours or sungho’s name.

then mr. yoo continued,

"miss ning yizhuo."

your brows furrowed in surprise as you look sideways at sungho. his lips twitch in a barely-contained smirk. not because of ningning, but because all the tension and competition over the past weeks suddenly feels a bit silly. the big buildup ends with an anticlimax neither of you expected.

ningning gasps, eyes wide for a split second before smoothing her expression into pure professionalism. she bows slightly. "thank you so much. you won’t regret it."

the hr woman smiles warmly. "you’ve shown great initiative, consistency, and leadership. we’d be happy to have you onboard."

jisung claps her shoulder with a big grin. "you totally deserve it." you and sungho nod sincerely, joining in with your congratulations.

mr. yoo turns to you and sungho next, his eyes kind. "and you two," he says, steepling his fingers, "we couldn’t accept one of you without the other. you work great together, but individually, there’s still some room to grow."

you and sungho exchange a quick glance and nod, both understanding the honest feedback.

"that’s dynamic synergy," mr. yoo adds with a chuckle.

you both shoot him a side glance and say together, “thank you, sir.”

the meeting ends, and you and sungho head straight for the balcony, the weight lifting off your shoulders as you step into the fresh air. sungho lets out a long breath and shakes his head.

“well, that was something,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

you laugh softly. “all that rivalry for nothing.”

he nudges your shoulder playfully. “hey, we still got the winning project.”

“true, but she got the job.”

“but our idea’s going to be seen by a lot of people,” sungho adds, eyes bright.

the breeze lifts your hair, cool against your skin. you both lean on the balcony railing, quiet for a moment.

“so,” sungho breaks the silence, “what’s next? after all this?”

you take a breath. “find a job, obviously. what about you?”

he glances sideways at you, eyes crinkling in a grin. “go on a date.”

“with who?” you frowned slightly.

he grins wider, clearly enjoying the teasing. “guess.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “sounds like classic adulting.”

[the-wxter-is-fine]

Okay lukewarm take but I need to get it out of my system *hands you old blood-splattered knife that was used to kill nuns* I am tired of the largely agreed upon ideology that James Potter is this sunshine golden people-pleasing emotionally mature kid who is understanding and empathetic and kind and heroic and yada yada. He isn't one of my faves but... He was immature and spoiled goddamn it! He was raised in a LOVING rich pureblood household where throughout his childhood he was probably given everything and anything he broke was fixed using a magical stick. He was just as immature and rash and reckless as Sirius! He certainly didn't have the emotional maturity to understand both sides of Regulus and Sirius' broken relationship at that young age, a headcanon that is shared by a large portion of the fandom and is a basis for Jegulus' blooming relationship in many fics. He would only know Sirius' side and how SIRIUS got hurt by it. Leaving his family, that is. James would HATE Regulus, because he's bigoted pretentious blood-purist stuck-up selfish weak and everything that Sirius tells him he is. James also wouldn't understand that by constantly pursuing Lily he made her uncomfortable, just like he didn't understand that what he did to Snape was borderline harassment. By making James into a sunshine humble boy you are making his character one-dimensional. He was cocky and self-assured and didn't always understand that the things he said or did actually hurt people!

And Regulus? NO ONE gets under James' skin quite like Regulus can. Jegulus is literally the blueprint for enemies to lovers and I mourn the loss everyday. I'm talking glares across the hallways, jibes and insults when they brush shoulders, constant arguments, quidditch rivals, threats to unalive each other all that shit. Tension crackles when they enter a room. If everyone knew Jily would happen someday, no one could ever in their wildest dreams imagine Jegulus.

Now back to just James bc apparently this post is James-centric. I think the aforementioned characterisation of fanon James stems from him being the perfect masculine, similar to the way Lily is seen as the perfect feminine. At the time Joanne wrote the HP book series the ideal trope was straight white hot jock x straight white hot valedictorian - basically straight out of a nineties rom-com. Canon James is handsome, smart, sporty, a bully turned good, a bit of a daredevil and a good father. Canon Lily is also beautiful, also smart, kind, take-no-shit, loyal, and a good mother. Meanwhile fanon James is sunshine, golden, perfect, mature and a people pleaser. All things we like in real men today. To me though it makes him altogether a less compelling character and, like I said, one-dimensional. Let him be awful, and let him become better. It's called character growth.

Personally, I like a Jegulus-leaning James (well, I like a Jegulus-leaning EVERYTHING), who is a bit spiky and rough around the edges from being with Regulus for so long. Who doesn't take shit from people. Like, Lily (more like the ideal of her) can show James the place the world carved out for him, a nice, normal, safe place, but Regulus can make him question everything he thought he knew.

Anyways conclusion: don't ruin potentially excellently written characters like this, be better than the terf that wrote them

[seenoversundown]

The Caravel Tavern Series : Prologue

Warnings: mentions of drinking/alcohol, sibling banter, fluff/wholesome/good vibes.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The opening of Caravel Tavern was a dream come true for Jake. With the help of his best friends and brothers, naturally. In a small city in New England, it's rare to come across new faces. (or even run into some from the past)

A 4 Book interconnected series where they find love in the most unexpected ways. The bar was Jake's dream, but somehow is helping everybody else's dreams come true as well.

Rom-Com • Enemies To Lovers • Love At First Sight • Rekindled High School Sweethearts • Workplace Romance • AU - Boys x OCs

Night Moves - Bob Seger  “When you just don't seem to have as much to lose Strange how the night moves With autumn closin' in”                                               

Two Days until Open 

Flipping the heavy lock and hearing the door chime has become my favorite way to start my day. After six long months of fixing up this place, it’s only days from officially opening. I’ve spent countless hours cleaning it up, with the help of my brothers, obviously. But it has come together and finally feels like mine.

 “Goodmoooooorning!” Josh sings from across the room. 

“Good Morrow!” I can’t help the slight accent that comes along with it. 

Josh has been helping me decorate, thrift, and create things to match the aesthetic here. Deciding to develop a piratical vibe with a touch of retro themes felt right. We’ve spent hours finding the perfect pieces to hang, and thankfully, Josh has a good eye for all that. Red neon signs adorned the walls, with my favorite “Sinners Welcome” sign hanging behind the bar. 

“I think we are getting close to finishing with the decor,” Josh says, turning to make eye contact with me. 

“If you’re happy with it, then I’m happy with it,” I said, smiling back at him. “Just let me know what I can do to help. Otherwise, I’ll be organizing until the cows come home.” 

The door chimes ringing as Sam, our younger brother, walks through the door, Daniel quickly following behind. 

Daniel has practically been part of our family since we were kids, so he is treated like a brother. He and Sam went to school together and instantly attached at the hip, so he was at our house often throughout the years. When the time came, he chose not to go away for college, and I helped him get a job with me at the Shipyard. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a glamorous job, but it’s one of the better-paying options— at least it wasn’t a factory. 

“Okay, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, we come bearing gifts, and by that, I mean, I hope you like these coffees,” Sam announces as he makes his way to the bar, “black– because I texted both of you and neither replied, so it’s your fault.” 

“Some of us have jobs, Sam,” I said back.

Josh pulls out his phone, and I can see him click around for a second, “Oh yeah, there it is.”

Sam abruptly set the coffee on the bar in front of us with a shit-eating grin.

“Mental note, keep coffee creamer,” Josh mumbles and Sam holds a bag out to him before taking a sip.

“I didn’t forget your caramel cold foam whipped cream bullshit that you put in your coffee.”

Josh’s face lights up at the sight, “Wow, you do care about me,” putting on the dramatics per usual, “Also– I better not be Tweedle Dum.”

Sam let out a sinister laugh with an exaggerated shrug, “Guess we’ll never know!”

Since Sam got home from college, he’s been helping Josh and myself get everything done for the bar. Often, he’s reluctant or tries to make it seem that way. I can tell that he likes to be a part of everything. He’s been offering to take pictures of the bar. We have all the beer available, so we can post them on our Instagram, which I’m glad he understands is part of the business because I do not. 

“Thank you, Samuel,” I say. “Lucky for you, I always take my coffee black.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“I think if I have to look at another beer can today,” Sam starts, “I’ll lose my mind completely.” 

I giggle as I continue to track what we have in stock, “The worst is almost over, bud.” 

I’m sure opening the week of Thanksgiving seems like a terrible concept, and, to be frank- it’s overwhelming. I hope the six months of bickering with everybody will prove it was worth it.

“Hey, boss,” Daniel starts, “is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

I’m not exactly proud of how much he startled me. I should be more used to how quiet he is by now, but I don’t think I’ll ever be. 

“Jesus Christ,” I stop to process the question. “No, buddy, you can go home. It’s getting late, and we all probably could stand to get some rest before actually opening.” 

With no hesitation, I hear Sam ask from the other room, “Does that include me also?” 

“Yes, go home!” I shout over to him.

The door chime rings suddenly, causing Josh and me to laugh, walking over to find whatever he is working on. Carefully tapping the frame to ensure it’s centered on the nail, he looks incredibly focused. 

“We can also be done for the night,” I tell him, putting my arm around his shoulders. 

“Well, even better news, that was the last thing I needed to hang.” He says.

“You’ve outdone yourself, really.” I compliment him. 

Patting my hand a few times, he tells me, “Did it up just right, and it’s all for you, brother.”

We stare at each other silently for a second. 

“I’m just elated to see you finally going for your dreams.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Opening Night

The room glows in red from the neon signs we’ve hung, making everything feel real suddenly as I look at the locked door. We decided to open a little later in the day so the ambiance would be there. Also, who opens a bar on their first day at noon? 

“How are you feelin’?” Daniel asked, squeezing my shoulder to wake me up from my nervous state. 

“I’m not well.” 

He laughs at my response. “It’s going to be great, Jake.” 

I spent a moment trying to crack my knuckles before letting out the breath I had been holding. Listening to the quiet, jazzy riff that Sam is playing on the piano, tucked into the corner. 

“You think so?” turning to him for a bit of reassurance.

“Absolutely. I think you’re onto something great, buddy,” he tells me.

My hands shake as I turn the jukebox on for the first official time, hearing the music start playing throughout the bar; we all look at each other for a second with smiles plastered across all our faces. 

“Okay, it’s time,” I say as I turn the deadbolt. Seeing Josh pull the little chain on the ‘Open’ sign in the window makes my heart thump even louder. 

The moment feels like slow motion as the door opens, and it isn’t one of the four of us who have been working here. I had hardly taken two steps back when the chime went off. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom gasps, stepping over the threshold, “This is wonderful.” 

She immediately pulls me into a hug; all my nerves disappeared in a simple gesture. 

“You did the damn thing, now didn’t ya bub?” Dad finally speaks up, giving me his signature side hug. 

Before I knew it, Josh was already toting our parents around the bar, showing them all the decor he was proud of finding. A few customers who weren’t family had started to trickle in and sit at the bar. 

“I actually made Jake meet me after work so he could help me pull this out of the dumpster,” Josh explains, louder than I wished he would. A collective “oooh” followed his statement, realizing that a handful of customers sitting close to the tour were also listening to him now. 

“I painted this for him,” he continues, pointing at his framed artwork. He’s always been artistic; his imagination was incredible.

 A miniature painting of Queen Anne’s Revenge sat in a gold frame. He’s always known that I love everything about pirates and their history. That was one of the first things he made for the bar when I told him I would officially buy it. 

“That’s beautiful,” our mom gasped, leaning in to look at the little details even closer. “You really did that, Sunshine?!” Her voice raises excitedly, causing even more customers to glance over. Covering my mouth with my hand, I try to contain the laugh. Josh really did turn into Mom over the years, huh? 

“You obviously know that Jake loves his pirates,”

“Oh, I sure do,” Mom says, “Remember when he would cry because his favorite pirate ship jammies needed to be washed?” 

“Alright, alright. Mum, we don’t need to bring it up,” I chime in, “ again,” shaking my head at the trip down memory lane.

My dad finally snuck away from the Grand Tour, found a seat at the bar, and started to make conversation with a few people. 

Glancing over to the door as it opens, Old Man Chuck strolls in, immediately making eye contact. He makes his way over to the corner stool at the bar. 

Without asking, I slide a beer over to him.

“Ya did a hell of a job, kid. Place looks wicked good,” he mumbles. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I matched his volume, “that one’s on me.” He gave me a subtle nod. 

Old Man Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, and I respected that. He took a chance to sell me the bar; I’ll always be grateful. It probably helps that I have spent plenty of nights here when he still owned it, but where else am I supposed to go when my apartment is only two floors above?

As the night goes on, people start trickling in. Living in Portland for so long, you realize everyone knows everyone. Considering we were rapidly approaching Thanksgiving, many people were home for the holidays and in need of a break from their families. 

I scan the bar to see if anybody hasn’t been tended to when I see Sam trying his hardest to converse with Chuck, and it’s not working. I walk over, touching his shoulder to get his attention.

“Sammy boy, can you just do a quick round and make sure everyone in the booths is good?” I quickly ask him.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” 

I watch as he makes his way to each table, collecting empty glasses and making occasional small talk with some of the groups.

“Everyone good over here?” I could hear him asking from behind the bar. 

Even though he would complain daily about helping out, I could tell he didn’t mind doing this part as much. I could never say to him because it would go straight to his head, and I’d never hear the end, but I’m incredibly proud of him. Poor kid hasn’t worked a day in his life, and I’ve been putting him through it for the last few months. 

“Oh, you sell things at the farmer’s market too?” he asks. “What’s your Instagram? I’ll follow you real quick!” 

He’s always been comfortable talking to people; he usually seems carefree. I’ve always admired how sure of himself he is. I don’t know if it’s the amount of time he spends outside or that he got a few years away from us, but he’s gotten much more comfortable with himself.

“So.. do you have a boy-“ 

All of that to say, he has absolutely no game with the ladies. 

“Hey bud, I told you to check on everyone,” I glance over at the girl and back at Sam, “not harass them.” 

“Jake, what are you doing?” he spits out, “I’m so sorry- uhh” 

I give him a quick double pat on the back and nod towards the bar. 

“Are you kidding? I was trying to–” Sam continues as I stroll behind the bar. “Do you actually hate me?” 

“You were not about to win her over, Sam,” I laugh. “She’s been making eyes at Daniel all night.” 

I watch him deflate, putting the dirty glasses he brought back in the bin beside me. 

“She doesn’t seem like your type anyway.” 

“And you know what my type is?” He questions with a smug look on his face. 

“She clearly wasn’t feisty enough to put up with your stubborn ass,” I quip back with a smile. 

Unimpressed with my response, he goes back to mingling with customers. I find myself watching him as he makes small talk. 

I probably shouldn’t step in on his attempts at flirting, but I could see that one imploding a little too quickly. 

I don’t have the best of luck with women myself. I haven’t been on a date in God knows how long. The bar has kept me so busy I don’t even consider it. There are too many things I need to think about constantly, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to do that to someone. 

Scanning the room, I notice a couple sitting together in one of the booths, his arm draped over her shoulders. The way she looks at him, gazing at him like he created the moon. Cradling his face with her tiny hand and pressing her lips to his cheek, a smile erupted across his face. Maybe one day.

“Come back to earth, honey,” followed by a few snaps, pull me out of my own world. 

“I’m sorry, Linda,” I laugh, “I’m happy to see you here.” 

Linda Graves, a sweet older lady, will quickly become one of our regulars. She runs a stand at our local farmer’s market and quickly became buddies with Sam. Her husband had recently passed when he first met her, but she was slowly making her way back out into the world. She’s an eccentric girl and, honestly, reminds me of Josh often. 

“Where’s the big guy?” she asks, making her bright red glasses bounce up and down suggestively. 

“You know he has a name–”

“I’m trying to play hard to get Jake. You’re supposed to be my wingman,” she whispers, gently smacking my arm,  “Did I use that right?”

Throwing my head back with a laugh, I said, “Oh god, you’re right!” 

Gesturing to Linda to give me one second, I find the man of her dreams, who is conveniently walking out of the bathroom as I turn into the hall. 

“I have a lovely little lady who would like to see you,” choking back the laugh. 

“Is it who I think it is?” Daniel asks, following me towards the bar, “Ahhh– there she is.”

He’s a good sport about most things, which is a refreshing outlook to have around, considering who my family is. 

“Hi there, beautiful,” he starts, and I watch her melt into a puddle over him. 

“Now, Lin, you know I’m gonna have to check your ID if you want to drink tonight.” He tells her with a little wink. 

“Oh, Danny. You make me feel so young,” Linda tells him. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart? You ARE young,”

“You cut it out now,” She giggles like a schoolgirl, “I look like a bag of bones. I think we both know I’m old.”

“You don’t look a day over 21.” He leans forward, holding himself on the bar. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making his arm muscles flex a little while he listens to her talk. I watch Linda taking little glances at his biceps while he talks. 

I see the towel he has sitting over his shoulder starting to slip, and I lean forward to catch it as it falls. Tossing it back over his shoulder, he gives me a slight nod since he is mid-sentence. 

“Good save,” Linda quips. 

“Thank you, thank you,” I send her a warm smile. 

I turn around immediately, bumping into Josh, his teeth on full display, giggling to himself. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while. 

“Having fun?” I ask. 

“Of course! I’m drunk!”

“I- uh- you’re what?” The panic lacing my voice is intense. 

“Jake,” he says while grabbing my shoulders, “I’m kidding.” 

Dropping my head back in relief that it was a joke, I’m disappointed I fell for it. 

“What a little shit you are,” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.

“Who are you calling little? I’m five minutes older than you, bub.” He calls back over the music. 

I roll my eyes and walk off. He’ll never let that die. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Excuse me.” 

I turn around to find a petite older lady sitting at the bar.

“Oh, I’m sorry, how are you this evening?” I ask. 

“Well, it’s much better now,” she batted her eyelashes at me. 

“I’m so happy to hear,” I hold in a laugh, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Do you have any Moscato or Rieslings? 

I smile as she asks, “Of course I do. Hang on” 

Turning around to the fridge where we store our white wine, I giggle quietly. 

Looks like I’ve gained my own Linda.  

I grab a glass and turn back to her, setting the glass in front of her. 

“I don’t know if you know this..” I pause, “I’m sorry, I never got your name?” 

“Eleanor”

“Well, Eleanor, I save this specific bottle of Moscato for only the sweetest of girls,” I tell her as I pour the chilled wine into her glass. 

“Oh, you stop,” She bashfully waves her hand toward me. 

I glance at her with a smirk cemented across my face.

“Here you go, darling,” I slide the glass across the bar to her.

I give her a second to take a sip, and I can hear the quiet hum telling me that the wine is what she was hoping for. 

“Actually,” I start, “I’d like to introduce you to someone. I think you would get along a little too well.” 

I look over to Linda, who has taken a break from flirting with Daniel for a moment so he can get some work done. Waving her over, she grabs her bag and downs the rest of her drink before walking around to Miss Eleanor and me. 

“Linda, this is Eleanor.” I introduce them and watch as they start to make small talk. 

I found out that they both are into crafting and that Eleanor has been known to make the vases for the Flower Truck that goes to the Farmer’s Market.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Where are my boys?” Mom asks loudly. 

Somehow, we all heard her over the chatter of the bar. Sam was already closest to her, so he wrapped her up in a hug first. 

“I’m getting too old to be out this late, Buttercup,” she tells him.

“Ma, it’s only 10 PM,”

“I know, I know,” she says, patting his chest gently. 

Reaching out for Josh, who’s coming in hot for a hug. Wrapping her tightly and rocking her back and forth. 

“I love you,” Josh spoke with an inside voice. Something about our mom brought him down to earth. 

“Oh, I love you so much, Sunshine,” Mom leans back, holding him at arm’s length, “You did a fantastic job decorating.” 

“Thank you, Mama,” he mumbles, pulling her back for another hug. 

“Alright, where’s my extra son?” She looks around for a moment before making eye contact with Daniel. She waves him down, watching the smile creep onto his face as he approaches her. 

“Oh, my sweet little dumpling,” She has always had a soft spot for him, “I would never leave without a big hug from you.” She pulls him into a bear hug, rubbing his back a few times. 

“Missed you so much,” He can’t help the giggle that comes from him at the pet name he gained as a child. 

I stand there watching my brothers both say goodbye to our Dad, giving him quick hugs per usual. Dad was never one for the emotional situations, but he’s loosened up over the years. Looking over at me, he gestures for me to go to him. 

“I know we’ll see you guys in the morning,” he starts, looking down at the floor with his hands tucked in his pockets, “But I just want you to know. I really am proud of you, kid.” 

He looks back up at me, and his eyes look like they’re struggling to fight the emotion. 

“Thank you,” Without a second thought, I wrap my arms around him. 

He pats my back a few times before pulling away from the hug, “I can tell how much this place means to you, and I’m just so happy for you.” 

He points behind me, letting out a small laugh. 

I can hardly turn around before being bombarded by my mother. 

“I’m glad you made it for the opening night,” I whisper. 

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t miss this,” She whispers back, pressing a few kisses to my cheek, “Can’t tell you enough how proud I am,” 

I place a kiss on the side of her head, “I love you, Mum.”

I let Sam walk our parents out, returning to my place behind the bar. Happily watching Josh mingle with customers, it’s nice to see him existing in an environment that suits him. He just beams when he gets to be social and himself; Josh is much too loud and animated for his current job, and he needs something like this. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“We’ll be back for sure!” rings through the bar as the last patrons walk out. 

Pulling the doors shut and locking us in, I spin on my heels to face Josh, Sam, and Daniel. We all just stare at each other for a few seconds, even though it feels longer, and we cannot contain the laughter of disbelief. We did it… I did it. 

Josh quickly closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug. Being twins has created a very different bond; he’s my best friend. I don’t think I would have had the courage to purchase the bar if it hadn’t been for him in my ear reminding me that I could do it. 

“I just want you to know that,” Josh starts, “I’m so proud of you, and I will always be here to help you, even if you don’t want to ask for it,” his voice shakes slightly. 

“Thanks, bub. I love you,” squeezing Josh one more time. I hope he knows I’m always ready to do the same for him. 

“I think this calls for celebration, don’t you?” Daniel asks, walking over to us holding beers. 

“Cheers!” I holler, raising my beer for everyone to join. We all share a well-deserved celebratory moment after the last six months. 

I grab a towel from behind the bar, walking back to one of the tables where Sam collects cans and glasses.

“Isn’t this what Dad used to play all the time in the car?” Sam asks while I’m wiping down the table. I listen a little more closely, realizing it’s absolutely one of our dad’s favorite songs. 

“I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds,” 

We sing along as it plays, laughing hard as I whip Sam with the towel. He flips me off before walking away with a few glasses in his other hand. 

We all slowly cleaned and serenaded each other, which made us giggle like a bunch of little kids. 

“Workin’ on our night moves,” 

Josh sings dramatically, holding his half-drunk beer like a microphone. 

“Mmmm, in the sweet summertime”

This time, he leaned over to me so we could sing together, just like we used to as kids in the back seat. 

“We were just young, restless, and bored,” Daniel sings as he walks from the back room. 

Suddenly, the piano starts ringing through the bar, and we all find Sam playing along with the jukebox. I’ll let it slide since he was incredibly helpful today.

“And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods.”

I finish gathering all the trash and tossing the bags near the back door. Josh still plugging away, cleaning all the glasses while serenading us all. 

“And I waited on the thunder,”  I sing, turning to point at Josh, knowing that he will absolutely know what to do next. 

As expected, Josh belts out the line, “Waited on the thunder.” he always had a way of making the entire room laugh. 

“When you just don't seem to have as much to lose.”

I prop open the back door to bring the trash out. A robust and crisp breeze envelopes me. It smells like it could snow.

“Strange how the night moves

With autumn closin' in” 

I take a deep breath. The cold air is refreshing after a long night. After tossing the trash, I walk back inside to the sound of hysterical laughter. The three of them bent over in a fit of giggles as they all yelled the backing vocals. 

“(Night moves) I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember.” 

In the moment, I think to myself, If you can’t beat em, join em. I drape my arm over Josh’s shoulders as I shout with them. Giving him a double pat on his chest as we all laugh together. 

“Alright, boys, let’s go home,” I tell them in my finest English accent. 

I make my way over to the door, holding it open for them to file through. I took one last glance over to make sure we took care of everything.

“I remember, I remember,” I sing under my breath, flipping the lights off.

Caravel Tavern Master Post | Masterlist | Taglist

Sparrow Of The Dawn Chapter One

Book 1 of the series; Sam x Willa (Fem OC)

Taglist:

@gvfsstardust, @peaceloveunitygvf, @myleftsock,@imleavingyoufornewyork,@threadofstars,@mindastreamofcolours,@dont-go-home-without-me,@literal-dead-leaf,@lizzys-sunflower,@ourlovesdesire,@mackalah,@klarxtr, @edgingthedarkness, @i-love-gvf

[margoblack]

margo i come bearing questions‼️

★ top 5 movies for you whether it’s because you think they’re are masterpieces or it’s simply nostalgic love

★ little sonny and rafa playlists?

★ talk to me about life, the universe and everything

- what first gave you the spark to write? (and incredibly, if you don’t mind me saying)

- what’s your favourite colour? bonus why?

- if you were a flower what flower would you be and do you have a favourite? (i love flowers :p)

- what’s your star sign? (i’m sorry i may not be completely convinced but it is still fascinating)

★ some okay advice i have is indulge in what you didn’t get to experience when you were younger and revisit the good things you did

★ vent to me let it out

★ ❤️ (only if it suits you ofc‼️)

★ a fact i think is true about you is that you like cinnamon idk why you give me that vibe in the best way and that you know your history

★ 6 songs for you‼️- a bit of a genre mix

- everybody here wants you - jeff buckley

- este amor es todo mío - omar alejandro

- forever - tegi pannu, manni sandhu, prem lata

- ramble on - led zeppelin

- champagne - 311

- no one knows - brent faiyaz

let me know what you think‼️ if you hate them and think i should never be out in public again understand

I’ve being wanting to ask you some questions like this so this is perfect timing :) love, respect and kindness to you always margo‼️

- 3‼️

Dear 3,

★ top 5 movies for you whether it’s because you think they’re are masterpieces or it’s simply nostalgic love

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) My heart film. It’s inspiring, emotional, and just makes you believe in people again. I watch it whenever I’m feeling low or need a reminder that good still wins sometimes. Totally uplifting and so well-acted. 1939 was THE year for bangers.

The Fall (2006) Honestly the most beautiful movie I’ve ever seen. It’s got this dreamy, epic fantasy vibe but with a darker twist,  kind of like a grown-up Princess Bride. Every frame is stunning. It’s one of those films you just sink into. The little girl especially is fantastic.

Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014) Ridiculously fun. It’s stylish, over-the-top, and doesn’t take itself too seriously, which is exactly what makes it so good. Great action, great suits, and just a blast from start to finish. My favourite memory of @wicked-felina is from this where she fell off a sofa laughing at the church scene so it has extra love with him.

Willow (1988) Total childhood comfort movie. I watched this on repeat as a kid and it still gives me that warm, magical feeling. If you’re into fantasy adventures with heart, it’s such a fun one to revisit (or discover for the first time). I still hate the pig transformation scene though, it makes me ill!

The Shop Around the Corner (1940)Enemies-to-lovers before it was a thing. It’s got secret identities, sweet romance, clever banter, all wrapped up in that old-school charm. Just a perfect little rom-com that still totally works today. 

Dark Victory (1939)  It’s an over the top tearjerker but i love it. And it mkes you cry in the best, cathartic way. The story’s emotional and dramatic without being over-the-top. Bette Davis basically has Terminal but Will Remain Beautiful disease. It's amazing. [I added a bonus as couldn’t leave my beloved Bette Davis out. The banger year again too]

★ little sonny and rafa playlists?

Hmm. 

Rafael, so 1970s birth. Oh, the poor bastard. My least favourite decade for everything. I’ll get him past 10 I think. Until he was 11 he listened to the ticking of the clock.

Run-D.M.C. – "It's Like That"

Benny Moré – "Bonito y Sabroso" / "Como Fue" [I’ve decided he used to dance with this with his abuela]

The Clash – "Rock the Casbah"

Pete Rodríguez – "I Like It Like That"

Donna Summer – "I Feel Love

Willie Colón & Héctor Lavoe – "Che Che Colé" / "La Murga"

David Bowie - “Suffragette City”

The Isley Brothers - “This Old Heart of Mine”

Prince - ALL OF THEM.

Sonny, an eighties birth. Ah, I’m back. So a mixture of Staten Island staples (probably, I’m so English), discovering punk and grunge, touches of hip hop, and guilty pleasures.

Jerry Vale – “Al Di La” - He gets a nonna dance too

Frankie Valli – “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”

The Ramones –"I Wanna Be Sedated"

Cro-Mags – "We Gotta Know" (I’ve decided his cousin loaned him his punk records)

Billy Joel - “Only the Good Die Young” (I have a running gag that he is a massive Billy Joel fan so… him)

Beastie Boys – “Fight for Your Right” 

Nirvana – “Come As You Are”

Wu-Tang Clan – “Protect Ya Neck”

Green Day – “Basket Case”

★ talk to me about life, the universe and everything

- what first gave you the spark to write? (and incredibly, if you don’t mind me saying)

Thank you so much. I have, embarrassingly, written in the exact same style since I was… seven? As in, over the top drama, stupid jokes and a villain. I can literally remember my evil stepmother story and the last line being so OTT. I was rendered most strange by Stephen King, Sweet Valley and Point Horror, clearly. I just have always wanted to write what I’d like to read -- so I am always my first audience member, so my spark is just turning my maladaptive day dreaming into text on a page. I am beyond happy you like it!

- what’s your favourite colour? bonus why?

Orange. Because it’s so happy and bright and warm. 

- if you were a flower what flower would you be and do you have a favourite? (i love flowers :p)

I’d be a daffodil, pushing through the cold, stubborn winter just to bloom when spring finally arrives. Incidentally, also my favourite flower. [Followed by Forget Me Nots and Sunflowers].

- what’s your star sign? (i’m sorry i may not be completely convinced but it is still fascinating)

Libra! I am also… very Libra.

★ some okay advice i have is indulge in what you didn’t get to experience when you were younger and revisit the good things you did

Thank you!

★ vent to me let it out

I am... ventless. I am strange ball of neurotic and also relentessly chill. If I feel venty, I will return.

★ ❤️ (only if it suits you ofc‼️)

Ohhh, let me look. Okay. From Gimme Danger. Absolutely no editing here but:

Carisi’s spine gave a reluctant pop as he pushed open the stairwell door and stepped into the hallway. He winced, rolled his shoulder. Hours on surveillance in the back of a Crown Vic had left him stiff, sore, and in desperate need of a shower, or a borderline violent massage for the ache knotted between his shoulder blades.

But none of that mattered.

Not when he was this close. Not when he was going to see Barba.

It still got him, every single time. That little thrill. The giddy, too-big feeling in his chest that made him feel ridiculous and sixteen again, like he was about to knock on a crush’s door. It never wore off, not once in a whole year. It didn’t matter if Barba was in a foul mood, buried under ancient court transcripts, or half-asleep with his face in a legal pad, just being near him made something in Carisi’s chest settle.

What was it Huang had called it, once? Attachment security. Whatever. All Carisi knew was that being with Barba was like breathing right for the first time.

And still, there was this strange disconnect between knowing they were together. really, truly together, and being able to believe it.

It hit him in the little moments. When something made him laugh and his first instinct was, I gotta tell Raf. Or when he had a sandwich better than expected and wanted to deconstruct it with Barba, or when a weird song came on the radio and he imagined Barba’s face hearing it. Even the pointless things, Amaro’s aggressively pointed shoes, Rollins’ latest outlandish tale about her sister, some asinine email from a deputy inspector, Carisi found himself collecting them like pebbles in his pocket, treasures he couldn’t wait to spill out before Barba.

Most of the time, he didn’t even get the chance. The moments forgotten. But just thinking about it felt like practice. A coping mechanism. A way to bide the hours until he could be near him again.

★ a fact i think is true about you is that you like cinnamon idk why you give me that vibe in the best way and that you know your history

I am so very sorry to tell you, I don’t think I like cinnamon? I’m not exposed to it often so perhaps? I don’t like cinnabon anyway. Perhaps I will do the cinnamon challenge but a version where I just eat it. And I am fairly good at history but TERRIBLE at World War history. I can’t keep it in my head. Aces at monarch history in the UK (and Spain weirdly). 

★ 6 songs for you‼️- a bit of a genre mix     

Putting these all on and listening for correct response. 

- everybody here wants you - jeff buckley -- Love Jeff Buckley. But weirdly I thought this was a totally different song. Oh, God, I thought it was Everybody Loves You Now by Billy Joel. Even worse, I know THAT song from the TV show Smash so I just fell through eight floors worth of embarrassment. Anyway, this is very nice, haha.

- este amor es todo mío - omar alejandro - I love this one! I feel like I am looking at my forbidden love across a dancehall. I look away, they move towards me, eyes laser focused, I wave my fan over my eyes -- no no! My husband, the corrupt sheriff, is here. I should look up these lyrics in English to make sure that wasn’t offensive….

- forever - tegi pannu, manni sandhu, prem lata - dancey! *dances*

- ramble on - led zeppelin - bit of the Leds! Rock out!

- champagne - 311 - This is also embarrassing because I went oh, Michael Jackson’s nephews? That’s niche. But that’s 3T. I think. This is very summery and chill. Nice. My second fave of these (first being Omar’s)

- no one knows - brent faiyaz - I suddenly feel like you are too cool to be speaking to me sat holding my Billy Joel references.

I’ve being wanting to ask you some questions like this so this is perfect timing :) love, respect and kindness to you always margo‼️

Ask me anything anytime, it doesn’t need to be fic related!

[commanderbuffy]

Sapphic Books Reccs

Here is my list of recommended sapphic books! There’s a lot of YA here since that’s a lot of what I read. Everything on this list I have personally read and can recommend. I’m sure there’s a TON out there I haven’t read or ones I have read and have just forgotten!

Contemporary

Astrid Parker Doesn’t Fail by Ashley Herring Blake (Adult)

My favorite of Blake’s! Enemies to lovers. SO good.

Delilah Green Doesn’t Care by Ashley Herring Blake (Adult)

A woman falls for her step-sister’s best friend. Oh, and there’s a kiddo in the mix as well.

The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth (YA)

Two girls promise a summer of fun full of rom-com worthy dates. The only rule, no relationships. Just one summer, nothing more. Sure....

Forget Me Not by Alyson Derrick (YA)

Amnesia fic where a girl forgets she ever met her secret girlfriend in their ultra-conservative town.

Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating by Adiba Jaigirdar (YA)

Fake dating between the girl who wants to validate her bisexuality to her friends and the girl who doesn’t mind the popularity boost.

Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen (YA)

Best friends to lovers! A big piece of this is also the friend group involved.

Imogen, Obviously by Becky Albertalli (YA)

Imogen thinks she’s just an Ally. Spoiler alert: she’s not. I loved the way friendship was explored in this. You see some really solid friendships as well as a subtly toxic one (that’s acknowledged as such).

Late to the Party by Kelly Quindlen (YA)

An ode to late bloomers and a journey to self-acceptance. A girl goes to her first party, befriends a gay guy who introduces her to new group of friends and one really cute girl

Margo Zimmerman Gets the Girl by Brianna Shrum and Sara Waxelbaum (YA)

Super fun involving a girl asking another girl fo “Queer 101″ lessons. Bi and Autistic rep too!

Perfect on Paper by Sophie Gonzales (YA)

A girl gives anonymous love advice and gets hired by a hot guy to help him get his ex back. Really FANTASTIC bi rep!

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston (Adult)

A sexy time-bendy romance with so much heart

She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen (YA)

My FAVORITE rom-com. I reread it constantly. Fake dating, enemies-to-lovers between the cheer captain and basketball star!!

She Gets the Girl by Rachael Lippincott and Alyson Derrick (YA)

Two girl team up to get their crushes to fall for them and start developing feelings for each other along the way.

Six Times We Almost Kissed by Tess Sharpe (YA)

Childhood frenemies forced to move in together for their best friend moms’ sake. Trauma filled and SO SO good.

Some Girls Do by Jennifer Dugan (YA)

A fun rom-com between an out queer athlete and the local beauty pageant queen.

We Are Okay by Nina LaCour (YA)

One of my favorite books of all time. A story about grief and friendship and love. A soft, quiet story.

Who I Was With Her by Nita Tyndall (YA)

A girl’s secret girlfriend dies and she is left to grieve alone until she finds herself turning to her girlfriend’s ex.

Science Fiction/Fantasy

Crier’s War by Nina Varela (YA)

A romance that leads to revolution by between two girls: one human, one Made

The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow (Adult)

This is historical and fantasy! Suffragette witches! Another one of those books I wish I could read again for the first time. Three sisters, one of them has a WLW romance

Thriller/Horror

Hide by Kiersten White (Adult)

A high-stakes hide and seek competition in an abandoned amusement park. One of my all-over favorite books of 2022.

House of Hollow by Krystal Sutherland (YA)

No wlw romance in this one, but the main character and her sister are both wlw. My absolute favorite book of 2021. What I would pay to read this for the first time again.

The Girls I’ve Been by Tess Sharpe (YA)

The daughter of a con artist is finally allowed to stop running and faking her identity, only to get stuck in a bank heist with her ex-boyfriend and current girlfriend.

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand (YA)

Three girls who shouldn’t have a reason to team up together against an ancient evil. The new girl, the pariah, and the queen bee who’s been helping the evil all along. I have reread this book easy a dozen times.

Throwaway Girls by Andrea Contos (YA)

When a girl goes searching for her missing best friend, she finds a trail of other missing girls and battles with heartbreak after her girlfriend leaves her for California.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (YA)

Quarantined at her girl’s school after a gruseome Tox breaks out, a girl must find what happened to her best friend who’s gone missing

Historical

Great or Nothing by Joy McCullough, Caroline Tung Richmond, Tess Sharpe, and Jessica Spotswood (YA)

The queer Little Women retelling we all deserve with a SAPPHIC JO! Set in 1942. Beth’s POV still haunts my heart

A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray (YA)

Two of the major supporting characters are WLW. This becomes more important and on the page in the later books in this series, but this is the first one.

Music from Another World by Robin Talley (YA)

1970s California. Two girls become penpals and bond over music.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid (Adult)

Hollywood icon Evelyn Hugo famously had seven husbands. This is the story of her wife.

[dayscapism]

K-Dramas recommendations & short reviews

Because I've watched way too many to not make a list. Warning: I like romance and fantasy a bit too much.

These shows made me cry. 10/10. Five stars. Recommend to anyone. They live in my mind rent-free:

Extraordinary Attorney Woo (2022) - Attorney Woo is such a wonderful person, I love her character. I can't say much about the representation, but I like that it opens up the conversation around autism & neurodivergence, discrimination and prejudice, particularly in work environments. I rarely like shows about law or lawyers but I was surprisingly engaged with the cases and the story. It deserves a second season. (The only thing I don't like about this show is they're pushing for a MinWoo and Choi Su-Yeon ship. Which huh--disrespectful.)

Hotel Del Luna (2019) - A great place to start with k-dramas if you like paranormal fantasy. This show has such a special place in my heart. I wanted a different ending but I am okay with it because it was a tight narrative. The main character is iconic (Man-Wol please step on me). The show has amazing sets, AMAZING costumes, an amazing OST, amazing and heartbreaking performance by Yeo Jin Goo. The main couple is so soft; like they're such good friends and coworkers and gentle with each other (eventually). It's enemies to reluctant friends to lovers. It's perfect for asexual viewers who want more than physicality in their romance shows. Cons: the secondary characters' goodbyes and backstories left a little to be desired. A few other nitpicks like Chang-Seong is the one to suggest the main character a new hobby instead of her just discovering it by herself.

It's Okay to Not Be Okay (2020) - Also a good place to start with k-dramas. This show is a lesson in good narrative; this has perfect writing & storytelling. The cast is so good. The female lead is an icon. The character work I excellent. The mental health issues are so well addressed and it taught me a lot about mental health I wasn't aware of. Each small minor character plays a very important thematic role. (The villain isn't the best thing ever but she serves her role in the themes and plot.) The production and the storytelling with the children's book animations are just *heart eyes*. The OST is so good too. You need to watch this to understand how good a k-dramas can be. A must-watch.

Goblin: The Lonely and Great God (2016) - This is the most iconic fantasy/paranormal k-drama ever. A lot of current tropes were started here I think (including the weird k drama last-episode time jump separation of the main couple). This show broke me. You will cry. The bromance and comedy are amazing here too. Gong Yoo and Dong Wook Lee have great chemistry. Main female lead is so cute and her character is so heartwarming. The ending felt a bit rushed. The death, existential related stuff with the grim reapers and such is so good tho.

Business Proposal (2022) - Best rom-com ever! (Well, it could be gayer tbh.) It's my new comfort show. I already watched it twice. It's campy, hilarious, chaotic, iconic and messy in a way that feels like real life (but obviously played up for drama and comedy). Excellent character work. The love interest is definitely written by a woman. Gorgeous cast (Sejeon omg I have a crush, but also the others). It was too short! I would have loved another episode, and more of Grandpa and Ha-Ri. Warning: this has the weird kdrama last-episode time jump couple separation.

W: Two Worlds (2016) - A young resident medic accidentally finds her way inside the webcomic her father created. Like, that premise is killer. We have Lee Jong Suk at his finest here; the character fits him so well. He was born to play a lead. This show has amazing meta-commentary on writing, authorship, and existential crisis. The confrontation between the webcomic character Kang Cheol and the author is insane! The main couple is an epic pair. Would rewatch. High wump value. Cons: The second part could have been more swoony with the romance, Kang Cheol kind of became a bit cold. (A warning: this show also has the k drama weird last-episode time jump couple separation.)

Would recommend with popcorn, I rate them 8/10:

Crash Landing on You (2019) - Really good. The main couple has the best chemistry I've ever seen. It's not that much of a personal fave show, but still pretty awesome and will tug at your heart. It got a bit overly dramatic in the last episodes and again, has that k-drama last episode weird time jump couple separation, but here it actually makes sense. And sort of mirrors the separation and eventual unification of the Korean Peninsula. It was very interesting to see the contrast between North and South Korea.

Shooting Stars (2022) - Aside from the terrible, horrible, insulting Africa storyline (where the male lead goes to 'help' African kids with water scarcity, not even a country name is called, he just goes to *gestures vaguely* Africa to help goddammit he's such a beautiful soul! /s) There's a weird creepy sugar mommy wannabe side storyline and it's weird and out of nowhere. But the rest of it is good and campy and the main characters are so cute. All the couples are cute. The male lead is a cute disaster. Female lead is also a capable cutey but a disaster when it comes to romance. It's hilarious. I love all characters. It's fun. It's great. It shows a very interesting side of the entertainment industry.

While You Were Sleeping (2017) - A man and a woman who don't know each other have precognition powers and after they meet, they use them to take down a corrupt lawyer. The show isn't very heavy on the romance, tough the pair work pretty well together. I liked the main actress. Lee Jong Suk has chemistry with anyone. The male role was not exactly a good fit for Jong Suk. He's so much more naturally charming than the character. It's a fun show to pass the time. The found family is nice and all the characters work great together. The mom is great.

The King's Affection (2021) - I'm going to be honest, I didn't finish watching this. Ups. I got bored after episode 15. It's a very slow show but what I watched was quite good. It was just not a show for me. Having a bisexual male lead was awesome, I appreciate that he falls for the main character while he thinks she's a man. (Could be gayer tho, just saying.) Pretty good discussions and reversals of gender cliches. It has complicated parent-child relationships that are very well written which gives a lot of heart and heartbreak to this story. The political stuff gets very convoluted. I really wish the queer part was bigger though, and not limited to the main couple. We could even have poly representation! I still have half a mind to finish this but I don't know There are so many other shows I'd rather watch instead. (Boy, I really need to get into the actually queer side of k-dramas because the side I'm currently on is giving me crumbs.)

Lovers of the Red Sky (2021) - The premise was so cool. This has so much lore I like and the setting is beautiful and rich, but it also has so much lost potential. The plot is very weak in the second half and could be restructured. I loved the atmosphere, costumes and the actors and their characters: the blind cursed scholar nobleman, the female genius cheeky painter and her friend trio and the prince are all great characters. Ahn Hyo Seop is pretty good in it and looks very pretty indeed in historical costume (but the design of the villain creature he's possessed/cursed with is so, so bad omg). Great premise failed execution. Good first half but it went over the rails quickly. Still entertaining if you like historical fantasy.

Romance is a Bonus Book (2019) - It's a bit slow and could have done so much more with the female lead and her child. She's a bit underwhelming and her daughter is barely in the story. The second female character played by Jeong Eu-Gene was awesome, I love this actress now. Lee Jung Suk is always looking hot and being an excellent actor with what he's given; he's very charming here. He could have chemistry with a piece of wood and yet I wasn't that fan of the romance. Maybe it's just because friends to lovers isn't my cup of tea. There's a weird out-of-nowhere backstory between the male leads. The commentary of ageism in the workplace is a bit surface level (it's not that big of a deal for the company if you're overqualified for a job, the point should be that is an issue for you and your career, who is too good for the company). You can tell the writers really care about books; it's definitely a love letter to editors and an interesting window into the world of book publishing; you can feel the love editors put into making books. Bonus: the founding members of the publishing company have very funny moments.

Do no recommend:

King: Eternal Monarch - Couldn't even finish this. I was so, so confused. The dialogue, narrative and backstory make no sense! Everything is so unnecessarily confusing. There's no chemistry between the main couple. The king and the bodyguard had more chemistry. Lee Jung-Jin (playing the villain Lee Lim) & Woo Do-Hwan (the bodyguard) carried this show and are pretty much the only thing good about it. The female lead is sidelined. It had an intriguing premise but failed execution.

What's Wrong With Secretary Kim - Skimmed most of the second half. It's a mess. The love interest CEO is such a narcissist and asshole he wouldn't be able to keep a working, healthy relationship with his partner without some serious therapy first. The female lead seems to be repulsed by him most of the time even when together and even looks scared when they get intimate. There's an unnecessarily convoluted plotline about the main lead's brother and a kidnapping in their past. It has tonal issues and it's cringy rather than funny. The secondary characters are just a lot of useless filler. The female lead sacrifices her independence and dreams to be with the main guy. Just go watch Business Proposal instead.

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo - The only pro of this show is IU. The romance went the undeveloped route. Cheap-looking production, with too many episodes, melodramatic, characters pivot in place instead of naturally developing; it's definitely a telenovela. The point that the female lead is from the future doesn't even matter for the story (should have made her a Goryeo historian instead of a random cosmetologist). Pass!

Tomorrow - Could not finish watching. Please, please don't watch it if you're dealing with depression, bullying or suicidal thoughts. Please don't. By episode 2 I was just screaming at the screen. Problematic? This show invented the word problematic. The supernatural task force that's supposed to save people with suicide risk is terrible at therapy and suicide prevention. They tell the person trying to commit suicide, literally on the edge of a building about to jump, that they should do it, that they're weak, they should just jump, go ahead! Like ... what????

Mystic Pop Up Bar - Didn't capture me by episode 2. Got bored. Some say this is better than Hotel Del Luna but I don't agree.

Abyss - It's a weird tonal mix. Would have preferred if it leaned further into the absurd (go all in with the humour or don't at all), the sci-fi or the murder mystery. Instead of just revealing by episode 3 who the murderer is, quickly changing the plot into a chase after the villain, even though he's so lame. But also he is keeps killing people and it gets dark. And then we cut to the main couple being silly and cute. It's so jarring. The leads have a great dynamic and Ahn Hyo Seop knows how to differentiate his characters really well, give them their own flavour., but in the end it's just a cool premise, failed execution. Very average.

Currently watching:

The Crowned Clown - Very interesting concept and gorgeous, gorgeous visuals. Plot drags a little. Has some tonal problems and oversimplification of politics. The best part is when Yeo Jin-Goo acts with himself haha. He's such a talented actor.

The Uncanny Counter - Get's a bit melodramatic sometimes but all four main actors are insanely good.

Tale of the Nine-Tailed - The main romantic relationship needs a lot more development, but the entire show is worth watching just for Dong Wook Lee and Kim Bum as brothers.

Alchemy of Souls - 6/10 so far. Currently watching season 2/part 2. Aside from the prince, I don't particularly care for any of the characters. Unpopular opinion but the main romantic pair have no chemistry. Mu-Deok has more chemistry with Yul and the prince, and the prince has more chemistry with Jang-Uk. The lore is confusing and inconsistent: it breaks its own rules. (Two souls in one body what?? when was this established as a thing?) There's not enough foreshadowing and setting up the rules of magic in this world (the Ice Stone comes up as a deux ex mahcina big plot point in the last second). It also drags; the episodes are too long. There's a lot of saying and ultimately the show doesn't deliver. The narrative structure is straight out of a fantasy Wattpad. The set and costumes are fun and cool for a fantasy world, and the first episode was great.  

[starfirette]

shadowhunter boys as boyfriends

GENDER NEUTRAL READER | I didn't put the TLH kids (Matthew, James, etc) because the series isn't over yet and as of right now, they're still, for the most part, on the older teenager side. I'll do a Shadowhunter Girls version soon because I need Jessamine and Emma content

Including the Herondales, Lightwoods, Magnus Bane, Jem Carstairs, The Blackthorns, and Kieran.

Herondale

William Herondale is a protective boyfriend, as well as a loudmouth. He thinks he's the best because he's got you. Probably compares you to the other significant others of his friends, in the sense that you're better than everyone else. "Please, you put so-and-so's outfit to SHAME last night" "Oh, so-and-so couldn't kill a sprite if they tried, you've singlehandedly taken down shax" "will, the shax put me in the hospital..." "who the hell took it down, then?" "that was you, dear" "oh, aha, yes that's right. Well, don't feel too bad about it, love". Please just shut him UP

Jace Herondale is the kind of boyfriend who acts like he's totally independent and doesn't need to spend all his time with you, when, in reality, he feels miserable when you aren't around. "Y/n would love this shirt." Alec would tell him to buy it for you. Jace would scoff. "How corny." Alec would say 'Fine, then don't get it.' Jace would keep talking about it until Alec purchased the shirt himself, forcing Jace to gift it to you. Of course, Jace acts like a cool guy about it. "It just reminded me of you, that's all..."

Lightwood

Gideon Lightwood is the childhood bestfriend to lover. You're the one he confides in about everything. He didn't even realize he'd fallen in love with you until your family was on the verge of marrying you off. Gideon would probably stay quiet, letting you go on with the arranged marriage, until everyone around him finally explained how awful that actually is, and you're probably in love with him, too. Once Jem pointed this out, Gideon practically jumped out the window to get to you. Luckily, Jem was right.

Gabriel Lightwood is the childhood enemy to lover. You're the one he hates, and vehemently swore to never be friends with. Well one summer, your family left for a vacation in Idris. You returned for the Autumnal Equinox, all tan and gorgeous, and Gabriel realized you're actually really hot. It all goes down hill from there. He would definitely have been drawn in by your looks at first--but he DOES fall in love with you for real.

Alec Lightwood would never tell you he likes you ever. He'd rather die than confess his crush. You weren't exactly his best friend, but you were more than an acquaintance. Good luck trying to drop hints that you like him, too, because he's too salty and emo to realize that you'd ever like him back.

Carstairs

Jem Carstairs........how can I possibly explain my love for this man? Jem is a perfect gentleman. Probably coerced into marrying you by Charlotte, for his sake of health and safety of status. She truly wants what's best for Jem. And you're a good match for him!!! In this case, arranged marriage but you two fall in love.

Bane

Oh, to be the lover of Magnus Bane. You probably met him in the most absurd of ways, like a crazy meet cute in a rom com. He spoils you, buys you gifts to win your affection; doesn't accept it when you tell him no more gifts. He just wants love. You two probably elope and forget to tell people until a month or so after it's happened. Maybe even a year later. "By the way, we're having a one year anniversary party and you're invited, Tessa."

"???? What?"

"Oh, haha, yeah, we got married one year ago! So we would like, like, a Kuerig or something."

Kieran Kingson

Kieran just straight up asks you to be his mate one day. It's a strange moment. it's the middle of breakfast, you're exhausted, and Julian won't stop bitching about the iPod you supposedly stole and then lost, when really you just borrowed it and broke it during patrol. Kieran comes in, sits down; he says his good mornings to the family. Then, "Oh, by the way Y/n. I'd like you to come out with me for dinner tonight."

The clatter of the morning stops as everyone pauses and waits to hear your response. He'd apologize in private but extend the invitation a second time. He wouldn't have an issue saying he's attracted to you and even has a crush. He's nice about it, and not at all awkward. You, however, are very awkward.

Blackthorn

Mark Blackthorn adores you. He approaches you in private. He's super dramatic about it, too. You thought he was going to tell you someone was dying. But no, he just thinks you are, in his words, "glowing with beauty". Okay dude. Just kiss me already. You would be the couple that's always making out or going at it. He cannot keep his hands off you.

Julian Blackthorn is the opposite. While he adores you just as much, he's calm and doesn't feel the need to go full throttle into marriage, like his brother would be. Julian wants to have one normal experience in his life. He wants to have a movie worthy relationship, with stolen kisses and first dates and awkward hand holding. He feels so comfortable with you.

[missskzbiased]

The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan  

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink  

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

                                                            ///

  You are a superhero.

    Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

    “Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

    “Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

    — That you couldn’t show at your work.

    Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

  To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

    … And speaking of which…

    Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

    If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

    Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.  

    It also wasn’t the point right now.

    The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

    Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

    He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

    The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

    Not at all.

    “Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

  A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

    Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

    The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

    You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

    And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

    The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

    “What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

    The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

    It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

    Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

    As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

    “Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

    Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

    Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

     “You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

    “Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

    “Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

    “No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

    “I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

  Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

  Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

  It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

    If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

  “Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

    You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

    “We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

    “What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

    The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

    Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

    You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

    “Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

    The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

    Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

     “It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

    You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

    “You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

    “That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

    What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

     Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

    “As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

    He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

    “Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

    And now what?

    “So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

    It was practically a silent threat.

    In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

    Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

    The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

    That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

    The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

    “The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

    “Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

    “I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

    Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

    There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

    The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

     Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

   The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

    “Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

    Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

    “I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

    “We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

    “Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

    “Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

    “Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

    “Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

    “He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

    “Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

    “N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

    “Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

    Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

    If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

   He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

    “That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

      The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

    Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

    You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

    It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

    So you grind on his leg for dear life.

    “You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

      “F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

      “Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

      “Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

      “Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

    There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

     For who you become when lust overcomes you.        

    The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

      “Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

    Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

    Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

    “W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

      “Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

    “W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

    “Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

      “Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

    “So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

    The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

    You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

    “Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

    Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

    And… Post.

    Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

    Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

    Yeah, right… You just posted it.

    Chill.

    You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

     Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

      And this was priceless.

     Or maybe… It was priceless.

    As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

     Don’t panic, Y/N.

    You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

    Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

    That’s right…

    You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

    The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

     Finally!    

    The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

    It was fun to talk to Weasel.

    He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

      His fantasies.

    Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

    The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

    You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

    “That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

    “You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

      “I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

    “Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

    “I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

     “Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

    “First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

    “What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

    “I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

    “No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

    “But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

      “That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

    “Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

    “Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

    “If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

    “What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

      Great… He would never let you live it down.

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Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

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[khrystalsnow]

February and March reads

🦋I've been swamped with school for the past two months, and these fics really saved me from dropping out of uni😭 I'm sorry if there's no reviews because this list is hella long(it’s mostly jungkook okay😭🤚🏼), but just know that I enjoyed each and every one of these fics.❤️

(pls let me know if there's any mistake or links that don’t work!)

LEGEND:

🥺Fluff

🤬Angst

😏Smut

😂Crack

❤️New Favourite

🦋KIM SEOKJIN

friends with snacks by @scriptaed 🥺

-roommates!au; friends to lovers!au; drabble

pretty girls don't get hurt by @ktheist  😏

-heir!doctor!seokjin x heiress!ceo!reader x best friend!heir!taehyung

uptown girl by @moononthejoon  😏🤬🥺

-bodyguard!seokjin + princess!reader + enemies to lovers!au

🦋MIN YOONGI

so I heard you like bad boys by @scriptaed 🥺

-uni!au; friends to lover!au; drabble

I'll Drive You by @min-youngis 🥺

-resident reader x idol yoongi

Buttering Up by @jimlingss 🥺

-Chef!AU

Fear and Dumplings by @softyoongiionly 🥺🤬😏❤️

-Underground Rapper! Yoongi, facing your fears

Greedy by @xjoonchildx 🤬😏❤️

-mafia AU

erotica by @whatifyoulivelikethat 😏

-non-idol!AU, they caught each other masturbating

baby, what's wrong? by @taeyohonic 🥺

-established relationship, idol au, reader has mild anxiety and a panic attack

until our last breath by @inkofyoongi 🥺

-Friends to lovers!AU, yoongi wants to be your boyfriend

switching my positions by @cupofteaguk  🥺🤬

-solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au

universe by @personasintro  😏

-stalker au

Birthday Spanks by @jjungkookislife  😏

-free spanks!yoongi x free spanks!oc

new year, new us by @vantaenims  🥺🤬

-producer!yoongi x reader, exes au

The Mark of Yun-Ki by @ladyartemesia  😏🤬

-Hybrid/ABO AU, Royalty AU, Fantasy AU, Daechwita AU

baby, you can drive my car by @jungshookz 😂🥺😏🤬❤️

- mechanic!au, spoiltbrat!y/n 

Third Wheeling by @untaemedqueen  😏🥺🤬

-Strangers to Lovers!AU, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, CEO!Yoongi 

desolate by @angelicyoongie​ 🤬😏🥺 NEW!

-cat hybrid

straight shooter by @snackhobi​ 😏🤬🥺❤️ NEW!

-hitman!yoongi, black market dealer/gunsmith!reader

pour some sugar on me by @yoonia 😏 NEW!

-Enemies to Lovers!au, Baker!au

🦋JUNG HOSEOK

same old mistakes by @xbaepsae 🥺😏🤬

-country club!au, rich boy!hoseok x reader

I Don’t Know What to Call This by @httphopewrld  🥺😏

-friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

suncity by @jamaisjoons  😏🥺🤬

-trip to Barcelona, stranges to lovers au

cry to my room by @kithtaehyung  😏🤬

-friends to lovers, roommates au

play me like a toy by @ktheist  😏🤬

-mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok, chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au

🦋KIM NAMJOON

Bear and Sparrow by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺🤬❤️

-immigrant AU, strangers to lovers

Mr. and Mrs. Kim series by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺

-every chapter is NSFW (married)

Call of Duty by @sahmfanficbts 🥺😏🤬

-Military!Namjoon x female!reader

you’ve got a friend in me by @wwilloww 😏

-best friend and roommate 

A Match Made in Heaven by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺😂❤️

-Med School Resident!Namjoon x Dental School resident female!Reader, Strangers to Lovers

Laundry day by @snackhobi 😏🥺

-neighbour joon who caught you masturbating

beautiful boy by @jinpanman 🥺🤬❤️

-namjoon x OC, namjoon x reader, single dad!namjoon, baby!jimin

unbroken by @sahmfanficbts  😏🥺🤬

-Idol!Namjoon x Female Bonsai Grower!Reader, from one-night stand to forever

glasses-clad boy by @jeongi  😏🥺

-tutor joon

these hands are calloused. by @ktheist  🥺🤬

-underground fighter!namjoon x florist!reader

Forget Me Not by @joontopia​ 🤬🥺😏NEW!

-exes to lovers, valentine’s day

🦋PARK JIMIN

Perfect Pebble by @jjkthclub 🥺

-they meet at a wedding and they go on dates because oc doesn't believe in love

PARK JIMIN HAS SEEN MY GRANNY PANTIES by @ladyartemesia  😏😂

-teachers AU, the reader falls down the stairs

delivered, I’m yours by @suhdays  😂🥺

-valet jimin x baker reader

driver’s license by @gyukult 🤬

-coming-of-age, one-sided!au, brothersbestfriend!au

plums & melons by @winetae  😏😂🤬

-brother’s best friend!au

tears on a silver platter by @flowerwrites06 🤬❤️NEW!

-Idol!Jimin x OC (Name: Gaia), jimin calls his girlfriend clingy

moonlight by @kooksea 😏🥺 NEW!

-singer!jimin, traveller!jimin, artist!reader

🦋KIM TAEHYUNG

Endymion by @marginalmadness 😏❤️

-Druid!Taehyung x Witch!Reader

welcome to my youtube channel by @tteokggukk 🥺

-idol!taehyung x youtuber!reader

Comeback Home by @another-army-spot 😏🤬🥺❤️

-exs-to-lovers!au, teenparents!au, college!tae, businesswoman!oc

heart strung symphonies by @inkedtae  😏🥺🤬

-opera singer!taehyung x pianist!reader

Saudade by @chateautae  😏🥺🤬

-idol!taehyung x choreographer!reader, established relationship

kinda hot by @kimnjss  😏🥺🤬❤️

-campus flirt!taehyung x sweet girl!reader, sm au, best friends to lovers

definition of love by @taegularities  😏🥺🤬

-college!au, tae takes interest in you, past minor character death, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms

the snow king by @bloomsuga  😏🥺🤬❤️

-princess!reader x ice prince!tae

cursed by @bloomsuga 😂🥺🤬😏 NEW!

-witch!taehyung x cursed!reader, sm au

🦋JEON JUNGKOOK

golden hour by @tteokggukk 😏

-photographer! jungkook x reader

At the stroke of Midnight by @pars-ley 🥺😏🤬

-A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

cry baby by@namgee 😏🥺

-fwb au, rollerskating

Heart of the Storm by @ladyartemesia 🥺😏🤬

-Secret Feelings/Strangers to Lovers

baecation by @1kook 😏

-richboy!jk, vacation

a table turned. and a line crossed. by @underthejoon 😏

-guard jk and oc is a tease

exclamation mark by @whatifyoulivelikethat 😏

-non-idol!AU; tattoo artist, dom!Jungkook x tattooed, sub!reader

Give Me A Try by @jjkthclub 😏

-friendstolovers!au, jungkook is the campus fuckboy

Domestic Fairy by @borathae 🥺😏

-established relationship, domestic!AU

open invitation by @jimidol  😏🥺🤬

-duke!jungkook x duchess!reader

take my whole life too by @ktheist  😏🤬

-chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au, house husband!jeongguk

love letter by @whatifyoulivelikethat  😏

-non-idol!BTS, jk gets love letters 

tingle by @hansolmates  😏

-tattoo artist!jungkook x tattooed!reader (f)

come over by @bratkook  😏

-jungkook is a self proclaimed pervert, voyeurism through bedroom windows

i don't mind by @bratkook  😏🥺🤬❤️

-rockstar!Jungkook x reader, jk being chased by security and barges oc’s car

busted in busan by @hansolmates  😏🥺🤬

- snowbound at the airport, christmas detour!au

crush by @jungxk  🥺😂😏🤬

-jk got hit by a car and lost some of his memories

Days to Morning Glory by @sketchguk  🤬😏🥺

-Aspiring Rockstar!Jeongguk x Med. Student!Reader, exes to lovers, roommate AU, high school sweethearts

stranded by @gguksgalaxy  😏🥺🤬

-Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook, they study for their law exam

concrete king by @bratkook  🥺😏❤️

- skaterboy!jk x reader, sweet summer romance

risky business by @jjkthclub  😏

-enemiestolovers!au, office bathroom sex

ZOOM CALL by @1kook  🥺😏❤️

-comfort fic, quarantine fic

roses, poetry and jeon by @seraphimguks  🥺🤬

-bookstore employee!jungkook x reader

ocean eyes by @jimidol  🥺😏

-firefighter!jungkook x teacher!reader, he surprised you by dying his hair based on your favorite song.

shiver by @hansolmates  😏🤬❤️

- bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader, childhood friends to lovers

clandestine by @junghelioseok  😏🥺

-brother’s best friend!au, 

One-Step Forward, Two-Steps Back by @oureuphoria  🤬🥺

-tattoo artist jungkook x college student reader, oc falls for her roommate’s fwb

I like U by @pbandjk  😏🥺🤬

-fratboy! Fwb Jungkook Au, oc is a boss lady in the tech industry

A Date With Destiny by @missgeniality  😏🥺😂

-Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU, 

the art of wanting by @venusiangguk 😏

-dilf!jk x grocery store clerk!oc

brown-eyed baby by @jeonstudios 😏🥺🤬

-exes to friends to lovers, single dad!jk x reader, a lost child at the mall

almost home by @angelguk  🤬

-dad!jungkook & nanny!oc, both jungkook and oc are scarred from their previous relationships

the secret beneath our stars by @subvk  🤬😏

-friends to lovers au, marriage pact with jk

Blue Spring by @adonis-koo​  😏🥺🤬

-Single dad!Jungkook/Reader, Daycare AU, Slice of life

jealousy by @jimidol 🥺🤬😏 NEW!

-tattoo artist!jungkook, parents au

young one by @bts-reveries 🤬🥺❤️ NEW!

-photographer, dad!jungkook x hostess, mom!reader, sm au and written

effortlessly by @gyukult 😏🥺NEW!

-friends to lovers, school!au

selfie by @whatifyoulivelikethat 🥺😏NEW!

-rom-com, slice-of-life, oppa’s bestfriend!Jungkook x SHINee fangirl!reader

too close by @cutechim 🤬NEW!

-wife!reader x boxer!jungkook (ft. ex boyfriend!namjoon)

caked by @gukslut 🥺😏 NEW!

-Established Relationship, very smutty

My Time by @btsracket 😏 NEW!

-rich, dom jungkook spoiling his girl

The Speedo by @gukslut 😏🥺 NEW!

-oc thinks he’s a fuckboy, but he has fallen in love

the ebb and flow (part 8) by @xbaepsae 🤬 NEW!

-demigod!jeongguk x demigod!reader, percy jackson!au

🦋OT7/SERIES

Gangs of Fate by @pars-ley  🥺🤬

-Mafia au / feat. Members of Exo

bon appetite series by @jamaisjoons

-Valentines series

Guarded series by @xjoonchildx 

-mafia AU

[gukyi]

[!] fic alert [!]

THE ART OF THE ROM-COM | JJK

↳ COMING SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14TH AT 10:30PM EST

summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors. it's not. instead, it's a sisyphean torture that comes namely in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love, or whatever. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook, the world’s #1 hopeless romantic, decides to take it upon himself to show you just how attainable love can really be.

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: film major!jungkook x film major!reader (female) genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, this is literally a rom-com in fic form est. wc: 30k warnings: college alcohol consumption, emotionally constipated characters, film major shenanigans, blonde & tattooed jungkook who’s also in a hip hop dance troupe a/n: as promised, here is my contribution to all of the valentine’s day fics! you guys first got a sneak peek of this fic when i made that poll back in the summer and did all of the BLM drabble commissions, and here we are! hope you guys are as excited for this fic as i am!!

PREVIEW:

“Who would we even get to star in a rom-com we filmed? It’s not like the two of us could do it.”

You regret the words the instant they come out of your mouth. In horror, you watch as they sink into Jungkook’s brain, etching themselves into his mind as a lightbulb turns on, a bright idea popping into his thoughts. 

He opens his mouth, but you get there first. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, absolutely not. I am not starring in a rom-com with you.”

That is something you can say with one-hundred percent confidence. Something that you know will never change. 

“Just hear me out,” Jungkook pleads, looking a little desperate as he wrings his hands together, aching to spill the bubbling plan that’s been stewing in his head. 

You narrow your eyes in suspicion but lean back into your chair, a silent signal for him to continue. It’s not as if you have any better idea.s 

“Okay. It’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary,” he says, something that (and you can’t believe you’re saying this) actually piques your interest. Moreso than anything else he’s ever said to you. “You think love is totally manufactured, right? That Hollywood creates the illusion of it to sell to people paying twenty dollars for a movie ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. Let’s prove it’s manufactured.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” It’s not like you can walk into a factory and ask them to make the “love” emotion for you. 

“We’ll be the stars.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s your best idea by a long shot, the home run of all home runs, your golden ticket to an A.

You scrunch up your nose, hesitant. “Wait, I don’t know—”

“It’s perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. “Think about it. It’ll be a mockumentary of a stereotypical rom-com. Except it won’t be this big Hollywood production, it’ll be real life. And it won’t be between two paid actors with years of experience under their belt, it’ll be us.” His eyes are practically bulging out of his head, big brown eyes glinting with excitement.

“So what are we gonna do? Act out our own rom-com in an attempt to see if either one of us will fall in love with the other?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a mockumentary, right? So it’s grounded in real life even if it is based upon the stereotypical boy-meets-girl rom-com. It won’t be super scripted or anything. Think of it more like… a chronicle.”

You scoff. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Jungkook says easily. “Of the time we have to spend together to film this damn project anyway. I say that rom-coms are emblematic of the natural human desire for love, and that deep down love is the thing that makes us happy. You say that rom-coms are consumerist propaganda, or whatever it is you think they are—”

“They are, and you can’t change my mind about that,” you interrupt, just for clarity. Can’t have Jungkook thinking he’s going to somehow convince you otherwise.

“—so, with this project, let’s see which one of us is right. If the time we have to spend together, making this mockumentary rom-com, will really change how we feel about each other, or if it won’t.”

How you feel about each other? You almost laugh when Jungkook says it out loud. There’s no room for questioning in your mind when it comes to how you two feel about each other. Two desperate-to-please students with opposite views on the entire structure of a class and three years of experience arguing your points in essays under your belts. 

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches. 

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have anything better. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again. 

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you. 

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. You wouldn’t put it past her. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes. 

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart. 

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him. 

“I guess we will.”

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL

May 2021 Wk 2

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Lovely Writer Ep 12 fin - that was a long arse final ep, but solid performances. I liked that we focused on the fallout amongst the side characters. (Very clever of them to depict Chap with Tae, his Y-Destiny pairing. Especially as both actors are slated for new BL roles with different partners again, The Tuxedo and You’re My Sky.) The camera certainly enjoyed wallowing in Sib & Gene’s separation, but that’s an Asian drama for you. They like to DWELL. (Frankly, I like a bit of wallowing myself.) I thought the inclusion of the “actual” writer at the very end thoroughly unnecessary. I don’t think they had to beat us over the head with the 4th wall meta quite that much. Still, this is probably one of the best BLs we’re getting from non-GMMtV Thailand this year. RECOMMENDED 

Y-Destiny Ep 8 - (Thurs) I found the first half uninteresting but once Casper the Friendly Gay showed up it was fine. The ghost reminded me a bit of Fuse from MIR. 

Close Friend Ep 4: (Just One Life) - is it just me or is Talay insanely charismatic? Anygay, the director got ahold of a drone for this one and would like us to KNOW ABOUT THAT FACT. Look, I just don’t think YoonLay have great chemistry but this was alright, cute enough. 

Fish Upon The Sky Ep 6 - This was a better installment than we’ve had in a while. I like the obsession vs love explanation from Mork, insightful if creepy. Meen & Duean are okay, I guess. A bit annoying. Everyone in this show is a bit annoying. But the wipe toothpaste then wipe eye crud got to me. Toothpaste in the eye, yech! And then I was all, oh that’s basically this show: toothpaste in the eye. It just reviewed itself. (Also why do they keep switching aspect ratio between the two pairs? It’s like they were filming with two completely different camera types... oh. ah. Weird, GMMTV usually doesn’t make mistakes like that.) 

Call it What You Want Ep 6 fin - I skipped to the last ep on this, I told you I do that sometimes to find out what happened. So CIWYW ends happy for the main couple, but trigger warnings on: eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, depression, mental abuse, and a few other things. If you don’t mind your BL dark, gritty, self aware, and honest then you should be okay with this show. But if your preference is for fluff, then there are other fish in the sky. Speaking of... 

Nitiman Ep 2 - Giving me My Engineer vibes. This is OLD school Thai uni BL. I kinda feel like it was meant to come out in 2018, the gap year that was, but I am SO GRATEFUL we’re getting it now. Pay TF attention FUTS this is how you redeem a tsundere uke. Also I love that Bboom is just a terrible flirt and the football match twist was great. I love this show.  

Top Secret Together Ep 1 - it’s out there but no eng subs. It’s an office set romance with multiple couples all tangential to one building. A bit stilted and low production values but I’m intrigued. I hope we get subs... eventually.  

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 9 - gets the safe sex gold star for lube + condoms AND a verse discussion? Not to mention asking for sex advice from queer fam? Is this a first in BL? Might be. (I still think it’s weird that product placement hasn’t jumped on the lube bandwagon, too slippery perhaps?) I like the embezzlement drama. I always enjoy good outside conflict playing to setting, and this is the kind to be easily resolved in next week’s finale. What a roller coster this series has been. 

Papa & Daddy (Taiwan) Ep 5 - I LOVE THIS SHOW. A heartbeat after i thought, “they better address what he’s doing to the girls he’s dating,” they did it. Clever scripting that. The messaging is gorgeous, the idea that pride and media coverage and knowing about a changing world can broaden minds and lead to acceptance was basically Taiwan making a case for itself paving the way for marriage equality in Asia. Genius. 

Most Peaceful Place 2 (Vietnam) Ep 1 (AKA 4) - dropped with subs and improved production values, someone is learning (or got more dough). The younger brother’s drama is a bit confusing, but I am here for cute boyfriends being cute boyfriends together. And I love that they took the seme’s previous pair (from Nation’s Brother) to be the faen fatale, very crafty of them. Even though it’s not a trope I like, there’s great chemistry all around. 

My Lascivious Boss (Vietnam) Ep 6 - I weirdly love this show, okay? I’m just hoping Long has known Minh’s secret all along and is playing a reverse long con cat & mouse game, waiting for Minh to tell him the truth. Because that would be THE BEST. I could do without the faen fatale but ya can’t have everything. (I’m so glad it’s not the standard 6 ep arc, MOAR!!!) 

Gossip 

Rumor is GMMTV Thailand started shooting Baker Boys (here’s the teaser trailer). This is a remake of Antique (AKA Antique Bakery) a 2008 Korean movie (you can watch it on Viki) which is a remake of Antique (a 2001 Japanese series) with is an adaptation of wildly popular manga Antique Bakery. Knowing the plot I’m not sure this will qualify as BL. I’m still predicting Lee gets his first gay kiss in this series from Singto. More details about this series here. 

Breaking News

Love Area release pushed out, reportedly due to C19. (source DramaCool) 

Be Love In House: I Do (Taiwan, of course, with that title) got a new softer trailer (no subs). It drops next week, May 19, 2021 on Viki. All the information I have is here. 

Tangential to BL 

Two BL-adjacent shows, both from Taiwan. 

I’m watching Love is Science? on Viki which has a het foundation, but it’s a good one. There’s a BL side couple who are on an enemies to lovers slow burn trajectory; featuring a disaster bi slut meets elegant bad ass super gay. So there’s THAT. The mains are an older career woman and the sweet boy from her distant past who has pined for her for years. (He is the softest sweetest service sub you ever saw.) Props to Taiwan for a seriously underused het dynamic. As usual in Asian rom coms the straight boy love interest is a Perfect Cinnamon Role (yes I’m looking at you True Beauty & Love O2O) but I find Taiwan’s version more palatable than Korea’s or Mainland China’s. It’s not finished yet but... RECOMMENDED. 

Starting this week is Love Outlet a 50 (?!) episode show about a mall that sells relationships. It is supposed to have a main gay romance, but it might be a side dish. Very little else known about it. Coming to Line TV.

Honestly, I’m at the point where if Taiwan makes it, I’ll probably watch it. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International accessibility reasons.

Starting:

Be Loved In House: I Do (Taiwan) 

Golden Blood (Thailand) we think, like Love Area this may be delayed due to surging C19 cases 

Love Outlet (Taiwan) we think 

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

[literateish]

books i’ve read in august

1. a court of thorns and roses by sarah j maas

this book was okay! honestly wasn’t that interesting until the last third of the book when the plot suddenly picked up and with feyre being under the mountain.

3.75 / 5 stars

2. a court of mist and fury by sarah j maas

so much better than the first book!! i loved it, there was a good ratio of plot to romance. it was interesting. not the greatest thing i’ve ever read but i had no issues with it.

4 / 5 stars

3. a court of wings and ruin by sarah j maas

think i may be one of the very few people who prefer thing book to acomaf? absolutely loved the plot with this book, so much more tense due to the war

4.25 / 5 stars

4. a court of frost and starlight by sarah j maas

i did not like this book. it was basically a fanfic of acowar? also it kept switching between first person and third person. which was driving me insane. the only good parts was that there was just a lot of fluffy found family content.

3 / 5 stars

5. a court of silver flames by sarah j maas

the sexual tension in this book >>> nesta and cassian as enemies to lovers was impeccable. my only issue with this book was that there was hardly any plot for the first half and so it got kinda boring

4.25 / 5 stars

6. book lovers by emily henry

least favourite emily henry book but it wasn’t a bad book? i related to nora a lot and it was just a good romance book. nothing too special

4 / 5 stars

7. sorcery of thorns by margaret robertson

it was a good book and the characters were great but i feel like i needed a lil bit more world building because i got slightly confused at times

3.75 / 5 stars

8. malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid

honestly not as good as tshoeh or daisy jones, but it was still amazing. i loved literally every character and got so invested. i love tjr’s writing

4.75 / 5 stars

9. the poppy war by r. f. kuang

this might be my favourite fantasy book. i loved it so much. i love every character - they’re all amazing. and the plot >>> i need to read the other books in this series asap

5 / 5 stars

10. forget my twice by carina taylor

i was given this ARC to review and it was great! just a regular rom-com book, nothing special about it but it was a good easy read

3.5 / 5 stars

11. love on the brain by ali hazelwood

this was a great enemies to lovers rom-com. personally one of my fav romance books - i especially loved the fact that the main character has dysautonomia as i have a chronic illness that causes me to faint a lot and i loved seeing the representation

4 / 5 stars

12. finding audrey by sophie kinsella

not a massive fan of this but i loved the depiction of anxiety, my main issue with it was that it slightly promotes the idea that mental illness can be cured by getting a boyfriend

2.5 / 5 stars

13. pride and prejudice by jane austen

i love this book so much. it will forever be a favourite of mine. mr darcy and elizabeth’s romance will always be the blueprint for enemies to lovers. it’s perfection.

5 / 5 stars

link to my bookstagram post about the books i’ve read in august

[angryinternetduck]

When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

[julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts]

Fic rec list!!! (part 3)

Anon said I should make a rec list and my dumb procrastinating ass found over 20 fics that I just *had* to rec so part 3!!! rip my grades lmao

Piss Off Your Parents (Date Me To Scare Them) by @alexthedrummerboy - WIP - willex - iconic fake dating au because yes. this fic is so good I love it so much

Alex Mercer doesn't want to go home for Christmas; but if he has to, he's certainly gonna raise a little hell. Enter: Willie, the cute guy in his history of English class who would be the perfect fake boyfriend candidate.

So if you wanna piss off your parents, date me to scare them, show them you're all grown up. If long hair and tattoos are what attract you, baby then you're in luck.

Tide Pod Challenge Gone Right by @a-tomb-with-a-view​ and @on-irratia​ - wip - juke & willex & bobby/reggie (boggie?) - its the jatp/h2o crossover and extremely iconic okay and an amazing fic bc yall are amazing writers

Teenager Julie finds her passion for music and life while helping the Sirens, a quartet of boys from Europe who find themselves turned into mermen. Trying to keep their special powers a secret is hard for Luke, Alex, Reggie and Bobby. When they're not in school or teaching their new merman friend, Willie, about the human world, they're using their magical powers to save sea turtles and rescue those in need.

you hit me like a friday night by @hearjessroar - oneshot - willex - honestly just such a good au fic. like just everything about it is great.

Bumping into someone at the comic store once is a coincidence.

Twice is thrilling.

Three times is starting to sound like a rom-com.

Alex and Willie reach for the same comic. It all goes downhill from there.

There are Only Twenty-Six Letters I can Use Just to Tell you "I Won't Let Go" by terramous on ao3 - oneshot - willex - post s1 willex reunion!!!

He would come to regret a lot of things in his life, but pancaking a cute ghost drummer in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard would never be something he’d regret, even for a second. Sure, it hurt to think about how his memories were all he had left of Alex, but while it lasted, Willie had genuinely felt alive again.

👻 the willex reunion we all needed

We Got a Promise to Keep by nottheleastbrave on ao3 - complete - juke and some willex - season 2 speculation!! ugh the plot and the writing and the whole fic is so good I cant

"And then, walking through the high school hallways in Nick’s body one day, Caleb hears the tell-tale sound of a ghost poofing in. And in a split second, he realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Luke without the other boys. And Caleb Covington sees how Luke looks at Julie, and the game begins."

Or, Luke is a self sacrificing idiot but Julie, Reggie, and Alex (and Willie!) aren't about to let him get away with it.

Resistance is Futile (if <1 Ohm) by @a-tomb-with-a-view​ - oneshot - willex - enemies to lovers willex!! the willex we deserve tbh. hiii meg sorry I've tagged you like three times but you can’t really blame me when you write all these awesome fics

If Alex was being honest with himself - and he wasn’t often, because time that could be spent processing his mom’s expression when he’d announced that he was gay just as she dropped him off outside the junior dorm building could also be sent processing the weird way his professor had explained the Chandrasekhar limit at the end of last semester - he kind of hated physics.

whims and inconsistencies by gennified on ao3 - WIP - willex & some juke - listen. modern pride & prejudice willex au.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a failing high society New York family must be in search for a rich partner for their heir.

According to Alex’s mother, at least.

fears (don’t get me started) by @pawprinterfanfic - oneshot - willex - literally one of my favorite “the boys on the internet” fics like that is a gold concept and this is my favourite out of all the ones I've read

The Julie and the Phantoms Instagram page blows up thanks to a local celebrity. As a result, Alex learns what shipping is.