#//Honorable mention for him; Never Say Never by The Fray

[dutybcrne]

@typewriterings​​ said : 🎶 {For Kaeya} & 🎵 {For Dain}         『 Meme || Accepting 』

Anti-Hero // Taylor Swift

"I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crisis (tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)”

Perfect // Hedley

"When you're caught in a lie, and you've got nothing to hide When you've got nowhere to run, and you've got nothing inside It tears right through me, you thought that you knew me You thought that you knew”

Skin // Rag'n'Bone Man

"We bleed ourselves in vain How tragic is this game? Turn around, I'm holding on to someone But the love is gone Carrying the load, with wings that feel like stone Knowing that we nearly fell so far now It's hard to tell”

Never Stay Down // UNSECRET and Sam Tinnesz

"My faith's unraveling Tight rope walking over the flames Skin and bones start rattling But right now I gotta push through the pain Surviving 'cause I never quit No white flag waving in the end This beating heart won't rest So I'm not done yet”

[amistytown]

Leviathan Birthday Collaboration 2023: A-7 Wedding

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Leviathan & GN MC

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and self-deprecation

This is my piece for Leviathan's birthday collaboration this year; I chose the prompt wedding. I feel this isn't my best work, but there was a lot going on. I'm really glad I could meet the deadline and take part in this project! I had a great time and am honored to work alongside such talented people. 

Happy birthday, Leviachan 🥳✨

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

The silence is suffocating, allowing Leviathan’s thoughts to wander and find their voice. Normally, he sought it out, relishing the peace of mind the quiet brought him, the Avatar of Envy content to confine himself to his room and keep to the shadows. Here he feels alone and exposed, his soul laid bare before him in the vanity mirror. His reflection peers nervously back at him, wide-eyed and pale, as uncertainty takes hold and ties itself into knots in the pit of his stomach. He sighs, dropping his gaze to his hands, which tremble in his lap. You love him, and he loves you—this he knows—though doubt sows itself into his heart. What if this is a mistake—if you’ve yet to realize you deserve better? He can’t bear to see you unhappy.

“Yo, Levi!” The door swings open, and Leviathan jumps, yelping in surprise. “The Great Mammon is here to support his lil bro on his big day!” Mammon grins, while an unamused Lucifer trails behind him, scowling.

Leviathan glowers at the Avatar of Greed, feigning annoyance, but he can’t deny he’s relieved, their presence familiar and comforting, soothing his frayed nerves—it’s embarrassing. Mammon’s voice alone is loud enough to drown out his thoughts, and he gives Leviathan little time to think when he wraps an arm around the third born’s shoulders and playfully ruffles his hair.

“Don’t say I never did anythin for ya!” he crows.

“H-hey!” Leviathan growls, face flushing a deep shade of red.

“Mammon,” Lucifer warns, smoothing Leviathan’s hair as Mammon shrinks under his disapproving gaze. Though Lucifer’s expression softens, the eldest regarding Leviathan with a smile—genuine, sweet—bringing back faraway memories. A brother’s love, strong and true, and the unmistakable twinkle of pride unbidden in those eyes, the same eyes that watched over him in the Celestial realm and never stopped here in the Devildom. His heart swells with emotion, overwhelming but not unwelcome, the Avatar of Pride chuckling as arms wrap firmly around his waist, and Leviathan cries into his embrace.

In this moment, he’s a fledgling again, Lucifer’s arms and wings encircling and protecting him from the world. He’s loved, safe, all his worries melting away.

Until embarrassment gets the best of him, and Leviathan is very aware of himself and how his skin burns, quickly pulling back and averting his tearful gaze. Thankfully, his brothers allow him this, an unspoken understanding passing between them that lessens the tension, and he’s beyond grateful when Lucifer takes it upon himself to straighten his tie, voice filling the silence, “This is meant to be one of the happiest days of your life, is it not?”

“Y-yes!” Leviathan says without hesitance, still in awe you accepted his proposal. He recalls that night with utmost clarity, certain you’re standing in front of him now, eyes glistening with tears, and your smile so bright and beautiful he believes he’s ascended to the Celestial realm. Once he thought marriage a fantasy, uninteresting and unbecoming of an otaku such as himself, but you changed his mind—you changed his life. “But . . .”

“Stop right there! I know what’s goin through that head of yours, and it’s not true.” Mammon pinches Leviathan’s cheek, laughing heartily despite his brother’s murderous glare. “Who can resist my adorable lil brother, eh?”

“Mammon is correct.” Lucifer agrees. “What is it you say . . . believe in me who believes in you, yes?”

Leviathan’s mouth opens, but no words come out, caught in his throat. Instead, he sniffles, grateful tears rolling down his cheeks and snot streaming from his nose.

“Gross,” Mammon mutters. “I mean . . .” he improvises after Lucifer fixes him with an angry stare, clapping Leviathan on the back. “Ya look like a million Grimm!”

“Honestly . . .” Lucifer sighs. “Come now, Mammon.”

A wave of anxiety crashes over Leviathan. “H-hey! Wait . . .”

“We’ll see you soon, Leviathan.” Lucifer gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and Leviathan nods, watching his brothers leave, their words of encouragement still ringing in his ears and strengthening his resolve. The only one who doubts him is himself, envy warping the world around him to fit its narrative—dark, lonely, and bleak. Though you love everything about him he finds disgusting, supporting him and inspiring him to become the demon he is today, and the demon he hopes to be in the future; a future he envisions with you by his side.

“Levi,” he imagines you say, the sweetness of your voice causing his heart to flutter and heat to creep down his neck to pool in his chest. “Can I come in?”

“You!” he squawks, catching your gaze in the mirror as you peek your head into the room. “I-it’s r-r-really you!” Quickly, he covers his eyes. “I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding! I-I heard it’s bad luck.”

“That’s an old human superstition,” you reassure him. “I wanted to see you . . . but I can leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

“N-no, stay!” he shouts, and then softly, “Please.” You want to see him. Years passed since you first arrived in the Devildom, countless days spent together, ending with you in his tub, your bodies and souls entwined, hearts beating as one, yet he still can’t believe you want to see him—that you want to marry him—that you want him. Every morning he wakes he falls in love with you again and again and again and again, and now he feels not a spark but a flame, burning with such intensity he aches in longing.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and Leviathan gasps, mesmerized by your reflection and how it glimmers in the moonlight spilling through the window. Slowly, he faces you, his heart skipping a beat as he basks in your glory, shameless in his staring. Your smile is angelic, expression shy but full of affection, glistening with unshed tears as you look upon him, admiring him in return. The moment is etched into his memory, carefully filed away for safekeeping, saved not once but twice—a third time for good measure. He’ll never forget this, how you shine brighter than any star in the sky, radiating warmth and love, ridding him of doubt and instilling him with confidence; his love for you far too great to ignore.

“You look amazing,” you whisper.

“You do too . . .” He swallows. “You’re beyond amazing! You’re heavenly. My heart may give out before I make it to the altar.” Your laugh is music to his ears, leaving him weak in the knees. “You used charm and it’s super effective!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve come prepared,” you say, kneeling before him and presenting a gift box elegantly wrapped in orange ribbon. “A gift for my dearest Lord of Shadow.”

“Y-you shouldn’t have,” he stammers, touch gentle as he takes the box in his hands, untying the ribbon with unsteady fingers. Placing the top on the vanity, he grins, wide and toothy, admiring the two custom gaming controllers inside. “These are . . .” There are no words to describe the emotions flowing through and sweeping over him, surging forward in sharp stuttering sobs. Player 1 is inscribed on one and Player 2 on the other, the date on both in a heartfelt reminder of what the day is to bring and will mean after all is said and done, your bond continuing to grow and flourish.

You wipe the tears from his eyes, cradling his face in your hands. “I thought we could put them to good use later.”

Setting the box aside, he gathers you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap to kiss you, tender but fervent, the bitterness of his tears overpowered by the sweetness of your lips. “Love you I do, marry you I will,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against your own and savoring the feel of your fingers in his hair and as they run over the base of the horns now crowning his head.

“I love you too,” you laugh, your breath hot on his skin, sending a delightful shiver down his spine that causes his tail to curl. And he knows, as you lean in to kiss him, he loves you, and you love him, and there’s nowhere else he wants to be, happy and at peace in your arms.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jack, Deuce: Reason for Strength

Every time Jack talks about Magical Shift, I think about how he used to watch Leona play on the TV 😂 which… I DON’T KNOW, I THINK IT’S KINDA CUTE HOW HE LOOKS UP TO LEONA LIKE THAT

L*ona as a respectable upperclassman that his juniors admire 🤡 This is literally Epel’s Union Birthday interview all over again... OTL

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future

“What do you do on your days off?“

“I train.” Jack said it as though it were the most obvious, most simple answer in the entire world. (And, if the massive size of his muscles said anything about it, Deuce didn’t doubt him.) “I keep a notebook, research different protein bars... that kind of thing.”

“That makes sense! It’s just like Coach Vargas says, if you want to get gains, you’ve got to commit yourself to constant training.” Deuce paused. “Oh, and apparently drink lots of raw eggs.”

“They’re a good source of protein,” Jack agreed, “but you can get a more varied diet if you mix in protein powders with your regular meals.” He took a look at Deuce’s arms, then added, “I can recommend some to you. Track and Field Club member to Track and Field Club member.”

“I’d appreciate it!” Deuce smiled gratefully. “Come to think of it, why are you in Track and Field instead of Magift?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I always figured since you look up to Kingscholar-senpai so much--”

“I-I do NOT!!” Jack cried indignantly (though his cheeks darkened bashfully and his ears flattened in a telltale way).

“--that you’d go for the same extracurricular he’s in. You mentioned before that you’re really into Defensive Magic too. Playing Magift would give you a chance to practice that, and using it with other types of magic. It seems like a perfect fit for you.”

“It’s a team sport,” Jack grunted. “Not my thing. I’m better off doing things myself.”

“Oh.”

The birthday boy turned away, as if closing the conversation like a book, its story told time and time again. The frown on his face was like a worn cover or folded pages, creased with lines and frayed at the edges. 

Deuce regarded him with a pensive look. “… Hey, Jack. I’ve been wondering this for a while now, but… Why do you want to become so strong?”

“Why?”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s gotta be a reason for it, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be working so hard. Um! Like how I’m aiming to be an honors student to make my mom proud. I want to know what drives you!”

Jack’s fur bristled. His eyes darted away. “Wanting to be strong is its own reward,” he said gruffly. “What I have right now isn’t enough.”

“Dude, you’re already the buffest guy I know!!”

“It’s still not enough,” Jack repeated, clenching his hands into fists. (Deuce nervously eyed the beastman’s broomstick, afraid that he would snap it cleanly in half from the way the wood strained against his grip.)

“How can it not be enough?”

Jack faced his friend. A new haunted urgency shone in his fierce stare. “Because even someone as strong as Leona-senpai can have moments of weakness. Times when they turn on others and give in to their darkest impulses.”

Deuce gulped. An unspoken word formed a creeping chill along his skin.

Overblot.

They had both been there that day in the coliseum. They had both witnessed Leona’s dissent into madness, how his face twisted and writhed with pain as black ink consumed him.

The earth-shattering roar he had let out then, whipping sands making their eyes tear, pushing them farther and farther away... Their voices not reaching him.

“Strength will never be enough. That’s why I need to dedicate myself to training--not just my muscles, but my mind and spirit too. So when that day comes where I’m challenged, I’ll be ready for it.” Jack nodded solemnly. “I won’t give in.”

I will protect the ones I love with all my strength. That is the reason I train.

“Wow...” Deuce gaped, his jaw slack. “… I don’t get it!! But whatever you said just now sounded really cool and inspirational!

“Uh...” Jack felt for the back of his neck. “Thanks?”

Deuce gave a grin and playfully punched the birthday boy on the arm. His fist bounced off harmlessly. “You’re strong and smart. Whatever you do with your power... I know you’ll do good with it.”

Jack smiled back awkwardly. “You too. Well, you’re not too bright, but you’re strong for your family and friends.”

That makes two of us.

Deuce flinched. “I’m working on the bright part!!’

“I know.” Jack tilted his head, the brim of his wizard’s cap casting a shadow over his broadening smile. “... Good luck with your training.”

“To both of us!” Deuce corrected him.

“To both of us.”

Jack shielded his eyes, lifting his gaze to the clear autumn skies--and the blazing sun that scorched it. There seemed to be no end to its brilliant blue hue. He could get lost in it forever.

Jack cut to his classmate.

“You and me,” Deuce said, a wicked glint now set in his serious face. “We’ll see who can meet their goal first.”

“It’s a race, then.” Jack swept onto his broom and mounted it with a smirk. The flowers in place of the bristles shimmered with a golden halo of light. “You’re on.”

The boys spoke in unison.

“I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Jack took off like a rocket, his tail streaking behind him like a flag. Sunshine colored petals rained down.

Cupping his hands together, Deuce shouted something after Jack. His laughter caught on a blast of crisp wind and warm leaves, echoing after the birthday boy like a trail of indescribable magic.

Jack laughed back, raising a balled hand into the air.

Triumph and a promise in his grasp.

[hoffmannwrites]

On My List

1  - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 + 1 Masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello, little gay people in my phone!! This is probably my favorite part so far just because it's like so very on brand for them and also we get a little bit of Steve being eye candy and Eddie being a sexy mechanic and I just love them!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Description: 5 Times Steve and Eddie kiss as friends, and one time they don't.

Warnings/Tags: Everyone lives, Nobody dies, 5+1, Kissing, Fluff, Idiots to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, some pretty brief mentions for drinking, smoking, uhhh they're gay your honor, no beta we die like Barb, very vague sexy talk (like pg-13 mention of pulling the padge), call him Daddy but in a friendly way ya know, let me know if I missed anything?

Drive

Wayne had a saying while Eddie was growing up. Well, actually, Wayne had a lot of sayings. But one of Eddie’s favorites was “first time is an accident, second time is a coincidence, and third time is a hobby”. For weeks, Eddie ponders what a fourth time is. Because him and Steve have had their mouths on each other four times now and he had no goddamn idea what that meant. Obviously, Steve wasn’t, like, homophobic. He was Robin’s biggest support and he’s never freaked out after any of the times he and Eddie…But the metal head can’t help but wonder what that means. He’s never actually come out or said anything even remotely close to liking a boy. Straight until proven guilty, Eddie liked to believe. Had his heart toyed with by experimenting and down-low boys too many times to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. So Eddie doesn’t say anything- convinces himself that this is just Harrington being comfortable in his masculinity and sexuality. Self-assured enough to know that kissing his guy friend every once in a while isn’t gay, it’s just dudes being bros.

And they were bros! So much so that when Steve’s BMW breaks down around the corner from his own home, that Eddie is the person he calls to help. Steve jogs the block and a half back home and calls two people in quick succession. First is Robin, to let her know that he can’t make it in because something is wrong with his car (“Did you get a flat? Why don’t you know how to fix a flat?” “No, Robs. It’s not that. Yes, I’m sure. No really, I can’t just drive it anyway because it’s fucking smoking.”) Robin agrees to cover for him, but makes the vague threat of him owing her big time. They both know it’s unnecessary because he would do anything for her in a heartbeat regardless.

Second, he calls Eddie. Because Eddie knows about cars. If he can hot-wire a trailer, he can take a look at a smoking BMW. So Eddie drives over and meets Steve around the corner, where he’s sitting on the curb enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. He’s practically sunbathing in his stupid tight acid wash jeans and white tee with the sleeves cuffed and sun glasses on, smoking a cigarette. He looks like an 80’s James Dean but with somehow better hair, Eddie thinks. He rolls down the window of the van and shouts out “Hey! I’m looking for a damsel in distress? About yea high, prettiest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, and no clue how cars work?”

“Ha-Ha, you’re hilarious, Munson,” Steve replies dryly, as Eddie parks the van right in front of the BMW on the side of the road. He gets out and walks over to the beemer to pop the hood. "So you really think I have pretty eyes?" Steve asks while Eddie sets up the hood strut. But Eddie just clears his throat and hopes the blush on his cheeks isn't noticeable. “So you said it was smoking?” He inquires.

“Yeah it just started to smoke, so I panicked and pulled over immediately,” Harrington explains. “Ah,” Eddie nods in acknowledgement. “Good thing too. I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news is, this” he says dramatically while pulling out a thin black belt from under the hood into the air, complete with frayed ends, “is not supposed to look like that.” Steve’s eyes go wide, automatically freaking out a little because that looks really bad. But before he can completely shit himself, Eddie continues. “Good news is, I can fix it and it’ll only take me about an hour once we get the part.”

“Oh thank Jesus,” Steve let’s out the breath he was holding.

“Not Jesus. Just little ol' me,” smiles Eddie. “However I have been told the resemblance is striking. I think it’s the hair.” He gestures to the van. “Hop in, let’s go get Daddy a new belt, huh?” He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face heats up at the nickname, but chalks it up to regular embarrassment. Once they’re both in the car and Steve is sure he locked the beemer for the 4th time, they’re on their way to the nearest Northern Automotive. Eddie doesn’t even blast the radio too loud or anything. “Hey, do you need to me to drop you off? Like you were obviously going somewhere so, I can take you if you need and then just fix it on my own,” Eddie offers, realizing this is probably not how Steve wants to spend his day.

“Oh. No. I already called out of work and it’s a Wednesday, so it’s gonna be dead anyway. Honestly, I could use the break and it’s goddamn gorgeous out today, so I don’t mind. Thanks for asking, though. Are you sure you’re okay spending the day fixing my car?” Steve asks, suddenly aware that he never really asked Eddie to fix it, just take a look and the metal head just lept into action.

“Oh yeah, it’s fine. I was actually super busy smoking weed by myself, jerking off, and watching M.A.S.H. reruns, but it’s alright I guess I can reschedule those super important plans,” Eddie dramatically sighs. Steve smiles wide. “Good to know that you jerk off before watching M.A.S.H. I’d be totally concerned if that was what got you going.”

“Actually, Stevie, I’ll have you know that Alan Alda gets me all kinds of hot and bothered, thank you very much.” 

By the time they have arrived back at the car, the sun is hot in the middle of the sky. They got the new belt needed and some Burger King and a case of beer on their way back too, at Steve’s insistence. He tried to offer Eddie money for fixing the car, but the makeshift mechanic refused. “You literally saved my life. I can fix your car,” he had said, blankly, but Steve decided he could at least feed him. Eddie had scarfed down his Whopper on the way back, and got started on the car immediately.

Steve tried to be helpful, handing over a wrench or a beer every now and then. He even gave Eddie a hair tie to put up all those beautiful curls. Mostly though, Steve just watched. Watched Eddie’s arms flex around metal. Watched his tongue stuck between his teeth while he looked at his work in concentration. Watched as his hairline dripped a fine line of sweat down the side of his neck, and disappeared under the collar of his Pantera t-shirt. Watched his ass and that stupid black hanky in his left pocket. Steve just watched Eddie work and thought about how he could get used to seeing the older man sweaty and dirty, as long as he wasn’t bleeding out like that time Steve saw him so filthy. Sure, they talked too, but Steve could barely pay attention to the conversation because he was so focused on just how fucking pretty Eddie looked.

Eventually, the belt was fixed and Eddie slammed down the hood, startling Steve out of his very unholy reverie about all the other ways to make Eddie sweat. “Alright, Big Boy. Let’s give her a test, make sure she starts up for ya nice, and drive her around the block a few times.” Steve jumped up from his spot on the curb and hopped in the drivers seat, put the key in the ignition and turned.

“Beautiful!” Eddie practically shouted, jumping in the passengers side as the car sprang to life perfectly. “Now let’s drive her around a little, make sure she’s all set.” Steve did as he was told and took the car around the neighborhood in complete silence, as Eddie made sure everything sounded, looked, and even smelled correct (“If it sounded wrong, I’d know it. If it smelled wrong, I’d know it. And if it started smoking again, I’d definitely know it,” he insisted).

They pulled back over to where Eddie’s van was. “Man, you have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Steve said when they were parked. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now.”

“Alright, if you insist,” Eddie replied with a theatrical eye roll. He pursed his lips and shut his eyes comically, expecting Steve to laugh him off and shove him away. Instead he felt two soft hands grab the side of his face and an even softer pair of lips on his own. And for just a second, in the silence of Steve Harrington’s BMW, Eddie felt like he was melting way more than he had standing out in the sun. Steve pulled away, hands still on his friends face. “You wouldn’t let me pay you, so that’ll have to do.”

You’d think that after weeks of overthinking the last four times this had happened that Eddie would have had anything worth while to say, that he would have seized the moment and asked Harrington just what the fuck was going on in his head. But he was Eddie Munson. So of course, he made a joke out of it. “I’m not sure what the exchange rate is on that right now, but I think we’re even,” he said feigning confidence, shifting his eyes as far away from Steve’s as possible, and scrambling out of the car as quickly as he could all while trying to not look suspicious. He held the door open and bid Steve good bye, “I won’t tell Robin that you can totally go to work now, by the way. See ya around, sweets.” And with that, Eddie was in his van and speeding away, blasting the radio by the time he got to the end of the block.

Steve had intended on asking Eddie to come back to his house for a while and maybe, finally, get somewhere with the metal head, after dancing around each other for so long, thought he had sealed it with today’s kiss. But Eddie had left so abruptly, that Steve didn’t even get the chance. Obviously, Eddie was totally freaked out by Harrington’s forwardness. He sighed loudly and cursed to himself, driving to Family Video anyway because he needed to talk to Robin. 

A/N:

Steve's car is a 1983 BMW 733i in Burgendrot-Metallic.

Apparently, the thing that holds up a cars hood is called a few things, mainly a hood prop or hood strut. From what I could find, BMW uses the phrase hood strut.

Also apparently, only a BMW motorcycle is called a Beemer, while the cars are "bimmers". But as both a person who has never heard that before, and a German speaker, I have decided that is fucking stupid and I won't be calling it that.

Once again, I don’t know shit about fuck about cars. I only know this because one time my serpentine belt broke. It’s a pretty quick fix if you know what you’re doing (allegedly) and you can drive short distances with a broken belt, but it’s not recommended. I have no idea if Steve’s car would be as easy to fix as mine was. Hell, his model might not even have a serpentine belt. Don’t know, don’t really care. I’m a fanfiction writer, not a mechanic. 

Northern Automotive was the most popular auto parts store in 1988 according to a news article I found on Reddit. I have never heard of this store, have no idea if they were in Indiana at the time (I mean, they should have been. Indiana is pretty fuckin Northern if you ask me) , and it looks like they either went out of business or rebranded to North Auto Parts at some point. Who’s to say? 

M.A.S.H. went off air in 1983, after 11 seasons in as many years. It’s a Korean War drama/comedy and it is one of the most amazing and heartfelt shows ever made. Eddie grew up watching it with Wayne and now he watches the reruns whenever they're on. I strongly recommend you watch it. 

I asked my mom what food she ate in the 80s. She said BK (like enthusiastically, too). Here we are. 

[ofholyfire]

🎁 - Cherry

🎁  ─  exchange & open christmas presents

 “I apologize for being late. As per the agreement, I drove here,” Michael says bitterly as he steps into Cherry’s abode. He was never late to anything, but with the angelic fast travel through space and time now restricted to him– barring certain circumstances– he is forced to deal with the discomfort of not being punctual. Per the cherub’s very logical suggestion, Michael’s first step in understanding humans better is that he has to live like one. Perhaps he doesn't have to do everything they do, but this is a small and practical adjustment. 

It is driving Michael a little mad, but not as much as The Shopping.  

Someone (not him) proposed that they exchange gifts for Christmas. He found this odd, for Christmas is the day of gifting the Holy Son in honor of his birth. Angels do not receive presents; instead they return to Him the gifts God bestowed upon them at their creation. Usually this comes in the form of praise and reverence, but some angels possess anointed talents such as singing and crafting. Standing so close to the throne of God, Michael is skilled in a little of everything but excels in service and war. For Christmas Eve, the entirety of the day, and well into the evening, he was in Heaven preparing for the celebration and delegating tasks to his subordinates. The Heavenly host was vast but highly structured, thus allowing him not only to attend the celebration of Jesus, but also to take part in the final hours of festivities with Cherry afterward.

In comparison to all his responsibilities in Heaven, he still thinks The Shopping is worse. After Cherry convinced him to participate in this custom, he spent a week aimlessly walking in and out of stores to find something acceptable. He does not know Cherry’s likes and dislikes and he has no one to ask about this very human endeavor. At least not without raising further questions about what he is doing and why. His pride insists that he do this on his own. And so after entering one particularly interesting shop, and standing before a selection of items for an hour debating with himself about which was the best option between them, a thread of his sanity frayed. Despite it, he comes to Cherry’s place as promised with a gift in hand.

“It’s OK! I can only imagine how busy you are, considering whose birthday it is,” Cherry welcomes with a smile. He is particularly cheery today, even more so now that his company arrives. In lieu of the season, his place is decorated with festive colors. White Christmas lights are strung along the walls of his living area, Christmas music plays softly from his television, and his apartment smells of vanilla and spices. A modestly-sized artificial tree twinkles in a corner of the room, its branches decorated– perhaps overly so– with ornaments, balls, garland, and a star at its top. The cherub, too, appears even more cherub-like with his loose golden curls, rosy cheeks, and cream-colored oversized sweater with sleeves so long that they fall over his hands. He pushes them back as he steps aside to let Michael in and closes the door behind him. Bright eyes sparkle with curiosity at the size of the box in the archangel’s arms as it is much larger than the one he has for Michael. “Yo! What’s this? We agreed on one simple present.”

“It is ‘one simple present,’” Michael says as he toes off his shoes and steps further in to take a look around. This space is cozy and the smell of cinnamon and fruit draws his gaze to the kitchen. “What is this sweet scent?”

“Oh!” Cherry perks as if there is more room for him to be perky. “That’s probably my new candle and something you’ll like. You mentioned drinking red wine once, so I made mulled wine!” he says proudly. The recipe is simple enough, but it takes a discriminating eye and tongue to select the ripest fruit, proper spices, and quality wine. He, in his own opinion, has extremely good taste. Impressing such a lofty angel isn’t an easy task, so he uses all of his talent to make this drink. 

“Mulled wine?” Michael asks as his feet start towards the origins of the smell. Cherry stops him by skittering ahead and standing in his way. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Wait! You take off your coat and just have a seat on the couch. I’ll pour us a glass and we can open presents. That’s the good part!” He gives Michael a gentle shooing push into the living room and heads to the kitchen.

Thusly shooed, Michael does so. Box placed onto a small coffee table, he first strips off his black pea coat, neatly folds it, and drapes it across the back of the couch before he sits. All long limbs and height, he looks like a looming shadow among the bright holiday colors. Not that he isn't feeling festive; he just likes black and sees nothing wrong with his ensemble of crisply pressed slacks, a cashmere sweater, and accent of black and silver rings on his fingers.

It isn't long before Cherry rejoins him with his fanciest glass mugs in hand and places them onto a set of coasters on the coffee table. 

“Tadaa! Not bad if I do say so myself. I hope it tastes alright though,” he says with a scurry to retrieve Michael's present from under the tree. 

It is a standard flat box wrapped in green paper and topped with a stick-on bow–  two bows, actually, to hide the corner of wrapping paper that he accidentally tore. Michael would be none the wiser and he certainly isn't telling! Gently carrying it in his arms, he plops down onto the vacant end of the couch, legs folded beneath himself for a bit of a height boost, and holds it out in offering. “Merry Christmas!”

“I’m certain the taste is fine,” he reassures, intrigued by the contrast of dark red wine and the bright skin of orange slices in it. The mulled wine smells divine and he wishes to sample it, but he prioritizes the gift exchange first. Cherry is bubbling with joy and is all too excited to give it to him.

 The Archangel  receives it with both hands and a grateful bow of his head, “Thank you” softly  uttered as he does so. Placing it in his lap, he reaches over to Cherry’s gift and presents it to him in return. “Merry Christmas. I…hope it is to your liking.” A lilt of uncertainty permeates his tone, as if he's choosing his words carefully. Could it be a lack of confidence from the great Michael, or a display of his humility?

“If you picked it, it must be great,” Cherry offers happily, eager to open it.

The box is rather heavy when he accepts it into his lap and he admires the glittering silver and white paper bound with a length of gold ribbon. Slightly embarrassed by his very plastic stick-on bow, He wonders if Michael wrapped the box himself. Whatever the case, it could wait! He wants to see what's inside! “Ooh! It’s so pretty that I almost don’t wanna open it… Butlet’sopenonthree! Ready?!”

His excitement raises Michael's brow before he gives a single nod. The young angel starts the countdown, and on ‘three,’ they begin. Michael is quiet as he opens his gift, reflective and attentive to the process, and neatly removing the paper with the slide of a long finger between taped edges. In contrast, Cherry is unabashedly vocal as he pulls at the ends of the bow, lifts the lid with a pleased hum, and gives a start at what he sees inside.

“Eeeeeeeeh?! We agreed on one present!” he exclaims, not really upset at the three flat black boxes that he removes one at a time and puts onto his lap instead.

“As it came in a single box, it is one gift,” Michael says matter-of–factly. Technically he is right. Bending the rules is not breaking them, at least in this instance.

“Grr! You–!! That’s kinda cheating!” Cherry laughs, putting the larger box onto the floor. Beside himself, he removes the top from the first box and peels back the paper lining with a little gasp. This sweater is a bit on the sexy side; he guffaws because he did not expect the holier-than-thou Michael to pick out something like this. “Oh my goodness, this is positively sinf– I mean, flirty and I love it!” He catches himself before his comment could be misunderstood and drapes the sweater over his chest for a preview of the fit. Michael stops to watch him for a moment, finding this childlike excitement as a sign that maybe his gifts are suitable. Previously pillowed by the sweater is a silver necklace that the Archangel found as a fitting accent to the exposed neckline. Cherry fingers it with an “Oooh, this is prettyyyy,” and places both items on the back of the couch to see them as a set.

“Continue,” Michael urges, nodding at the other two boxes. He slows in opening his gift in favor of observing the reactions to his choices. What an interesting social experiment this is.

“Oh, I’m gunna!” Second box in hand, Cherry removes the lid and finds yet another sweater, this one able to be worn with or without an under layer and a set of earrings to match the shape of the sweater’s fasteners. “This is stylish! The clasps are a nice detail. I can’t believe you even managed to match them. How did you even do that?”

“I have an eye for detail,” he says absently as he lifts the top from his box. “And arrowheads.” A jab from the first time they met. He hasn’t forgotten.

“Awh, come on,” Cherry laughs. “That was soooo long ago.”

It wasn’t long ago at all, actually. Michael’s raised brow says as much. 

“You can’t still be mad about that, right? It’s Christmas and– look how cute I’m gunna look in my new stuff!” When in doubt, distract, distract, distract! He holds the sweater to his chest and poses with his sweetest expression; it is a powerful magic this one yields. 

“Mh-hm.” The Archangel doesn’t fall for it but he huffs a soft laugh through his nose and turns back to his own present. Cherry’s satisfaction with two out of the three gifts is enough for him. 

With the elder angel now off his case, the cherub focuses on his final box. Top off, he coos at the sheer softness and gradient color of the fabric as he runs his hand over it. Yet again, it is not something that he expected Michael to pick, but it is lovely. Lovelier still is the set of stack rings wedged firmly inside a small jewelry box to complement the main gift. Cherry is impressed by the differing aesthetics and the number of presents he receives. He utters a soft “wow” under his breath and immediately starts to fit the rings onto his fingers to try them out and see them under brighter light.

“Ooooiiii, Michael, I said one present. Why did you get me so much,” he mock whines. “But… thank you. Everything is amazing.” 

When he looks to the other, he falls speechless, arrested by Michaels beauty.

“I could not decide on one, so I chose them all,” he replies simply. Not choosing is always an option, and he will never mention how much he frustrated himself into that realization before a display of clothing. 

Cherry hears him speak but the words don’t register. Instead he is taken with the sapphire blue scarf now looped about Michael's neck and draping over one of his broad shoulders. It contrasts deeply with the angel’s black attire and rivals only the vividness of his eyes. He'd made an excellent choice, as this blue is the color most strongly associated with Michael's being. 

Then he recants and thinks that maybe his gifts were too good, for now he fixates on how the Archangel intensely focuses on fitting into the accompanying gift.

Solemn and elegant as he moves, Michael slips his long fingers into a cropped glove and gently tugs it into place. The soft sheepskin embraces each of his digits and just barely covers the heel of his hand– it fits him, of course, like a glove. He overturns his palm and the black leather cuts an arch across the back of his hand, flesh exposed to where the cuff of his sweater stops at his wrist. He holds both hands out this way and admires the comfortable fit. At first he thinks these gloves impractical, but they instantly grow on him. He clenches his hands into fists, each finger falling gracefully one after the other from pinky to thumb. Those powerful hands raised to smooth the neck of his scarf before he turns to Cherry with a pleased smirk that borders on sultry. 

“I like these… Thank you, Cherry.”

So this is the angel of fire, great general of God’s army who blazes brightly even in his subdued glory. 

Cherry stares. 

This is supposed to be a silent and holy night, yet his thoughts are anything but. 

He really needs a drink and reaches for his mug.

[edenaffinity]

Keith’s Playlist (as told by me)

I see a lot of character playlists for VLD characters on Spotify, but they all seem to be the same kind songs and type of music, so I took it upon myself to compile a list of songs that I think Keith would actually listen to.

Firstly, I wanna say that I never really bought into the “emo Keith” hc. He always hit me as more of an alternative, indie rock kind of guy. But I do believe he listens to plenty of MCR and FOB nonetheless.

Secondly, I don’t believe that Keith listens to a lot of music on his own. I think he grew up listening to music with his dad and maybe even Shiro, and that HEAVILY influences what he regularly listens too on his own.

And everything else is songs that Lance, Hunk, and Pidge recommend to him.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about music, this is based off purely vibes and that edible I took an hour ago

So with that said:

1. Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

I get that Iris is kind of basic but you can't tell me that this isn't Keith's song.

2. Over My Head by The Fray

For some reason, I feel like Shiro would be listened to a lot of The Fray in the 2000s.

3. When I Come Around by Green Day

Pidge and Keith bond of their love of Green Day, I know this to be fact.

4. Better Than Me by The Brobecks

Lance somehow stumbled across this song and sent it to Keith.

5. Give It Away by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Totally something he once heard his dad play and Keith just never forgot it.

6. Grand Theft Autumn / Where Is Your Boy by Fall Out Boy

Okay, so I am a firm believer that Pidge is a diehard Fall Out Boy fan and they're slowly converting Keith.

7. I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams by Weezer

Sorry to put Weezer here, I just feel like this is another rec from Lance. Why is Lance listening to Weezer? Idk, he just is.

8. Tell Me Its Okay by Paramore

Yet another Lance rec but I feel like Keith is really into the song and then discovers the rest of Paramore's discography because of it.

9. Everlong by Foo Fighters

Another kind of basic one, but for sure something he reminds from his childhood.

10. Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers

Pidge, once again, big The Killers fan and is slowly converting Keith. But he let's this song best.

And honorable mentions go to:

Come As You Are by Nirvana

The Kids From Yesterday by My Chemical Romance

My Hero by Foo Fighters

Hunting For Sport by Remo Drive

I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett

Keith and Lance as Taylor Swift Songs 👸🏼

Klance as Taylor Swift Songs 👸🏼

Lance's playlist 💙

[tsunderedoctor]

hi there! i recently got into one piece and found your blog, forgive me if your requests arent open but could you maybe do headcannons for a gender neutral s/o of ace, sanji, and mihawk whos loves to crochet but is pretty bad at it?

like they try to make em a pair of gloves and they hardly fit, is super messy and have a bunch of odd holes or strings poking out of it but they tried so hard on it and are just so happy to give it to him?

This is too cute omg, I love this idea!! Reader is just trying their best and it barely fits their hands!! ❤️❤️❤️

Portgas D. Ace

He’s naturally hot blooded both due to his fruit and just in general, so he doesn’t mind the cold and hardly feels it. However, he can’t say no to you and will whatever you offer him.

A scarf that comes undone at the bottom? He doesn’t care, he’s wearing it until it frays apart. And no one can tell him it’s dumb or not helpful since he’s shirtless, he feels warm and is wearing it!

Will wear that damn scarf to bed, you just have to make sure he doesn’t choke on it or accidentally try to eat it in his sleep. 

He be looking like a Natsu Dragneel ripoff but with better abs.

If anyone complains they are cold, he will brag that he’s nice and warm with his scarf, much to the others’ annoyance. Thatch might fight him for this great scarf to stay warm-

Will treasure it for his whole life, you made it and he loves it! One of the few gifts given to him and he would never trade it!

Vinsmoke Sanji

Similar to Ace, this is one of the few gifts he’s been give and he loves it so much!

Even if the gloves don’t fit, he keeps them on his personal at all times, whether in his back pocket or coat pocket, they are his good luck charm!

If Zoro says anything negative about them, he will happily fight him for your honor. Zoro mostly will say they just look ugly on him, but would fine on anyone else. 

Will always compliment your work and be your model for shirts or maybe ties! He loves the attention you give him and wants you to feel good about yourself!

Gets super jealous and clingy if you make anything for anyone else, especially ZORO. Don’t make that moss-head anything, yn-chwan!! 

If he loses them on accident or in a fight, he will believe he isn’t worthy enough for you and might cry as he pleads for forgiveness.  

Dracule Mihawk

Despite his cold nature, he appreciates your small and cute gifts. He also finds it funny that you think a crocheted sheath will keep his swords safe. 

Thanks you and goes back to normal as if nothing happens, but once you leave he finds himself staring at it for a long period of time, unsure why it affects him.

If Perona or Zoro bring it up, he pretends it’s not weird and doesn’t understand their questions. Of course it’s normal having a crocheted sheath for a 100lb sword what do you mean??

If it rips, he has no problem asking you to fix it, he wants to keep it useful and intact as long as possible. 

Also completely ignores an enemy or one of the Warlords if they mention it, this is again completely normal, what don’t you get??

Will lowkey be heartbroken once it tears for good, it’s not the same to have a new one, that sheath and him had memories together, you wouldn’t understand.

[illusionsofdreaming]

How about a Cale proposing/asking out Reader for marriage/date?? I love your fics and this is just a thought that I often imagine (It's usually people asking him out but this might be a nice change!? I think...)

Ft: Cale

Tap tap tap tap tap-

It was the soothing rhythmic sound of not getting anything done. Concentration having long since fled the premises as he stared blankly at the notes on the table, watched as the blue nib danced up and down and up and down again.

The notes were important he supposed but his heart wasn’t into it, mind occupied and consistently distracted by a particular receipt on his table.

It’s been several days and he has yet to hear a reply.

He’s not quite sure what to make of it. Certain social rules of this world clashed with his modern-day knowledge of social cues. One would think he’d have an advantage as one who transmigrated into a novel he’d read, but The Birth of a Hero never properly introduced the social decorum of the world in detail. 

Perhaps the only reason he made it thus far with his half baked knowledge of etiquette was thanks to Cale’s trashy reputation which, ironically enough, made people more accepting of his faux pas. Alas, if it weren’t for Hans’ persistent nagging that he should handle this important matter ‘the proper way’, he really wouldn’t have bothered. Now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Would it mean anything if he were to send a follow up letter? Or perhaps he should go there himself-

A knock on his door distracted him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see the origin of his headaches, Hans, peek in. 

“Young master, you have guests from the _________ household and-“

Cale was out the doors before Hans finished.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Despite having your back to him it was almost embarrassing how quickly he was able to pick you out amidst the crowd of people.

“__________.” He greeted, snow crunching beneath his boots as he neared your side, he hoped his breathing wasn’t too quick as he’d rushed over as soon as he’d learn of your visit. The burning question rested on the tip of his tongue, the cure-all to his worries as he reached for your hand. “I have been wait-“

“Cale! Just the person I wanted to see!” You turned, smile brightening your features as you pulled him closer, close enough that he could see how the cold had already kissed your cheeks pink. 

“Did you receive-“

“Yes, that’s why I’m here!” 

A flutter of nerves was set alight in his chest that made him weirdly jittery. How unusual. He’d always been so assured of the results of his plans (and he’s confident in his prediction of your response) yet he couldn’t help but feel flustered. He understood nothing of this world’s customs and Hans did mention a response would’ve usually been sent by letter. Does you coming here in person symbolise something he’s not getting again?

Something was pressed into his hand and his heartrate spiked uncomfortably as he glanced down to receive the scroll you passed to him.

He hesitated, frowning at the brown parchment. Noting the ugly frayed edges and wondering, why couldn’t you have just told him what’s written within since you’ve travelled all the way here anyways.

“Take a look.” you urged him and he sighed.

“Can’t you-“ his words faltered off abruptly as he unfurled the paper to reveal a mess of lines and sketches, his mind blanked as he stared uncomprehending at the contents. “W.. what is this..”

“Isn’t it exciting?” you glanced at the paper, delight and unadulterated joy shone through your eyes. “The designs for the waterways are finally complete! We can finally move onto the next phase, I’ve even gathered the others to discuss this! It shouldn’t take long, we just need to iron out the logistics and-“

He’d tuned out as he stared at prototype on the page, his mind struggled sluggishly to make sense of what’s happening. Cale’s expression remained carefully blank as he lifted his head up to look at you and finally noticed the circle of vassals awkwardly standing around them. 

Huh? 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

“..implementation of the new waterways will greatly improve the situation in the slums and if we...” 

If looks could set things on fire, the conference table would’ve long turned to ashes with how hard Cale’s been glaring. He had rested his two elbows on the oak table, fingers weaved together to create a net that supported his chin. To others, the firstborn son of the Henituse household may seemed to be in a contemplative mood, in truth, Cale had zoned out since the very beginning.

Perhaps there’s been a mistake. Maybe you did not receive it or perhaps he’d missed another social cue. Did he unknowingly commit another taboo?

“…Cale?”

He shouldn’t have listened to Hans’ ridiculous suggestions when he knew he had no patience for the roundabout and overly complex ways people liked to handle things here. He ran a tired hand past his face. Right, next thing he’s going to change in this world would be the removal of all redundant and confusing social constructs. First, he’ll start with the books on courtroom etiquette-

“Cale.”

A hand landing on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts and he looked up to meet your frustrated gaze. He gaped, caught off guard by your ire.

Your long sigh pricked at his conscience but you interrupted him before he could explain himself. “I sent the others out for a break.” You sat on the edge of the table facing him, although clearly annoyed, there was concern in the slight dip of your brows.

“You’ve been distracted the entire meeting Cale.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, pressing against the tension building there. “Sorry.” He admitted softly. 

“Is something on your mind?”

You. 

“It’s nothing.” To admit that his thoughts were in shambles all because of an unanswered letter would’ve been far too pathetic. Gods, when have he fallen so low. “I need a drink.” he decided abruptly and would’ve gotten up and escaped, but you knew him too well. With a subtle shift of your weight that looked all too natural, you leaned forward and your two hands rested against his armrests to support yourself in a comfortable lean, effortlessly and efficiently caging him in. 

“Cale.” Your tone broke no argument. It was clear he was not going anywhere until he cleared this matter up.

He sighed, slumping against the chair in defeat as he dragged his gaze slowly upwards with the reluctance of a child who’d just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar and was now forced to admit their wrongdoings. He hesitated when he caught a glimmer of something on your shirt. 

Somewhere along the meeting, as the room got warmer you must’ve taken off your thinner overcoat, it would’ve explained why he hadn’t noticed such an obvious accessory from the beginning. But now that he had laid eyes on it, Cale can’t seem to look away. His hand reached out cautiously, brushing over delicate work, the building tension within him eased away as he reminiscences at the nostalgic sight. 

It had only been several weeks ago when he’d went out to find the best jeweller in the Kingdom to have a specific brooch made. A bright golden shield with the Henituse’s family mascot emblazoned on, two magnificent rubies inlaid as eyes. 

With the solid feeling of the brooch under his fingers, his previous worries melted off like sleet to be replaced with an indescribable warmth in his chest.

“It suits you.” he finally says. It really does. 

Cale never liked things made in his honor, but something about you wearing his symbol made him feel a lot of things. 

Your rumble of laughter made him look up and you brushed a hand through his locks, amusement in your eyes. “Is that it? That’s what’s been bothering you all morning?” you mused.

He snorted and slumped forward, resting his face on your lap. “You wouldn’t reject it.”

“Confident, aren’t we?” you laughed and carded your fingers through his hair.

It was the truth which you both knew. He had never been a stickler for rules. The relationship between you happened as a gradual process, you two clicked and it just eased into your daily routine and became the norm. There was never any need or desire to announce it officially. But as someone who transmigrated into this world, who also decided to continue living in it, he wanted to do it your way. Because in the end, even if it was bothersome, annoying and baffled his 21st century mind, the gesture would mean something to you.

Now that he’s solved the mystery, satisfied he didn’t botch up some weird etiquette, he had time to analyse the day’s events and realised one thing. He lifted his head from your lap, “You orchestrated this. The waterways weren’t that urgent.” he deadpanned, stuck between feeling awe that you took all the effort to tease him and indignation that you’d dare.

“It’s not often one gets the chance to fluster you.” you admitted, not at all feeling guilty when you got the chance to witness his bewilderment first hand.

“Aigoo..” he clicked his tongue and in one swift movement, stood from his seat, forcing you to lean back as his arms landed by your sides, effectively reversing your positions. “You’d bother the vassals for this, how bold.”

You blinked innocently up at him. “I bothered no one actually, they all volunteered to help.”

He frowned. Traitors. The whole lot of them. He could actually hear them cheering outside the room. He’s going to have to tell Basen to talk to them about their loyalties soon. Well. Not that it would matter much. He glanced down at the gleaming brooch on your chest and his lips twitched into a satisfied smile despite himself. 

Perhaps there’s a reason behind such silly traditions after all.

Notes: So I combined these two asks because they’re pretty similar and to answer your questions: I believe Cale’s not one for grand gestures and formal things but he’ll occasionally abide by certain traditions if it has special meanings and especially if it’d mean something to you. 

[the-iceni-bitch]

I Fear We’re Facing A Problem

Pairing: Carol Danvers x enhanced!Fem Reader

Words: sorry, laptop is still being a bitch so it’s another mobile

Summary: You convince Carol to join you on a night out and a good time is had by all!

Warnings: WLW, explicit language, explicit sexual content (spanking, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of using a dildo), violence (but nothing too gory, just standard canon stuff), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: Another from my WIP folder and my second WLW fic! (Which I really need to write more of btw cus this was a real treat). I also may have accidentally stumbled on a little something that I had never thought of before but that is most likely going to be coming in the future, see if you can pick up those hints! 😉

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!!

Carol dodged a beer bottle as she stepped into the bar, cursing to herself before scanning the room for additional threats.

And boy were there a lot of them.

When you had drunk dialed her 20 minutes ago, noting your intention to start a fight with some chauvinist assholes, she hadn’t really believed you. But there you were in the middle of a full on brawl, punching some idiot in an army uniform in the mouth before grabbing a pitcher and breaking it over his head.

Carol moved forward as one of your victim’s companions grabbed you around the middle and lifted you off the floor. She tossed aside some moron in a leather jacket easily as he came at her with a broken bottle before wrapping her arm around the neck of the jackass that had you in a hold.

He choked and released you, his hands scrabbling at Carol’s forearm. She ignored him as you launched yourself over the table and kicked another of the army boys in the face before turning and shooting her a grin.

“Hey Danvers!” You said, grabbing another assailant by the back of the neck and tossing him across the room with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Y/N, what have I told you about drinking by yourself?” She said, dropping the man she was holding with a thud as he had finally passed out. She ducked as someone across the bar threw a stool, catching it in midair and hefting it back at him.

“I wasn’t by myself.” You said as you ripped a leg off one of the tables and cracked it across some guys back. “Thor was here, and he brought some bomb-ass mead.”

“That asshole left you here by yourself after getting you drunk on Asgardian mead?” She was going to have to have a talk with that idiot next time she saw him.

“Unlike someone, Thor knows I can take care of myself.” You said with an eye roll before breaking a beer bottle and plunging it into the thigh of some new moron.

“You’re not the one I’m worried about, sweetheart.” She scolded as she caught the leg of one of the idiots and threw him across the room.

“Oh, it’s sweetheart now?” You said with a snort before head butting someone.

“I am so not having this discussion with you right now.” She said before punching some asshole in the ribs.

“We gotta have it sometime, though.” You laughed as you caught a fist in your palm and drove your other hand into the idiot’s elbow until you heard a snap.

“Well maybe if you tried asking me out when you were sober, we’d get somewhere.” She said sarcastically, dodging a punch and throwing the puncher one handed into the ceiling.

“What?!? Y/N, I leave to get you sustenance and you start a fight?” Thor thundered, absorbing a couple of blows before picking up one of the army brats with one hand and striding towards you, hefting the grease soaked bag above the fray.

“Thorsie baby, you got my burrito!!!” You said giddily, tossing the man who was trying to stab you aside as you hopped on a table and pounced on the Asgardian, making grabby hands at the food.

“I can’t believe you left her unsupervised after giving her mead.” Carol said as things finally started to calm down as the bar patrons eyed the god who had just strode in with wariness. She slapped down a giant wad of cash on the bar, hoping it would be enough to cover all the damages.

“She was hungry and getting insistent, I didn’t think she could start anything in half an hour.” He said with a bit of a pout as he ignored your eating, your legs still wrapped around him as you moaned around your burrito.

“You’re a fucking enabler, Odinson.” Carol said with a shake of her head. “Did you forget about Helsinki?”

“Ha, that was a good time!” You said around a mouth full of burrito.

“It was an international shitshow, Y/N.” She said as Thor guffawed. “Poor Nat had to do damage control for a month. What am I gonna do with you?”

“You could make me your housewife.” You said teasingly before taking another giant bite of your burrito, slowly unwrapping yourself from Thor as you arrived at Carol’s Jeep.

She rolled her eyes at you as you gave her the most ridiculous doe eyes she’d ever seen. “You’re so fucking manipulative.”

“Please, I’d be a damn amazing housewife.” You grumbled, waiting for Thor to crawl into the backseat. “Isn’t that right, Thorsie?”

“Her pancakes are delectable.” Thor said with an appreciative nod.

“See?! I’d make you pancakes everyday baby!” You whined as you buckled yourself in.

She just shook her head at you as she started the engine and pulled out.

You stuck out your tongue at her before turning to Thor over your shoulder. “Well, since Danvers here has a fear of commitment,” you said, ignoring her scoff. “ you want to make an honest woman out of me, Odinson?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily before clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I would be honored to have you for my queen, Y/N.”

“Alright, that’s enough you two.” Carol growled. She was starting to get annoyed with your antics.

“Oh, are you jealous?” You said as you turned back to her, grinning like an idiot. “Cuz just say the word babe and I’d leave Mr. Asgard in a heartbeat, sorry Thor.”

He just chuckled at the two of you as Carol finally pulled into the compound, a scowl on her face.

“Let’s get you back to your room, Y/N.” She said resignedly, climbing down from the front seat and shaking her head at you.

“Are you gonna take advantage of me in my inebriated state, Danvers?” You teased as you stumbled out of the vehicle, Thor catching your arm and steadying you as he followed. “Cuz I’m down.”

“I’m gonna sober you up so you’re ready for the shitstorm that’s coming your way once your little bar brawl hits the news.”

“Ugh, lame!!!” You said with a roll of your eyes as you followed after her.

The three of you made your way to the living quarters, Thor holding you steady as you wobbled on still drunk legs, grinning and laughing with him as Carol marched in front of you. She shook her head at you two as you reached the door to your room. You leaned against the wall with a huff and a pout as she worked on unlocking your door.

“I’ve got her from here, Odinson.” She said as she got the door open, swinging it onwards and giving him his own look of reproach. “And don’t think your getting off easy, I already apprised Rogers of your role in this fiasco.”

“Ha, the Captain doesn’t scare me!” He said, doing a piss poor job of hiding the flash of worry that crossed his face. He turned to give you a grin and a kiss on the forehead before turning to leave. “Have a good night ladies.”

You turned to give Carol a knowing grin before she shoved you inside and followed after you, slamming the door behind her.

She finally let her face split into a massive grin now that the two of you were alone, a hearty laugh ripping from her chest that you reciprocated as she stepped into you.

“So, Thor knows then?” She said as she ripped off her leather jacket and tossed it aside, working on unbuttoning her flannel.

“Of course he knows, babe.” You said as you wrenched your tee over your head, moving to unbutton your jeans. “Pretty sure he figured it out as soon as it happened.”

“You didn’t tell him then?” She asked you with a cocked eyebrow as she stepped out of her boots and kicked them aside.

You rolled your eyes as you bent to untie your sneakers. “No, I don’t know why you want to keep it a secret though.”

“Mmm, I just like knowing that I get to do all these filthy things to you and no one has any idea about it.” She said as she watched you straighten back up, wearing nothing but your bralette and thong. “Now bend over the couch.”

“What?!?! Oh c’mon babe, we weren’t serious when we made that deal!”

“I was absolutely serious, sweetie. Now bend over and take your punishment like a good girl.”

You pouted and did as you were told, supporting yourself on your elbows as you presented your ass to her.

“Spread those legs further.” She ordered, tapping her toes against the inside of your ankle until you complied. “There she is. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, we’re only gonna do 10 tonight, since you managed to keep your antics local.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said grudgingly, a shiver running up your spine as she ran her fingers up the back of your thigh.

The first smack jolted you forward suddenly, almost sending you tumbling over the couch as you dug your hands into the cushions. Carol ran her hand soothingly over the red handprint that she’d raised on your left ass cheek before bracing her other hand over your back and grinning down at you.

“That’s one.” She said, her fingers brushing over your clothed core and making you whine before she slapped your other cheek just has hard. “Two.”

She made the same soothing gesture over your right cheek before spanking you directly above your clenching pussy and making you scream.

“Ooh, three.” She said, biting her lip as she rubbed her hand in a big circle over your sex, feeling the dampening cloth of your panties with a satisfied smirk. “Fuck, baby.”

She gave two more slaps to each cheek in a quick succession that had you whimpering and sinking into the sofa, your knees starting to give out. Her next smack was over your core again, and you whined as a fresh rush of arousal flowed out of you and started to leak down your thighs, the fabric of your panties now soaked completely through.

“Love how wet my baby gets.” Carol cooed before shredding your panties with a quick twist of her wrist and flinging the ruins aside. She sucked in a breath as she got a look at the mess between your legs; plump swollen folds flushed with heat and pulsing with need as juices flowed out you. “Just two more. Think I can make you cum from just a spanking?”

Her ninth slap was right over your entrance and made you twitch as she kept her hand curled over your mound, just pressing against you as she felt the muscles of your core throbbing under her fingers. She took a layer of slick with her when she withdrew her hand, and you peeked over your shoulder to watch her suck your arousal from her fingers.

“Carol...” you whined, your breath coming in needy little pants as you waited for her to give you your last spank.

“Such a needy little baby. You better ask me real nice sweetie, otherwise I might just tie you up and leave you all frustrated. Maybe I’ll make you watch me fuck myself on that stormbreaker dildo you’ve been keeping secret. Would you like that?”

“Fuck, Carol! Please, please fucking spank me! I promise I’ll be your good girl!” You moaned, trying to press yourself back into her hand, desperate for release.

“Aww, but I don’t want you to be a good girl.” She said.

Her final spank was a direct hit to your clit, and you screamed as your entire body spasmed. Your fingers dug into the couch cushions as you squirted all over Carol’s hand, your knees finally giving out as you sobbed with pleasure.

“Oh, I knew you could do it baby.” She said as she started to press soft kisses down your back, her hand still in between your legs rubbing in big, slow circles over your pussy with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. “Love making my bad girl fall apart. Don’t you dare start behaving now.”

“Yes ma’am.” You sighed into the cushions as you came down.

Carol ran her lips and tongue over the swollen marks she’d left on you, her hand an your core starting to press into you harder. You gasped when she suddenly pulled you apart, her fingers spreading your folds and barely giving you a chance to adjust before her tongue ran over your slit in a heavy stripe.

“Shit!” You cried as you thumped your first against the sofa, your cunt clenching around nothing as Carol lapped at your sex like it was the first drink she’d had in weeks.

She grinned against you, slipping a finger inside you and making your keen as her lips wrapped around your clit. You had to fight to stay upright as she slipped in a second finger, scissoring them inside you and stretching you open as she suckled at your tiny button, making you clench around her.

You let out an inhuman shriek when she added the third finger, thrusting yourself backwards into her face and fucking yourself on her hand as her mouth still worked at taking you apart. She shook her head to bury her face even deeper and you lost it, sobbing as your body tried to curl in on itself as your orgasm crashed over you.

Carol brought both hands to keep you from collapsing at the same time she pressed the flat of her tongue over your pussy, moaning as you throbbed against her face and she caught your release as it squirted out of you, swallowing it greedily as her lips wrapped around your sex.

Your body finally stopped shaking and she stood up behind you, curling over your back and turning your head so she could press her lips against yours. She teased your lips with your tongue and you opened up to her, whining into her mouth as you tasted yourself.

“Mmm, how you feeling baby?” She asked with a grin as she pulled away from you, taking your breath with her.

“Pretty fucking fantastic.” You said, beaming back at her. You flipped yourself over until you landed on the couch with a huff, making her roll her eyes at you. “Really wanna make you feel good too, beautiful.” You said with a wink.

“Yeah? How you gonna do that?” She said as she watched you reach under the couch, searching for something.

“Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” You said as you straightened back up, placing a long black box on your lap. “I don’t know how you found out about this, but it’s gonna blow your fucking mind. Say hello to the stormbreaker.”

You opened the box to reveal a massive, pretty realistic looking dildo and Carol let out a guffaw as you wiggled your eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I love you sweetheart, but I’m not letting you fuck me with a dildo based off one of our best friends!”

“Don’t be such a square, baby!” You said, standing up to chase after her as she headed into the bedroom. “He’d be flattered!!”

Tags!!!

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@chrissquares

[gukyi]

the heiress and the hotelier | ksj

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

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

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

Your birthdays have never belonged to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

Never mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, Dad—”

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

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

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

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

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

You’re stuck. 

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

The room gets blurrier.

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

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

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

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

It’s the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, what’s wrong—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. 

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

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

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

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

“Yes, but I—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad—”

“I’ll be checking in.”

He hangs up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mostly because it’s always been yours. 

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

So why are you the heir?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It looks like it’s barely been occupied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They nod, polite smiles on their faces. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Miss Jeon,” Seokjin says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps this might not be so bad after all. 

Then, your phone vibrates in your pants pocket. 

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

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

“Thanks,” you respond, lifeless. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes—?”

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

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

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

“You what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Jeon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” You ask, head tilted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you promise. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not Hoseok. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will not!” You will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know!” 

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

“Just them, but yes,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

“You what?”

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

“What do you mean? It’s a huge deal!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Can you do anything to find him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There you are. 

Days at the resort hotel pass by faster now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not an imminent happening. 

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

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

Or perhaps, you just grew up too quickly. 

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

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

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

Your phone screen lights up with your father’s contact for the third time today, the green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘decline’ button waiting patiently for your decision. Staring down at it, you frown. You normally aren’t one to purposely miss your father’s calls, but today is the day that the deal with the Ohs is finalized, something that you have zero desire to celebrate. 

After a few more moments, your phone stops vibrating in your hand, the screen going back. You roll your eyes and stuff it into the pocket of your pants, not wanting to wait for it to light up once more. You have a feeling that your mother will be phoning shortly to berate you for not answering your father’s calls, a call that you have every intention of ignoring just like the previous ones. You aren’t sure how to make clearer the fact that you think the deal is a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Mostly because the Ohs are horrible people.

Still, you cannot resist pulling your phone out when you feel it buzz against your side.

[Today, 12:27PM]

Jungkook: dude dad’s flipping out because you aren’t answering his calls

Ugh. Not Jungkook, too.

You: Tell him that I will congratulate him on the deal in person later. You: I’m busy right now.

Jungkook: he’s calling just to check in on the resort

You: I give him weekly updates and forward him any pressing news. He’ll manage.

Jungkook: just call him or mom’s gonna call you

You: Tell her that I will congratulate him on the deal in person. You: Later.

Jungkook: are you gonna be like this until dad retires?

You: Like what?

Jungkook: -_- Jungkook: don’t play stupid Jungkook: you’re being stubborn and you know it.

You: Dad already knows that I didn’t approve of him going through with the deal. I don’t imagine he’s expecting a party from me.

Jungkook: you can’t keep ignoring him just because you didn’t approve of one thing Jungkook: how is that professional???? Jungkook: you’re inheriting the business soon Y/N Jungkook: you need to start acting like it

You: Don’t tell me how to act when you aren’t the one busting your ass trying to make sure the business is ready for when he retires. You: You have your own life to lead and your own things to do. It’s not your place.

Jungkook: as a businessman, it isn’t Jungkook: as your brother, it is

You scowl at your screen. The brother card. Jungkook pulls it whenever he and you both know that you’re being unreasonable, and the worst part is that it always works. It always works because Jungkook only ever wants the best for you, wants to see you succeed as a businesswoman, as a future CEO, and as his sister. And who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

You: I just have a lot on my plate right now. Dad and I can talk later.

Jungkook: yknow Jungkook: like, occupationally, you are more than ready to inherit the company and you know it. Jungkook: you work so hard 24/7 and you never take breaks, you know exactly what you’re doing and you can command a room better than anyone i’ve ever met Jungkook: but Jungkook: oh idk

You: What?

An impromptu psychoanalysis from your wise-beyond-years younger brother is certainly not something you had been expecting today. But Jungkook always has and always will know you better than anyone else, something that is both a blessing and a curse.

Jungkook: you are so fucking ready to inherit the business Jungkook: i just wish you would realize it

Silence. You pause, watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again, Jungkook typing and deleting what next he wants to say. Chuckling to yourself, you read his message over and over again. 

What’s Jungkook on about? Doesn’t he know what you do? The position you have? Just because you’ll eventually take over the business doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Isn’t Jungkook aware of how much work you have to do? About how your father assigned you this resort hotel as punishment for disagreeing with him? 

You aren’t ready. 

You’re barely halfway. 

You: Yeah, right.

Jungkook: i’m serious Y/N Jungkook: can’t you see how prepared you are

You: I still have lots to do, Jungkook. Just because I’ve been given more responsibility doesn’t suddenly mean Dad’s going to retire tomorrow and that I’m ready to take over.

Jungkook: that’s not what i meant and you know it

You: I don’t feel like talking about this anymore. Tell Dad that I’ll talk to him about the deal later. 

Jungkook: … Jungkook: fine Jungkook: but don’t say i didn’t try to tell you

You angrily switch your phone off, fuming at the fact that the deal’s gone through, fuming at how Jungkook thinks that suddenly because you were given a resort hotel to oversee it means that you’re ready to take over from your father, and fuming at how, above all, there’s a part of you and a part of Jungkook that both know that he is, as usual, right. 

There’s a knock on the door to your makeshift office at the hotel and you lose it. 

“What?” 

You look up just in time to see Seokjin jump slightly at your shout, coffee sloshing around in the cups in his hand. Ah. You hadn’t meant to scare him like that. 

Exhaling, you rub at your temples as you set your phone down on the desk, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Seokjin. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please, come in.”

“Coffee?” He offers, a small smile on his face as he holds it out.

“You are a lifesaver,” you declare, taking the cup from him happily and having a sip. Perfectly scalding. Seokjin waits patiently behind your desk until you’re finished, swaying slightly. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Just thought that I’d let you know that I’ve just got more files on the finances.”

“Oh, excellent,” you declare happily, accepting the small manila folder from underneath Seokjin’s arm. You open it just to browse, and everything seems to be in order. An easy thing to file away for future reference if necessary. And there’s no doubt in your mind that Seokjin’s already faxed you an electronic copy as well. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Seokjin nods. He turns to leave but seems to linger, noticing the tension in your shoulders and the irritation on your face, the way you drink up the boiling coffee like it’s nothing, relishing in the burn down your throat. He almost stops himself, opening his mouth slightly and then closing it, but then he just sighs, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

You sputter out the coffee all over the manila folder in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you say over coughs, the beverage going down the wrong pipe in all of the chaos. “What—what did you say?”

“You just seem more stressed than usual, is all,” Seokjin says, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ink black slacks. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been snappy recently,” you say, admitting it. “There’s just a lot I’m dealing with right now. Mostly to do with work.”

“I hope I’m helping, then?” He says hopefully, a hesitant grin on his face. 

You nod in agreement. Without him, you definitely wouldn’t be sleeping half as much as you do now (which is apparently still not enough, according to Hoseok). At least Seokjin’s there. “You definitely are. I don’t think I’d have made it without you,” you chuckle. 

Seokjin smiles. “If you need me to do more, I’d be happy to. Just ask.”

“Thank you, Seokjin. I really appreciate that,” you tell him. In the short time you’ve known him, Seokjin’s kindness has outshone even his stellar work ethic, a trait that you’ve come to admire in him, mostly because you know you can only dream of being as generous as he. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he says, and he means it, too. “I’ll always be here for you.”

And standing here, in your makeshift office, with a matching cup of coffee in his hand, and a gorgeous, toothy smile on his face, you know that he means that, too. 

Sometimes, you can’t even believe a man like Seokjin exists. He’s practically flawless.

“I will bear that in mind,” you promise. “You really are a wonderful person, Seokjin. Really.”

Seokjin grins, the compliment going straight to him, blushing furiously as he exits your office, waving a tiny goodbye on his way out. You return it, watching fondly as he nearly crashes into the door frame, hand slamming onto it before he realizes. He laughs at his clumsiness and even from here you can see his cheeks get redder, heating up like the coffee in his hand. 

Work is hard. Being the unprepared heir to an enormous conglomerate even harder. But Seokjin’s right. 

At least you’ll always have him. 

You’ve never been one to develop friendships with your employees, but there is something about Seokjin that’s different. Something about him that makes him a confidant first and a hotelier second. Something about him that pulls you in, an electric, magnetic touch. 

You feel like you’ve known him longer than you feel. Feel like you’re closer than you really are. 

Some people are just like that, you suppose. Some people just make you wish that you had known them forever.

Quite frankly, you don’t think you could name a single thing wrong about Seokjin even if you tried. He gets your coffee order perfect (not that it’s hard, it’s just that you’ve never told him what it is), he does all of his work before you’ve even asked, and he runs the damn resort hotel better than you do. He’s obviously a people-person and can make others laugh without trying. He’s even figured out how to compliment you, a trait that not even grown businessmen have learned.

The days pass in a blur, made quicker by the ease of working with him. Of being around him. Seokjin lifts up your spirit and he doesn’t even have to try. His competence in the workplace is enough to have you coming by the resort daily instead of weekly, hourly instead of daily, just so you can spend time in a place that, for once, makes you feel relaxed. 

Hoseok would say that Seokjin is a miracle-worker. 

You would say that he’s just brilliant.

Honestly, sometimes you think that even Seokjin is more well-equipped to run your family’s business than you are. And you’re the heiress. 

The differences between Seokjin and all other men you’ve had the displeasure of interacting with (besides Jungkook, because he’s your brother, and Hoseok, because he’s the best) become abundantly clear after your second mother-mandated blind date. 

The first one that you went on a couple of weeks ago was alright. He wasn’t an asshole, but also he had the same amount of flavor as the plain white bread that you were served prior to the meal. But no points is better than negative points, right?

You mentioned to your mother that you probably wouldn’t be interested in a second date with him. She didn’t sound surprised. 

Unfortunately for you, your second blind date was not nearly as uneventful. 

The good part about your date was that it was a brunch arrangement, which is unabashedly your favorite meal of the day and also saves you the trouble of having to get all dressed up for a fancy dinner in the center of the city. But that is where the good parts end. 

You don’t know what your parents were thinking, setting you up with a man like Sangmin. Every single thing that you have ever complained to them about a man, Sangmin either did or was. The first red flag was how he showed up to your brunch meeting wearing a navy blue suit. It didn’t get any better from there. 

You know that your parents just want you to find someone and settle down, someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and get you to stop working so hard, someone who will make you happy and who can keep you comfortable, someone who is something that you genuinely will want to spend time with, but you can’t explain why, with this knowledge of your preferences and dislikes, they still send you on dates with men like Sangmin. 

Men who boast about their money with every chance they get, checking the time just so they can flash their Rolex watch even though their phone is right there, telling you how many fancy cars they own that deserve a woman like you in the passenger seat. Men who try to explain economic practices that your family pioneered to you. Men whose eyes flash with dollar signs when they hear that you’re going to be inheriting your family’s company. 

Your parents want you to find someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and keep you comfortable? They should let you pick. 

At one in the afternoon and not a moment later, you storm into your office, flinging your bag onto your chair as you groan aloud, staring out the window and fighting the urge to punch right through the Plexiglass. There’s no word for the way you’re feeling, the unintelligible growl that you let out. You just aren’t having a very good day. 

Your desire to interact with men is at an all time low, and yet, you can’t help but turn around when you hear his voice. 

“Knock, knock,” Seokjin says from the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hand. He strolls up happily to you, placing the plastic cup in your outstretched hand. “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” you spit, not wanting to say anything else.

“Oh, no, really?” Seokjin asks, genuinely disappointed. At least someone was rooting for you. You don’t even think you had been rooting for yourself. “Worse than the first guy?”

“Say the first guy was just… slightly stale white bread, okay?” You begin to explain, because Seokjin doesn’t need the details and you don’t need to relive the experience. “Then this guy would be… how would you put it—?”

“Really stale white bread?” Seokjin offers.

“A rotten egg mayonnaise sandwich that’s been sitting in a dumpster for two weeks,” you correct. 

Seokjin winces. A perfect reaction, as always. 

“It was just bad. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You decide once and for all, moving to your desk and slamming the coffee cup onto the wood. It sloshes over the edge and splashes around the side, leaving behind a ring that you know you’ll have to clean up later.

Seokjin goes to stand by the window, looking out into the back gardens of the resort, all tropical red flowers and vibrant green leaves. “You have a third one, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine. And not the good kind. The fact that the dates aren’t even over yet is enough to send you into a tailspin. “God, my parents are just desperate, at this point.”

“Why?” He asks, turning to face you, brown eyes wide and curious. “Are they worried about something?”

“Ugh,” you begin, on the verge of slamming your head onto the mahogany. The problem isn’t that your parents are worried you won’t find someone. It’s that your parents think that it’s their job to find someone for you. “I think they’re scared that I’m never going to marry, or that I work myself too hard and need someone to spend time with to calm down. I don’t understand. Even if I were to never marry, that’s not a bad thing. I can do what I want. I’m perfectly capable of running my family’s group without someone else.”

“Do you not want to get married?” Seokjin asks. The reason, you realize, that Seokjin is so refreshing, a respite from the rest of the executives that constantly surround you, is because he doesn’t expect anything of you. He doesn’t assume that you’ll eventually marry and become disparaging when you suggest otherwise. He doesn’t assume that you constantly need guidance on official matters that you alone have been tasked to handle. He doesn’t assume that you aren’t capable. 

(He did assume your preferred coffee order. And he is an excellent judge.) 

“I mean,” you begin, rubbing at your temples in a desperate attempt to relieve your body of the stress that sits upon it, “I suppose that eventually, it would be nice. But I’m in no rush if I haven’t met the right person, you know? Like, I’m not going to force myself to if the time isn’t right. There’s no deadline to get married.”

Seokjin nods in agreement, mouth shut. One of your favorite things about Seokjin is how, whenever you begin to speak, he begins to listen. 

“My parents are just putting all of this pressure on me to get married because they think that I’ll need someone’s help when I take over after my father retires. Or they just think that I’m sad and lonely. Which, maybe they’re right about the second part, but I just hate how they’re putting all of this pressure on me to go on dates and get married and work hard when there isn’t even a timeline for me to take over yet. I don’t even have real confirmation that my father is planning on retiring anytime soon. I just—ugh!” There really is no better way to put it than to just shriek and throw your hands up in the air. You sigh, dragging your hand down the side of your face. “Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?”

Seokjin’s eyes widen when he hears your words, like they’ve set something off in his brain. Even sitting on your tongue, they feel familiar to you. Where have you heard those before?

He seems to wait for another few moments, contemplating what he’s next going to say, like if he just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out he’ll say something wrong. Little does Seokjin know, in your eyes, nothing he could ever say would be wrong to you. 

“You aren’t sad and lonely,” he begins, a nice, comforting pep talk even though you sort of are both sad and lonely. You work nonstop and have three friends, two of which are employed by your family, the other one being your brother. “And you don’t need to rush into getting married if you don’t feel like it, no matter what your parents say. I mean, at least I think you don’t. You’re obviously much more focused on your career and how you want to succeed in the future, and that’s good. It’s something that means a lot to you.”

He takes a few steps towards you, setting his coffee cup on your desk. You look up to him from where you’re sitting in your office chair, letting his words carve themselves deep into your heart, rest within your soul. 

Sometimes, you don’t realize you’ve gotten yourself down until someone is trying to pick you back up. 

“You do have control over your life,” he tells you, and for once in your life you actually feel yourself believing it. “What you are doing, what you have been doing, is right. Things will come with time. You’ll learn and grow more as you keep living. And even if you aren’t looking for them right now—” he says, eyes wide and knowing and promising, looking at you so desperately because God, he just wants you to listen to him. To let his words mean something. “—there is someone out there who will love you.”

The sound of his voice dissipates into the air, sinking into the floor, dust after a storm. 

“You really think so?” You ask, hopeful. You never believed in soulmates but you have always believed in love. Believed that when the feeling was right, you would know. 

(That kiss still lingers in your mind, like morning dew after a rainy night. Like frost settling over the grass. Is it possible that you can feel like that again?)

Seokjin nods, firm and true. He does think that. He does. “I do,” he says. “I really do.”

The third date is forgettable. 

Or perhaps Seokjin has just enchanted you. So much so that your brain doesn’t even choose to remember interactions with other men. They just aren’t as memorable. 

You finish up this round of parent-mandated rich boy blind dates and get back to work, knowing that you might as well make the most of your now-unoccupied time before your mother decides once again that it’s time for you to go on dates again with men you have no interest in. Work, unlike so many other things in your life, will always be a constant. For better or for worse. 

Today, it’s barely even dawn before you arrive at the hotel. In recent days, the resort has become your hub for all of your work, even the work that doesn’t have anything to do with it. There’s just something calming about being here. Something that makes you feel more productive. That makes you want to work more. 

You slide into your office with ease, coffee in one hand and messenger bag in the other, surprisingly awake considering the sun is hardly over the horizon, soft orange rays peeking out from between the trees and skyscrapers. You don’t imagine there’s a lot of tasks of immediate priority waiting for you on your desk, but there’s always other work to be done. Administrative orders, emails to send, requests to be made. Even here, there’s no shortage of items on your never-ending to-do list. 

Seokjin’s not due to clock in for another several hours, at least. But he works long days and longer nights, and he deserves at least the morning off. He should at least be afforded that small luxury. 

Sitting down in your office chair, you pull yourself into the desk, elbows resting on the hardwood, head in your palms. The smell of coffee wafts through the air, thick and potent, waking up your nerves, one by one, sending small waves through your brain. You close your eyes, almost drifting back to sleep, sighing happily. 

Today feels like a good day. 

The hours pass quickly when you’re here, the sun rising slowly in the sky as it always does, day in and day out. You rely on it as much as it relies on you, wakes up this little corner of the world, says hello to the people stepping out of their doors and onto the street. No matter what, you know that the sun will always be there to greet you when you wake and say goodbye before you sleep. Within thirty minutes your coffee is finished, within the hour your emails are answered. 

One by one, you check the tasks off your list, responding to a phone call or two, forwarding some files to your father, rejecting a business proposal and requesting changes to another. You don’t even notice the minutes blowing past you until the sun is high in the sky, and the clock is chiming twelve. Noon, already?

“Knock knock,” a voice from the doorway calls. 

You feel your body relax when you see Seokjin standing there, peeking his head into your office like he always does. He looks much more casual today, a sweater vest over a button-down shirt, looser beige pants in place of his usual tailored slacks, hair sitting in a tousled mess atop his head, forehead peeking through the strands that hang low over his face, brushing his eyelashes. Instinctively, you glance down to your usual pantsuit attire. Did you miss a memo?

“What, no coffee for me today?” You tease, an eyebrow raised as Seokjin enters, coffee cup-less.

“Not today, sorry,” he says with a guilty smile. “I thought that maybe we could get something else to eat.”

“Oh!” You exclaim happily. “Sure, we can order some delivery. What are you feeling? Sushi? A burger? Oh, I know this wonderful brunch place that’s just a few blocks away—”

Seokjin laughs, a hand reaching out to push your phone done. The mere sensation of his fingertips upon your skin are enough to have you looking back up at him, shellshocked, heart frozen in place. “I was thinking something a little different.”

“Like what?” There are plenty of options for the two of you to pick from.

“How about you and I take a break this afternoon?” He asks, eyes wide with ambition. 

You frown, nose scrunched up at the notion. “A break? You mean… leave?”

Seokjin nods. Oh, so you did hear him correctly. “You’re always working so hard. You should take some time off.”

“Ugh,” you respond, rolling your eyes, having had this conversation thousands of times before. “You sound like Hoseok.”

“Hoseok’s right, Miss Y/N,” Seokjin points out, much to your chagrin. “You’ve been working so much lately. Just a little break, alright? We can get out of here and do something fun.”

“Nice try, Seokjin,” you say with a scoff, turning back to the work in front of you. “Maybe some other time.” Which means never, so long as you can help it. 

“Oh, come on,” Seokjin says, a pleading lilt to his voice. He’s beginning to pout in front of you, lower lip turned outwards. “Just a couple of hours, please? We can go into the city and walk around for a little bit. Eat some food in the park, or something.”

You look up to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. That does sound good… but you have work to do, items to cross off your list. This hotel isn’t going to manage itself, and neither is your life. “A couple of hours?” You clarify, interest piqued. 

“Just a couple,” Seokjin promises, fighting off the grin that’s etching its way across his face. “Please?”

You sigh. 

Twenty minutes and a Lyft ride later, you and Seokjin are standing in the middle of the city, along the streets known for their high-class fashion boutiques and expensive restaurants with afternoon tea. There’s a park a couple of blocks to the north. It’s a part of the city that you rarely get to spend time in, usually trapped in the business skyscraper sector a ten-minute subway ride away, but for that reason alone, it feels brand new. 

Seokjin buys you both a cup of expensive coffee despite your objections, and the two of you walk along the sidewalks side by side, sipping from your paper cups with plastic lids, letting the warmth wash down your throats. 

It’s nice, being out here. Away from anything that reminds you of work. With someone you’ve wanted to spend more time with for a while, now. 

Out here, you can almost pretend. Pretend that you aren’t the heiress to a major global conglomerate, pretend that you aren’t being groomed to marry up, pretend that life is just a little more normal. 

Out here, you can almost pretend that you and Seokjin are more than just friends. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, look at this shirt!” Seokjin gasps, stopping in his tracks in front of the window of one of the most expensive luxury boutiques you can name. You’re pretty sure that Jungkook shops here sometimes. 

The shirt in question is a satin white button-down with hand-stitched birds decorating the fabric, wispy little designs that seem to be fluttering off of the material itself. It stands front and center in the window, a masterpiece meant to have people stopping in the streets just to gaze up at it in awe. It’s doing its job rather well. 

“You wanna try it on?” You offer, motioning towards the door of the shop, a sleek, black one with metallic silver accents. 

“What?” He asks, turning to you with an eyebrow raised. 

You smile, pointing up at the shirt, eyes tracing the drape of the fabric. “Come on, just for fun.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing to have Seokjin marching up to the door and pulling it open, giddy like a child walking into a toy store. He spots what he’s looking for immediately, a single shirt on a silver rack, hanging from a simple wire hanger. Other than the one on the mannequin in the window, there seems to be no other option. 

“It even feels expensive,” Seokjin sighs happily, hand brushing over the satin fabric. He holds it out to you, and it’s so light and pliable that you can barely feel your fingertips touching the material. 

“There’s the fitting room,” you say, pointing to the back corner, black velvet held up by a rod, muted gray paint lining the walls. Seokjin grins excitedly at you before rushing off, disappearing behind the curtain with a flourish. 

Instinctively, your eyes trace the interior, jumping from the hangings on the walls to the decorative shelves, the pastel cashmere sweaters and shiny leather loafers, the silken white button downs and navy striped ties. Every item in this room practically screams Seokjin’s name, and even when he isn’t in front of you can you picture him wearing each piece, picture him in an oversized light pink sweater or a sleek white suit. 

It’s weird. You’ve never been able to imagine things like that. Not even on you. 

The clothes in here are some of the most gorgeous garments you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on and yet there is something else in this room that outshines them all. 

“Ready?”

You turn back to the fitting room, watch as the curtain shifts slightly. “Ready,” you say.

A hand comes out to push the curtain to the side, satin sleeves covering his wrist, but not even that glimpse of skin could really prepare you for the sight before your eyes. 

Seokjin steps out of the fitting room and you almost gasp aloud at the sight. 

The funny part is that he isn’t wearing anything else designed to complete the look. His hair is loose and floppy, like he had brushed through it with his fingers once or twice before deciding it was good enough. His pants are a roomy beige, hardly even complimenting the monochromatic shirt, white with black accents. He’s wearing sneakers. 

And yet, he looks stunning. 

Standing in front of you, Seokjin looks like the kind of person that your parents would want to set you up with. Rich, well-dressed (not that he isn’t already), powerful, educated. But he looks like more than that, too. He looks like someone straight out of a painting, like a sculpture that belongs in a museum. He stands tall and mighty, the hero after defeating a villain, the love interest in an old-timey film. 

God, he looks amazing. Looks like he belongs in those clothes, belongs in this store. Belongs in the kind of life that the usual clientele of this store live in. Something about him is just so familiar. Like he has always fit into the crowd that your parents want you to associate with. Like you’ve seen him before, once upon a dream. 

“So,” he says, interrupting your thoughts with a smug smile. “How do I look?”

He must already know the answer to that. 

You’re speechless. “I—Wow, Seokjin. You look great.”

A hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you correct. “It fits you perfectly.”

The fabric shapes his shoulders but drapes over the rest of his torso, including his ridiculously small waist. It both hangs loosely and hugs all of the right places. Your family regularly gets clothing tailored and yet you still don’t think you’ve ever seen any item of clothing fitting someone as well as this one does him. It’s as if the damn thing was made for him. 

“It feels like I’m wearing a cloud and a blanket all at once,” he says dreamily, relishing in the feeling. “If only the price tag made me feel this way too.”

“How much is it?” 

Seokjin holds out the sleeve to which the tag is attached for you to inspect, and the moment you see a comma in the cost, you understand why. No wonder Jungkook’s fine with shopping here. To your family, that amount is pocket change.

“But you really like it, don’t you?” You ask, looking back up at him, closer now. Seokjin nods, lips pressed together in a thin line, wanting something that he knows he can’t have. You know that feeling, too. 

“I would get it if I didn’t mind taking out a loan for it,” he jokes, admiring the detail at the cuffs, the way it cinches in towards his wrist. 

“Then let me buy it for you,” you say before thinking twice, because you have more money than you realistically know what to do with and Seokjin deserves it. He looks gorgeous in it and more importantly, he feels gorgeous in it. He emerged from the fitting room and it was almost like there was this white glow surrounding him, this fluorescent halo that made it seem like the shirt was melting into his body. 

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “What? No, I can’t let you.”

“Please?” You plead, eyes gazing up to him. “You deserve it. Plus, you look amazing.”

“It’s so much money,” Seokjin reminds you, shaking his head. “I can’t. No.”

“Seokjin, do you even know who I am? I can afford it, don’t worry,” you assure him, already pulling him towards the register, his old sweater vest and button down still hanging on the rack inside the fitting room. 

“No, I can’t let you. It might not be a lot of money to you, but it is to me,” insists Seokjin, refusing to back down. 

You roll your eyes, figuring out the game that he’s playing. “Then consider it a thank you. For all of the things that you do for me. The least of which is bringing me coffee every day.”

“That’s just my job, Y/N—” He reaches out a hand to stop you from getting out your wallet, his enormous palm cupping yours as you stare at him, fighting over the shirt like two friends with a restaurant bill.

“No,” you tell Seokjin, because his job is to be a hotelier but he became a friend instead. And he didn’t do it just because he was told to. “You deserve it,” you say, placing your free hand on top of his. It makes him look at you, eyes glossy and big and beautiful. “You really do, Seokjin. This is the least I can do to say thank you for being there for me.”

“Ma’am?” 

The lady behind the counter catches you both off guard. “Will you be buying this shirt?”

Seokjin looks down at you in disbelief, almost like he doesn’t expect you to say yes. Like he doesn’t think he’s worthy of a shirt with such a high price tag.

But little does Seokjin know, if you could buy the whole universe for him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

You walk out of the boutique with a light heart and a lighter credit card, with Seokjin by your side and his old clothes in a cardstock bag with ribbons for handles. Even if he had resisted at first, you’re happy that he caved. He looks stupidly handsome. You’re actually somewhat regretting agreeing that he should wear the shirt out instead. 

A block away from the park is a little macaron store with more available flavors than you can count on both of your hands and toes. Feeling insatiable, you buy a box of twenty-four and decide on the spot that you won’t be leaving the center of the city without having finished them all. The mere scent of the shop as you walked in was enough to send you into a tizzy. 

Seokjin scopes out an open spot on the grass, in the shade of a big Japanese maple tree, and the two of you immediately settle down in the park, the blades tickling your ankles as you set the box of macarons in between the two of you and get to work filling your stomachs. 

“All of my friends are going to think that you’re like, my sugar mommy for buying me this,” Seokjin says, taking a bite out of the lavender one. 

“If you’re really that embarrassed, you could always say that I just gave you a raise,” you offer, peering over into the box to pick your poison. The problem is that you just want to shove all twenty-three into your mouth. 

“No way,” says Seokjin over a mouthful of macaron. “A sugar mommy is way more exciting. I’m just lucky I have a boss with a bank account.”

“Well, unlike all of the other men that my parents have sent me on dates with, you actually deserve to have someone treat you once in a while,” you say happily, eventually deciding on a lemon flavored macaron and popping the entire thing into your mouth. “I’ve met very few men who are as charming as you, Seokjin. Charming and kind.”

“‘Very few’?” Seokjin repeats, interest piqued. “Who dares upstage me?”

You laugh at his brazenness, his attractive confidence. “Oh, no one,” you say with a shrug of your hand. “There was this one guy I met at my birthday party, but I didn’t even catch his name.”

“Too busy mingling to ask?” Seokjin teases, looking sufficiently less confident than he did ten seconds ago. Like someone you had just said caught him off guard. 

“Yes, actually. And you don’t really need to know this, but he was an excellent kisser, too. Really sent me into a tailspin,” you say, feeling the faint sensation dance across your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. “But he ran off at midnight like Cinderella and left only a mask behind to remind me that I didn’t dream up the whole thing.”

“Ah,” Seokjin says with a nod, a strangely succinct answer for a man as wordy as he. A silence settles over the two of you as you continue to eat, slowly emptying out the box of macarons between the two of you, a light snack to keep you occupied when your mouths aren’t running circles around each other. “My dog gave birth a few weeks ago,” he says randomly. “Want to see some photos?”

At your enthusiastic reply, Seokjin pulls his phone from his pocket and opens up his camera roll to reveal a gorgeous terrier with four equally adorable puppies nursing from her, and your heart nearly melts. Nearly all of his most recent photos are pictures of them as they’ve grown older, opened their eyes and learned how to walk, started play-fighting with each other and eventually tracking into new territory (the living room), but you don’t miss the couple of selfies you see here and there. Even with the warped iPhone camera does Seokjin still look positively flawless. 

“They’re adorable, Seokjin,” you tell him, heart soft. “I’m in love.”

“Me, too,” Seokjin says happily. “Two of the puppies have future homes but I think I want to keep one of them. I just love them too much to let them all go.”

“You’ll make a great dog dad,” you assure him, sighing contentedly. “God, don’t you even know how perfect you are, Seokjin?”

He is silent. 

“Like, you bring me coffee every day and do all of your work and never talk down to me or assume that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve raised a family of dogs and have shown them more love than anything else. You even got me to leave the office for once even though you knew that I’d be really annoying about it,” you declare, partially to him, partially to you, and partially to the world, who deserves to know that there is someone out there like Seokjin that is equal parts wonderful and generous and kind and handsome and funny and lovable. 

It’s not just the fact that most of your interactions with men your age go sour. It’s the fact that Seokjin is good just because he is, not because he tries to be. It’s the fact that he cares so deeply and loves so much. It’s the fact that for once, there is someone out there who really does understand you. 

“You deserve a break,” Seokjin points out. “You work too hard.”

“Hoseok will be so angry that you accomplished what he’s been trying to get me to do for months, now,” you say. You’ve already missed three phone calls and seven texts from him within the last couple of hours. 

“It’s my charm,” Seokjin teases, a soft watermelon macaron grin on his face. 

“It really is,” you agree, feeling the gap between you close, inch by inch. “There’s just something about you, Kim Seokjin.”

“Mmm, do tell,” Seokjin murmurs, beginning to lean in, your bodies moving of their own accord. Your mouth tastes like lemon and sugar and coffee, but you can’t find it in yourself to care any less. “Because there’s something about you too, Miss Y/N.”

Slowly, you feel your eyes begin to drift shut, craving more than what you already have, itching to feel his lips press against yours, to feel that same fire in your feins. Of course, the next time you kiss someone would be here, underneath a giant Japanese maple in the middle of a city park, the furthest cry from a hotel balcony beneath a starry sky. But something about this is distinctly familiar in a way that you can taste, in a way that you will know once his lips press against yours. Beside you, Seokjin is barely an inch apart from you, pink lips with macaron crumbs hovering over yours. God, he’s so close. 

You want him to be closer. 

And then—

“Aw, what the—?”

The two of you jerk apart to find a giant stain on Seokjin’s shoulder, courtesy of an unknown flying park visitor who has long disguised themselves amongst the leaves of the maple, waiting for the right time to do its business. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin groans, looking down at the white and brown stain that now rests squarely on the fabric of his brand new shirt, an unpleasant splat front and center. “Thank you, bird,” he declares, throwing his hands up in the air. 

You fight the urge to laugh at how uncanny all of this is. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin says, grabbing a couple of the napkins from the macaron shop to dab on the stain. “A little soap and laundry detergent will be enough. No big deal.”

“I just feel bad,” you tell him. 

“Me, too,” Seokjin agrees, pressing gently against the fabric. “Great timing, too.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, dejected. 

Perhaps, if you were a little bit bolder or a little less fearful, you would try again. You would throw caution to the wind and press his lips against his, bird business and all, and never look back. You would relish in the sensation of his mouth on yours, of his hands on your waist, itching to feel that same feeling again. Itching to know that there really is someone out there who will love you. 

But you aren’t, and the moment is over. And you can’t, because you just don’t know how to. And you ponder if you will forever wonder what he tastes like, what he feels like. 

The clock strikes three. 

Some days you come in early, and some days you stay in late. 

Later than usual, that is, because you regularly stay past eight in the evening without blinking an eye. 

But some nights, you just don’t feel like going home. At least, not yet, you do. Some nights, you would rather stay here.

Home is where you’re supposed to feel at ease, where you’re supposed to relax and unwind, take off your heels and jacket, pour yourself a cup of tea. And that is what your home is to you, a place that you try to keep as free of your work life as possible. 

But sometimes, you would rather just work. 

Rather work and feel productive and get home a little bit later than go home and feel like you still have so much to do. Rather work than dwell on all of the other parts of your life that don’t involve work, things like marriage and retirement and your family. Things that you feel like you have no say in, no control over. You go home and waiting for you is another phone call from your mother telling you that you need to find someone. You go home and your father drops by to hand you a pile of late-night tasks reminiscent of how hard he’s been working lately. You go home and even if you’re all by yourself, your thoughts take control over your mind. Your worries and fears are magnified. 

So some nights, you would rather just work. 

Peering out the window of your office, you notice that the stars are just a little bit brighter out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Not nearly as clear as they were on your birthday, at a hotel overlooking the town from afar, but clearer. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the stars twinkle above you, waving hello from millions of light years away. 

Nights like these are too rare to spend indoors, huddled over your computer as you draft another email. Just because you’re still at work doesn’t mean you still have work to do. Well, you do, but you’re trying to be kinder to yourself. Trying to cut yourself a few more corners of slack. 

The rooftop is not off limits to guests. But you know a couple of secret places that can afford you the privacy you want, the space to lie back against the cement and feel the breeze tickle your skin.

When you arrive, there’s already someone there. A familiar tuft of brown hair, an oversized pink sweater. You wonder how long he’s been out here. 

“Knock knock.” Your sounds like a whisper but feels like a shout, the wind carrying the words from your lips to his ears as he turns around, hardly surprised to see you here. 

Seokjin laughs when he sees you, this fond, wonderful smile as you stroll up beside him, where he’s sat with his legs crossed on the rooftop’s edge, looking out over the distant city, the waterfront. “Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says. 

“I could say the same for you,” you retort easily, setting down beside him. If you were any braver, you’d rest your head on his shoulder. 

You’re not. 

“You must know by now that I practically live here,” Seokjin jokes.

“Well, I’m starting to pay rent as well, so you better get used to it, don’t you think?” You tease back, looking out into the same city, illuminated by the same moon. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I thought that you were going to start taking it easy on yourself,” he reminds you pointedly, one of the lasting lessons you had learned from the day out on the town. The other being not to sit underneath Japanese maple trees. 

“What can I say, I just love to work,” you say, and even though you try to make it sound like a joke both you and Seokjin know you’re not kidding. Work always has and always will be your biggest priority. Never have you lived in a world where anything else comes first. Never have you cultivated that sort of life for yourself. 

“How’s your family?” He asks, a broad question with a loaded answer. 

You don’t even feel yourself letting out a sigh until the groan leaves your lips, settling like dust. “The same as always,” you say, not even attempting to sound cheerful or happy about it. “They work me hard because they want me to succeed. And I want that, too.”

“But don't you ever want something more?” Seokjin asks, but it’s not the sort of question where he wants you to give him a yes or a no. It’s the sort of question where he already knows that you want to say yes, that there is a whisper deep inside of you that wants to have a life outside of your job, your workaholic family. But you can’t. Because your family is counting on you. 

“I just can’t let them down,” you say instead, because you and Seokjin both already knew how you were going to respond anyway. “There’s so much that they expect of me. What kind of heiress—no, what kind of daughter am I if I don’t at least try?”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” Seokjin muses. 

You force a chuckle. Obviously you have. Whenever you aren’t working, you’re thinking about what next you must do, what next is on your list. You’re thinking about how your family is counting on you to succeed. And how you want to do it for them. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Do a lot of people know how you feel?” He poses, looking at you curiously. 

You shrug. “Not really. My parents, no. Jungkook, sort of. Hoseok, yes. And I suppose you, now, too.”

Seokjin cracks a small smile, this lopsided grin that makes you feel like you’re missing something. “So I guess they’re secrets, aren’t they?”

“Secrets?” You respond naively, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment. 

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you say aloud, dumbfounded. “Oh my fucking God. It’s you?”

Seokjin laughs out loud at that, clapping his hands together at your positively shocked face, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He seems very amused by this, for some reason. A reason you can’t ascertain, mostly because you had no idea. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even figured it out from that. It took you forever to realize.”

You’re so scandalized you don’t even have the right words to respond. “What do you mean, ‘it took forever for me to realize’? Why didn’t you say something?” You demand. 

Seokjin’s still fighting off the remnants of his laughter, hiccups escaping from his parted lips every few seconds. “Because it was obvious you didn’t recognize me at first! And I had no idea it was you until you showed up at the hotel that first day anyway. And I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was worried it would have made things weird.”

“Look at us now!” You cry, positively mortified. Seokjin knew it was you the moment you stepped through the sliding glass doors and you still hadn’t figured it out, not even after weeks of knowing him, of getting to spend time with him. “God, I just—I can’t believe this.”

“The funny part is how I knew you had no idea who I was and yet I fell for you anyway,” Seokjin says, but his words aren’t making you laugh whatsoever. 

Your heart freezes in place as they sink in, etching themselves into your thoughts. “You—you what?”

“You befriended me without knowing that I was the man you kissed on the balcony that night, let me bring you coffee and confided in me and bought me the most expensive item of clothing that I currently own,” Seokjin says, a list of things that you loved him for all the same, “and I realized that it didn’t take that kiss to get me to fall for you. It took knowing you. Learning who you are. Who you want to be.”

You feel your heart getting lighter with every syllable that leaves his mouth, every breath that he takes. 

The truth is that no man had ever made you feel the way that the mystery man did when you kissed that night. But no man had ever loved you the way that Seokjin did. Treated you the way that Seokjin did. The kiss was a spark. 

The friendship was the fire. 

“All this time you were right here,” you muse, looking at him. Here in the moonlight you finally understand why he looked so familiar, why the light hit his skin in all the right places, why the sound of his voice had always struck a chord within you. He glows silver in the moonlight and yellow from the halo above his head, he sits beneath the navy sky and lets the starlight decorate his irises, sparkles in a deep brown ocean. “All this time, and I had no idea.”

“I’m sort of glad you didn’t know,” Seokjin admins sheepishly. “We got to fall in love another way.”

Love?

Could it be?

You’ve never truly been in love. Not the way that your parents are, or the sneaky way you see Yoongi looking at Jungkook sometimes when he’s not looking. But if it feels anything like this, anything like electricity beneath your skin and embers inside your chest, then you think you might be on your way. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask. 

“Kinda, yeah,” Seokjin admits crudely. 

You feel your cheeks heating up, your heart bubbling within you. You lean in close, watching faintly as he does the same, eyes trained on your lips. “Do you have any other secrets for me?” You murmur, the words hot and heavy on your tongue. 

He inches closer to you, lips hovering above your own, this soft, contented smile on his face as he gazes down at you, at the way that you are beginning to love him back, at the way that you already do. 

“This.”

The words barely leave his lips before he’s pressing them against yours, and the moment you touch him you know, you know that it’s him, that it’s Seokjin, that he is the man that you have been waiting for. Immediately your body lights up, electric shocks tearing through your veins, blood set alight. He is so familiar, smells and tastes and feels so familiar, like you have known him for a thousand years and you’ll know him for a thousand more. You get the same sensation you had when you last kissed him, all those nights ago, your body going weak, your skin turning to flames, but there’s something else, too. 

A burst in your chest. A puff of smoke in your heart. 

A fireplace. A little room in your heart, just for the two of you. For you. For your love. 

You think you could get used to this. 

He pulls away after a few moments and immediately you feel dizzy, like his lips were the only thing keeping you stable, closing your eyes as you burn the feeling into your brain, memorize how his mouth presses against yours. 

When you finally open them, there Seokjin sits, kiss-drunk and in love, this goofy, wonderful smile on his face. 

“I’m still angry at you for not telling me. You could have saved us so much time,” you declare, not wanting the moment to last too long for fear that you’ll become obsessed.

Seokjin laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “Even if you forgot who I was tomorrow, I wouldn’t tell you,” he says, this stupid perfect grin on his face, this gorgeous, brilliant grin, “because I would happily fall in love with you all over again.”

God, he is so beautiful. A dream come true. A happy ever after.

The following morning your father saves you the trouble of having to awkwardly explain why you don’t feel comfortable continuing to oversee the resort hotel by letting you know that you’re welcome back in the central building in town and that he’ll have another executive replace you. Thank God, because that would have been one strange phone call. 

Luckily, when your parents do eventually meet Seokjin, they are pleased to see that he’s been a loyal hotelier to your family’s conglomerate for several years now, and that he excels at his job. You also think that your mother’s just gotten softer over the years, wishing more for you to be happy than for you to be married to someone you hate. 

It’s a good thing Seokjin’s charming. Otherwise, you have no idea what could have happened. But he’s here, and he’s with you, and your parents are happy and so are you. What more could you ask for?

“Your mom really didn’t have to throw this whole party just for me,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as the music plays on inside, this soft classical sound that Yoongi had composed not too long ago. 

You turn around to look back in through the window, watching all of the guests waltzing along to the song. Jungkook’s in the back corner, behind the grand piano, and you can see him throwing winks Yoongi’s way every now and then. The sound of the party is barely audible from out here, in the stars’ silence, in the faint way the night whispers, this distant white noise.

“Throwing parties is her thing,” you explain helplessly. “Besides, you’re part of the family now, aren’t you?”

“Hey now, we aren’t married just yet,” he reminds you pointedly. “Unless you—?”

“Only after my father’s retirement next month,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. It’s not that you don’t want to be married. It’s that you don’t have time. You’re about to inherit an entire empire. You would prefer not to be juggling two major life events at once, if you can help it. “Besides, you don’t even have a ring.”

“How do you know that?” He asks innocently.

You smack him in the torso with your satin-gloved hand, shocked. “What?”

“I never said anything,” he teases, looking off to the side far too guiltily for your liking. 

You place your hands on your hips and turn firmly to face him. “Kim Seokjin, do you want to marry me?” You demand. 

Seokjin laughs, twirling you around before pressing a kiss to your lips, the two of you giggling. “Always!” He declares to the world. “I think about marrying you every day of my life.”

You grin. “Then we will. Then let’s get married. After my father’s retirement, of course.”

“Of course,” Seokjin agrees. 

“What do you think the theme should be?” You ask, racking your brain for potential options. You like the idea of a rustic, cottage-y wedding. Or perhaps a more celestial one. Or maybe, if you wanted to go full circle, a masquerade.

Seokjin smiles. It’s clear he already has his answer. 

“How about Cinderella?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[genshin-impacted]

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (1)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy. 

Notes: female!reader, eventual mutual pining, fake political maneuvers, mentions of death (yes, this is a set up to a harem drama, but Zhongli is focused in this), Zhongli POV

[Next]

hello welcome to the AU I made up; hope I finish this someday :)

“You are unfit to lead this country.”

Not two weeks after a tragedy that hits the royal family, leaving you the sole heir to the throne, that is what has been said to you over and over again. The royal court adjourns without delay, placing you in the middle of it-- though you could care less.

You hold whatever you have been able to salvage from the fire: a necklace momento from your father, the dress that your mother had woven herself. And in your hands, you hold in an urn the ashes of what remains of your family. 

There is nothing else on your mind except for the fact that you are alone as the lone heir to the throne, the only living princess of the royal bloodline, and soon-to-be Empress of a nation that you are not prepared to lead.

You just want to mourn.

.

.

.

Zhongli has lived long enough to understand that politics will always be the determining factor in which his life will be led. It does not matter what he dreams of doing or what he desires. As the only born son to one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the nation, his life has never been his own-- though he supposed no one born of royalty has ever been truly in control of their path.

Still, Zhongli finds ways to play what cards he has. He earns praises for his wide array of knowledge in tradition, politics, and culture alike, but it is easy to know something if you are interested in it. He remembers vividly when Guizhong teased him, calling him an old soul when he delved personally into the traditions of tea ceremony, of calligraphy and poetry, out of his own volition because he enjoyed learning. His skills in the polearm-- also passed down in his lineage-- have also not been neglected, for he finds that it is similar to dancing, an elegant and respectful pastime that he often admires in operas and shows that he indulges himself in. If he could do anything with his life, Zhongli thinks he would be a writer or a teacher, or possibly even a historian.

("Old man," Guizhong had said to him affectionately for the last time before she left the compound to serve her duty as a princess, like many others. "One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

"I doubt anyone would listen to what I have to say willingly," he had said, and his friend had only given him a soft look and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"I don't," she said.)

It has been years since he has entertained the idea of living a quiet life writing his knowledge onto paper and even longer still since had long last seen his childhood friend. Zhongli finds himself in the fray of politics that he knows so much of and has no choice but to delve into when he is invited to the royal capital.

"It is a great honor," his father had said to him, hands behind his back, "to be meeting the Princess of the royal family. Make a good impression; this is of the utmost importance."

Political maneuver, Zhongli thinks immediately, not doubting the intention of an invitation coming from the palace, especially after the incident he has been told of. A fire of great destruction, the burning of a whole wing with the royal family trapped inside-- one would think it was a plot to overthrow the Emperor, but if anyone were to stage a coup, they would have burned the inner walls of the palace where the man resides, bedridden. A great coincidence to have the royal family unable to escape, but it almost seems too malicious to call it that. Gross neglect? Bad luck? Karma? Truly, a tragedy as the death of many could not be described worse than as an accident. 

Zhongli thinks it is much too early to be moving the chess pieces so soon after half the board has been razed to the ground, but he supposed the world has never been that kind.

With a trained expression, Zhongli picks up the tea that had been brewed and takes a sip (too bitter, stepped too long, he thinks, wincing slightly, and putting the cup down). "I understand, father." He pauses for a moment and considers his words. "Is there a particular reason for this invitation?"

"The Princess is in need of education due to her lack of preparation as an heir," he says, "though I also hear she is in need of a husband as well."

The tea leaves in the cup trembles for a moment before sinking. "Father?"

"This is an opportunity of a lifetime, son."

And Zhongli thinks about his role, his abandoned journal, and books yet to be read and nods. "I understand," he says, wondering why, even though he expects where his life has been leading, he feels disappointed by the outcome anyway. "I will bring honor to our family."

"I expect nothing less," is what is said to him, and Zhongli swallows the bitterness of the tea down.

.

.

When Zhongli arrives at the palace, he is welcomed with all the excitement that is to be expected from the arrival of a son whose family holds prestige. Maids of many numbers cater to his every whim, and the few court officials who seem to favor him welcome him to the royal palace, which is broad and grand just as history would describe them. 

Briefly, he wonders if it is professionalism or greed that maintains the palace’s daily businesses after an evident tragedy.

"I would like to extend my greetings and gratitude to the princess for allowing me in her castle," Zhongli says carefully, his voice even and words like silk-- just as he was taught as an educated man-- and watches in confusion as the nobleman who had barely kept his pleasure at his presence suddenly deflate. 

"Ah, yes, of course, you would like to see the Princess," he says, a nervous lilt to his voice. "But I'm afraid she is preoccupied with another commitment at the moment. My apologies."

Invitation from the Princess, he remembers reading from the telegram, thinking it strange that someone would invite someone without intentions of welcoming them. It's easy to come to the conclusion that the Princess had not sent the message-- and the thought that she may not even know of his arrival also comes following after. Instead of speaking, Zhongli nods, much to the noble's relief as he continues to parade and provide him the tour that he has not asked for but appreciates nevertheless.

His room is two halls down the main chambers where you live. If the location and proximity to royalty were not enough, the room itself was also vast and much too big for one person, but he supposes luxury and decadence can be shown in empty space as well as it can with beautiful trinkets and trophies. Zhongli has always admired such things, as he does with the ornate statue sitting on top of his vanity and wonders when, if he ever does, he will be able to explore the castle in between whatever responsibilities the court deems him in need for.

"Maid," Zhongli says gently, but the young maid startles anyway when he addresses her. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Would I be allowed to stroll the gardens of the west side of the palace?" He says, "The moon is to be full tonight and I wish to view it."

She flushes, for reasons that Zhongli knows not for. "I-I believe so. The guards should be patrolling at the moment, but you are a recognized guest of the palace, so all should be well."

When Zhongli steps out onto the carefully maintained rock garden, he spots a few men walking down and up the inner walls of the castle. He briefly thinks about the number of them but thinks no further, for now. Instead, he thinks the moon is best viewed when its reflection is in the water, clouds are nowhere in sight, and all is quiet. He comes close to the perimeter of the garden inner castle, expecting to see no one. 

Zhongli steps into the moonlight and watches as you sit onto the grass and lean your head against the lone lantern post.

Perhaps you are here to moon-gaze as well, he thinks and goes to alert you with his presence by clearing his throat. He doesn't know why his earnest attempts to be unalarming go unwell, but he startles you into turning around. 

Zhongli does not know what the Princess looks like, nor has he had anyone describe you to him. But Zhongli knows who you are if not solely from the emblem you carry on your headpiece and the way you hold a funeral urn in your lap like it is the only thing tethering you. As such, he expects the caustic demands of his name and stature, as expected of a Princess, but he is surprised to find that you look at him instead like a deer in headlights, arms tense around the urn.

"My apologies for startling you, my lady," Zhongli begins, "that was not my intention."

"Oh, no, it's okay," you stammer, and he has to blink for a moment at the manner in which you speak. "I should have probably noticed you coming. I was distracted."

Princesses and princes of the royal family are taught three things from birth: power, manners, and tradition. Nothing says more about your status than the way you hold yourself and the way you speak, especially if you are of royalty, and so every word that one must speak seems carefully crafted and intricately woven with elegance. A tad bit obnoxious, if anyone could say, but it is a mark of the elite, regardless of the former. 

But you, who hold possibly one, if not the most, powerful title in the country, speak casually and without bothering with a mask of neutrality, as though you are unused to the burdens of sovereignty.

Your eyes are gentle, almost excessively so, and the way you hold yourself as though you want to be unnoticed are both strange but corroborating evidence of your peculiarities of a noblewoman. Though Zhongli has yet to understand why this is so, the instructions his father listed and his role in the castle has become clearer.

Zhongli has many questions, too many to ask about to a person who has no idea who he is. 

Decorum takes him before his curiosity overwhelms him, and he lowers his head in deep respect. "My name is Zhongli, Princess. Thank you for allowing me to stay as a guest within the palace.”

"Oh," he hears you breathe out, "you're the one that came today." You turn your head toward the koi pond that beautifully reflects the moon. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you," you say mechanically, trained.

"No, that's quite alright," Zhongli says mildly, glancing down at the urn still in your hands. "I'm sure greeting a stranger would be the least of your concerns at the moment."

At this, you smile at him. It is not a happy smile, but rather a pained one that strains your lips and pinches your eyes. Zhongli thinks back on his first lesson to maintain his expression, to keep composure, and almost marvels at the emotions clear on your face for him to see. 

(He thinks this may make your life harder for you, to wear your heart on your sleeves. But he finds himself selfishly wanting you to stay as you are.)

"I've been told one week is all I should be given to mourn, as typical of a funeral ceremony. My parents' ashes should be released but…" You glance up at the night sky dim with stars. "I know in my heart this is not the place for them."

"Then what is the place?" Zhongli echoes and holds his breath when the smile you give him is gentle beyond measure.

"Some place where the wind blows," you say, "where the earth is clean and the ocean is near. That way, my parents can choose freely where to find rest." You laugh. "That must be a pretty tall order, isn't it?"

"You are a Princess," Zhongli finds himself saying, and you turn back to him. "I believe you are allowed to demand only the very best, for yourself and your loved ones."

"I believe," he continues, when he sees your eyes mist over, "that I am here to tutor you in the ways the court deems fit. I have been praised to have a wealth of knowledge and the privilege of history in my family as well as the power of my lineage; I will guide you as best as you need me to." He pauses. "And… if you require a geographical lesson on the highest peaks, the widest oceans, and the most open plains, for reasons beyond academic, I will be available to you."

.

.

.

Zhongli returns to his room (two halls away, he reminds himself, from you), and it is only then he realizes that he has not looked at the moon at all. Not directly, he thinks, but he supposes he did see a glimpse of it, as it stands behind you as a backdrop to frame the smile you gave him that was as bright as starlight.

[cdroloisms]

maybe you could talk about the dynamic between c!wilbur and c!tommy / c!tubbo? i think it's very interesting and i have conflicted feelings about them, i'd love to see your takes

c!wilbur my beloved ,, he’s such an interesting character and his relationship w/ c!tommy and c!tubbo is simultaneously so ,, twisted and heartbreaking. i think he really did care about them, to the end, but c!wilbur had always been characterized with his ,, love for lmanburg, to the point of obsession - think him in the revolution, saying “we would rather die,” him and his unfinished symphony in the button room on the sixteenth. in the end, it’s this obsession that really comes to destroy him,, but i feel like he still *cared* for tommy and tubbo, you know? tommy, canonically, saw wilbur as an older brother figure, and i feel like to some degree that feeling was reciprocated - not in the healthiest way, especially as c!wilbur became more manipulative, but that came from his untreated mental illness and growing paranoia and other things. i think that he saw himself as a sort of,, mentor figure, to both tommy and tubbo, and he hurt them, in the end, in very very deep and unjustified ways ,, but he still cared. it doesn’t make it right, or even better, but i think that w/ the way wilbur thought, he wasn’t necessarily trying to be cruel.

anyway, take this mutually assured destruction au (credit to @dreamsclock for the au) interaction of c!wilbur and c!tubbo!

tw: mentioned abuse, death, manipulation, toxic relationship, unhealthy thinking, mental illness, derealization (? wilbur thinks of everything as a twisted story), c!wilbur critical (not really? but just in case)

“Do you know what he did to Tommy?”

Wilbur turns, blinks, smiles; Tubbo is standing in front of him, spine straight, shoulders pulled back; there’s a fire in those eyes, highlighted by the starburst scar that stretches over his face. He wipes the gunpowder with a quick snap of his wrists, one-two, and cocks his head to the side. Amusement bubbles under his skin; now this is interesting.

“Tubbo! Can’t say I expected you here,” the kid is wearing netherite, but doesn’t move closer, keeping himself just out of reach of a sword. Smart, Wilbur shifts, stuffs his hands into his pockets, he’s learned.

“Wilbur,” Tubbo’s voice is firm, tired. Wilbur stays silent, prompting, something satisfied becoming a curling warmth in his chest; he’s always been perceptive, moreso than Tommy. Tommy lives, breathes a sort of unpolished sincerity, drawing attention, bleeding heart and loyalty and emotion so brilliantly and shouting so loudly that everyone has no choice but to listen - to contain him is no easier than to cage a flame. Wilbur knew this, even back in Pogtopia, let his and Dream’s passion and drive and bone-deep feeling burn each other out.

Tubbo sighs, lifts his chin; his eyes are cold. Something amused pulls at the corners of Wilbur’s lips; where Tommy is fire, Tubbo is ice, waiting, watching, letting Tommy charge into the fray while he hangs back and simply observes. He’d known, even then, that when push came to shove, Tubbo would be the one to get the job done, that he was the one that would smile serenely with an arsenal of weapons hidden up his sleeve, had looked into those ice-blue eyes and seen the same snake-in-the-grass determination that he recognized from every time he looked in the mirror.

“I know,” he says, finally, every word carefully measured, just smooth enough to edge on the side of sincerity. He doesn’t miss the way that Tubbo flinches, the tremble of his bottom lip, but turns away and pretends not to notice. “He told me, and even if he didn’t, I still have Casper the friendly ghost’s memories, as much as I don’t like them.”

“Then-” Tubbo’s voice cracks, goes quiet, and Wilbur watches from the corner of his eye as the kid purposefully untenses, hiding his shaking hands behind his shield. “Why are you helping him?”

Wilbur pauses; it’s not a question he didn’t expect, but the weight of it is- startling, even so. Something bubbles, hot and vicious, in his throat, almost tasting like anger, revenge, love. He remembers his hand placed, calming, on a too-tense shoulder, nestled in wind-blown hair, remembers star-bright eyes following him, hanging onto his every word like they had the power to coax the sun into the sky. Remembers, even in the hazy joy and grief that had been the world falling to pieces under his hand on the sixteenth, that spark of blue-tinged sorrow that had almost felt like regret burning cold and quiet in the middle of his chest.

“Have you read Shakespeare, Tubbo?”

Wilbur turns away, but it’s not early enough to miss the way Tubbo jolts at his question, a mumbled, incredulous “what?” falling from his lips.

“His tragedies, specifically,” he counts the TNT in his inventory, thumbing through the rows and rows of dynamite. “If you haven’t, they all follow the same basic formula - it’s how tragic heroes work, after all. It all boils down to one flaw - just one mistake, that sends the entire house of cards crumbling down.” Just one button pressed. Just one person that shouldn’t have been trusted. Just one life.

“I don’t- I don’t see how this is relevant, Wilbur.”

And here’s the thing; once upon a time, these boys - they had been his.

Not his, as in family, or his, as in followers, but some muddled mix of the two. They’d been his to guide, to some degree, his to keep out of trouble, his to teach about drugs and blackmail and propaganda and respect and leadership and honor. And- maybe he never should’ve been trusted with kids, maybe they shouldn’t have given a damned man this responsibility - scratch the maybe, they definitely shouldn’t have - but the universe didn’t operate on “should have”’s so he ended up with these brilliant, lost boys anyway.

And he fucked up, more than anyone, more than even Dream, because these boys had been his in a way they never were for Dream, but Wilbur has always been a selfish, selfish man. He chose his unfinished symphony first and he’d choose it again because that was the flaw in his foundation, the chip in his soul that would send him collapsing from the outside in every time, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try to guide the kid standing in front of him away from the path of self-destruction that Wilbur’s already too far down to come back from, that he and Tommy and Dream have been damned to.

“You’re a side character, Tubbo. You don’t matter,” Wilbur speaks, ignoring the hitch of breath that comes from behind him, “and this is a tragedy. Everyone that matters dies at the end of a tragedy.”

“Wilbur-”

“Cassio lives in Othello. Horatio lives in Hamlet. Dream, me, Tommy - we’re fucked. We’ve been fucked since the beginning of this story, since L’manburg. I signed our death warrant the moment I signed that declaration, Tubbo! We’re dead men walking. It’s only a question of how much we burn down before we burn out. But you?”

“You’re not like us, Tubbo. When the curtains close, when this story ends - somebody’s going to be left to pick up the pieces. You have people to live for now.”

“This- this isn’t a story, Wilbur.” Tubbo’s words tremble in the air, hang between them like a thread pulled taut - the thread frays, snaps, as Wilbur begins to walk away.

As he leaves, Wilbur remembers Dream, hair white in the moonlight, back when those eyes shone with something other than remembered pain - this isn’t a story - and hopes that Tubbo won’t learn the hard way, too.

[obislittleone]

Intelligent Insanity

17/?

Jerome Valeska x Wayne!reader

Okay so this series doesn't have a whole ton of chapters left. I know for a fact that we're more than halfway through at least....

Series Summary: Two lives can start very differently, but it's never the beginning that makes the story. It's the the journey the lives take that eventually bring them down the same path.

Chapter Warnings: more mentions of death, talk of suicide

The Wayne family lawyers showed up at about 12 pm the next afternoon, and it had been confirmed that my blood contained DNA that matched with the late Thomas and Martha Wayne. As if things couldn't get any worse, now the family I'd always dreamed of having, died not even two years ago. Of course, there was still the little brat spawn Bruce, who would be my brother.

When the lawyers arrived, the looked disgusted at the sight of me, and if they had it their way, they would do nothing to defend my honor. Still, they had a reputation to uphold. The best law firm in Gotham couldn't exactly pass me by, especially if I was a blood relative of their late clientele. I was the offspring of the finest people to ever walk this horrid city, and for that, these men would do everything they can to keep me from getting transferred back to Arkham.

I was released from the police station at around 3 pm, and out into the custody of a rehabilitation therapist. He told me he would be my personal caretaker for the next few months until I was 'back on my feet'. Whatever the hell that meant. There was no getting up for me. I would never be able to move on from what has happened. Just because I'm suddenly a rich girl doesn't mean all my problems go away. Infact, now they multiply, because instead of going back to rotting at arkham like I should be doing, I'm going to have to put an effort into being a normal human again. They didn't even know how to communicate with me most of the time, how did they expect to make me normal?

My therapist's name is Thomas, and he was chosen specifically for the fact that he knows sign language. He hasn't ever dealt with someone in my condition, but apparently he seems qualified because he can actually understand what I'm saying.

I haven't yet been to my first therapy session, for the last day and a half, I'd been settling into this rehab. It reminded me of Arkham in a few ways. It was much cleaner and the people here were much more kind, but as far as schedules went, it was nearly the same. The food here was better, though.

At night they locked us crazy folk in a separate compound, away from the sane patients. I supposed I probably looked like I should have been sent back to Arkham, and truthfully, I might have been happier back there. I hadn't any real friends there, but it felt more like home to me than any other place I had learned to live in. Perhaps it was a specific someone who made it feel like home.... but he was gone. I'd never feel the comfort of his homing presence again.

The day of my first therapy session, two hours were spent in a small office. Even though my therapist had been chosen completely on the account of the fact that he knew sign language, specifically finger spelling, he seemed uninterested in my case. The first time I sat on the couch in his office, all he did was talk about himself the whole time. It wasn't all on him though, because I refused to even spell to him my thoughts. I didn't want this know it all to be too deep in my head. I justed wanted to do the time and hopefully he released from this place.

The second session I went to, I noticed he also refused to speak, simply staring at me until I became uncomfortable. At this, he finally raised his voice.

"You don't have to say a word.... but if you don't sign something to me by the end of the hour, I'll keep you here for another one." He said, crossing his arms over his body and leaned back in his chair. I knew he was just doing his job, but I didn't trust him. Trusting anyone was very hard for me after the stunt that Galavan pulled.

I think about it everyday, how I could have stopped it. I might have prevented Jerome's death if I had been quicker on my feet. I wouldn't even be here right now if I had only taken a step.

I glanced up at the sound of a pen going on paper, and saw that while he was writing, he'd been watching my hand. I ceased my motions, knowing I accidentally just spelled out my thoughts in front of him.

He took a moment to space out the letters he'd written down, reading them back when he was done.

"You shouldn't blame yourself. If you'd tried to intervene it could've been you." He attempted to make me feel better about my situation, although it did nothing of the sorts.

'It should have been me..." my fingers scrambled away once more, but it was intentional this time.

"Why do you feel that way? Don't you think your life is important?" I could tell he was going through a rehearsed series of questions now, for he mustn't truly think my life is important. I was apart of the maniax, and therefore everyone in this damn city was required to hate me.

'It doesn't matter. I would still trade my life for his in a heartbeat.' I looked down and stared at my feet, my eyes watering up a little with each second passed.

He took a moment to read back the letters, spacing them into words before he contemplated what I had actually said.

"If you could help me understand... I just-" he pasued, searching for the right words as to not rile me up, or worse, wind me back down into not speaking again. "This boy was a murderer, capable of horrific acts... what made you so drawn to him?"

'I'm a murderer, too...'

He sighed, seeing my hand in perfect time, not even having to write it down.

"Your record shows that the only person you've ever killed was your uncle. You aren't really like him at all."

This joker had no idea what or who he was talking about. Jerome was not a killer. He was crazy, but not a killer. He was a brilliant mind that could have changed Gotham. He was abused his whole life, just the way I was, and yet he still was always able to hold a smile. He wasn't a bad person, he never was.... he just had a bad backstory, and apparently in this city, that's what makes a villain these days.

I tried my best to keep calm, to find a suitable answer for this babbling bafoon before he asked me again.

'You can't act like you know me.... or him. We are the same.' I let a tear escape me, but it didn't travel far before I swiped it away.

"Okay, that's fine. We can move on..." he skimmed over the makeshift list he'd written down on the side of his notes, heaving a breath before looking back up. "You obviously felt an immense attachment to this boy, how did losing him affect you?"

Even I could see he was cringing at the question. I wasn't sure he'd thought this through, but for some reason I was actually keen to answer.

'I can't speak.... whenever I was usually with him I could talk till days passed. Without him, I'm speechless. Everything in my body constantly aches, and my surroundings are so dull. Losing him caused me to lose the will to live... had I not been put here I might have....' I gripped my right hand with my left one, dropping it from spilling out any other information. Oversharing was something I couldn't quite control when I started fingerspelling again.

"You don't have to be ashamed to say it here... you might have killed yourself?" He asked, leaning forward so that I would meet his eyeline. His features were full of pity and sympathy. I felt pathetic. I was a force to be reckoned with, a crazed maniac who had caused havoc and destruction. I didn't need his sympathy.

When he noticed my hand was perfectly still, with not even a fidget to indicate I would answer, he sighed, trying to make me feel better.

"You don't have to be scared." He set down his notes, hoping to have a moment where he could at least break down the wall I was putting up.

'I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything.... I am capable of much scarier things.' I spelled out slowly, wanting him to know how dangerous I truly was. If he didn't stop looking at me like I was a kicked puppy I was going to lose it.

"I don't believe that. I believe you were forced to go along with certain schemes that weren't your choice." He suggested. This loser clearly had his mind made up about me, and to this I had to roll my eyes and sigh.

'You can't see me for what I am, because you are not like me. J saw me for what I am, and now he's gone. That is my only issue." I spelled angrily, my face wasn't one that reflected my words though... it was a pained expression. I felt like crying, but I wouldn't do it again today...

He looked very focused, as if he were trying to concoct some sort of idea in his head as the gears turned within it.

"Most people in your situation are able to heal faster when they have closure. They do this by visiting a grave or memorial and conversing with their lost loved one. We have escorts for certain therapeutical treatments outside the establishment, perhaps it could be arranged for you to be taken to Jerome's final resting place." He spoke softly and carefully, trying his best to do his job without settimg me off again. I understood it was his living to try and help me, but I sure as hell was going to make it difficult... why should I make it easy?

'He has no resting place.' I dropped my head. Even though I hadn't actually been told this for a fact, I knew that it was true.

"Are you sure? I could contact the GCPD and ask about it." He kept on with this stupid idea, even though it wouldn't be possible if he tried.

'They couldn't care less where he ended up....they probably threw him in a dumpster for all I know." I replied, my finger's movements were not as sharp, and a bit muddled together.

Even thinking about the words I'd just spelled... imagining how the cops couldn't even care about him enough to ship him off to the morgue, put tears in my eyes. I didn't stop them this time... I needed to get it out.

"I'm very sorry... perhaps we could make you your own little memorial here. Just something so you can talk to him and perhaps even begin the healing process."

It took me a moment to realize what this actually entailed, but figuring that perhaps I could come to have possession over some fond objects of his, and maybe even a photograph made me quick to agree.

'Okay...'

Tags

@gabile18 @i-sneeze-to-appease @sarbear7999

[blitzturtles]

Title: Goldie

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (Future Fic)

Pairing(s): JotaKak

Summary: “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?”

“Well, I didn’t actually expect it to happen,” Jotaro pointed out. He carefully removes his hands from Kakyoin’s midsection and hesitates a moment before moving away entirely. He makes his way over to the aquarium and winces.

Notes: Vent fic after losing one of our dogs this weekend. Fic features minor animal death, so please be careful.

-

“Goldie isn’t moving!” Jolyne announces from the doorway of the kitchen while Kakyoin is busy brewing coffee. It’s early, too early for Kakyoin to be awake, and certainly too early for Jolyne to be having a crisis, but Kakyoin nods as he allows himself to be dragged along. Surely Goldie is merely sleeping. Too still for an energetic child like Jolyne. Only he sees it the moment he rounds the corner. Where Goldie is indeed unmoving. Worse, Goldie is on his back, floating rather than swimming.

“Oh,” Kakyoin breathes before he can stop himself, and Jolyne must see it in his eyes because she breaks into a loud sob that strikes Kakyoin to the core, where panic is already building. In all the time he’s spent desperately consuming books on parenting--an attempt on his part to catch up on missed time--none of those books had ever once mentioned how to deal with a child’s first death. Much less one that surrounds their beloved pet fish.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne all but wails, and Kakyoin can’t exactly argue with that, though he wishes he could think of something to say.

“Jolyne--” He starts, and it’s a very strong start if he does say so himself. His voice is relatively steady, and he gets her attention focused on him rather than on the upside down fish. But then he falters at seeing her eyes filled with tears and tracks already down her cheeks. There’s a thickness in his own throat now. One that makes swallowing difficult, but he does his best to clear his throat, so he can make another attempt. “Goldie might be asleep. We just--” He cuts himself off with a near howl as her little foot stomps no less than three of his toes.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne shouts it this time. More anger now than overwhelming grief, though her eyes shine in the reflection of the aquarium’s light.

Kakyoin opens his mouth to say something, but she’s really got the unfortunate aim of her father. What would be nothing to anyone else is a shot of pain up frayed nerves, and it travels from the tips of his toes to the base of his spine so quickly that it nearly drops him to his knees. He tries again to speak, but she’s gone in a blink. Off around the corner and disappearing passed the doorway of her bedroom before he can form a single word. Jotaro’s sliding to a halt outside of their bedroom door at the same time, apparently jolted awake after all the ruckus.

“What the fuck?” Jotaro asks, making his way to Kakyoin quickly. He rests one hand on his stomach, for Kakyoin to lean into, and the other on the small of his back, ready to catch his husband should his knees buckle entirely.

“Goldie,” Kakyoin says, waving a hand vaguely toward the offending animal.

Jotaro looks confused at first, but he’s perceptive enough to at least look in the aquarium’s direction when he hears the name of Jolyne’s beloved pet fish. “Oh shit,” he breathes, and oh shit, indeed, Kakyoin thinks. “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?” Kakyoin demands, breathless still and utterly in disbelief.

“Well, I didn’t actually expect it to happen,” Jotaro pointed out. He carefully removes his hands from Kakyoin’s midsection and hesitates a moment before moving away entirely. He makes his way over to the aquarium and winces. “He’s not that old. I wonder-- anyway. I was just going to replace him. She’s too young to deal with this shit.”

“You can’t just lie to her about death,” or maybe he can. Kakyoin’s the step-parent here, and, again, none of the books said anything about how to deal with a definitely dead fish (even the Marine Biologist agrees with his initial assessment, which means there’s no getting out of this.)

“She’s six, Nori,” Jotaro scrubs a hand over his face. Then both. His fingers rake through his hair after that, and he pulls at the ends. All of it is an attempt to clear the last of sleep from his mind and allow his brain to think past the fog. None of it works.

“I know,” Kakyoin sighs. He doesn’t like this either. He remembers his own childhood and growing up relatively sheltered from at least that one aspect of the brutality that is life. “What do we do now?”

“I have no idea,” Jotaro admits after a moment, and that makes Kakyoin slump. Both in defeat and in relief. At least he isn’t alone in this. There’s no chapter he skipped over or paragraph that he skimmed. Neither one of them knows what to do, and suddenly that’s worse than the idea that Kakyoin’s gone and fucked all of this up on his own. If neither one of them knows what to do, then they’re both screwed.

“We should talk to her?” Kakyoin offers, more questioning than suggesting.

Jotaro nods after a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Did she--”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kakyoin says quickly, waving a hand in Jotaro’s direction and dismissing the question before it can be asked. Jolyne’s upset. Overwhelmed and struggling to process her grief. It doesn’t totally excuse the behavior, but Kakyoin doesn’t think she meant to actually stomp on him so much as whatever happened to be in her way. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the malicious alternative.

“Still,” Jotaro says after a moment, like he isn’t sure that he should be getting onto her, despite his own words. “I guess we should address the fish thing first.”

“Fish thing first,” Kakyoin agrees.

Jotaro makes his way to Jolyne’s bedroom. The door’s wide open, and there’s a distinctly child-shaped pile in the middle of the bed, hidden under a mountain of blankets and pillows. The effort would be more effective if not for the obvious trembling and the equally distinct sobs. His heart aches in his chest, and he sincerely regrets letting Kakyoin get up before him. If he had only caught sight of the damned fish before Jolyne…

“JoJo,” Jotaro calls in a soft voice. It’s enough for her to stop moving, but not enough for her to poke her head out. If anything, it’s almost like she’s trying even harder to hide from him, despite clearly being spotted. “Jo, we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Jolyne says immediately. She scoots sideways, closer to the wall and further from Jotaro, but the man is quick to grab her before she makes contact with her skull. She lets out a startled yelp and instantly pops her head out from under the blankets on instinct. It all but breaks Jotaro’s heart to see the tears and snot smeared across her face, and her hair is somehow more of a mess than it usually is in the morning.

“It’s okay,” Jotaro starts before pausing and rethinking his words, “Well, it’s not, but we’ll talk about that later, alright? You’re already forgiven.” He won’t let that hang over her head. Not when she’s already in her own little hell. Struggling to deal with the loss of her favorite fish. Jolyne loves all the fish in the aquarium. Has given them all names, but Goldie is--was--her’s. Picked by her hand and bought with her own money.

Carefully, Jotaro pulls his daughter into his lap. He fixes the blankets so that they remain bundled around her. She’s like Noriaki in that she likes the constricting sensation of something being wrapped around her. Something about the weight of it seems to soothe their nerves. Jotaro’s never been one to question it. With Noriaki, it just makes sense. What with his Stand. For Jolyne, he figures it’s related to her age.

“I know this is a lot for you to deal with right now,” Jotaro says, barely refraining from wincing at his own words. He sounds too impersonal, but she’s quiet against him, aside from the sniffling and hiccups, which means she’s at least listening.

The rest of the conversation goes about as well as he expects. There’s a lot more tears and snot--most of which ends up on his nightshirt. Then there’s the questions. Plentiful as per usual with his daughter, but also painful in a way that he hadn’t been prepared for upon waking up. Then, of course, there’s the guilt of her taking her anger out on Noriaki. (“I really didn’t mean to,” she swears, and Jotaro reminds her that it’s her duty to explain that to Kakyoin herself.)

Overall, Jotaro thinks it’s not his worst moment as a parent. (That honor still goes to the day he explained that he and Marina would no longer be living together.)

They decide to go find Noriaki together, and they make it as far as the fish tank before Jolyne bursts into another round of tears and turns toward Jotaro with her arms raised. He doesn’t think twice about scooping her up and carrying her past the aquarium. Her head buries against his neck, and there’s a fresh wetness that makes his heart ache duly in his chest. Maybe replacing the fish would have been as much for his benefit as it would have been for her’s.

“Oh, JoJo,” Kakyoin says with a voice that sounds like he’s hurting for her as much as Jotaro.

Jolyne reaches out for him without fully letting go of Jotaro. She knows better than to put too much weight on Kakyoin, but the three stay like that for a while. With the two men pressed close and their daughter held between them.

[forcefully-awoken]

This was a request you can find here. It was meant to be a shorter 1k drabble but it ran away from me since i liked the idea so much.

Rating: E

Hizashi x F! Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings for: audio exhibitionism, dubcon, slight regular exhibitionism, piercings galore, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), as always if I missed something please let me know!

Hizashi always had such a way with words. 

Ever since you’d met him way back in high school- he was so smooth talking, so very confident in himself and what he was saying that it was almost too easy to find yourself wrapped up in whatever he was saying. It’s how you now found yourself naked on the small couch that resides in the recording studio inside his home. He’s got three long fingers inside of you already, assuring you that you’ll need to be this prepared to take his cock. 

He strips himself once he’s wrung two orgasms out of you already, and once you get an eyeful of how long his cock is, in all it’s pierced glory, you think two might still not be enough. He sits down on the couch, letting you straddle him with shaky legs. One of his hands holds you steady on your waist, the other lines himself up with your weeping slit. You can feel the head of him rub through your juices, nudge at your clit, causing you to jump. He rubs himself around it once, until you finally break and beg for him.

“‘Zashi, please, fuck me,” Your words trail off into a whine as he suddenly thrusts himself up into you. Your legs give out, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He uses the wiry muscles he keeps hidden in his hero outfit to manhandle you the way he wants. He bounces you up and down and you can feel the once cold mental of his piercing stimulating you. His noises are minimum, save for a couple of soft moans. You, on the other hand, can’t seem to shut up- haven’t been able to all night, not with the way Hizashi has been pleasuring you. 

“Oh god, oh god, please, right there,” You babble, hands gripping onto his shoulders tightly. “You feel so good, Hizashi!”

“Call me by my hero name, baby,” He says. It throws you for a loop for a brief moment but you continue on anyways. Some heroes like that, you figure, though you’re not quite sure why. 

“Present Mic!” His hero name leaves your mouth in nearly a scream, and you can see the smile on his face now. He grinds himself up into you, feeling larger than life in so many ways. You think the tip of his cock might brush your cervix, but his long, nimble fingers find your clit before you can spare too many thoughts. He rubs a circle around it one, two, three times, and then it’s all over for you. You’re cumming around him, pussy squeezing him so tightly it’s almost painful for the both of you. You keep moaning out his hero name though, just as he requested. 

His fingers stop moving around your clit, though they don’t leave it yet. He waits for a moment, still buried inside of you, for you to stop trembling in his arms. Once you seem well enough to continue you he does just that, moving you down underneath him and continuing to fuck you until you’re squirting around him. Only then does he finally, finally pull out and cum himself, all over you. 

Through it all you never notice the red light on the recording station.

Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought you’d hear from Hizashi again. 

It’s not as if he was the type to hit it and quit it, as some might say, but you had barely spoken to him in high school. You had only occasionally spoken after it. You figured the night you spent together was just him trying to get some sort of itch out of his system, perhaps a small crush he wanted to explore but didn’t really have the time for. 

It’s why his text message to you is so shocking. He’s having a party, he tells you, to celebrate the release of his new song (you hadn’t realized he had put one out recently). Not only are you invited, no he wants you to be the guest of honor! You’re not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not when it comes to an infamous Present Mic party. You dutifully clear your schedule for the next day at work even, having heard enough stories to make you realize you might need to sleep it off. 

The night rolls around, and you go all out when you doll yourself up for it. A nice, skin tight dress in your favorite color, heels to match. You take extra care with your makeup, though you know the lights will be too dim to truly appreciate it. Hizashi is even so nice to send a car for you, something that makes you feel truly like a celebrity. You get there with ease, grabbing a drink from the bar as soon as you arrive for some liquid courage. You don’t know a lot of the people there- or, well, anybody besides Hizashi, you realize as you look around the packed venue. 

There’s posters all around with the single’s cover art. Just a woman’s lips, painted red and open in the most obscene way, with Present Mic written in cursive script on the tongue. Not your usual sort of thing, but apparently it’s Hizashi’s. You awkwardly down your first drink and are halfway through the second when he finally finds you. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting little listener!” His arms wrap around you easily, like you two were the closest of friends. He pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek, which you can feel heat up. “Come on, I wanted to give you a private listen first!” Something about it nagged in the back of your mind but you allowed yourself to be drug away, to the back of the venue. There’s a small private room there, what you thought at first glance might be a security booth. There was one glass wall, darkened so you couldn’t see into the room but you could easily see out. 

It was almost too lush in the room for you. Despite it being in the back of what was essentially a club, it looked like it was made for sin. There was an overly large couch pushed to the back, all dark red velvet and big enough for multiple people to lay down on. The room was barely lit, and there was a stripper pole on a raised platform in the middle of it. You shot a questioning glance back to Hizashi but he just ushered you in and closed the door behind him, locking it when your back was turned. 

“This is certainly fancier than the last room you had me in,” You blame the alcohol you’ve consumed for the poor phrasing of it all but if Hizashi notices anything weird he doesn’t mention it. He sits next to you on the couch, so close your bodies are pressed together- thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You can feel yourself heat up in other places when you feel his skin on yours. He’s pulling his phone out though, along with tugging a pair of little earbuds out. He offers them both to you, and without question you place them both into your ears. They block out the world immediately, until you can only hear your own breathing. 

Slowly the music starts to trickle in through them, first the low rumble of the bass before a voice breaks through it. It was a female voice, distorted but still recognizable to you. The woman was screaming Present Mic over and over, and there was just enough of noise in the background to let the listener know exactly why she was screaming it. 

It was your voice. 

Despite the embarrassment that slammed into you like a truck, you could feel yourself growing wet between your thighs. This was apparently what Hizashi had wanted from you- to hear you in your most intimate moments so he could use it for his music. Part of you felt violated, he hadn’t even asked if you would be okay with this! You yanked one ear bud out, hearing the music out of it still. Before you could open your mouth to argue his mouth was on yours, his hands pressing you back against the couch. 

Your hands come up to curl around his shoulders, trying hard to push him off of you, but his arms hold you close to him. His mouth leaves yours to kiss and suck down your neck. You can’t seem to twist away from him, not at this angle. He’s pressed you back all the way now, laying you down flat. 

“Stop, Hizashi!” Your words lack bite when he sucks a hickey onto your collarbone, drawing a moan out of you as well. “This is serious! You should have asked me!” Your words seem to have no effect on him, and how could they? Your body is reacting against you, writhing underneath him, legs spreading as much as they can to accommodate him. Your hands are pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. 

“Let me make it up to you, then,” He mumbles against your skin, and moves so quickly you miss what he does. He’s down between your legs in a flash, hiking your skirt up and yanking your underwear down. Your eyes dart nervously over to the glass wall but nobody seems to be looking at you. You bite your lip, lost in thought as Hizashi stares up at you. He waits, though you watch his tongue flash out to lick his lips. You push aside any of your doubts, knowing you can bring them up later. One deep inhale and you spread your legs for him. 

It’s all the consent he needs, diving into your cunt like a man starved. He used his fingers to spread you open for him, pressing his lips to your clit, his tongue rolling the sensitive nub around, letting you feel the piercing as you had before. Your legs kick out in pleasure, as it runs through you like a lightning bolt. It was hard to be mad at him when he was able to draw you to orgasm so quickly. The knot that you felt forming in your stomach was already beginning to fray. 

And, once he slid his tongue into you, pressing u p with that little metal ball right over your sweet spot, you’re gone. Your back arches, hands scrambling for purchase on the couch, in his hair, in your own, wherever you can grip. Distantly, you can still hear the one earbud still playing the music, but it’s unintelligible to you now. Your own moans are increasing in volume, as Hizashi doesn’t stop moving his tongue inside of you.  Your hand finds its way to cover your mouth, trying to hold it all in but Hizashi doesn’t let you. 

“Take your hand away from your mouth, now,” It’s a demand, and the coldest you’ve ever heard his voice. It’s intense, and sends a shiver down your spine. You hesitate to obey him, eyes flicking over again to the people just outside the room but he doesn’t back down, “Let me hear your noises. They’ll think it’s the song.” Once both your hands are tangled into his hair he returns to what he was doing, letting you grind down on his face. You feel his mouth move back up your clit, pulling it between his lips again and then there’s… a sensation of vibration. You feel the small piercing pressed up against you but it seems to be shaking, and all rational thought flees your head as it does. You can feel this orgasm rush out of you, juices covering his face, your thighs, the couch beneath you. He keeps it up until you beg for him to stop. 

He barely gives you a breather, pulling his cock out before crawling over you. He grabs the back of your knees, pushing your legs forward until they meet your chest. He’s able to slide into you with no resistance, your tight heat sucking him in as he does. He grunts when he bottoms out, holding himself there for a moment before pulling back out to slam into you. He keeps this pace up for longer than you thought, pulling out so just the tip is in before splitting you open once more. You think someone might try to find him, but nobody comes looking. He continues like this, ruining you for any other man like it’s just a casual night out for him. 

His fingers find your clit, his pace never faltering. As he rubs your clit you tighten impossibly more around him, finding your last orgasm of the night. He pushes himself all the way into you, feeling the way your walls squeeze and contract around him, milking his cock for everything. You cum with a screaming, hearing already how hoarse your voice has become. He moans loudly, filling you with cum. Both of you are panting by the end of it, your legs shaking in his arms.

Hizashi groans when he pulls out of you, setting your legs down gently on the couch. He goes so far as to help you into your underwear again, like that will stop the cum leaking out of you. You know you’re going to have to find some way to leave the party now, unsteady legs be damned. You push yourself up into a seated position, finally meeting his eyes to speak. 

“You know, you can’t just fuck your way out of this,” Your throat is raw and scratchy as you speak, and you take a sip of your now watered down drink. The burn of the alcohol hardly helps but it makes you feel better anyways. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Didn’t want to put pressure on you,” He replies as he tucks himself away, “Wanted to hear your moans baby, alllll you.” You don’t want to admit that he has a point. Had you known he was recording you would have been quieter, more aware of how loud you were being. He takes your silence as agreement, leaning down to kiss you once more. 

“How about I take you back to my place and we work on another collaboration?”

[cthulhuliet]

Scotty Doesn't Know

6.8k words | AO3 Link | warnings: explicit content, internalized homophobia, cheating

Light Yagami is the epitome of perfection: honor student, a popular kid, and an attentive boyfriend. But if L had learned one thing it is that pretty boys always lie, and he was about to be caught in a web of Light's biggest ones.

During his time at To-Oh university, L has learned 3 things. 1) never eat the spring onions in the dining hall. 2) people will like you if you carry gum and pencils in your bag. 3) pretty boys always lie.

That last one was a recent development though, something he added to his social checklist as his dark eyes stared back into Light Yagami pretty brown ones, specks of red flickering in the low light.

It was the first party L had ever been to. He didn’t stick out, but he was not exactly blending in. His bare feet dug into the plush carpeting at Misa Amane’s apartment. She was the one who invited him.

He would exactly call Misa and himself friends , just someone whom he was friendly towards. L did not do friends. Keeping people at arm's length-- staying alone-- that is how he stayed alive. It is a system he is not intending to change simply because a pretty girl treated him kindly and kissed him on the cheek when he agreed to come to her Friday night get-together. Though, L would be lying if the thought didn’t cross his mind.

L was not focused on Misa at the moment. L was staring back at the pretty boy who Misa was hanging off of, who had girls laughing even though he said nothing funny. Who commanded the attention of the whole room when he spoke, even though he really wasn’t saying anything at all, his words holding no real substance.

L first noticed Light in his forensics lectures. The boy always seemed to have a crowd around him, always seemed to impress his professors, and always seemed to have all the answers. It seemed as though no one could even bring themselves to hate him for it either, like most do with popular kids their age-- how could they when he was just so charming and pretty and so damn bright ?

He took it upon himself to observe Light (purely for curiosity's sake), watching the way he walks across campus, always studying under the same bench with just enough shade to be comfortable, how he politely listens as his girlfriend talks about photoshoot and modelling drama-- and L believed him to be just that. Just a hard working college student, a popular guy and an attentive boyfriend.

Though, staring back at Light, looking into his eyes, he sees the optical illusion that is Light Yagami. Taking him in at face value is easy-- it paints an attractive picture of the popular honors-student who seems to have his life all figured out. However, the thing about optical illusions is that one step back, one ripple or one tear in the picture ruins it and you see the image for what it is: a disconnected, imperceptible fantasy. That is what L saw in Light Yagami when he finally caught that pretty boy in a lie.

“I have no interest in doing anything with Ryuzaki,” Light shrugged; pretty, pretty brown eyes twinkling under the string lights around Misa’s apartment, “ ‘7 minutes in heaven’ would be more like ‘7 boring minutes spent in a closet’,” The group around him chuckled at his attempt at a joke. L is sure Light could be funny if he tried.

“Of course,” L hooked a finger into his mouth, “Besides, Light is not interested in men anyway, so what is the harm.”

Light’s eyes flashed with someone unknown, something scared, before nodding and standing up, “Exactly,” He kissed Misa on the cheek, and looked back at L before walking to the other side of the apartment. Misa gave L a once-over as he stood up, before softly sighing, pushing him toward the large broom closet, promptly shoving them in and closing the door.

The silence that followed in the closet was not exactly awkward or uncomfortable, but there was a lot unspoken that needed to be said. That optical illusion was wavering-- the edges becoming frayed as Light slowly breathed. Although L couldn’t really see it, he could feel Light’s eyes staring back at his silhouette.

“Misa and I have been dating for almost 2 years now,” Light opened with. It was only then that L realised this was their first one on one interaction.

“Congratulations.”

“You transferred here pretty recently, so you probably didn’t know that.”

“I did not.”

The two stood next to one another in silence for a while.

“I am not gay, you know.”

L blinked, “I didn’t think you were. You do have a girlfriend after all.”

“Yeah, I do.” More silence, followed by, “Are you gay?” This was a hushed whisper, rushed and nervous, like even talking about those homosexuals your mother warned you about was forbidden.

“What?”

“I know you heard me.”

L sighed, “I wouldn’t say that. Personally I have no preference. Men, women, whatever, it is all the same to me.”

“I see.”

More silence. L didn’t really know what to say, but luckily he didn’t have to think of anything, as Light stepped forward, cupping L’s cheeks and kissing him.

L was not sure how to react at first. His mind raced, wondering what the morality of messing around with a man who is clearly confused about his own identity is, and also breaking the trust of one of his colleagues, not to mention the ethics of cheating in of itself. But also Light’s lips tasted like the apple cinnamon chapstick he always carries with him, and he is pressing his chest against L’s and running his hands underneath his shirt, and it feels too damn good to stop.

L wrapped his arms around Light’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer and nipping his bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip forward into Light’s mouth. Light gasped at the action, whimpering and digging his nails into L’s hips. He knew that Light’s perfectly manicured nails would leave half-moon indents that were deep enough to last until the morning. This made L smile.

He kissed Light’s cheek and then kissed all the way down his jaw. L peppered kisses along Light’s neck, the other man gasping and biting his knuckle. L moved his hands under Light’s shirt, and ran his fingernails down his back, Light harshly biting his hand to stifle a guttural moan.

L pulled away, and he could see Light’s eyes at this distance. He expected him to look confused, or ashamed, or angry, but he mostly just looked horny.

“The others are going to come get us soon.” L explained in a low voice. Light nodded, and began fixing his hair, breathing steadily to remove the flushness on his face.

“Ryuzaki?”

“Yes?”

“Can this be… Just… Don’t tell anyone about this, ok?” Light’s voice was a bit cold a stiled, and L held back a chuckle.

“Of course, Light.”

≠

Lately, L has spent most of his free time kissing Light in private. Sometimes at night when everyone had already left the library, sometimes on the roof of the science building,  sometimes in the backseat of L’s car. Light seemed to really like kissing in the backseat of L’s car. Maybe it was the way the plush velvet seats folded down, or the way the windows were tinted so dark it felt almost illegal to drive, or maybe he liked how L always has shitty 80’s pop playing at a low volume. L wasn’t sure, but it was almost like clockwork to kiss for hours on end in the secluded forested part of the college town.

L was sitting on Light’s lap, the younger man writhing and gasping underneath him, gripping harshly at the back of L’s shirt. A thin sheen of sweat coated Light’s forehead, and L ran his nails up and down Light’s sides as he nipped at his earlobe, making him gasp. L found that Light got easily worked up from even the most subtle of action. He was very sensitive.

L worked at the buttons on the front of Light’s shirt, slowly unclasping them, “Light, have you come to enjoy kissing me?”

“Y-yeah, you’re really good at this, of course I do Ryuzaki.”

L hummed, fully unbuttoning Light’s shirt, but not wanting to take it off him yet. Light looked really good in black. He instead pulled a lever to push the seats down, pressing on Light’s chest to guide him onto his back. L kissed up Light’s chest, restraining himself from biting into the pretty tan skin. L licked a small stripe over Light’s chest, grazing his nipple with his tongue to see his reaction.

Light back arched and he gasped out L’s name, and ran a hand through his hair. L kissed his right nipple and slowly licked the nub, grazing his teeth softly over it, hoping to draw out more gasps and whines from Light.

“What about this, Light?” L asked in a low voice, still teasing him with his thumb and forefinger, smirking up at him.

Light nodded, panting, “Yes, yeah… That feels great.”

“Has Misa ever touched you here?” L asked. He felt Light stiffen, even just for a moment. There was an unspoken agreement that they never brought up Light’s girlfriend, or maybe Light just never expected L to. Light did not respond, so L attached himself to Light’s other nipple, sucking on it while still teasing the other one. Light moaned loudly, now stifling his noises by hooking his fingers in his mouth. L pulled off of Light, a string of saliva dripped from L’s mouth, “Light? Answer me?”

“No, no she hasn’t.”

“Hmm,” L hummed, running his blunt fingernails up and down his sides like he knows he enjoys, “Has any girlfriend ever given you this treatment?” Light bit his lip and shook his head. L nodded, and his fingertips teased the edges of Light’s pants, “Does Light want me to touch him in more places today?”

The two had not done more than kissing and biting with wandering hands. L didn’t mind. He would never describe himself as a patient man but rushing anything like this would surely be heading for disaster. Light looked down at him with wide brown eyes, and the innocence of his gaze almost put the optical illusion back in place for him, but then he remembered where he was: touching and teasing perfect Light Yagami, who is obviously not the person everyone sees. That illusion quickly broke as Light gasped out a “please”, moving his own hands to unzip his jeans.

L slapped his hand away, shaking his head at him. “I am doing this part, do I need to make you keep your hands to yourself?”

There was a dangerous glint in his eye, one that L had not seen before from him. Light hummed, “Hmm, you might. I don’t know.” And this was Light playing rough, not stupid. L did not think Light could be dumb, even if he tried. Internalized shame and heavy amounts of guilt prevented Light from being as much of a tease as he could be, though L knows he is more than capable. Two can play at that.

L moved up Light’s body, capturing his lips with his. He bit down on Light’s bottom lip, causing the younger man to gasp and allowed for L to tangle his tongue with Light’s. Simultaneously, he grabbed Light’s tie and pinned his hands together, doing a simple knot around his wrists above his head.

L pulled away, smirking. Light’s eyes were wide and watery, certainly not expecting L to call his bluff. If Light did have any experience with bondage of any sort, he cannot imagine it was the man himself who was getting tied down and taken care of. The clean-cut honors student types always want to be taken care of, didn’t they? Being in control and in charge of everything in their life, just needing someone else to take the reins for once.

Finally, L was able to undo Light’s pants, pulling them off and throwing them to the front seat. He palmed Light through his boxers, his cock was already fully hard and straining against the fabric. The car was nothing but quiet with Light’s gasps and moans, and L almost let it keep going on, because he is sure that Light’s begging would be simply heavenly.

He pulled Light boxers off, giving them the same treatment as his slacks. Light bit his lip as the cool air hit his cock. L pressed his thumb to his lips and slowly traced a finger up and down his shaft, fingertips barely ghosting over him. Light made an undignified whine and L smirked slightly. Maybe he did want to hear him beg.

"Ryuzaki…” Light said, possibly in an attempt to sound commanding, but his voice was so fucked out it came across as a needy moan.

“Being tied up like this, defiled by another boy… It shouldn’t make you this happy, should it, Light?”

“ Ryuzaki… ”

L teased the head of his cock with his thumb, “What would people think if they saw you like this? With me?” He hummed, Light gasped as L slowly stroked him, “What would your classmates say? Your friends? Misa?” He stressed.

“Oh God…”

L picked up his movements, “Do you think they would be shocked? Horrified? Perfect Light Yagami tangled up in the sheets with Ryuzaki?” He chuckled to himself, Light holding back his moans, “I personally am not surprised. Right now, all I see is a contented slut getting what he deserves.”

“Ryuz- Ryuzaki please , please give me what I deserve... I need it, please …”

And Light’s begging was all it took. L took all of Light in his mouth, deep-throating him and letting the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. It only took a few more seconds before Light was crying out his name and coming down Ryuzaki’s throat.

L pulled off of Light and looked up at him, the other man’s cheeks were flushed and his face completely blissed out. L leaned forward and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, Light returned it happily.

“Hey…” Light started, quietly, “I know you were just saying it… But… You won’t actually…”

L shook his head, “This all stays between us, remember?”

Pretty boys always lie…

≠

L and Light had graduated from messy blowjobs in the back of L’s towncar to L practically folding Light in half and fucking him on the plush sheets in his apartment. L does not exactly know what Light tells Misa if she asks why he is spending almost 5 days a week at L’s apartment, he doesn’t bother, it is not his relationship.

It is not everyday that L pins Light against the mattress right when they get back, now preferring to let things build up slowly. In fact, for the past 6 months they have been doing this, they do their work in silence across L’s dining room table, or sit on the couch and just talk. Talk about their classes, their ideas, their goals. L didn’t think he would ever get tired of listening to Light talk. Just like he did not think he would ever get tired of pressing into Light, hearing the other man moan under him.

L currently had Light’s hands bound to the headboard; his long, athletic legs were hooked over L’s shoulder’s as L slowly pushed deep into Light.

“M-more Ryuzaki… Fuck … more…”

L tsked and shook his head, “My my, Light, where are you manners,” He punctuated his statement with one quick thrust into Light, perfectly hitting his prostate, causing him to cry out and moan, “Ask politely.”

Light writhes under him, thrashing at the headboard which had his hands tied, “Go to hell, Ryuzaki…” He whined.

In response, L yanked his hair, and licked a stripe up Light’s neck. He nibbled on Light’s ear lobe, knowing how much he liked it. He ran his hands up his thighs, and gave him a swift but stinging smack, Light groaning at the harsh contact. L often closed his eyes and imagined how pretty Light would look covered in bruises and love bites-- being able to mark him up and claim Light Yagami as his . It was an attractive picture, one he did his best to keep at a distance. “Don’t make this difficult Light, just ask politely…” Which they both knew was another way of saying ‘beg for it’.

“Go faster Ryuzaki… Please…” Light gasped out, and L snickered, speeding up his thrusts.

“See, now was that so ha-” He was cut off by Light’s phone ringing. L reached into his discarded pants and pulled out his phone, gripping the top of it with his thumb and forefinger, “It is Misa.” He says.

Light groans, shaking his head, “Just let it ring, I will call her back after this.”

A wicked smile spreads across L’s face, looking at the caller id and Light’s hands still tied to the bed. Light cocks an eyebrow.

“I hope you have learned to control your noises, Light.” L tells him. Before he can ask any questions, L flips open the phone and presses talk, holding the phone against Light’s ear.

“Hi sweetie!” Misa’s voice came through over the phone, L close enough to be able to hear her, littering kisses across Light’s collarbone and moving his hips painfully slowly, in and out of Light.

“H-hi baby, how are you doing?” Light panted out, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I am doing good! I am glad you picked up, it has been so long since I heard your voice,” There was a considerable amount of background noise on Misa’s end, a busy shopping mall or possibly a photoshoot set. L took that into consideration, now very pointedly moving, angling his cock to merely brush against Light’s prostate. The younger man was squirming underneath him-- this kind of edging would be punishing enough typically; with his girlfriend on the phone it made it simply torturous.

“Ah- Yeah, sorry I have been so preoccupied lately, I promise I will make time just for us soon.” Light’s voice was obviously stilted and strained, but L was counting on the noises from wherever Misa was to distract from that fact (he is sure Light is counting on that too). L pressed kisses along Light’s neck up to his ear, nibbling on the lobe that wasn’t currently occupied with the phone conversation.

“What exactly has kept you so preoccupied, Light?” L whispered in his ear, knowing how much Light liked the soothing sound of his low voice, “Or more accurately who has been getting your attention?” L could hear Misa talking, but he wasn’t exactly trying to make out what she was saying, “Go on and tell her. Tell her what we have been up to. Tell Misa what a good slut you have been for me, I know how much you like to hear it.”

Light eyes were welling up at praise and degradation dripped over him like honey. The dual sensations of L fucking him and using his one free hand to tease his nipples is enough to have anyone panting. But he had to keep his breathing even, doing his best to not moan as his girlfriend tells him about the modelling shoot she is currently on a short break at. He was relatively stable, that was until L moved his hand lower, teasing the head of his cock, clearly not satisfied with how well the other man was showing restraint. L couldn’t help but smile when Light gasped once he touched him. He could faintly hear Misa pause, asking him what was wrong.

“Oh dear, Light,” L teased, Light was now biting his lip so hard he was fearing he would break the skin, “Are you ready for your girlfriend to finally find out what a filthy fucking whore you are?”

Light shook his head, answering Misa and doing his best to ignore L. “Ah, sorry baby, I just looked at my phone battery, I am going to die soon. J-just text me when you wrap up, ok?”

“Oh, ok! Talk to you later, then, love you sweetie!”

“Y-yeah, you too.” L snapped the phone closed with a ‘clack’ and threw it across the room. Light let out a guttural moan, frustrated tears ran down his cheeks.

“Light? Are you o-”

“Fuck me Ryuzaki, please please, dear Lord I need this.” Light’s voice was broken and needy-- a man who was kept on the edge for far too long.

“I hope I didn’t go too far.” L stood on his knees, lifting Light’s hips up. Previously restraint was gone, L’s hips snapped roughly into Light, he didn’t think that he could hold himself back if he tried.

Light was extremely receptive to the violent pace, gasping and whining, already so far gone.

“ There! Keeping going, fuck … I am so close, please.” Light begged, his eyes screwed shut and he pulled at the restraints, moaning. “What you did was fucking insane, Ryuzaki, but fuck I had never been so turned on in my fucking life.” He gave a weak chuckle, “Maybe I am a filthy slut like you say.”

L nodded, gripping tightly on Light’s hips, only half-worried about his fingertips leaving bruises for later, “It is about time you listened to me, Light.”

“Did I do good?” Light asked. His voice was broken and wrecked, and God, it was so good to listen to. “Was I a good slut, Ryuzaki?”

L nodded, feeling himself getting close as well, “You were a good boy, yes Light, a perfect whore. A perfect fucking slut for me.”

“ Ahh! Yes, fuck yes… A good slut for you, your good slut-- all yours .” Light came with L’s name on his lips, the other man following shortly after. A few chaste kisses followed as they both came down, and L ignored the twisting feeling in his gut.

≠

L hated parties. He hated birthday parties even more. Something about the idea of an adult expecting gifts and attention simply for existing is something that seems childish and trival. Especially when that adult is Misa Amane, who rented out a banquet all for her party. L doesn’t hate Misa, he doesn’t. Though, he couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk that creeped onto his face, coupled with an immoral sense of superiority when Light dragged him away to a secluded pantry on the other side of the venue.

“Mmm, someone is needy,” L muttered, pulling the lapels on Light’s blazer closer to him for a needy kiss, “Glad you are giving the birthday boy special treatment.”

“Shut up.” Light muttered, kissing L like he means it, greedy and desperate.

The two grind against one another, the closed space and limited time not offering as  many options as typical-- it brought back a similar feeling of way back in the early days of their correspondence where they would kiss in the dark stacks of the library; L still trying to figure out what makes Light squirm, and Light still barely comfortable enough to put his hands on L’s waist.

Oh how fast the night changes he thinks idly to himself as Light pulls on his messy waves, exposing the alabaster expanse of his neck and latched himself onto it as he has seen L do many times, though he actually gets to feel Light’s teeth sink into him and admire the purple against white the next day.

L quickly undoes Light’s belt and slacks, pulling them off with his boxers, knowing they only had a limited amount of time before the hostess of the party figures out her “guest of honor” has been missing for several minutes. Following the pants, L drops to his knees, taking Light’s cock in his mouth all at once. Light tangles his hands in L’s hair, slowly but steadily fucking his mouth.

“We have a limited amount of time, you realize?” L pulled away, and Light groaned at the loss of contact.

Light shook his head, “I don’t think anyone is going to come looking for me.”

L slowly stroked him, thumb rubbing over the slit of his head, causing Light to bite his lip through a moan, his back hitting the wall behind him. L looked up at him, eyes impossibly wide, “I think you misjudge how strongly Ms. Amane’s infatuation with you is.”

Light didn’t respond to that, so L took the head of Light’s cock in his mouth, the man biting down on two knuckles to stifle his noises. L knew he was getting close, after almost a year of this affair, L knew exactly what to do to get Light to tremble and squirm and just how far to push until he is over the edge.

His orgasm rips through him, Light gripping tightly onto L’s hair, making him moan around Light’s cock. He wipes his mouth with one of the cocktail napkins placed neatly on the shelves. He gingerly took Light’s hand as he helped him off the floor, pulling L in for another messy kiss.

Light drew his nails down L’s back, now panting into his mouth, but the two quickly jumped apart when they heard the click of heels making their way down the adjacent hall.

“Light? Are you down here?”

The two froze and looked at one another. “Misa,” Light mouthed, and L rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t warn Light of this exact situation previously.

“Come on.” L quickly pulled Light out of the pantry, walking him towards the bathrooms  directly on the other end of the hall before she rounded the corner spotting them, “Tell her you were seeing me off and I had to leave early, and you stopped by the restrooms before you came back. Also…”  He pulled a small wrapped object out of the back of his pocket. It was long but thin, containing a rose gold gemmed bracelet. “It is a bracelet. It will distract her from any questions that she has.”

“Ryuzaki I-”

L shook his head, running a hand under the water of one of the bathroom sinks and fixed Light’s mussed and imperfect hair, “Don’t. I’ll be fine.” This only works if you keep lying. C’mon Light, where is the illusion? “Go. Do what needs to be done.”

L shoved Light out of the bathroom, just in time too, for he ran into his girlfriend. He listened to their idle voices from the bathroom and felt a wave of bittersweet joy from Misa’s elation at the gift. He stayed until their voices disappeared and snuck out the exit near the back. He always did hate birthday parties.

≠

It was around 2am when L heard the knocking on his door. Confused and apprehensive, he opened the door to see a disheveled and tired Light on the other side. His eyes were rimmed red with dark circles underneath them. L wasn’t sure if he had ever seen him in such a state.

“Light? What are you doing here? Are you ok-” L’s concerns were cut off by Light cupping his cheeks and kissing him. Not the passionate and needy type that he is used to, but raw and emotional. He wrapped his arms around L’s neck and held onto him like his lifeline.

L did not disconnect from his lips, instead leading them both to his bed. It was still neatly made (it being essentially unused since the last time Light was over) but he pulled back the duvet and crawled under it, Light following close behind.

L held Light for a long time, running his fingers through his perfect brown hair and offering light kisses. A few rare moments of silence passed, and Light’s breathing became a lot more steady and the touches less needy.

“It is much past the time you are typically asleep. What on Earth are you doing here? This isn’t like you.” L muttered lowly in Light’s ear.

Light huffed, “I apologise for not fitting your perfect honor student archetype.”

“That is not what I mean. I am not talking about perfect, clean-cut college senior Light.”

“Wha- but that is me.”

L shifted slightly, pressing a thumb to his lips, “On the surface, sure. You are the definition of sublimity and much sharper than those around you. Not to say you are not that, but there is much more to it. Despite being one of the top students in Japan, you do not care as much as people think you do, and you obviously have secrets of your own. Do not try to play coy with me, Light, I greatly dislike being belittled.”

Light was silent for a while, tracing nondescript patterns along L’s chest, “I thought that I was the number one student in Japan.”

L stifled a laugh, “One of us here is.”

“I have never even seen your name on the national rankings.”

“You have never seen Ryuzaki on the national rankings. Though I am sure you were around when Hideki Ryuga made an appearance.”

Light was silent for a moment before shaking his head, “I thought for a while now that Ryuzaki was an alias.” L hummed in response squeezing Light softly and pressing a kiss atop his head, “So, what is your true name?”

“I cannot tell you that, Light.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

Light pulled away from L’s arms and sat up, “That isn’t fair. I have been nothing but honest about myself with you, and you can’t share one stupid thing with me?”

“You still don’t get it…” L muttered to himself, sitting up and pulling his legs close to his chest.

“Get what?” Light spat out.

L sighed, “I cannot be fully honest with you until you are honest with yourself.”

Light opened his mouth and closed it again-- a brief moment of confusion before the anger took its place, “What does that mean?”

“What is it you truly desire of me, Light? How long are you going to conform to the expectations you created for yourself.” L’s voice was not angry or frustrated or even disappointed. He just sounded sad, “You are graduating college and Ms. Amane’s career is in full swing now. With how many years you have together she is going to be expecting marriage and a family soon. And then what? How much longer must you keep lying to her, to your family, to-- you know, forget all them. How much longer can you lie to yourself about what you really want? When will your self imposed expectations that you curated supersede who you really are?” Light stayed silent, his body was stiff and his eyes glassy. L sighed, “You may stay here tonight, of course. I will hold you and kiss you and love you tonight. But after that, I need to take your time to think about what exactly you are doing, and talk to me when you figure it out. You’re not the only one who is affected by your actions.”

He left the rest unspoken. Not saying he wanted to hold onto Light forever, finally call him his, and not put an ultimatum on their love. But it was too painful to say the rest out loud.

L held Light and stroked his hair as he fell asleep. L tried to fight off his own exhaustion, but his eyes eventually closed and he drifted off as well. He woke up the next morning cold and in an empty bed.

≠

It has been about three months since L and Light had seen one another. That’s fine. L doesn’t need anyone. Staying alone is how he stays alive. He goes through his school work faster than ever, senior finals quickly approaching for him, though he has no doubt that he could manage without trying. That doesn’t stop him from doing so for whatever reason. He just needs to keep busy.

L was editing an essay when his phone rang, Misa Amane’s contact name appearing. L stared at the phone for several seconds, weighing his options. He eventually snatched the phone and flipped it open, “Yes?” He dumped all the sugar cubes from his bowl onto the table, idly stacking them.

“Hi, Ryuzaki, sorry to call you this late-” L glanced at the clock, just past midnight, “But I was just wondering if Light was with you.”

L paused, and bit his lip, “No, actually. I have not seen Light for about 3 months now.”

There was silence on the other end of the call, L could only hear static on the other end. He made his tower about 6 cubes high before Misa spoke, “3 months? You haven’t heard from him for 3 months? He said he was going to talk to you ages ago. I am worried about him, Ryuzaki.”

“What seems to be your cause for concern?”

Misa sighed, “I broke up with Light about 2 weeks ago,” L knocked over his cube tower, sending sugar crystals careening over his laptop. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing at this point or not, his heart was beating so slowly… Or fast? L couldn’t for the life of him tell, “He said that he was going to talk to you shortly after I ended things, but I hadn’t heard from him or seen from him, and now you have no idea what's going on, and oh God, what if he is dead or killed himself I don-”

“Misa?”

“Yes?”

“Please calm down for me, ok?” L hooked a finger in his mouth, trying to keep his voice level for Misa’s sake, “I am concerned for Light as you are. I just need you to answer me some questions and I should be able to figure out where he may be.”

“You don’t think he is dead?” Misa choked out.

“I say there is only 2.5% Light is dead, and that would be due to forces outside of the situation. Light is strong, he would never try to kill himself.”

“I- I know this Ryuzaki, I am sorry.”

“Never apologise for your feelings, Misa.” L dragged his finger across his desk and licked the sugar off of his finger. “What was the last thing you two talked about?”

Misa’s voice was quiet, but self assured, “We haven’t talked since I ended things. After that, he hasn’t been in class or on campus.”

“You did break up with him, surely he doesn’t want a lot of interaction with others right now.”

Misa huffed, “No, that can’t be it. I broke up with Light for his own good.”

L nervously bit at the skin around his nails, “If I may pry, what is the reasoning for the termination of your relationship.”

“I was afraid you would ask that…” Misa sighed, clearly debating what she wanted to say. L moved the mouse on his computers and idly scrolled through the essay he was editing, needing something to distract him, even if he was not processing any of the words being read on screen, “This is what Light was supposed to talk to you about but... I ended things because he… Ryuzaki, he is in love with you.” L bit down on his thumb. Hard. The metallic taste of blood was the only thing that was keeping him from passing out. “When we started our relationship 3 years ago, I knew he didn’t love me like I loved him, but I figured he would be able to learn to, right? But, something changed once he met you… He was smiling more and happier, but also distant and confused and pensive. I think he has been wrestling with this for a while, and it is unfair to myself, Light, or you to continue a relationship that no one is happy with.”

“Misa, I-”

“I am sure you are also a bit shocked about this turn of events as well… Or maybe not, I don’t know how much you suspected, but Ryuzaki I-” She sighed, sniffling slightly. L popped a sugar cube in his mouth. If Misa was about to start crying he needed all the glucose support he could get, “I was really mad at you at first. I hated you. But now I realise I should thank you. I was settling for someone who never really gave me their all, or really wanted me for me. I settled, and so did Light. We both deserve better. He wants you, and if you want him, let him know.”

“Did you tell Light all this as well?”

“Yea, it was the last thing we talked about.”

L chewed on his lip, “I think I know where he is.”

≠

“Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

Light turned around, L smirking softly behind him, the chilly wind musing his hair and chilling his bare feet. Light sighed, standing up from the collection of boulders he was on, facing L. He tugged his jacket closer around himself, “How did you find me here?”

“Cameras everywhere.” L idly pointed around, and Light simply raised an eyebrow, “Misa called me, told me what happened. I was able to figure out the rest”

Light nodded, sitting back down, but facing L still, “I see.” He looked at Light a little more. His state and appearance were worse than when he saw L 3 months ago, though it was clear he was trying to hide it. His pretty tan skin was sickly and shallow and his eyes were hollow.  The illusion of perfect Light Yagami wasn’t just gone, it was ripped to pieces and set on fire.

“Can I sit?” L asked, and Light made a small gesture with his hand. L crouched next to him, placing his hands atop his knees but remaining a good distance away from Light. He looked around at the forest. The very same place he and Light kissed his car, nearly everyday after classes for many months. They both had become very familiar with the area, though the tension in the air is palpable and unlike what L was used to. It reminded him of the closet incident a year ago. Nerves alight in both men, having no idea what action to take next.

“You look good.” Light said. L held back a chuckle, he looks like he always does and he knows it.

“You look tired, Light.”

“I am tired.” He responds simply. They stay silent for a few moments. L has so much he wants to ask, but this was Light’s conversation to lead, “I have been so stupid.” Light starts. He places his head in his hands, and runs his fingers through his hair, “I told myself the loneliness would go away with time. It didn’t, but I kept ignoring it. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what you said and…” Light sighed, “No one has ever been that honest with me. They tell me I am perfect and good, so I thought this hollowness that I have felt ever since I was a child was normal. And then.... Then you came along telling me things could be better, and it could go away and I… I was scared.”

“Why?”

“Even if it is a bad feeling, it is terrifying to think of life without it.”

L nodded, pressing his thumb to his lips, “You would have ignored it forever if Misa hadn’t broken up with you.”

Light chuckled weakly, shaking his head, “Yeah, I probably would have.”

“Did you tell her, Light?”

He shook his head, “Misa doesn’t know. Maybe one day, I will tell her. Right now… She is being incredibly selfless, and I have been incredibly selfish, I didn’t want to add to that.”

“You realize that withholding the truth from her is, in of itself, a selfish action right?” Light gave him a pointed look and L just sighed, “So, why here then?”

Light looked pensively up at the stars, leaning back on his palms. Even with exhaustion and stress seeping through his body, he was still so beautiful, “The simplest way to put it is… Is I missed you. And I didn’t know what to do. I felt like running and hiding and lying was the easiest way to deal with my feelings, but it is too painful to do that, and acting like such a coward is killing me. And now you are here, and I don’t know what to do.”

L pondered this for a moment, “Well, you could come over here and kiss me.”

Light looked at him, eyes wide, “Is that ok?”

Chuckling, L shook his head, “You were not this hesitant and asking for permission the first time.”

He moved closer to L, caressing his cheek. Light ran a hand through L’s hair and softly pressed his lips against L’s. It wasn’t a symphony or a matching puzzle piece or the final brushstroke of a beautiful painting. It just felt so right after so long, and L could finally exhale.

“I am lucky to have you back, Light Yagami.” He kissed Light’s forehead.

Light smiled. Despite the fatigue still present, that familiar glow that Light always gleamed was returning, “Do I finally get a name for you now?”

“As long as I can call you mine,” He softly kissed Light’s cheek, “You can call me L.”