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bonvoyagenoona · 3 years

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A Map of Mrs. Kims | KSJ, KNJ, KTH | North: 01

🧭 Fic Masterpost and Schedule 🧭

Pairings: Jin x female OC, Namjoon x female OC, Taehyung x female OC

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 10k | read on ao3

Synopsis: Mrs. Kim is tired of being accosted in the grocery store, at her art class, and even in the country club restroom about her three incredibly gorgeous but stubbornly single sons. So many women are vying for a spot on Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung’s arms, but these three boys are dead set against settling down. Hopefully, Mrs. Kim’s trusty map of the city’s fourteen top bachelorettes will finally guide them to true love.

Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Kim line as brothers, slice of life, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, unrequited love, fluff, angst, smut

Author’s Note: This is my love letter to our funny, sweet, and heartwarming ARMY, and it is particularly dedicated to all of you who have been so kind and generous with your time, your laughs, your feels, and your own beautiful stories. Can you believe we’ve been building the AMOMK world together for nearly 8 months?! It has been a hilarious, wonderful, and meaningful ride, and as always, I hope you enjoy where we end up! If this is your first foray into the AMOMK world, you can read the original ask that prompted the idea, check out the asks and snippets that have followed, and follow #amomk to check out all the still-ongoing asks / snippets / drabbles!

Taglist: @acertifiedhoe @awinkies @babycoffeefire @btsarmy9593 @btseditsworld @dearbambideer @downbad4yoongi @dreamamubarak @dvalitaes @elyte @emmmui @greezenini @helenazbmrskai @imaginativedreams @jkkit @lynnlovesloki @m-yg93 @miscelunaaa @missbickerbocker @morti13 @purpleheartsfortae @purpuravm @raplinesmoon-main @reliablemittenmain @rurugoeson @skyys-universe @somewhereofftheglobe @sunnietee @takaiko @yuugehn @effielumiere

NORTH

Chapter 01

Jin is sure about two out of three things.

The first is that the minute she sees him, his mother will scold him for the crease in the back of his pants, crumpled by the uneven grooves in the metal, too-small bleachers.

The second is that the six women sitting just to the side are trying their best not to ogle.

They’re failing.

The bravest of the pack clears her throat to calm the giggling. She gives her girls a glance before sliding a little closer to Jin.

“You here for the Sunday tutoring sessions?” she asks, tossing her hair in the slight breeze and revealing her neck.

It’s a pretty neck. Long, and slender. Certainly kissable. Definitely suckable. Especially by Jin’s plump lips. But the sound of the woman’s tongue hastily licking her own lips makes Jin get the urge to hide said lips and crinkle his nose instead. He’d rather keep the scold-inducing wrinkles to a minimum, so he keeps his eyes on the sky quickly turning orange. Not wanting to be rude, he offers a quick, neutral nod.

The group of women starts to whisper.

And their leader’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

Tilting his head a little, Jin answers. Curt, but polite. “Yes.”

Jaw unhinging, the woman unleashes the collective’s words. “We didn’t think you— You don’t really seem like—”

Utterly flabbergasted by the response, the woman allows her body to be pulled forward until she’s hunched over, attempting to stretch around Jin’s immaculate profile to land dead center in his field of vision, tongue still working in an attempt to keep her drool at bay.

“Uh, you just look… different,” the woman finally explains, with a giggle that echoes the others’.

Jin is a handsome man. He’s also a numbers man. It’s the combination of those two identities that tells him that the women are now extrapolating data. Data like the cloth of his suit, which was worn to the office on what others usually take as a guaranteed day off. Data like the make of his luxury car parked in the lot a few yards away. Data like the flawlessness of his hair, eyes, lips, and skin. After triangulating all this data, they can’t help but wonder: why is a person like him in this neighborhood, much less waiting in the bleachers of a dilapidated baseball field of an old, rundown, public school?

“Different how?” he asks playfully. He knows it’s better not to engage. That he could end up in yet another risky situation. But Jin is still unsure of the third thing, which is whatever the hell is taking Namjoon so long. Faced with anywhere from seconds to hours, Jin supposes that a little stroking of the ego can’t be an unforgivable waste of time.

“Well, first off, I’ve only seen faces like yours on movie screens,” the woman replies, leading the rest of the group in another symphony of snickers.

“You’re too kind,” comes out of Jin’s mouth. But as he finally looks their way, the glimmer that his eyes shine on his rapt audience signals to them that he knows as much as they do that the woman’s words are more fact than opinion.

One woman, in direct line of sight, audibly gasps.

“Tell us more about you,” the first woman pleads.

Another woman smiles as shyly as her tentative giggle bounces toward Jin. “We’ve just been so curious about you since you sat down.”

He watches as the rest of the women crouch together, resting their chins in their hands. He could almost scoff at all the wedding rings on full display. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything!” the woman replies quickly.

Someone behind her mutters, “Everything!”, which is quickly buried by laughs.

With the breeze shifting, the woman’s hair lands around her shoulders again. She tucks some of the locks behind her ear, as if to make sure she’s able to receive the information she’s about to ask for. “Your name, for starters?”

His lips curl into a soothing smile. “Kim Seokjin.”

“And what do you do, Mr. Kim Seokjin?” This woman has the benefit of illusory brazenness now that the others have knocked the first door down. “Something as sexy as that face?”

Jin shrugs. “Depends on how sexy you think this face really is.”

One of the women actually grunts.

“Your wife just lets you roam free like this?” the first woman asks.

“Oh, I’m single,” Jin replies. “Never married.”

He’s pretty sure they’ve all borne children, so he isn’t exactly sure why the groan is so dramatically pained.

A burst of distant laughter momentarily takes everyone’s attention, and when Namjoon comes into view, herding a group of ten or so students from the school over to the pick-up queue by the baseball field, Jin stands and brushes away the bits of baseball diamond dust that have settled in his pant creases.

“Well, ladies, it’s been fun.”

More questions buzz around him like gnats. Does he have kids at the school? How many? Would he know their kids? Are their kids in the same grade, or better yet, the same classes? How come they’ve never seen him before? Will they see him again next Sunday? Will they ever see him again?

As Jin walks toward Namjoon, Jin smooths his hands over his bottom to wipe any remaining bleacher dust away.

And once Jin and Namjoon meet on the curb next to the start of the pick-up queue, Namjoon’s knowing chuckle confirms that the sound that the women made at the sight of Jin’s bottom, was, in fact, a wolf pack of howls, followed by more busily whispered assumptions. Of course. How could they not see it before? Kind, intelligent, middle school teacher Kim Namjoon is the only other man they’ve seen around here who looks like he should be on a movie screen instead.

Jin’s eyes fall to the middle seventh-grader at Namjoon’s side. The kid’s left laces are untied. An apt metaphor for his entire appearance, which is generally well put-together, with minor telling quirks. Messy hair. Baggy uniform. Backpack straps set at their longest slack, his books and other belongings too heavy and hanging too low, causing the kid to hunch forward to balance the weight. And that scowl. Worthy of a mother’s scolding. Jin would know.

“Who’s this uggo?” the kid demands.

After being hoisted so high into the air by all those compliments just a moment ago, Jin finds the thud with which his resulting frown lands on the dirty earth to be particularly disheartening.

“My brother,” Namjoon answers, with a somewhat amused smile.

“Thought you looked related,” the kid cracks.

Namjoon sighs as he absorbs the jab.

But Jin tightens. The kid’s audacity pries his eyes open wider. “Whoa. Dude. Can we ease up a little?”

The kid grins, eyes thinning into upside down U-shapes. “Bite me,” he responds, teeth bared and flashing.

“Lee,” Namjoon begins, seriously but gently, “I know you hate these Sunday sessions, but your father—”

“He can bite me, too. Fucking prick.”

Jin presses his lips together, finding it hard to stifle the oncoming laughter.

Namjoon sighs again. “Watch your mouth, Lee. Would you rather have detention?”

“Honestly, yes,” Lee replies, grabbing his backpack straps and looking up at Namjoon, “because then I wouldn’t have all this stupid crap to do all weekend and then wake up early for school the next morning.”

“I wish you’d seriously consider joining the debate team,” Namjoon goes on, raising his eyebrows. “You’re a good tutor.”

Lee rolls his eyes and folds his arms. “Whatever.”

“No, really.” Namjoon grins. “And you’ve been a really good practice opponent for us, highlighting key holes in arguments and finding quite elegant solutions to—”

“I see my fucking prick of a father pulling into the lot,” Lee interrupts.

His eyes follow a nondescript sedan swerving into the entrance and driving impatiently into empty parking spaces off to the side rather than safely joining the queue.

Lee looks back at Namjoon and Jin. His appearance might’ve been telling, but his actions speak louder. He at least bows slightly and mumbles a “bye” before jogging toward the car.

“So that’s the kid,” Jin remarks.

Namjoon nods. He narrows his eyes and peers through the windshield, trying to get a sense of what Lee’s father is like. Does he slump in his seat? Is his voice as sharp? Are his eyes as cold as Lee’s guarded scowl might indicate? But the car peels off, the roar of the engine ending in the squeals of the tire, which bleed into the giggles that come from behind.

Jin glances back to the women in the bleachers. Some of them have left, but more than a few linger and continue to ogle.

He gestures toward them with his thumb and looks over at Namjoon. “It’s really like this every day?”

When Namjoon sheepishly raises his eyebrows, sharing one half of a dimpled grin and one half of a lazy shrug, Jin rolls his eyes and clasps Namjoon on his raised shoulder. A gentle squeeze, a playful jostle, and Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels a little.

“How do you stand it?!” Jin exclaims. As Namjoon laughs and rebalances, Jin adds, “Any longer and those bleacher vultures would have picked me off!”

“It’s why I never walk out here alone. Without Lee, I would have been completely defenseless. And without you, I would have been stuck.” Namjoon pats his brother’s resting hand. “Thanks again for picking me up. I should’ve gotten my car battery checked.”

“Like I said last weekend?”

“Yes, hyung, like you said last weekend.”

Namjoon gives a wave to the last of his students, the parents in the pick-up queue, and the rabid fanbase in the bleachers before turning and swinging an arm around Jin’s broad shoulders. They make their way over to Jin’s car. Their backs shield them from all the continued enamored screeches.

“The app, Joon,” Jin says, pointing a finger at him. “I can see when your car throws a trouble code. You had ample warning.”

“You look like Eomma when you do that,” Namjoon observes coolly, reaching for the passenger door handle, and, upon taking his seat, reveling in his expert ability to get Jin to shut up.

Jin’s car looks fancy because it is. It’s also strangely unfamiliar. A brand unknown to people not in the loop. The sportiest design. The softest leather. The smartest tech. More spaceship than car. Namjoon feels as if he merely has to think of Taehyung, and the dashboard is already video calling their youngest brother. But, admittedly, Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s the norm now. His loyal hatchback has served him extremely well over the decades.

“You really should get a new car,” Jin replies, pulling them out of the school’s parking lot and onto the main road. “It’s risky to keep anything older than ten years, nowadays. And if it’s a financing thing, then I can—”

“Your help will be much appreciated,” Namjoon says calmly, and decidedly, “when I ask for it. The tow was covered by insurance, and the shop says everything is fixable.”

Jin rolls his eyes just as Taehyung’s sleepy face pops up on the center of the dash. Taehyung’s smart screened speaker captures him from its place on his nightstand, broadcasting his sleepy body, sky blue hair curled up in his cloud white comforter.

“Taehyungie?” Jin asks gently.

Taehyung’s hand dreamily, if not clumsily, pulls away from the screen after having accepted the call, that same arm swinging over to the other side of the bed as he rolls over, facing away.

“Tae!” Jin bellows.

But Taehyung just burrows deeper into his blankets. “Mm?”

Namjoon smirks, but his voice is soft when he speaks. “Tae-Tae? Are you just now waking up?”

“…Mm?”

“Tae, we’re going to be at your place in half an hour,” Namjoon informs him.

After a stubborn pause that Jin and Namjoon know by now to wait through, Taehyung sighs and rolls back over to face his tiny elder brothers on the screen. He blinks a couple of times, nose scrunching and bunching as his nostrils flare to make room for a couple of deep, thirsty inhales. He sits up a little and pulls his pajama-sleeved arm out from under his pillow to check his watch. Having shifted during sleep, its face rests against Taehyung’s bony wrist. He presses the leather strap against his cheek as he sinks back down onto his pillow, rotating his wrist so that the face of his watch moves back into its proper place. As he struggles to pry his eyes fully open, he pulls down his jaw, corners tight.

“Weren’t you supposed to get me an hour ago?” Taehyung mumbles.

“Sorry we kept you waiting,” Jin remarks with a scoff. “Clearly we’ve inconvenienced you so.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes. “You have.”

“Which is why I said clearly,” Jin remarks.

“You don’t know my life,” Taehyung grumbles. “You don’t know how if I had a long shoot last night, or if I’ve even eaten today, or—”

“Car,” Jin says suddenly, “read Kim Taehyung’s posts from this weekend.”

Namjoon jumps at the surrounding sound of a friendly chime, and cowers a little in his seat as a friendly voice says, “Alright. Reading recent posts by KIM. TAEHYUNG.”

3:06 AM, today: Is there anything better than a post-fuck 20-Taco Takeout Box from Taco Town? The answer is no, except maybe the fuck.

12:15 AM, today: I don’t know who you are or where you went, but you gave me a gigantic boner. If you see this, slide into my DMs like your tongue slid into my throat. #whatelsethatmouthdo

10:49 PM, today: Alright y’all, just got to the club. Who wants to make out??

9:32 PM: What’s everyone up to tonight? Trying to decide between going out and reading some stupid book my hyung gave me.

Namjoon frowns. “I ordered The History of the Photographic Lens months ago. I thought you’d actually enjoy it. Y'know. Given what you do.”

“How do you know those posts were really me?” Taehyung dares.

“You still have cheddar cheese stuck to your cheek!” Jin exclaims.

Taehyung rubs his face into his sheets, but the cheddar cheese shard stays put.

Namjoon sighs. “Tae, just go shower and change. And bring one of your cameras. Maybe some lights. Eomma asked for them for tonight.”

Throwing the comforter off of himself and suddenly sitting up, Taehyung yawns and scratches his back. And his sides. And his stomach.

And then he scampers off the bed while still on the video call.

Completely naked from the waist down.

“Need you to sign.”

The delivery man holds out his barely-together clipboard.

Mr. Kim curls his finger around the dangling chain attached to the clipboard to retrieve the small, hanging pen. He gives a little sigh, scribbling his signature before receiving three, small, white parcels, tied together with a bit of white string. He notices something on the sticker on top of the first box, but the delivery man is already by his truck.

As Mr. Kim leaves the foyer, he smiles to himself, mentally patting himself on the back at the sound of the soft air leaking out of the hydraulic door closer as it slowly, gently shuts.

Mrs. Kim chuckles when he joins her in the kitchen and beams a dreamy smile at her.

“You and that door,” she mumbles with a fond grin.

Mr. Kim whistles. “It’s a real beaut,” he sighs.

“Never mind that it took you fourteen tries,” Mrs. Kim jokes.

Mr. Kim can’t hear her. “Like marshmallows landing on the ground,” he revels. He looks at Mrs. Kim and beams with pride. “Like your head hitting the pillow at night.”

Mrs. Kim snorts. “My handyman.”

“And, apparently, your secretary,” Mr. Kim replies, presenting her with the three white boxes.

Mrs. Kim sets a wooden spoon down, puts a lid on a pot, and wipes her hands on her apron.

A bright smile. The lightest giggle. The sound of a shiver through her body. Mr. Kim can only laugh when Mrs. Kim excitedly squeals, “Oooh! They’re here!”

She rounds the kitchen island, scooping up the boxes and bringing them farther away from the stove. She finds a clear spot on the counter and parks there for her inspection.

After untying the white string, she uncovers them, then thumbs through them, picking a candidate from somewhere in the middle of the second box. After looking it over, she picks the front card in the first box, and the last card in the last box. She holds them up to the light. Waves them in the air. Turns them over, and then back over again. Even sniffs them. Gladly, everything is up to snuff.

Three perfect stacks of the perfect business cards to use for her three perfect sons.

Mr. Kim hovers behind her, intrigued.

Moving her shoulder into his line of sight, Mrs. Kim asks, “Aw. Yeobo. What three words do I always tell you?”

“‘I love you’?”

“No.” She looks up at him. “‘Mind your business’.”

Mrs. Kim boxes the cards back up and pushes them to the back of the kitchen counter, next to the one remaining landline phone in the house.

Mr. Kim stays on her slender heels, which peek out from sensible, well-worn, muted rose, furry house slippers, the still-intact rubber soles of which are clop-clop-clop-ing back toward the stove.

“I just… well…”

“What?” Mrs. Kim asks, picking up the wooden spoon and stirring the nearly-there stew for what should be the last time. “You gonna lecture me again?”

“No,” Mr. Kim admits. “I just… well… don’t I get business cards too? I mean…” He smirks. “I did help make the boys.”

“Well, no one is accosting you at the club!” Mrs. Kim exclaims. She tastes her stew and frowns. “Damn.”

“I want business cards, too!” Mr. Kim pouts, bringing her back to the conversation.

A chorus of familiar voices break through Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s playful squabbling.

“Ma?”

"Maaaaa!"

Mr. and Mrs. Kim brighten at the sweet sound of Taehyung’s greeting and the teasing, echoing sounds of Namjoon and Jin.

“Boys?” Mr. Kim calls back.

From the lack of the sound of the door slamming, Mr. and Mrs. Kim assume their boys have just come in through the door and are still taking off their shoes. Mr. and Mrs. Kim smile happily at each other, walking over to the front hall.

They’re met with a flurry of kisses and hugs from their three sons, everyone’s bodies and limbs somehow knowing to dodge Mrs. Kim’s stew-covered spoon and comfortably settling into familiar pockets of space that feel just as much as home as this warm, lived-in, beautiful house.

“Was there lots of traffic?” Mr. Kim asks, clasping the shoulder pad in Jin’s suit.

“No, the roads were pretty empty,” Jin replies.

“It’s my fault,” Namjoon replies. “I got held up.”

“Taehyung also needed a minute or two,” Jin adds, causing Taehyung to narrow his eyes and frown.

“You boys didn’t even give your hyung a chance to change out of his work clothes,” Mrs. Kim chides, looking over at Jin.

“I’ll just pull something from my closet later,” Jin says, following his brothers into the living room to relax a little before dinner.

“Before you sit down, do you mind if you drive me to the store, really quick?” Mrs. Kim asks, following them. “I think I need to add more onions and peppers to the stew. It tastes a little bland.”

She offers Jin a lick of the stew from her spoon, and Jin nods, out of agreement with his mother’s assessment, as well as obedience to his mother’s request.

“Thanks, Seokjinnie."

Mrs. Kim looks at all three of her sons, standing there in the front hall. Eldest, charming Seokjin, so dependable that he works on his days off, and still so handsome in his well-tailored but slightly creased suit that she will scold him about later. Middle, charismatic Namjoon, a sight for sore eyes even if the lines of the nose pads of his glasses have dug into his skin a bit after kindly dedicating his time off to teach. Youngest runt Taehyung, so sweet, even with that ever-present cheeky smile connecting his fluffed up cheeks.

“Actually…”

Mrs. Kim’s contemplative pause causes the boys to turn and watch her with slight worry.

“Can all three of you come to the store with me?” Mrs. Kim asks. She turns to her husband, who perks up when her eyes land on him. “And can you just keep an eye on the stew while we’re out?”

“Really?” Mr. Kim says, judging, and cryptically, while cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeobo, don’t start,” Mrs. Kim warns, shaking her spoon at him as she heads back into the kitchen. “Let me just check the stew and set down my apron.”

Mr. Kim looks over at the boys, who look a little more worried, and now, confused.

He just sighs before following her into the kitchen.

And then, he returns almost as quickly as he disappeared, bringing with him a small, white box.

“Bring this with you,” Mr. Kim tells them, handing the box to Namjoon. “Be extra careful out there.” A weary look sets upon his face. “Godspeed, boys.”

The Kim brothers exchange glances, wondering whatever in the world would prompt extra speed and care for a simple trip to the store.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Jin mutters, as he leads the way.

He feels his mother grasp the back of his jacket, crumpling the fabric in her tiny fist.

“Eomma,” he complains. “My suit.”

“Oh hush,” Mrs. Kim hisses. “I can see the creases behind your knees. And is that sand between the folds?”

Jin gives a glance back at Taehyung and Namjoon, who smirk at their hyung from their places on either side of Mrs. Kim, the perfect V-formation that she has needed seemingly now more than ever.

Spring brings with it all sorts of life, all of it evident in the local grocery store: gorgeous flower arrangements on display at the front of the store; a new bundle of crops showcased in the produce section; and a cavalcade of young women in attire much too dressed-up for a quick errand, all of them flinging themselves (or being flung by their mothers) to the front of the Kims’ V-formation, on the off-chance that three lucky winners will make a strong enough impression to be chosen by the three most eligible bachelors for miles.

Tiny Mrs. Kim’s feet can’t keep up with her giant sons’ long and powerful strides, but she’ll gladly take ping-ponging within that V-formation over what usually happens. Without her boys here, Mrs. Kim would be blocked for hours in the check-out line, being inundated with questions about her sons.

Namjoon kindly wraps his arm around his mother’s shoulders and holds her elbow to keep her safe. She smiles at him in thanks. And then, she turns to a blankly staring Taehyung.

“Stand up straight,” Mrs. Kim whispers. “Are you passing out the cards?”

“Uh—”

Taehyung’s hands are firmly grasping the box, but he doesn’t need to do more than that. Streams of young women continue to rush past him and pick up business cards on their own, running back to their mothers and excitedly whispering about getting to see the boys in person.

“How do they always know when we’ll be here?” Namjoon asks, scanning the store. “Up until a few minutes ago, we didn’t even know we’d be here.” He can’t fully take in the scene around them. There are so many women, but they all wear the same uniform. Shiny, styled hair. Floral dresses. Red lips screaming against too-white teeth. “People, like, got ready?”

“I swear it’s like they can smell us coming,” Mrs. Kim grumbles.

“Maybe we don’t need more onions and peppers in the stew, then,” Jin jokes.

Mrs. Kim stops abruptly, her clear bags of onions and peppers swinging forward and bumping into Jin’s back, and then swinging back and bumping into her stomach. “Ooh. That reminds me. I need scented candles. I also fried some fish to go with the stew.”

Taehyung groans, Namjoon takes a deep breath, and Jin clears his throat insistently as he tries to maneuver their V-formation through the crazy crowd and back to the home goods aisles of the store.

They flatten into a straight line and step behind to allow Mrs. Kim to see what scented candles are available. She revels in the ability to shop uninterrupted. That her tall sons can pick the candles from the highest shelves when she requests. That she can ask them for their opinions, dismiss them, and then consider them again.

“You’re right, that one,” she says, after a little while. “The cinnamon apple. It’s the strongest.”

Jin steps forward and pulls the red candle from the shelf. “I told you.”

As Mrs. Kim lifts the lid of the candle and smells it for the eighth or ninth time, Jin looks around at the scene again. More of the same.

And then, something not same. But still familiar.

A face. One that he hasn’t seen in a long while.

It’s attached to a form at the other end of the aisle, almost shapeless in her hoodie and sweatpants, holding two cans of air freshener. She shakes one and sprays it. She takes in the scent, but she looks unimpressed. She shakes the other and sprays it, and immediately, she gags, sticking her tongue out and slamming the can back onto the shelf.

Jin chuckles. “Hey… Is that…?”

Mrs. Kim follows Jin’s gaze. Upon landing on an unkempt appearance and angry demeanor, Mrs. Kim tightens, and straightens, causing Namjoon and Taehyung to close their distance around her, just in case. “Don’t make eye contact,” Mrs. Kim instructs. “She’s a black circle.”

Jin turns back to her. “A—” He furrows his brow. “A what now?” he asks quizzically.

Mrs. Kim grabs the back of Jin’s suit again. “C’mon.” She gives the fabric a strong tug. “I thought of more stuff that we need. Back to the produce aisle. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Salad dressing.”

The Kim V-formation winds through more aisles. The Kim boys’ three pairs of arms pick up more items, and their devastating faces leave more destruction in their wake. Soon, Mrs. Kim is carefully checking off boxes in her mind as she watches the 24-pack of paper towels, the 12-count of toilet paper, three bottles of wine, a new peony arrangement for the kitchen table centerpiece, Taehyung’s requested snacks, the cinnamon apple candle, and the onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, and salad dressing travel one-by-one across the cashier’s conveyor belt.

As Mrs. Kim moves to pull her credit card from her purse, Jin holds up a hand and swipes his card instead, earning a happy smile and loving pat on the back from his mother.

And while her sons scamper to the parked car in the distance, all the groceries in tow, Mrs. Kim waits in the shade by the front of the store, watching intently to make sure they aren’t hit by any careless drivers or rogue shopping carts.

Someone’s cart rattles next to her, and she turns to find a woman whom she’s seen around town. Mrs. Kim thinks that maybe she even taught one of her kids. Maybe that student is the pretty girl standing next to this woman, on the other side of the cart, gripping the handle to make sure it doesn’t veer off.

“Hi, um, excuse me,” the inquisitive mother replies, “are those your sons who are lugging your groceries to your car? Because I—”

Mrs. Kim rolls her eyes and looks down at her white box of business cards. She hastily pulls one out and just holds it in front of the inquisitive mother’s face.

“Ah,” the inquisitive mother replies, grinning. “You clearly get this question all the time, then, but, uh, well, I’d love it if my daughter here could introduce her—”

Mrs. Kim flips the card over in one smooth movement of her fingers.

The inquisitive mother blinks at the card before looking back at Mrs. Kim and taking the card from her.

“Thank you,” she says reverently, patting her daughter on the back and quickly heading to their car.

Mrs. Kim smiles after them, and as she looks down at her precious, genius business cards. The flowers that she had hand-painted. The pristine calligraphy.

“Bongseon, look how far you’ve come,” she whispers proudly to herself, as Jin’s spaceship of a car pulls up to the store’s entrance.

The kitchen isn’t exactly small, but with all five of the now-grown Kims crammed inside, along with Taehyung’s camera, stand, and several lights, the room is starting to feel a little tight.

“A photo shoot?!”

Jin frowns.

“We bought all of these groceries for a photo shoot?!” he continues, folding his arms as he watches an energetic Taehyung and a grimacing, bowl-handling Namjoon getting into position as instructed by a very determined Mrs. Kim.

“We’re eating the salad with dinner,” she says seriously.

Taehyung rummages through a nearby drawer. “I want a prop, too!” he whines, fingers causing chaos. “I look more natural in photos when I have something to work with.”

Jin crosses the kitchen, striding over to the drawer that Taehyung is digging into. “You’re messing up Eomma's system! Big to small, from left to right!”

“I want this!” Taehyung rings out, holding up a whisk.

“Does that even go with the theme?” Jin asks. He sorts the ladles from the spatulas from the skimmer spoons and the rest. “Namjoon’s holding up a salad bowl. Maybe salad tongs instead?”

They turn to see Namjoon plucking a tomato from the salad, eliciting a frustrated yelp from Mrs. Kim.

“I want this!” Taehyung insists, lifting the whisk higher in the air. “There can be a little suspension of disbelief with the theme. You’re not wearing pajamas.”

Jin winces, remembering the sight of Taehyung just hours ago. “You were only wearing half of them a little while ago.”

Taehyung smiles proudly. “Needed to air some things out.”

“Ugh.”

“What’s the trouble back there?” Mrs. Kim demands, turning her attention to Jin and Taehyung, as wide-eyed, hungry Namjoon sneaks another tomato while out of her gaze.

“Tae-Tae wants to hold a whisk,” Jin responds, “but we’re not holding anything that would require one?”

“Whip something up, then,” Mrs. Kim says, bringing Taehyung’s camera’s viewfinder up to her eye. Her eyelashes graze the small square as she blinks and focuses her vision. “Namjoonie, tilt the bowl up a bit? Maybe give me a little bit of a flirty wink, like, ooh, what do I have here, a nutritious salad that I’ve made for you from scratch?”

Namjoon does as told, and Mrs. Kim does her best to suppress her delighted giggles as she snaps the shot.

“Perfect!” she squeals. She confirms her assessment by pulling the camera away and checking the test shot in the camera’s screen. “Ah, I wanna shoot you at a different angle! Let me fix the tripod. You all look at me over here, off to the side, and we’ll do more candid types of shots. Ugh, Namjoonie, your dimples are too cute!”

Beside her is a grinning Mr. Kim, holding up one of Taehyung’s ring lights. “They are cute, aren’t they?” Mr. Kim chimes in.

Mrs. Kim whirls around and laughs at the originals of those dimples, dotting her sweet husband’s cheeks. She kisses them for good measure, and the ring light slips a little in Mr. Kim’s grip.

Taehyung blinks in the shine. “Ugh, Eomma, Appa, gross.”

“This is so fun!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, turning back to the boys, as Mr. Kim plants another kiss on her temple.

“What is this even for?” Jin asks, spooning some crème fraîche into a clear bowl.

“It’s just been so long since I’ve gotten to take your pictures,” Mrs. Kim replies innocently.

She stands on her kitchen step stool and angles the camera for peak dimple capture, and then she begins to scroll through more test shots of Namjoon and Taehyung, pausing momentarily on every photo, like she might do while flipping through all of the photo albums currently lining the bookshelves in her studio.

“No more Halloween costumes. Haven’t been to a formal event in a while, and the next one isn’t for a few weeks.”

She tries another test shot, and even though it’s of Namjoon preparing to flick a leaf of lettuce at an unsuspecting Taehyung’s cheek as Jin stares off into the distance, the beaming smile on Mrs. Kim’s face shows that she is completely convinced that this is another winner of an idea. It’s the same beaming smile that outshines the boys’ smiles in her photo albums, smiles that start out in all earnest eagerness, but slowly, and over time, turn into smiles of obligation.

She pushes her lips out as she climbs down her stool.

“Maybe we should do more of these. Create more content.” Her eyes widen when her left foot joins her right on the floor. “They could even go on fliers!”

“First business cards, and now fliers?” Mr. Kim remarks. A fond smile turns the corners of his lips into comet tails attached to his dimples, soaring higher and higher up his cheeks. “I mean, I know you love a good flier, yeobo—”

“Wait, fliers?” The last scoop of crème fraîche differs from all the others because not all of it ends up in the bowl. “Content??” Jin groans, the sound echoing from the hollow marrow of his bones. “The business cards were already a step too far, but now you want us to actively get involved in this whole scheme?”

Mrs. Kim stares at him. “So what if I am?” She rolls her eyes at Jin’s pleading, defeated look. “You know what? It’s good that we’re laying this all out. I’m tried of trying to gently encourage you. Why do you think I keep asking you to go to the store with me on Sundays? Why else would I ask you to change into your pajamas and robes before dinner?”

Namjoon shrugs, still cradling the salad bowl in his left arm. “So that we’d be comfortable?” He stretches his right arm out to his side, shaking out the sleeve of his red and gray flannel robe, tugging the fabric down his arm with his ring and middle knuckles so that the long sleeve straightens and grazes against his fingernail beds. “These really are so comfy,” he says, with a warm smile.

“Where’s your robe, Seokjinnie?” Mrs. Kim demands.

Jin gives Taehyung the bowl of crème fraîche, and Taehyung happily whisks it around, smiling to himself.

“I don’t know,” Jin replies, watching Taehyung whisking, and feeling himself quickly draining of energy. “Probably back at my loft or something.”

Mrs. Kim sighs. “Well, that’s fine, just take your suit jacket off and, y'know, straighten out your shirt — plus the creases in the back of your pants,” she adds, with a scowl.

Even while huffing and puffing, and while muttering that he can’t help that he has knees, Jin does as told.

Mrs. Kim grins again. “It’s a good thing I thought of this before your roots grew out too long,” she claims proudly. “Jinnie, Joonie, blonde really does suit you. And Tae-Tae, not everyone can pull off that wonderful, subtle mint!”

Taehyung blushes and grins, lips pressed tight, cheeks like little loaves of bread on either side of his face.

“Looks more like straw to me,” Jin mumbles, as Taehyung digs his elbow into his stomach.

“Alright, Taehyungie,, stay in the middle,” Mrs. Kim orders, before the boys jostle around too much. “Namjoonie, stand on the left. No-no-no, my left. Yes, good, and Seokjinnie, on the right, angle in just sligh—yep! Nice!” She wiggles her fingers in her graying roots, squinting her eyes. “Rub your hair like this, like you—” She fake-yawns, mouth hanging open. "Ahhhh! Y'know. A little disheveled.” Mr. Kim yawns for real, eyes glazing over. “Soft faces,” Mrs. Kim continues. “Well-slept. Getting ready to start a productive and meaningful day.”

“OK, so what I’m hearing is that we just woke up, and for breakfast, we’re having salad and sour cream?” Namjoon asks, puzzled.

“It’s crème fraîche,” Jin corrects, pulling his fingers out of his now slightly wavy bangs, “but the point stands.”

As Taehyung shakes his hair out, he scoffs and exchanges a look with Mrs. Kim. “Ugh. Models, right?”

“What does it matter?” Mrs. Kim asks, using Taehyung’s camera’s remote to click-click-click-click candid shot after candid shot. She smiles and laughs along with them to try and elicit her sons’ trademark smiles. After a few rounds, she holds up a finger and walks back to her stool, climbing up to the camera on the tripod and investigating the screen. When she sees that the camera has indeed captured their less-than-thrilled expressions, Mrs. Kim adds, “Why do you all look so mopey?”

“We’re annoyed,” Jin answers.

“We’re just a little tired,” Namjoon admits.

“And we’re hungry,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Well, the faster we get this shoot done, then the sooner you’ll be able to eat, OK?” Mrs. Kim asks, raising the camera to her eye. “Now, Namjoon, give me that wink from earlier.”

Mrs. Kim can’t help but let more delighted giggles out as she snaps Namjoon’s cheeky close-lipped smiles, or as Taehyung comes fully alive with props securely in hand.

But Jin’s shots keeping coming out a little lackluster.

Mrs. Kim sighs, looking into her eldest son’s eyes. He’s made it clear that he’s annoyed. And she knows he’s hungry. But he’s never looked this tired before.

“Jin?” she asks.

Jin furrows his brow, the bridge of his nose narrowing and crinkling a little under his mother’s studious gaze. “What?”

“Get in the middle,” she says, softly.

Jin scoots in as Taehyung backs up and makes room, while Namjoon comes around the two of them.

Mrs. Kim steps off the stool and walks over to her boys. She fixes their hair a bit, fingers swiping and curling here and there.

She places a kiss on each of their cheeks.

“I just like getting to see you happy,” she tells them, before turning back to Jin and holding his chin in her thumb and forefinger. “When you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Jin’s shoulders fall a little.

Easing.

Surrendering.

Taehyung closes in and cuddles up, and Namjoon places his contemplative hand on Jin’s shoulder.

And then, Jin’s face starts its magical transformation.

His lips fall open slightly, corners pulling back just a bit, forming his perfect, polite, trademark grin. A grin full of possibilities. The kind of grin that sparks instant curiosity, that drives a nearly insatiable hunger to learn more. Like how big the grin might grow when he’s really tickled. Or how contagious it is when he’s laughing with his brothers. Or how tiny it gets when he’s so happy that he can’t make a sound at all.

So many people have wondered about this grin and all of its stories. Just today, countless others who have seen it, like the leader of the pack of moms at the school, or the women at the store grabbing business cards out of his hands, have already been wondering what could have prompted it, or the ones on his younger brothers’ faces, and if they happened to be some of the lucky ones who might’ve even inspired them somehow. Making a Kim brother smile? One could live off of that energy. One could even feed others with it.

Mrs. Kim, renewed with the energy it takes to feed the three of them, zooms back up her stool steps, bringing her boys’ gazes up with her. She quickly places her eye behind the viewfinder and snaps the picture before the grin dies altogether.

“Ah, now this shot is a winner!” she sighs, admiring the mixes of younger versions of her and Mr. Kim’s hands, eyes, and lips in the frame.

But as she pulls her eye away from the viewfinder, and she checks the shot in the camera’s screen, she wonders what exactly has happened in the time between her thumb lovingly stroking Jin’s chin and her index finger hitting the camera’s shutter release.

Jin’s eyes still look so tired.

The additional time spent simmering has actually done the stew some good. The flavors are bolder, the spices warmer. Mrs. Kim smiles to herself as she takes and savors another taste. Another job well-done. A victory lap well-earned.

She ladles half the pot into a big serving bowl, which is perched atop a serving platter. They both have matching designs: navy, wavy, funny squiggles that make her think of high tide at Namjoon’s favorite beach. Jin’s first tailored suit. Taehyung’s eyes when he’s laughing.

Mrs. Kim carefully carries the stew as she rounds the doorjamb and joins her family at the kitchen table, where her boys are quietly complaining to their father about how far off the deep end she has jumped.

“I just wish you’d settle down sooner rather than later,” Mrs. Kim tries to explain, setting the bowl of stew in the center of the table.

Jin leads the chorus of happy sighs, eyes widening as she releases the bowl and makes space for him and his brothers to dig in. Which they hastily do.

“Looks perfect, Eomma,” he grins, watching the meat swim as he ladles.

“Like always,” Namjoon adds, beaming up at her with a bit of drool on his chin.

“Finally,” Taehyung groans, spilling a bit of his serving on the table.

“Did you three hear me?” Mrs. Kim leaves the table and walks back over to the kitchen, right to the sink, grabbing her rag before heading back out to the table. “Your father and I are getting older, and I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Oh,” Jin says, “we heard you. We just chose to ignore you.”

His brothers snicker along.

“You maybe wanna rethink that response?” Mrs. Kim asks. Her words are sharp but, luckily, still sheathed.

Jin shrinks a little. He looks cute with his tail between his legs. A nice trait for a husband to have. It’s certainly helped Mr. Kim throughout the years, that’s for sure.

“Getting married isn’t our only option,” Namjoon insists.

Mrs. Kim softens and mops up Taehyung’s spill with the rag.

Namjoon watches her. The rag dances across the tabletop in soft, fluid half-circles. “We’ve been through this, Eomma. We can take care of ourselves.”

Mrs. Kim says nothing as she folds the rag in half and takes it back to the kitchen before disappearing completely.

Mr. Kim looks over from the head of the table, grateful for a moment of quiet, and grateful to finally be able to reach for the ladle now that the boys are done. He looks at the top of their heads, their mouths slurping from their chopsticks and bowls. Shaking his head, he smirks to himself.

Familiar metal clicking between slippered feet shuffling captures all the Kim men’s attention.

“Maaaaa!” Taehyung groans. “No!”

Mrs. Kim emerges from the dark of her study at the front of the hall.

“I crunched more numbers,” she replies, setting up the easel.

“Crunched?” Namjoon asks tentatively.

“More like pulverized,” Jin notices, his eyes dancing around the notes, icons, and calculations on the page.

Mrs. Kim’s map triangulates the fourteen closest bachelorettes whose mothers have called to inquire about the boys’ dance cards. Always vacant, the boys say. And yet, somehow, whenever Mrs. Kim calls with a new prospect, they’re suddenly very busy.

“Honestly, we’re gonna stop coming home every week if you keep bringing those charts out,” Jin threatens, as Namjoon and Taehyung nod along. “And even if you execute stellar APA formatting,” Namjoon says, maintaining reverence in his annoyance. “I saw those standard error bars. Nice job, Eomma.”

Mrs. Kim can’t hide her small smile. It’s impossible to do around these three. She’s heard this threat before. Several times. But they always come. Every Sunday.

“Just hear me out,” she pleads. Her finger lands next to a heart sticker on the map. “I even changed the recommendation system. Hearts now denote the best matches, with as high as 93% compatibility based on the lists you gave me!”

“The lists that you, again, tricked us into giving you,” Jin replies, noodles hanging out of the side of his mouth.

“I was just asking some questions!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, as Jin slurps them up.

As Jin’s words continue to hang in the air, Mrs. Kim relents.

“Fine, no more tricks,” she sighs, “but I know you. I know you better than you think I do. Better than you know yourselves.” She ruffles Jin’s hair, threading her fingers through his bangs to fluff them up a bit, some of his forehead peeking out. “If you just give my map a chance, a real chance, starting with these top fourteen candidates, I promise you’ll be happy with the results!”

“The only result that we’ll be fully happy about is when you finally stop all of this,” Jin says.

“Seriously, Eomma, you’re being kind of, well, forceful,” Namjoon adds gently.

Taehyung gulps down his mouthful of stew. “It’s hard to manage on top of all of the other stuff going on.”

Grumbling, and growing frantic, Mrs. Kim adds, “Look, this isn’t just about you, OK? How do you think I feel? Constantly worrying whether you’ve eaten, or whether you’re relaxed, or whether you’ve got someone who can help shoulder your burdens? Plus! I’ve got all these ol’ biddies breathing down my neck at every turn! Accosting me in the grocery store, cornering me at my art class—”

“The ladies’ room at the club,” Mr. Kim says, without looking up from his bowl.

“The ladies’ room at the club!” Mrs. Kim remembers, slapping her hand to her forehead. “And not while I was powdering my nose, mind you! I was mid-stream!”

Taehyung groans and throws his chopsticks into his bowl.

“Appa,” Jin says painfully, raising his eyebrows at Mr. Kim, “a little help, here? ‘Mid-stream’? We’re having stew for god’s sake.”

Mr. Kim’s stern but present look has a way of grounding everything, and everyone. As he looks at his sons, they each let their wrists fall respectfully to the table.

“Have some sympathy for your poor, frustrated, but still incredibly eloquent mother,” Mr. Kim replies, giving her a tiny smirk as he raises his spoon to his lips. “She just wants what’s best for you, and you three don’t exactly make things easy.”

His gaze falls back onto his wild-eyed wife. He tries to speak as enthusiastically as he can while remaining as quiet as possible, shoving leftover air in hums at the end of his sentences. “So maybe we can pick this up later, huh?” he decides, glancing between her and their boys. “Save the map for after dinner, hmm?”

He rises noiselessly but definitively from his now-cold stew and joins his wife at her easel. He grips one side and holds Mrs. Kim’s hopeful gaze until it turns into one of acceptance. Together, they haul it back into the study, leaving the French glass doors open, and hearing the boys whispering in the kitchen.

With the boys’ hushed voices in the background, the easel clinks and clatters sharply as they set it down in the center of Mrs. Kim’s studio. She looks at her map, and then she looks up at the shelves of photo albums in her bookcases, the spines shining in the moonlight, happily announcing the Kims’ early years in bright neon labels with cartoon-y lettering, and the later years in perfect, sophisticated calligraphy. Her eyes then catch the wall, lingering on a frame, holding a photo of the boys on vacation juxtaposed against three smaller photos of younger versions of themselves.

Jin’s eyes are shining brightly in those pictures.

“Why did we have to make such handsome, wonderful, perfect boys?” Mrs. Kim asks, still peering up at the albums, fingers itching to grab at them, but her body choosing to rest her temple on her husband’s shoulder instead.

“They’re definitely handsome, and absolutely wonderful, but they’re not perfect,” Mr. Kim remarks fondly, though Mrs. Kim’s narrowed eyes make it clear that she thinks otherwise on that last point. “And they’re men now, yeobo.” He rubs her arm with care. “They’ve already done so well. We couldn’t possibly ask for more, right? Maybe it’s alright to let them be.”

Mrs. Kim pauses. And she listens. It’s been a while since she’s heard what “letting them be” sounds like, especially at the house, now that everyone has their own places to live. Apparently, “letting them be” sounds not like a sweet, happy, domestic utopia of three kind brothers sharing some homemade stew, but rather Taehyung making some kind of joke about the girl he took home the night before, and Namjoon and Jin weighing in with some comments, slaps on the table, and stories of their own. Mrs. Kim doesn’t fully know what all their words mean, or why exactly Taehyung is talking about finding cheese in the shower. As she feels Mr. Kim wrapping a comforting arm around her waist, she also feels him quietly letting out some impressed whistles. Though she probably wouldn’t be thrilled with the explanations, she supposes that this means that she could derive some sort of sense of accomplishment on their behalf. A different kind of victory lap altogether.

Even so, Mrs. Kim slumps against her husband’s frame.

And her eyes keep roving back to that easel.

Bongseon’s easel doesn’t fold up as neatly as she’d like. It was already cheap, and she bought it at a discount because of the faulty latch meant to keep the legs safely tucked away. It actually does the opposite, making it all the more difficult to haul across campus every day. But, like with everything in her life, Bongseon does her best anyway, grateful that she has an easel to haul at all.

Hugging the easel to her side, she takes a step back and looks up at the board full of flyers. Campus is always so busy, and it’s been weeks since she put her own flier up, so it makes sense that her simple request has gone unnoticed. Most of her page is covered up by other, more colorful and appealing messages anyway. Messages from sororities and fraternities. Invites to parties. Pleas from various student organizations to raise funds for school events. Things that are beautifully communal. Pretty petals in lavender, coral, cornflower, lemon, and viridian, fluttering in the breeze. If she were harder on herself, she’d have a sense of shame about interrupting this rainbow with her ripped piece of notebook paper and blunt message:

Need a male specimen to sit down and shut up for an hour. 50 bucks.

But this flier is not meant to reflect her art. It is meant to help her create it. If someone doesn’t take one of the makeshift tabs at the bottom of the page soon, she’ll have to get started on her backup plan. Which she really doesn’t want to do.

Campus is busy. It’s been weeks. And Bongseon has already gotten so used to trudging past the student center’s board full of flyers without seeing any evidence of an upcoming response. So she completely misses that the last tab, which was previously just hidden under the call for the Chuseok event planning committee, has been torn off.

It’s also why she’s so completely thrown when she hears her name echoing down the hallway.

“Excuse me, are you Pan Bongseon?”

There’s a pause. A murmur. And then, an, “Oh? OK, thank you.”

Bongseon’s arm freezes in position as she pauses to listen.

“Excuse me, are you Pan Bongseon?”

There’s another pause.

“Ah, sorry.”

Bongseon sets her charcoal down and wipes her hands on her sweater. She picks up her now-empty fruit juice cup and tosses it into the small trash can next to her easel. Her legs stretch, and she walks toward the entrance to her studio, arriving just as a fist is reaching up to knock on the door.

The punch is completely inadvertent, but it hurts all the same.

“OW! FUCK!”

“Sorry!” the owner of the voice cries out. Instead of retracting his hand, however, he reaches out with the other, placing his fingers on Bongseon’s shoulders gently and crouching down to inspect her face. “Are you OK??”

“Get off of me!”

“I was checking to see if—” He releases his grasp on her and takes a step back. “Wow, I’m so sorry! I turned to look down the hall and see how many more doors I had before—” He winces, his glasses rising as his cheeks puff up. “A-are you Pan Bongseon?”

Bongseon tosses her long hair out of the way, grips the bridge of her nose with one hand, and gives him the finger with the other.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats, hanging his head. “I just…”

He holds up a piece of notebook paper.

“I saw your flier,” he explains, “but you didn’t put any other contact information except that you’d be in one of the student spaces in the art building, so I’ve been coming here for weeks trying to find you…”

Bongseon glares at him, but that pesky shame starts to settle in. “Oh.” She sniffles back a little dab of blood. “Sorry.”

His eyes grow at the sight of red. “God, no, please, I’m so sorry—” He shakes his head at himself, muttering through grit teeth, “Ugh, why do you always— stupid arms— jeez, get it together—”

Bongseon places her hand on his upper arm, causing him to stop and blink. “It’s OK. Really. Anyway,” she says casually, as takes the piece of notebook paper from his hand and rolls it up before sticking it into her bleeding nostril, “I’m sorry I was so hard to find.”

He smiles weakly.

She pulls the door back more to let him into the small but vibrant studio. There are more books littered about than would be expected, but then again, artists must need all sorts of sources for inspiration. As well as many types of canvases to express that inspiration. One wall is decorated with paintings, photographs, and mixed media collages. But the rest of the studio’s walls are blanketed in gorgeous charcoal illustrations. A drawing of the student center. Some fruit bowls. Faceless silhouettes, seated at tables or sprawled out on the ground. Random body parts.

Hands.

Lips.

Eyes.

He looks into Bongseon’s.

“Wow.”

He smiles a little funny.

“You’re, uh…” He shrugs. “Wow.”

“What’s your name?” Bongseon asks, turning away to find her stool, in front of her easel.

“Kim Jihu.” His eyes get a little sparkly whenever he gets to say his name. “I’m a bio major! I’m hoping to get into med school after I graduate.”

The left corner of Bongseon’s mouth curls up as her nostrils flare. “I’m sure your parents are very proud.”

Jihu's grin shrinks a little. “Uh, yeah…” He clears his throat. “Well, how do we start? Like, do you need me to dress a certain way, or do something in particu—?”

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to use you yet,” Bongseon replies, glancing at the half-done edifice on her easel before setting her sights back on Jihu's awkwardly crouching frame.

“Well, how do you decide?”

“Straighten up. Let me get a good look at you.”

Jihu puffs his chest out and slowly turns in an irregular circle, shrinking back into that crouch once he finds Bongseon’s eyes again.

She scrunches up her face. “Hmm.”

Jihu frowns.

“Don’t take it personally,” Bongseon says lightly. “I’m just thinking through some stuff.”

“What are you thinking through?” Jihu's lashes bump up against his lenses when he blinks nervously. “What is this for, anyway?”

“A project.” Bongseon tilts her head and follows the line of Jihu's arm. He’s strong, but seemingly out of leisure rather than necessity. Most of the pre-med students on campus come from families in the top tax bracket. “I need a scholarship to stay in school. I’ve decided on a charcoal series.” She smiles. “They’re my favorite.”

“Oh.” Jihu shuffles his weight. “Uh, this isn’t like a nude modeling thing, is it?”

“Ew, no,” Bongseon says, shaking her head. “I hate that shit. The scholarship prompt just requires human subjects.” She reaches out for her easel and smudges a line that’s been bothering her. “To be honest, I didn’t want to work with models at all. But I’m terrible at drawing myself, I’m tired of sketching from reference photographs, and I’ve really grown to hate trying to capture people out in the world.” She huffs. “They always move when I’m not ready for them to.”

She isn’t really sure why Jihu chuckles, but when he does, her eyes snap to his smile. She follows the line of his cheek, bouncing as it had when he was profusely apologizing. Bongseon isn’t really sure why she’s so fixated on it. There isn’t anything particularly remarkable about his cheek, save maybe that little dimple.

“OK. Thanks for stopping by. I’ll let you know,” she replies, turning back to her easel and reaching for her charcoal.

“Wait!”

Jihu steps forward, reaching his hand out again, placing his hand on Bongseon’s shoulder.

“Look…”

Bongseon spins to face him. When their eyes meet again, Jihu pulls his arm away.

“50 bucks is a lot of money for me,” Jihu surprisingly admits.

Bongseon agrees. It takes more than a while to scrounge up enough coins to convert into one small, paper rectangle. And it’s outrageous that she needs 999 more of those rectangles to keep working in this studio. Or to keep working at all.

“I really need this gig.” Jihu continues softly, his body shrinking further, and his chest the most deflated it’s been.

Bongseon stops trying to imagine what a thousand small rectangles looks like. “When it comes to stuff like this, you can’t just choose anyone,” she informs him, moving to spin back around.

Jihu purses his lips and reaches out for her shoulder again to keep from losing her. Startled, Bongseon stares at his hand, and then glares into his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to choose anyone. I’m asking you to choose me.”

As Bongseon revs up with a breath, Jihu steals it.

“I’ve checked the board every morning.” He speaks quickly. Matter-of-factly. “Your flier is still there. You haven’t posted any updates. And it’s been weeks,” he keenly observes. And then he realizes something. “When’s your scholarship deadline?”

Bongseon sighs and stiffens.

Jihu grins again, glasses rising, round pupils dead-center in the lenses. “So, then, it seems like you need me just as much as I need you.”

Decisions are usually easy for Bongseon to make. She can find inspiration and motivation for anything, at any time. Especially when it comes to her art. Though it has taken decades of practice to transform skill into style, intuition still guides most of the process. When she gets the urge to sketch, a group of students on the quad usually does equally well as a building or a bowl of fruit.

Hesitance is not something that exists in Bongseon’s vocabulary.

So what is it about Jihu that makes her pause?

She tries to figure it out following the line of his cheek, down his arm, and down to his hand. Rougher than expected. Round knuckles that bulge a little. Fingers about as long as his palms, and about as long as each other. And still resting on her shoulder.

“Fine.” Bongseon’s shoulder rises, and, smiling in triumph, Jihu finally lets her go. “Meet me here tomorrow at 5.”

Jihu straightens, his chest puffing out a little more without having to be told. “Do you need me to bring something? Wear something? Do anything in particular? ”

“Just what the flier said to do,” Bongseon remarks coolly.

She turns a little, with the understanding that this is enough of a goodbye for them to part ways.

But Jihu leans forward again.

His measured fingers tickle at her nostril as they pull out the rolled-up, slightly red scrap of notebook paper from Bongseon’s nose.

And he turns and tosses it into the small trash can next to Bongseon’s easel, flashing her another dimpled grin before he goes.

🧭 Fic Masterpost 🧭 Drabbles

#bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts fluff #a map of mrs. kims #amomk #ficscafe #magicshopsgate #jin x oc #namjoon x oc #taehyung x oc

186 notes · View notes

helnjk · 4 years

Text

A Brief Glimpse - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: there’s nothing like the rumors that students can come up with about their favorite teachers. especially when one of them is adamant on keeping her private life, well, private.

Warnings: brief mentions of meals, one curse word but that’s it

A/N: a purely self-indulgent, fluffy fic inspired by this ask from kendall ( @lupinsclassroom ) who said that if i taught at hogwarts, i’d be the COMC professor! and i love me some good charlie content. this is also kind of a different style that i’m used to, i hope you guys like it! x

–

The top three favorite professors at Hogwarts were as follows: Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Longbottom, and Professor L/N.

While most students would argue that Professor L/N could potentially overtake Professor Longbottom on that list, there was just so much they didn’t know about her. She was practically the perfect professor; she loved what she taught (Care of Magical Creatures), she was considerate and understanding with students who were struggling with the subject, and her office doors were always open to anyone who wanted to chat.

Still, she kept her personal life very private and of course, the more she refused to answer their prying questions, the more intrigued the students became. All they knew was that she was one of the top students of her year, she was a Ravenclaw, and she fought at the Battle of Hogwarts years prior.

There were many rumors going around the student body of Hogwarts about who Y/N L/N was. The most popular ones were that she was actually Headmistress McGonagall’s secret daughter, because of how close the two seemed to be. In reality, Y/N was just one of Minnie’s favorite students. The headmistress often joked how she should’ve been in her house instead of Filius’.

Meanwhile, Neville was always open with the students, answering whatever questions they had for him, as long as they weren’t crossing the line between professional and personal. They often loved to ask him questions about his friendship with the Golden Trio or his stories of the war.

“They’re getting more creative with the questions they ask me,” he shook his head, smiling slightly one dinner, “They’re trying to see if I’ll slip up and mention anything juicy about you.”

Y/N laughed slightly, eyes glimmering, “What sort of questions have they come up with now?”

“Today Chapman asked me if I’d ever spent the holidays with other professors around my age,” Neville mused, “Or if Hannah was ever jealous that I was working with a girl so close to my age.”

“Oh please, Longbottom,” Minerva tutted, and the two younger professors turned their heads in her direction, “At least your questions still have some sort of delicacy. Griffiths has actually asked me, point blank, if Y/N’s spent her summers with me.”

The collective guffaw of the professors at the head table caused the majority of the student body to shift their attention to them. Of course, the authoritative looks that they sent at the house tables were able to convince them to get back to their own conversations, but now the Great Hall was abuzz with trying to figure out what made the professors laugh so loud.

“I wonder when they’ll stop trying,” Y/N mused as the crowd of students began to slowly shuffle out of the Hall.

“Don’t count on it, L/N,” Minerva smirked.

–

“Professor L/N?” a meek voice sounded from the door to Y/N’s office on Wednesday afternoon.

The middle of the week was rather free for her, therefore she used it to catch up on grading and, if she had time, a little light reading. This afternoon, though, she was in the middle of writing an important letter.

Her owl, Athena, perched at the edge of her desk and her scrutinizing eyes darted towards the fourth year Hufflepuff who stood by the door. Eloise Abbott, a shy young thing with a penchant for Care of Magical Creatures and one of Y/N’s best students, sent the intimidating owl an uneasy glance.

“Come on in, Eloise,” Y/N smiled as she slipped the ink and parchment she was using into one of the empty drawers of her table, “Don’t mind Athena, she’s just impatient to get this letter out.”

The young girl shuffled towards the professor as Y/N asked, “Is there anything you needed?”

“Erm, I was just wondering if you could check my Defense paper,” she mumbled, pulling out a parchment from her school bag, “It’s on Grindylows and other creatures we could encounter in the Forbidden Forest, and I know it’s not really part of your syllabus, but I just wanted to make sure I didn’t get anything very wrong.”

Y/N smiled and held her hand out for Eloise to place the essay. It was silent as she read over what was written, that silence only broken when Athena let out soft hoots or ruffled her feathers.

“Erm, professor,” muttered Eloise after a while, Y/N’s eyes glanced up from the parchment, “I don’t mean to pry, but why does your owl want so badly for you to finish that letter?”

A soft chuckle came from Y/N’s mouth before she answered, “She just loves the person I’m writing to, and I honestly think she would rather be in his care than mine. Even if it were just for a few nights.”

“But you’re wonderful with animals!”

“And he is too, I assure you. Maybe even more so than me.”

Eloise nodded her head slowly, and Y/N could see the gears turning in her head. It perplexed the young student, who could ever be better with animals than her professor? She knew it couldn’t have been Hagrid, as he still lived on the grounds and Athena could visit him any time she wished.

Maybe her favorite professor was friends with the Scamander family. Rolf Scamander definitely had ties to Hogwarts and seemed about her age.

Before her thoughts could go any further with hypothesizing, Professor L/N handed her essay back, “It looks great, Eloise. I have no doubt you’ll get high marks on this essay.”

Eloise could spot a professor’s dismissal anywhere, so she merely nodded as she took the parchment back. As she hurried out the room, she expressed her gratitude over her shoulder, catching Y/N pull out the letter she was writing with a soft smile on her face.

–

The end of the school week came with a surprise visitor to the castle. The students could not stop discussing the presence of a dragon tamer on the school grounds. He had arrived later in the morning, trudging up the pathway from Hogsmeade and making his rounds around the school.

Headmistress McGonagall greeted him at the gates with a smile and a hug before she took his arm and the two of them had tea in her office. Of course, as the students weren’t used to seeing an adult that wasn’t the faculty or the staff in the castle, his presence sparked many conversations.

“I saw him knock on Hagrid’s door!” said Neil Chapman to anyone who would listen to him at lunch, “He had some burn scars all over his arms and really bright red hair. He seemed really cool.”

It was as if the whole Gryffindor table was gathered around him as he told and retold how Hagrid’s booming voice announced that Hogwarts’ resident dragon tamer was back. Rumors floated around the school for the rest of the day, each student having something to say about the mysterious man.

“He’s gorgeous though, isn’t he?” sighed Daphne Griffiths, as she and her best friend roamed the hallways on the way to their next class, “All rugged and handsome. I caught sight of him walking towards the quidditch pitch after Transfiguration.”

All the professors had to stop themselves from full-on grinning at the different things they had heard about Charlie Weasley gallivanting around the grounds, but none of them as amused as Professor L/N.

“Hurry along then!”

Y/N stood next to a small paddock at the edge of the forest, next to its open gate. At the center of it, a cluster of fluffy creatures rolled around and play fought with each other.

“Alright class,” she clapped her hands together, “We’re having a little bit more of a relaxed class to end the week. A crup of one of the Hogsmeade villagers just gave birth about a month ago and her owner’s graciously allowed us to spend an afternoon with the puppies.”

The second year students cooed at the litter of small dog-like creatures with two tails. As soon as she finished her sentence, the group of them rushed to get inside the paddock, each one wanting a turn with the small puppy-like things. Once all the students were inside, she shut the gate and joined them as they congregated around the tiny crups.

Y/N was grateful that her last class of the week was with younger students. They were much easier to please and sometimes more eager to learn. Of course, almost anyone would be enamoured by the litter of puppies running around.

With her wand pointed at her jugular, she began the small spiel she had prepared for the lesson, “Now, as most of you might know, crups are basically magical dogs…”

Most students weren’t really paying any attention to her little lecture, but she told herself that at least she tried. She understood the need to coo over cute little puppies, she could let it slide just this once.

From where she stood towards the other end of the paddock from the gate, she had a panoramic view of the class, just in case anything happened. She doubted anything would, but at least that way she could keep everyone in sight.

“Of all the magical creatures in the world, you chose to teach about crups?”

A strong voice rang through the open space and caused many of the students to turn their heads at the sound. Somehow, Charlie Weasley had made it to the gate of the paddock without Y/N noticing. Upon seeing the redheaded dragon tamer so close to them, murmurs spread among the young students.

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking in the sight of him with his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

“Oh wipe that smile off your face, Weasley, you try teaching these kids all week,” she replied, raising her voice slightly so that he could hear what she had said.

“I guess they are quite adorable,” he caved, leaning his forearms against the paddock and seeming as if he was going to observe them their whole class.

The students observed their playful and easy banter, in awe that their professor knew the ever mysterious man.

As her wards were still distracted by him, she said, “Pay him no mind class, he’s harmless. The crup puppies need your undivided attention!”

As soon as the prying eyes were off of him, Charlie sent Y/N a cheeky wink. She couldn’t stop a smile from growing on her face at the gesture, but she shook her head to indicate that they could talk after her class was over.

“Professor L/N?” a young girl walked up to her, sending a furtive glance over her shoulder to where her friends were gathered.

The group of them gestured to her to carry on and Y/N’s eyes lit with amusement, “What’s up?”

“I-er, we wanted to know how you know the dragon tamer guy? The other professors haven’t said much about him when asked.”

The young student fidgeted nervously, picking at the hem of her sweater as she glanced up at Y/N. Despite being in the rather early years of her journey at Hogwarts, she knew that Professor L/N enjoyed her privacy. She didn’t want to overstep.

Y/N sensed this apprehension and gave her a soft smile, “We were in the same year at Hogwarts. He was a Gryffindor and I was a Ravenclaw, but we managed to have a few common classes.”

“Cool!”

Before anything else could be said, the girl scurried off to meet her friends with the small tidbit of information she was able to gather from the otherwise close-lipped professor.

Thankfully, the rest of the hour passed by rather quickly.

As soon as the bell rang, it was obvious to Y/N that the students were stalling. She had dismissed them fairly quickly and had already begun her process of cleaning up. Meanwhile, the majority of the class was still situated inside the paddock, shuffling around in groups.

Inwardly, she sighed, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it, it was the end of the school week and they were free to roam (or stay) in any part of the grounds and the castle they wanted.

Inevitably, Charlie had gotten impatient waiting for them to clear out. Instead, he strode confidently through the gate and towards where Y/N was directing the puppies to stay.

“Charlie? What are you–”

The remaining students, who had been not-so slyly watching the redhead stride through the paddock, all collectively gasped as he pressed his lips firmly on their professor’s.

Y/N began to weakly protest, the logical side of her brain screaming at her that this was definitely unprofessional, but the emotional side took over as she was surrounded by the scent and the presence of her boyfriend. Her boyfriend whom she hadn’t seen in months and made a special trip to Hogwarts just to see her in her element.

Thankfully, Charlie pulled away fairly quickly, his arms still firmly wrapped around her body, a dopey smile on his face.

Once Y/N gained her bearings, she slapped his chest, “Charles Weasley!”

“What?” he grinned.

“You’ve just kissed me in front of my students!”

–

Despite the–shall we say scandalous?–first encounter between the couple, the rest of the afternoon was quite lovely. Y/N showed him all of the creatures under her care and in the section of the forest that was relatively safe. They also borrowed some old brooms from the shed and raced each other out on the pitch until their cheeks were painful from laughter and their noses were red from the cold.

By the time dinner rolled around, of course the whole student body was aware of what transpired between the handsome dragon tamer and their favorite Care of Magical Creatures professor.

This was the first piece of juicy information that they had gotten on Professor L/N, and while they were highly amused at what had happened, they were also not surprised that she was dating someone who worked with dragons on a daily basis.

They also couldn’t deny the fact that she practically lit up in his presence. They had never seen her so at peace and so happy as when she was with Charlie. Anyone with eyes could tell that the pair of them were in love.

Minerva had also graciously allowed Charlie to sit at the Head Table with the rest of the faculty at dinner, which caused quite the stir.

Practically all sets of eyes were trained towards the couple as they ate their dinner fairly normally.

“You two seem to be the talk of the whole school,” the headmistress teased.

Charlie sent his favorite teacher a shit-eating grin, “Must be my dashing looks that’s got them all interested.”

“Please, Weasley,” Y/N tutted, “They’ve just gotten a huge piece of information about me. This is basically their Christmas.”

“Maybe they’ll finally stop hounding me with insane questions now!” Neville chirped happily, and the table erupted in laughter.

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagines #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley fics #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #tw meals #tw meal mention #tw cursing

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retrievablememories · 3 years

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love thy neighbor | kun (m)

title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.

i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...

Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.

Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.

Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”

“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”

“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”

You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”

“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”

“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.

Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Really? I don’t think—”

“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”

Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”

“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”

Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him.

He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”

“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.

“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”

“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”

“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”

“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.

You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.

It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest.

Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.

One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.

–

Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.

However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?

Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.

Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.

It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do.

But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.

This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.

Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”

His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”

“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”

“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”

You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”

“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”

Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”

As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.

By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.

Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.

Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.

“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.

“Uh, my hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.

“So then, what would you do to stop that?”

“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”

“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.

He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.

“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”

“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.

You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.

“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.

“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.

The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.

Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.

You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.

Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”

He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”

It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.

“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”

You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.

“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”

To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”

“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”

Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”

“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.

It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.

When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.

“All? Really, all?” He laughs.

“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”

Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them.

Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.

You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.

You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”

“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”

“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”

“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”

Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”

He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.

“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.

“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.

You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”

“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”

“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.

“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”

Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.

Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.

Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.

Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.

“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.

You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.

“...Maybe.”

“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”

“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”

“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”

“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”

You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.

His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.

“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.

“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.

“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”

The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.

You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.

You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”

“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.

“...What are you waiting for, then?”

“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”

“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.

“You’re such a tease…”

Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.

“Please, hurry.”

Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.

He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.

After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.

There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.

“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.

“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.

Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.

Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”

So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.

“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.

The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.

You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.

His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.

For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.

“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.

You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”

#kun smut #kun fic #kun scenarios #kun imagines #nct fic #nct smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv fic #wayv scenarios #wayv smut #wayv imagines #ambw scenarios #kpop ambw #ambw fic #ambw smut #ambw imagines #qian kun

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mountswhore · 3 years

Text

𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞 — mason mount

summary: meeting through mutual friends, you and mason hit it off.

notes: none of my fics are real, never thought i would have to say this. do football teams even have a masseuse? idk it’s fake guys.

requests are open, just look for my prompt lists.

“They’re good for each-other.”

for @vintagebishx

You’d been friends with a few of the United boys for years, working at their club as a masseuse. You’d become super close with Lingard, who you were lucky to find out had made the squad for the World Cup. And you’d been hired as the squad’s masseuse. It was a challenging job, but paid off as you made some great friendships. You and Jesse hung out outside of work many times.

It was your first training session with the England boys, and you were nervous, to say the least. Men in general make you nervous, so working closely with them was bound to make you shake. You watched closely as they piled onto the turf, making conversation and standing in front of you and a few other officials.

One of the trainers had waited for the group to quieten down. “Morning, lads. We have a new masseuse for the team this year, please treat her with respect. She’ll be coming round to assist you with any stuff joints and whatnot.” You smiled at the group, catching a few eyes, but kept your eyes away from anyone else’s to avoid awkward stares.

The training had kicked off, a group of boys heading to each section. It was all the same stuff you were used to, except it was national level. Not club level. You had your clipboard and pen, a huge list of each player, and an empty space which you presumed you’d write what exactly you were assisting them with. Now, where to start?

You’d been here for an hour, making sure the boys had all written down what exactly they needed taken care of each training session. And finally you had gotten to Mason Mount. You’d heard about him, sure, but you’d never met him in person. You were fairly new to National team work.

“Mount.” You called, his head turning towards you immediately. You beckoned him over, ignoring the small ‘ooh’s coming from his fellow teammates. Mason had jogged over with a grin on his face, waiting for you to respond. “I just need you to write down what you’d like me to focus on this week. It changes whenever you need it to, so for example, if your ankles were feeling a bit stiff, you’d let me know and I can get that sorted for you,” you explained, feeling his breath fan down your neck as he towered over you. He was looking intently at the clipboard, seeing what other teammates were down for, most requesting a weekly check-in for their calves and thighs.

“What if I don’t need anything checked on?” He pondered, scratching the slight stubble collecting on his jaw. You could barely remain professional as his smirk wouldn’t disappear.

“Unfortunately, I don’t take no for an answer in this business.” You stated, Jesse passing you both and smirking at Mason. It seemed like the whole team knew something you didn’t, it was quite intimidating. Like sitting at the front of a classroom, and a group at the back were giggling; it didn’t mean they were laughing at you, but it felt like it. “Isn’t that right, Jes?”

Jesse nodded, patting your head before jogging away. “Don’t take that as an invitation to pat my head, Mount.” You told him, watching as he slowly retracted his hand back to his side. “So what’s it going to be? I’ll even massage your head for you.”

“I guess, my arms? They’ve been feeling pretty stiff.” He suggested, grabbing the pen from your hand and writing it down beside his name. “I know it’s not football related, but if I had to choose something.”

“Any part of your body could be stiff, even if you don’t use it to play, it could throw off your whole game.” You declared, taking your pen and clipboard back from him. He’d scrawled, in his messy handwriting, what he needed working on. And added a small winky face beside his name.

As the weeks progressed, you’d had continuous meetings with the boys, and Mount, working on whatever they needed loosening that week. You’d had some interesting conversations — learning that Grealish has a seven-year-old mind, Lingard is still annoying as ever, and Mount is openly flirting with you. Every week you had massaged his arms and shoulders, seeing the subtle winks and smirks he gives you when he enters and leaves your office.

Today, you had an open schedule and would be working outside with the team. Nobody was stiff, or injured, so you’d be observing them and giving them small warm up tips before each game. You were stood with the other trainers, occasionally breaking off as Lingard begged for a unnecessary shoulder massage. You were then sat beside him, watching each boy pelt the ball into the goal and run to the back of the line.

“Hello, you.” You heard from beside you, Mason appearing and scooting closer. You grinned at him and stretched your legs out, taking in the warm sun on your legs.

“What hurts?” You asked, turning to face him and get ready to loosen a body part.

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to keep you company, that’s all.” He mentioned. “You looked a little lonely here.” Rolling your eyes, you blushed and turned your face away from him. “You don’t have to hide, I know I make you nervous.”

“As if, Mount.” You laughed, playing along with him. “Someone needs some humble pie.” The pair of you laughed, catching the attention of Jesse and Declan, who were sitting together beside the goal.

“They’re good for each other.” Declan admitted. “Mason needs someone like her, someone that brings him back down to Earth a bit.” Jesse laughed at his friend, slapping his hand as he held it out.

“Yeah,” Jesse sighed, “she’s a good girl. They seem like a good fit.” The pair observed the two, laughing and Mason clearly flirting with his body language as well as his words, the blush evident on your cheeks.

#money mase #mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

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midnightwinterhawk · 3 years

Text

I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom for the inspiration.

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

#hurt/comfort #angst #dark #hurt/no comfort #angst with a happy ending #fic rec #be kind to yourself and mind the tags #Sterek #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Peter Hale #hurt Stiles Stilinski #Sterek fic #Steter fic #to the pain

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years

Note

what about doing a steve x reader? maybe where the reader gets hurt during a mission by hydra?? just an idea!! xx

He’s Like a Brother to Me

Summary: Pretending to be a couple for a mission is normal, so why is your Captain so upset?

Warnings: being injured on a mission, kissing, a swear word or two

Word Count: 2202

a/n: My first request!! To the anon that requested this, thank you! I hope you like it :) Sorry if it's not angsty enough! I really tried, but once I got this idea in my head I ran with it.

Also! I didn't do my normal tag list since y'all requested to be tagged when I was only writing Criminal Minds fics. Just lmk if you want to be tagged in marvel or CM or both!

"The mission is simple. You two will go to the gala as newly weds, pretend to be interested in more than the charitable events of the evening, figure out the chain of command for the weapons dealing, and put a stop to the weapons dealing assholes." Tony laid out the plan as if nothing could go wrong.

You turned to the super soldier on your left, relieved to find a matching grimace on his face.

"We have to pretend to be a couple?" You asked, turning back to Tony.

"Yes. The invites we secured are for Mr. and Mrs. Farley, so you two will be Mr. and Mrs. Farley for the evening. Any other questions?" Before you could chime in with the 17 questions in your head, Tony kept talking. "I didn't think so. Your clothes have already been dropped off to your rooms, so get ready. You'll have Rogers and Wilson doing surveillance in case anything goes wrong." Without another word, Tony forced you and Bucky out of the room.

"I guess I'll see in an hour, husband." You tried to joke, but your smile didn't meet your eyes.

"Same to you, wife." Bucky's face held a similar expression as you both turned your separate ways to get ready for the gala, trying to put the awkwardness behind you.

You and Bucky have been incredibly close ever since he first came back from Wakanda. You became fast friends since you are both so close with Steve.

It was easier for Bucky to open up to you than he anticipated, and in part it's because you remind him of his sister. Similarly, Bucky is like the older brother you never had. The two of you mesh, in the most platonic of ways.

He is there to tease you about your not-so-secret crush on Steve, and your there to help Sam come up with more annoying nicknames (starBucks being one of your favorite to date).

When it comes down to it though, you look out for each other. Of course, that won't make pretending to be a couple any less awkward.

You and Bucky enter the gala just after 8:00 pm. The large hotel ballroom is lit up by three enormous chandeliers, spaced throughout the room, with small sconces lining the outside walls. There are round tables around the outside of the room, framing a large open space for dancing.

People are mingling in small groups scattered throughout the room, waitstaff wondering around the room in precise lines to ensure anyone who wants a drink has access to one.

With a deep breath, you link your arm with Bucky's, laughing at the surprised look on his face.

"We have to at least try to sell it." You whispered in his ear, trying to play it off as a cute couple-y thing. "Even if we'd both rather be anywhere else." That comment earned a laugh, easing the tension from his shoulders.

Steve's voice in your ears refocuses you on the mission. "We just got video feed from the security cameras, so we have eyes on you now." You would have sworn you could hear an unfamiliar strain in Steve's voice as he spoke, but you chalked it up to just being nervous for the mission. "Try to mingle, figure out who's in charge."

Mingling was easier said than done. Every time the two of you tried to talk to anyone, the conversation was awkward and tense. You just didn't know how to answer questions about falling in love with each other. Ultimately, you decided eavesdropping was your best bet. Bucky pulled you to the dance floor, whispering in your ear as he held you, "dancing is the perfect cover for moving around the room."

You nodded your head in response, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What are you doing? I said to mingle, not dance." Steve's voice in your ears surprised you. Normally, he'd stay quiet unless he received intel that could help with the mission or noticed something for you to look into.

"We're listening to other conversations, relax punk." Bucky's voice was light as he spun you around, closer to the most suspicious people you've found thus far.

"What time is it happening?" The woman seemed nervous as she checked her watch.

"A few minutes. Relax, we'll meet them down the hall at 8:45." The man was calm and collected as he took her hand, leading her across the dance floor and out of the room.

"Guess that's our cue." You stated the obvious as you and Bucky went to follow them out of the ballroom. The couple turned down a side hallway, pulled out a key card, and entered a room, about halfway down.

You and Bucky made quick work to reach the room, pausing outside to listen in. You heard the couple, along with an unfamiliar voice.

"Do you have them?" The unfamiliar voice asked.

"We do. They're hidden in another room down the hall." the woman again sounded nervous.

"You" the unfamiliar voice must have pointed at someone, "go get them. Your wife will stay here to keep me company. Make it quick, Hydra has more important things to do."

Yours and Bucky's eyes went wide at the mention of Hydra. This mission wasn't supposed to have anything to do with them. Before you could react, footsteps could be heard coming toward the door. You had a few seconds max to figure out a way to hide.

With no other options in sight, you pulled Bucky across the hallway into the world's most awkward kiss. When the door swung open, you pretended not to notice, too lost in your "relationship" to care.

The man you saw earlier walked a few doors down before entering another room. You pulled back from Bucky, wincing slightly at the expression on his face. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't think of anything else to do to make it look like we weren't listening..." You trailed off.

"No, no it's fine. It was the only option." Bucky cleared his throat, still slightly dazed and very thrown off.

"Could the two of you stop staring at each other and get back to work?' Steve's voice was again present in your ears, and this time he was definitely angry.

"Right! Right, of course. Let's go." You awkwardly pushed off the wall, moving down the hallway to the room you saw the man enter. On the count of three, you burst into the room together. It was easy enough to over power the lone man in the room, but you and Bucky were still a little shaken up after the kiss. You handcuffed him to the bedpost, taking the key card he used earlier and moving back down the hallway.

After a brief, awkward eye contact, Bucky opened the door with you rushing in behind him. The only two people in the room were the two you heard earlier, making for a fairly easy take down.

"Cap, we got 'em. Two in room 217 and one in room 223." You started to fill him and Sam in, unsure if they still had eyes on you. At that exact moment, three more Hydra agents ran in from an adjoining room, catching you off guard.

You yelped when the gun went off, surprised at the sudden noise after thinking the mission was over. You and Bucky managed to take down the three agents without much more difficulty.

"Scratch that Cap, five in room 217." You again began filling him in, but the room started spinning. Your voice was wavering when you collapsed, the last thing you heard a mixture of Steve's voice in your ear and Bucky's in person calling your name.

"Y/N!" Then everything faded to black.

"What the hell happened in there?" Steve and Bucky were standing just outside of the med bay. After you collapsed, Bucky realized you had been shot in the stomach. While other Shield agents came to collect the men you had stopped, Bucky carried you to the quinjet, meeting a pissed looking Steve at the door.

The two didn't talk at all during the short flight back to the compound. It wasn't until you were in the med bay receiving medical attention that Steve rounded on Bucky.

"There was never any indication that more agents were there. They caught us off guard! I didn't even realize she had been shot until after we had them contained." Bucky was beating himself up. He let his guard down, still trying to get over the lingering weirdness of you kissing him.

"Caught you off guard? Buck-" Before Steve could yell anymore, Dr. Cho came out to talk to them.

"Y/N will be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but she should recover relatively quickly. She'll likely wake up in the next half hour." Dr. Cho got straight to the point, trying to ease the nerves of the two super soldiers.

"Thank you so much. Thank you!" Bucky called over his shoulder as he ran into the room, planting himself by your side. He may be weirded out by the kiss, but he knows you were too. You're still like a little sister to him, nothing could stop him from being there for you when you wake up.

Steve followed Bucky into the room after thanking Dr. Cho and briefly discussing the timeline for your recovery.

"As I was saying. Caught you off guard? I've never seen you caught off guard before." Although he was whispering so as not to disturb you, his words were nearly venomous. "The two of you let your feelings get in the way of this mission."

The look of guilt already present on Bucky's face multiplied tenfold. "You think I don't know that? I should've seen it coming. If I wasn't distracted I could've stopped them before Y/N got hurt."

You woke up at some point, hearing Bucky blame himself. Instantly, you wanted to ease his worries. "Hey," the two men turned to you, concern clear on their faces. "It wasn't your fault, Buck. I was just as distracted. Neither of us saw it coming, even though both of us should have. It doesn't matter though, because we got them, and I'll be fine." You sat up, wincing slightly at the pain in your abdomen.

"How can you say that? Of course it matters! You could have died, all because Bucky was too busy making heart eyes at you to-" Steve's words were cut off by identical sounds of laughter from you and Bucky.

"Heart eyes?! Oh my god, that's hilarious." You stuttered out the words between laughs. Steve look so confused, you couldn't help but laugh at his cute expression.

Every time you thought you were done, one look at either Bucky or Steve had you laughing again. "Oh god, make it stop! It hurts to laugh!" You pouted slightly, begging Bucky to stop laughing and Steve to change his expression.

Finally, Bucky reined it in enough to speak. "I was distracted because Y/N like a little sister. It's definitely a bit distracting to feel like you just kissed your sister" You and Bucky each made a face of disgust as you looked at each other.

Meanwhile, Steve had a look of complete shock on his face. "Wh-what? You two aren't ... ya know?”

Again, you and Bucky share looks of disgust. "God, no. He's like a brother to me."

"Yeah, I love Y/N like a sister. I'm definitely not in love with her." Bucky agrees.

Steve's expression is sheepish as he tries to explain himself, "but, but after the kiss you were staring into his eyes like you were in love!"

"We most definitely were not." Mumbling under your breath, you kept talking "his aren't the blue eyes I'd like to lovingly stare into."

Steve was shocked into silence by your statement.

"I think that's my cue to leave." Bucky wore a smug grin as he slapped Steve on the back, uttering a quick "good luck, punk" before leaving.

It was quiet for a minute, neither of you quite sure what to say.

"Who's blue eyes do you want to stare into?" Steve broke the silence, shuffling closer to sit on the side of your bed.

"What?" It took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize you said that sentence out loud. "I said that out loud?" You threw your hands up to cover your face, mumbling about being an idiot to delay having to answer.

"You did. So... who's blue eyes?" Steve's demeanor quickly shifted from shy to confident. He slowly moved your hands off your face, tilting your chin up to look into your eyes. One look had you confessing all your secrets.

"Yours. It always been yours." He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, leaning in closer to you until your foreheads were touching.

"Let me take you on a date." His words were barely a whisper, the warm air from his breath sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

He leaned in closer, barely brushing his lips over yours. "I need words, sweetheart."

You pushed forward, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss.

"Yes."

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #requests #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #captain america x you #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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ppangjae · 4 years

Text

PLANET GIRL | part 1

SUMMARY. When Jaehyun turned twenty-one, he started to hear his soulmate’s voice singing an unfamiliar song in his head. He should be happy, right? Wrong. There are two things wrong with this:

He’s taken. He’s off the market. He’s in a 3-year relationship and,

The voice singing in his head is not his girlfriend’s voice.

Now what?

WORD COUNT. 6k+ words

author’s note. after much consideration, i decided to post this fic in three parts so that it’s not as hectic! you know me, i love adding ✨drama ✨ now, before you come at me for posting this and not a made to fall in love update, this first part of this fic has been done since mid-september. i’d rather release it than let it collect dust in my drafts. so yes, here she is. happy reading!

taglist: @billiondollarworth @cafemochi @stae-yong @chanyeolscoon @ggaayyyong @soothingjae @taestannie @plump-peach @oshmendes @lanadreamie @justineasian @jjpmoans @beryllium-io @jaeismytamtation @noonapabo127 @hanniesbubble

PART ONE. cupid | PART TWO. jupiter | 2.5 intermission | PART THREE. PLANET GIRL

“Mark, get your ass over here before I do it myself!”

“Holy shit, what’s the rush?”

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”

“And what about it?”

It’s that time of the year again; Valentine’s Day. It’s the day where people fall in love or get their hearts broken. But to you, it’s the day where you’re designated to a new target. To put it simply, you’re Cupid. You are part of a family of Cupid’s. However, you hate being called Cupid, you moreso see yourself as a matchmaker.

Every Valentine’s Day, you’re designated to a new target. As a matchmaker, it is your responsibility to make your target fall in love within one year. If you fail to complete your mission, you will be stripped of your abilities of matchmaking.

Last year, your target was Johnny. Johnny was an easy target to work with, for he fell in love with the local cafe barista within three months. The two of them are happily dating now and it’s almost as if they’re still in their honeymoon phase.

Two years ago, your target was your roommate Mark. It took a while for him to fall in love. He was quite difficult to work with because he was so focused on his studies that he barely batted an eyelash at a human of the opposite sex. But you still managed to do it and all it took was to introduce him to Mina, the studious chemistry student who’s been crushing on him since freshman year.

But this year, you’re not quite sure who to expect.

“Are you getting your new assignment tomorrow?” Mark finally enters your room after what seems like forever, falling against your bed. He lands and lets out a soft ‘oof!’. You turn away from your desktop to face him.

“Of course,” you reply with a quirk of an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that? Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, the day of love and the day of heartbreak.”

“Are you excited?”

“Not the slightest bit.” You let out a tiring sigh.

“Why not?” He frowns.

“Because I have to stress over someone else’s love life for another damn year.” You shrug your shoulders as you explain. “I already have other things to stress out over.”

“You’re always granted a year per love assignment. A year is enough to make someone fall in love, right?”

You laugh. “A year per love assignment? I wish a year was enough. A year goes by with a blink of an eye. Before you know it, it’s Valentine’s Day again.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Why don’t you just skip out on the matchmaking just for this year?” He suggests and you shake your head.

“I can’t.” You purse your lips into a tight line.

He lets out a snort. “I’m sure it’s possible—”

“It’s impossible.”

There are many great things about being a Cupid; you help people fall in love with each other and the outcome is always beautiful. But there are also many downfalls about being a Cupid, one of them being cursed to never fall in love. You’ve always craved the feeling of being loved by someone. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re needy for love. But the closest you’ll ever feel to being in love is witnessing the love being shared by two people, specifically between your love assignment and their soulmate.

You wonder how it feels to have someone care for you. You wonder how it feels to be sought after. You wonder how it feels to hug someone and hold their hand. But you guess you’ll never know because you’ll never experience it.

“God, I want to throw up.”

Johnny lets out a snort as the both of you pass by the seasonal section of the department store. There’s a plethora of Valentine’s Day chocolates on the shelves, along with teddy bears and heart plushies. Seeing the bright, flashing red on the days leading up to Valentine’s Day is surely a sore to the eye.

“I know, it makes me want to poke my eyes out.” Johnny sighs.

“And what are we here for again?” You ask Johnny as you follow him to the baked goods section of the department store. Your question seems to be answered when you find yourselves standing in front of a shelf filled with ready-made birthday cakes. You quirk an eyebrow. “Who’s birthday is it? It’s definitely not Mark’s birthday, don’t even try to trick me.”

“It’s Jaehyun’s birthday tomorrow, I figured it would be sweet of me to get him a birthday cake.” He shrugs his shoulders as he points between two cakes on the shelves. “This one or this one?”

You point at the plain birthday cake on the left. “This one. You know what would be really funny? If you printed his face on the cake.”

Johnny looks at you and squints his eyes. “You're a genius.”

You have no idea who Jaehyun is. You don’t even know what he looks like. You’ve only heard of him through Johnny. The both of them host the university’s famous evening radio show, Night Night with JohnJae. You’re a listener of their show, mainly because you are supportive of your best friend Johnny. You’re sure Jaehyun is a great guy, especially since Johnny and Jaehyun share good chemistry with each other. You’ll probably get along with him well if you met him. But that encounter has yet to happen.

As Johnny hands the cake over to the bakery chef to print Jaehyun’s face on it, he turns towards you. “And now we wait.”

“What time do you have to be at the studio?” You question.

He looks down at his watch. “I’ll make it on time. By the way, Mark has been making great song requests by this SoundCloud artist. From what he tells me, the artist is a student from our university.”

You quirk an eyebrow, gulping nervously. “Who’s this SoundCloud artist?”

“Planet Girl.” Johnny pulls out his phone and opens up the music app before handing it over for you to see. You stare at the artist’s profile. “Do you know her?”

You shake your head in reply. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Damn,” Johnny lets out a sigh. “I was hoping you did. Jaehyun and I want her to be a guest on the show, it could probably help her get more attention in the industry.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you purse your lips into a tight line. “I only know so many people in my program. I have a very small, closely knitted group of friends. They are the only people I’ve known since I stepped on campus in freshman year.”

“I was hoping you’ve heard of her, at least.” He chuckles. “But damn, her music is so good. I can’t wait until her mixtape drops. I’m sure it’ll be such a banger.”

“I should probably check her out.”

“You should!” Johnny exclaims. “I wonder who she is.”

You fiddle with your fingers. You stare at Johnny who’s scrolling through the SoundCloud artist’s profile, adding a couple of the artist’s songs to his playlists. You blink and with a slight tilt of your head, you clear your throat. “Yeah, me too—”

“I have an order for Johnny!”

11:51 pm.

“Right before we sign off for the night, do you have anything to say to our listeners?”

Johnny has a shit-eating grin spread across his lips. He comes back into the studio with a birthday cake. It’s not just your typical birthday cake. It’s a birthday cake with Jaehyun’s face on it and it’s blown out in an odd proportion. The candles aren’t birthday candles either, in fact, they’re heart-shaped candles, perfect for Valentine’s Day. Jaehyun lets out a sigh. What is he going to do with Johnny?

“I just wanted to greet our handsome radio host slash Valentine boy, Jaehyun, a happy birthday! We have—” Johnny glances down at his wristwatch before continuing. “—nine more minutes before it’s officially Jaehyun’s birthday and Valentine’s Day. And what’s better than celebrating it with a birthday cake?”

“Is that my face?”

“Who else would it be, doofus?” Johnny scoffs, pulling out a lighter to light the candles. Jaehyun lets out a snort as Johnny starts to sing him a happy birthday. After the happy birthday song, Johnny frowns and sends him a death glare. “Why aren’t you getting emotional? I did all of this to get that reaction?”

Jaehyun gives him a look. “And so as we sign off for the night, I just wanted to thank Johnny for his efforts in kicking off my birthday on a high note. I also want to greet everyone with a Happy Valentine’s Day. Whether you are happily dating someone or admiring someone from afar, just know that you are all in our hearts.”

“Stop being greasy.” Johnny winces. “Anyways, we’re going to sign off for the night with a song request from Mark Lee! Goodnight and see you tomorrow, here is Loose by Daniel Caesar.”

They turn their microphones off and Johnny pushes the birthday cake towards him. “Quick! Make a wish before the candles go out.”

Jaehyun clasps his hands together and makes a wish. With a satisfied grin, his eyes flutter open and he blows out the candles. Johnny’s taking a video of him blowing out the candles before dipping his finger into the icing. Jaehyun gives him a warning look but it’s too late because Johnny smears the icing on his cheek.

“You little shit—”

“It’s midnight! Happy birthday, Jaehyun!”

12:01 am.

It all happens quickly. Johnny’s dipping his fingers into the icing to smear more of it on Jaehyun’s cheeks. Jaehyun hears a slight ringing in his ears and his eyebrows knit together. Johnny doesn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable Jaehyun feels until he’s about to smear his cheeks with icing.

“Jaehyun, are you alright?” Johnny asks him with a concerned look.

The ringing in his ears halts to a stop. He remembers this. He remembers his father telling him that he experienced a distinct ringing in his ears before he started to hear his mother’s voice humming in his head. Jaehyun blinks. The ringing in his ears causes him to see different specks of colours, red, blue, and even green. He feels like his head is spinning. He feels like he’s going to pass out. But it only happens for a brief moment.

Suddenly, he hears a soft voice humming a melody in his head. In an instant, the soft humming in his head stops him from seeing colours and he no longer feels faint. He’s too absorbed in his thoughts to snap back to reality. Johnny is waving his hand in his face to pull him out of his trance. Jaehyun sucks in a deep breath, almost like he’s gasping for air. The soft humming in his head slowly turns into a voice that’s singing an unfamiliar song. He’s never heard this song before.

Johnny sighs with relief when Jaehyun snaps out of his deep trance. Jaehyun looks at Johnny with slightly widened eyes.

“Johnny, I think we have a problem.”

Johnny snorts. “What are you talking about? You’re probably just tired. We should head back to the dorms before you knock out cold in the studio again.”

Jaehyun runs his fingers through his hair. “R-Right. We should probably go.”

Johnny rests his hand on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s—everything’s alright.” Jaehyun stutters.

No, nothing’s alright. Nothing’s okay.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a new text notification from his girlfriend.

ara (12:03 am): happy birthday my love! and happy valentine’s day! i love you 3000.

Jaehyun just turned twenty-one. Not only that, but he just started to hear his soulmate’s voice in his head. He should be happy, right? Wrong. There are two things wrong with this:

He’s taken. He’s off the market. He’s in a 3-year relationship and,

The voice singing in his head is not his girlfriend’s voice.

Well, shit. Now what?

It’s the day you dread with your entire existence; Valentine’s Day. The campus couples flock to the local cafes and parks, the dormitories and even the campus football field. It truly makes you want to throw up. If you could take a shot of vodka for every time you’ve witnessed a couple kissing or giving each other their Valentine’s Day chocolates, you’d be shitfaced drunk by now.

The only person keeping you sane is Mark. But even with Mark’s presence, he’s too absorbed by the presence of his own girlfriend, Mina. You guess this will do. It’s not like you really have a choice.

Today, you’re going to get your new love assignment. You’re not sure who to expect. Every year, it’s become less surprising and more disappointing. You guess it has to do with your aching desire for love, but you’re not going to dive deep into that.

You’ll know who your love assignment is when you meet their eyes. When you meet your love assignment’s eyes, you won’t see yourself reflected through their eyes, but their soulmate, their partner you’re supposed to link them to. The moment you witness it, your year to make them fall in love begins.

Be careful though, time is ticking.

“Can you guys stop talking to each other in baby voices?” You snap at the couple sitting next to you on the picnic blanket.

The couple had decided to bring you along on their picnic date, just because they figured that you needed to ‘spice’ your life up a bit. You feel like a huge burden to them because whenever you’re with them, all you do is complain about all the things they do as a couple. Could you really blame yourself at this point?

“Y/N, if only you had a boyfriend, you would know how it feels.” Mina sticks her tongue out at you and you feel your eye twitch.

Mark lets out a nervous laugh. “Y/N is an independent woman who doesn’t need a man—”

“Yeah, your boyfriend’s right.” You cut him off, looking at Mina dead straight in the eyes. “Got a problem with that?”

“Stop giving me attitude—”

“And stop acting like I didn’t help you and Mark get together.” You snap.

She smiles and laughs sheepishly. As she gets up onto her two feet, she dusts off her straight-cut jeans before pointing towards the local cafe. “Do you guys want anything? My treat.”

“I’ll have the usual,” Mark replies. “Take my card—”

“Babe, no—”

“I’m not letting you pay for our drinks again—”

You let out a scowl, placing some cash into Mina’s hand. “Here. I’ll pay. I’m this close to ripping my hair off my scalp and it’s because of you two.”

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Mina frowns. “You’ve been petty all day.”

“Get me a double shot on ice,” you mutter. “No sugar or cream. Got it?”

“You’re just like how you like your coffee,” Mina folds her arms. “Bitter.”

As Mina is walking away from you and Mark, you fall back against the picnic blanket. The clouds come by in funny shapes today. You spot a tiny, heart-shaped cloud floating past in the blue skies. You snort, love seems to be everywhere today, even in the skies. Your eyes flutter shut. You’re so close to dozing off into a quick nap until you hear a loud yell from a couple of metres away. It’s too late for you to open your eyes and see who’s yelling because the moment you do, there’s a soccer ball flying in the air. The size of the soccer ball grows when you start to realize that it’s literally going to land right on your face—

“Nice save, dude.” Mark says as he looks at you with amusement. Just in time and with your fast instincts, you managed to cover your face with the palms of your hands to catch the ball.

Mark’s pulling you up into a seated position. As you sit up, you see someone approaching you from the corner of your eye.

“I’m so sorry about that!” A soft voice exclaims and you turn to your right. You look up at a woman around your age. She has long black hair and a soft face. She looks warmhearted. Her vibe radiates happiness and happy-go-lucky, welcoming and sociable. Everything you’re not. She’s sporting a soccer jersey and a pair of athletic joggers. “Are you alright? I hope you didn’t get hurt or anything.”

You wave it off. “I’m A-okay. There’s nothing to worry about. Here’s your soccer ball.”

She slightly bends down to retrieve her ball. Her long black hair blocks your eyesight for a brief moment until the wind blows it away. Your eyes meet hers and a soft gasp threatens to escape your lips.

You’ll know who your love assignment is when you meet their eyes. Her eyes are a nice warm brown, shining underneath the sunlight. You swear you could see stars in her eyes. No, scratch that, you can see galaxies and stars in her eyes.

When you meet your love assignment’s eyes, you won’t see yourself reflected through their eyes, but their soulmate. And indeed, you look at her with slight surprise and shock when you don’t see your own reflection through her eyes. Instead, you see what seems to be a soccer player. The more you look into her eyes, the more information you obtain about her soulmate. He slowly turns around and it reveals his name on the back of his soccer jersey—

“Yuta?” You whisper.

The woman’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. She takes her ball and straightens up her posture. “Thanks again. What’s your name? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

You snap out of it. “Y/N! My name’s Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

She smiles and her eyes form into beautiful crescents. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Ara. I should probably get going before I run late for lecture. See you around?”

You nod your head vigorously. “Yeah, I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you too, take care.”

You find yourself staring at her as she walks away. Mark looks at you as you seem to fall into a deep trance. He follows your gaze that falls on Ara. “Hey, is everything alright?”

You tear your gaze away from her to look at Mark. “What’s her name again?”

Mark looks at you with a funny smile. “You forgot her name already? Her name’s Ara.”

“Mark,” you gulp nervously. “She’s my love assignment for this year.”

Mark’s face pales. His funny smile vanishes from his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You can’t seem to comprehend the expression on his face but you know that something’s not good. There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach as Mark’s mouth hangs open.

“You’re joking, right?” Mark frowns. “How could Ara be your love assignment? That’s—That’s impossible, I—”

You shake your head. “I’m not joking. I didn’t see myself reflected through her eyes, I saw Yuta—”

“You saw Jaehyun.” Mark cuts you off. “Right? Jaehyun. You saw Jaehyun, right?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Why would I see Jaehyun? I didn’t see Jaehyun. I saw Yuta, the university’s soccer team player. He was wearing a jersey and he turned around. I saw his name printed on his jersey. Nakamoto Yuta—”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Mark winces.

“I’m not kidding!” You exclaim in a panicked voice. “Why would I be kidding?”

Mark palms his forehead and lets out a laugh of disbelief. He shakes his head. You stare at him questioningly. What’s happening? What’s going on?

“Mark, you’re confusing me.” You say with worry etched on your face. “I am telling you the truth. I saw Nakamoto Yuta reflected in her eyes—”

“Ara is Jaehyun’s girlfriend. They’ve been dating for three years. Now you’re telling me that Ara’s your love assignment and you don’t see Jaehyun reflected in her eyes… but Yuta?”

“Holy shit.”

“I’m back with our drinks! Wait, what’s wrong? Why are you guys looking at each other like that?”

The image of Yuta’s reflection in Ara’s eyes never seems to leave your mind. In fact, it has been the only thing haunting you ever since. The revelation leaves you in nothing but a spiralling mess. You are required to make Ara fall in love with her soulmate, who so happens to be Yuta. But at the same exact time, to complete your mission, you must do something to end Ara’s relationship with Jaehyun.

You wish it was a joke.

It all comes down to whether you have the heart to lead Ara to her destined soulmate and end her relationship with Jaehyun or leave things for her to figure out but lose your matchmaking abilities as a Cupid.

The sticky situation makes you want to pull your hair off your scalp. It makes you want to look up to the heavens and yell at your ancestors for being Cupids, for passing down their matchmaking abilities to every generation after them, and for passing down the curse of never falling in love.

“Stop thinking about it too much, it’s making you age faster.”

You glare at Mark. “I don’t even know Jaehyun personally but I’m sure he’s a great guy who deserves everything in the entire universe, not some soccer player and a so-called Cupid to ruin his three-year relationship with Ara.”

“What happens if you don’t make Ara fall in love with her soulmate within a year—oh, Johnny, hey!”

Your mouth clamps shut and your head whips around. Johnny occupies the empty seat next to you and greets you with a light nudge. He nods his head at Mark. “What happens if what?”

Mark gulps nervously. He lets out a squeak. “Nothing!”

Mark makes eye contact with you and you give him a warning gaze. Johnny shrugs his shoulders and brushes off the conversation by starting a new one. “Tonight at six. Jaehyun’s apartment. We’re going to have a chicken and beer night.”

“This is exactly what I needed—” Mark points at him.

“I think I’ll have to pass on that one. I have a—”

“Uh, no you’re not.” Johnny shakes his head. “What excuse are you going to tell me this time? Your excuses are getting lamer every time. It’s quite obvious.”

You sigh. “I’d rather study. Besides, I have a midterm coming up and the last thing I want is to tank it.”

“It’s just one night. Chicken and beer. Who turns down chicken and beer? With friends, too?” Mark tries to convince you but you’re using your eyes to communicate the idea that this will not turn out well.

“Who’s coming?” You tear your gaze away from Mark when he doesn’t seem to take a hint. You’re reaching for your water bottle to take a quick sip of water.

“It’ll be me, Mark, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Ara,” Johnny recalls the guests from the top of his head. “Oh! Yuta is coming too—”

You choke on your water. As you’re going through a coughing fit, Mark grabs your water bottle to prevent any more water from spilling onto the table. Johnny pats your back. “Y-Yuta? As in, Nakamoto Yuta?”

Johnny smiles. “Indeed. Why? Do you have a crush on him or something—”

“No!” You and Mark blurt out in unison.

Johnny gives you both a funny look. “Okay, geez, I was just joking around. Unless, you do, have a crush on Yuta, Y/N—”

“Look who we have here.”

It’s a foreign yet familiar voice. You’ve heard that voice somewhere. You sneak a quick glance at Mark, whose eyes are wide like saucers. You could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulps nervously. Mark’s eyes trail down to meet yours.

“Jaehyun! Ara! Perfect timing!”

Definitely not perfect timing. You mirror Mark with the same wide eyes. It’s almost as if you’ve shrivelled up or froze up into an ice statue. Johnny doesn’t seem to notice you shoving your things into your tote bag out of sheer panic. Mark’s eyes dart between you and the newly-arrived couple.

“Hey, sorry, I completely forgot that I have a meeting with my group for our project.” It comes out as a squeak. Everyone’s looking at you and you can’t find the strength to look at any of them in the eye. But you can surely feel the attention that’s been shifted towards you.

“Leaving already?” Johnny pouts. “I just got here—”

“Sorry!” You exclaim, standing up from your seat and making a beeline for the exit doors of the study room. You look over your shoulder. Johnny has a cute pout on his lips as he watches you scurry away from them. “I’ll make it up to you!”

“You’ll make it up to me by joining us tonight for chicken and beer!”

When Jaehyun and Ara take up the spot you used to sit at, Mark can’t help but look at Ara with round eyes. He just can’t seem to look at Ara the same way anymore, especially when she’s with Jaehyun. Mark decides to settle his gaze on Jaehyun instead, but he still feels the same. He can’t look at Jaehyun the same way either. The first person that comes to mind when he looks at the couple sitting across from him is Nakamoto Yuta. The second and last person that comes to mind is you.

There are two innocent people being brought into this mess. It’s you and Yuta.

And what’s worse is that Jaehyun and Ara are just as innocent.

You and Mark find yourselves standing in front of Jaehyun’s door. Surprisingly, it’s quiet. You don’t hear Johnny’s loud voice through the thin door. Instead, right when Mark knocks on the door, you hear someone’s faint shuffling that gets louder and louder as they get close to the door. The door swings open and your mouth slightly parts open. This is—?

“Jaehyun!” Mark exclaims, crashing into Jaehyun’s arms.

You stand there awkwardly as you watch them embrace. Jaehyun pats Mark’s back until his eyes meet yours. Jaehyun. You’ve known of him. But now that you can put a face to his name, you’re immediately brought back to your freshman year, specifically your freshman orientation week. You’ve seen his face before. Jaehyun was amongst the popular freshmen in your year mainly due to his charisma and charm. By the end of freshman orientation week, he had become a magnet that attracted everyone to him. But not only did you remember him from orientation week, but you remember being one of the many people who were attracted to him. He had become your first university crush, but ever since orientation week, you never saw him again.

Until now.

“I’m guessing you’re Y/N?” Jaehyun asks and you find yourself snapping out of your trance. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

You slowly nod your head. “Yes, that’s me.”

“The one that was scurrying away earlier?” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes. “God, please don’t remind me. That was embarrassing.”

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles and oh boy, are those dimples?

You swoon. Too bad Jaehyun’s off the market. But at the same time, it’s a shame that you’re going to be the one to ruin his relationship and put him back on the market. You muster up a smile. “Nice to meet you too, Jaehyun.”

You and Mark make yourselves comfortable in Jaehyun’s apartment. Your eyes scan the place and just by the small touches to his apartment, you can pick up what kind of person Jaehyun is. From the LP turntable sitting in one corner of the room accompanied by a great stack of records—he has some exquisite taste in music—to the mini fridge filled with bottles of wine, you can tell that he’s a young man with an old soul. You turn to your right when you spot a piano and a microphone stand. It’s a makeshift studio in the opposite corner of his living room. He sings?

“I’ve heard many things about you from Johnny,” Jaehyun starts a conversation as he hands you a can of beer. “And Mark, of course.”

You open the can of beer to take your first sip, making sure to squint your eyes at Mark. “I hope they’re good things.”

He smiles. “There’s nothing to worry about. They put you up to the highest standard.”

You cough. “As they should.”

Mark scoffs. “You’re being too obnoxious right now.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking another sip of your beer. “What’s taking Johnny so long to get here? After scolding me for bailing out on every single function, here he is, pulling up later than promised.”

“Speaking of,” Jaehyun says as he stares at his phone. “His uber just pulled up. I’ll meet up with him downstairs. While I go fetch him, make yourselves comfortable.”

Jaehyun leaves you alone in silence. The moment Jaehyun shuts the door, Mark shoots you a cheeky grin. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at you and you can’t help but squint your eyes at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that—”

“You like him, don’t you?”

You scoff in disbelief. “I do not like him like that—”

“You do.” Mark cuts you off. “I’m getting that type of energy from you—”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, I don’t like him like that. Besides, he’s in a relationship with Ara—”

“He’s in a relationship that you’re destined to end.” Mark reminds you and you frown. “What? It’s true!”

You shake your head and with a stern voice, you say, “I don’t like Jaehyun. I just find him... charming.”

“That’s all—”

“And handsome—”

“Oh—”

“And sweet.” You add. “But other than that, I don’t like him. I’m Cupid, remember? I’m cursed to never fall in love and so the chances of me liking Jaehyun? Very slim.”

Mark smirks. “But you find him charming, handsome, and sweet. Isn’t that more than enough to like someone?”

“There’s a very distinct line drawn between infatuation and love, Mark.” You state with a matter of fact.

“So, you’re infatuated with Jaehyun—”

“What’s up party people, put your hands up!”

Both of your mouths clamp shut at Johnny’s freakishly loud voice echoing the apartment the moment he walks in. You dumbly put your hands up and Mark lets out a loud cackle. Entering right after him are Ara and—

“Yuta, my right hand and my go-to!” Mark exclaims.

You wish you were invisible, especially when Ara spots you on the couch and sends you a wave. You’re mustering up a very tight-lipped smile as you wave back at her. Great, this is going to be a long night. Jaehyun follows suit, throwing his arm over Ara’s shoulder and pecking her cheek. Mark sneaks a glance at you as you’re tearing your gaze away from the couple to take another sip of beer.

“Y/N actually came for once,” Johnny teases you.

Everyone gathers around the small coffee-table. Scattered on the small table are three boxes of chicken along with a can of beer for everyone. You’re sitting right across from Yuta, who hasn’t uttered a single word since he got here. But surprisingly enough, his eyes meet yours and you quickly look away. Your heart begins to race.

And your heart starts to beat much faster when Yuta never seems to break his stare at you for the rest of the night.

Yuta has definitely seen you before but he can’t seem to pinpoint exactly where he’s seen you. It must have been a fleeting moment, where the both of you passed by each other unknowingly. But after looking into your wandering eyes, after watching you chug a can of beer right across from him, he has found his answer.

Valentine’s Day.

He was biking on his way home after a three-hour lecture. Too many couples. He remembers the excessive amount of couples strolling down the busy streets. He remembers having the urge to rip his eyes out whenever he came to a stoplight and spotted a couple sharing a passionate (way too passionate) kiss. But he also remembers the sudden loneliness he felt.

Ara. He’s always found her pretty in her own special way. His first encounter with Ara was when she auditioned for the co-ed soccer team. He was seated at the bleachers as one of the head coaches who chose the new team members. She was everything he adored in someone. It was like she had her own glow whenever she ran down the field, with her hair bouncing as she ran.

But too bad because she’s—

“Taken?”

Jaehyun let out a sigh on the other phone line. Yuta pursed his lips into a tight line. “Listen, I tried to get those concert tickets for you tonight through my connections. But all of the available seats are taken. Well, there are still some seats but the seats you wanted are gone.”

“Do you have tickets for other seats?” Jaehyun questioned.

“Yeah, but the seats are pretty far from the stage. Are you alright with that?”

He heard distinct chatter on the other phone line. He heard Ara’s soft voice and a smile threatened to escape his lips. Right… she’s taken by Jaehyun. “We’ll take them!”

“Perfect.” Yuta chuckled. “I’m on my way to your apartment, actually. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes to give you the tickets.”

Yuta turned to his right and into a familiar neighbourhood. He slowed down his bike when he reached Jaehyun’s apartment building. As he headed up a couple flights of stairs, he reached Jaehyun’s apartment completely out of breath. The door opened and he saw—

“Oh, hey, Ara.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Is Jaehyun here?”

Ara beamed up at him and nodded her head. “Come in. You look like you’re out of breath. Do you want a glass of water, or something?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” He mumbled, too shy and nervous to utter anything other than those three words. Ara bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. God, why is he so nervous around her?

“Yuta!” Jaehyun said in a sing-song voice, greeting him with a fist-bump.

“Hey—oh?”

Yuta clamped his mouth shut when he looked into Jaehyun’s eyes. Jaehyun’s eyes sure do look pretty, he could see stars shining back at him. But that’s not what he saw.

He saw an unfamiliar woman. He’s never seen her before.

In Jaehyun’s eyes, he saw a woman holding what seemed like a microphone. She had headphones on and her face was illuminated by what he assumed was a laptop screen. She was singing a song he couldn’t hear. Yuta blinked, soaking in every little detail about the woman he saw in Jaehyun’s eyes. But it was not long until his face paled when he realized something terrible.

The woman he saw in Jaehyun’s eyes was not Ara.

Valentine’s Day. It’s the day he dreads the most out of the entire year. It’s the day where he receives his love assignment for the year. He has one year to make his assignment fall in love with their soulmate. But how is he going to do that when his love assignment is Jaehyun?

Cupids are cursed to never fall in love. Although, Yuta does have sheer hope that he could definitely find love. How could he not, when he’s a hopeless fool in front of Ara? It’s this specific Valentine’s Day that he dreads the most out of all the Valentine’s Days he’s spent. Why? Because while he found out that Jaehyun’s soulmate isn’t Ara, that surely doesn’t mean that he has a chance with Ara. In fact, he’ll never have a chance with Ara. He could potentially be the man Ara will hate the most.

Because one way or another, he must tear Ara and Jaehyun apart.

author’s note. welp, i hope you enjoyed the first part! i should be able to post the second part after all of my midterms. look out for it! thank you for reading!

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stardusttkachuk · 4 years

Text

Need A Hand?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: smut

Warnings: swearing, masturbation, fingering, oral (female receiving), some voyerism, little bit of dom/sub tendencies

Summary: @maybanktho posted a list of JJ concepts they’re too lazy to write so I took it upon myself to write walking in on JJ 🤜🏼🥩 & helping him out. So that’s what this is.

Taglist at bottom of fic. If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics please send me an ask or a message!

Waking up with morning wood was nothing new to JJ. Usually he’ll lie in bed for a few minutes and check his notifications and that’ll make it go down. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll jump in the shower and it’ll go away when the cold water hits him. Neither of those things worked today so there he was, lying on John B’s spare bed thinking about anything he could to make his boner disappear.

It refused.

Even when John B rapped hard on his door and scared the crap out of him, it was still present, still straining against his boxers and shorts that he had messily stuffed himself into after his shower.

“Yo!” John B yells and knocks again.

“Bro, it’s unlocked,” JJ yells back.

John B turns the handle and pushes the door open, finding JJ curled up in bed and under the covers still. He squints, trying to figure out why he’s still in bed.

“Not feeling good,” JJ lies. Really he’s just in bed and under the covers until this stupid fucking boner goes away and he can get on with his life.

“Ah. Well, Sarah’s parents are at work so I’m leaving.”

And JJ swears his heart skips a beat. John B is leaving which means he’s here all by himself. He could cry at the thought of being able to get himself off and get rid of his morning wood, if you could even call it that anymore as it was well past when he originally had woken up.

“How long are you gonna be gone?”

“I dunno,” John B sounds annoyed at the question. “Just lock up if you go anywhere and I’m not back.”

“Okay. Hey! Use protection,” JJ yells after him as John B walks out. He doesn’t close the door all the way and JJ gets a middle finger on the way out, but he doesn’t pay any attention to it, the middle finger or the slightly ajar door.

He’s already throbbing, thinking about how he can’t wait to touch himself, how good it’s gonna feel to get off. He waits until the screen door slams shut and he can hear John B’s van start up and pull off the dirt lot.

JJ kicks the covers off himself, overheating under them. He lets himself moan as he palms himself through his shorts. He pulls his t-shirt up and bites down on the hem of it as his hands work over his cock, still in its confines.

He lets his thoughts go. And he knows he really shouldn’t let them go to where they are, but soon he’s picturing you kneeling on the bed with him. The smirk in your lips as you watch him as he touches himself, speaking words of encouragement to him. He imagines his hands are yours, soft and gentle compared to his own callused ones. He’s leaking into his boxers at the thought, precum dripping out of the tip of his cock.

He knows he shouldn’t think about you like this. You’re his best friend, have been for years now. And while JJ always thought you were cute, when puberty hit you both JJ went from seeing you as the cute kid in his friend group to this beautiful girl that he pictured himself dating for a while now.

If he only had the guts to make a move.

Instead, he let his thoughts wander to you quite often. Not always in situations like the one he’s in now, sometimes he thinks about taking you to a drive in movie for a date or being able to put his arm around you and kiss you in front of his friends and brag about you being his. But he does think about what it’d be like to have sex with you.

You beneath him as he fucks into you and listens to you beg for more. You riding him with his hands on your hips, aiding in you bouncing on his cock. 69ing with you, his mouth on your pussy and your mouth on his cock, challenging each other to a game of who can last longer.

He can’t wait any more, can’t tease himself and edge himself like he wants to. He lifts his hips enough to get his shorts and boxers off, kicking them down by the end of the bed.

He lets out another loud moan when he fully grasps himself in his hand. He wraps his fingers out the base of his cock with one hand, the other twisting and gliding along his length. His eyes are closed tightly and his head is thrown back as he pictures you.

You kneeling in front of him, mouth open and licking at his tip, collecting the precum that is just leaking out of him like a faucet.

He uses his thumb to collect it, spreading it down his cock as lubrication as he continues his movements, although now he can’t stop picturing your tongue on his dick and how fucking good it’d feel to be buried in your mouth.

His moans are muffled with the t-shirt clenched between his teeth, but he’s still fairly loud.

He doesn’t mean to, but he moans out your name.

And you stop dead in your tracks outside the bedroom door, hearing it.

John B knew about your little crush on JJ. He also knew about JJ’s crush on you, but he wouldn’t tell either of you that the other person liked them, wanting to see if either of you would catch on to each other’s (poor) advances. He texted you when he left, asking you to check up on JJ as he wasn’t feeling well.

And that’s what you were here to do. Except now you can see he clearly is feeling fine. Sexually frustrated, but definitely not sick and you can’t help but stare as he bucks his hips into his fist. You know it’s wrong and that you were absolutely not supposed to walk into this, but there he was, masturbating and moaning your name.

Your face is red but your core is loving the idea and you press your thighs together as your arousal becomes more apparent.

Everything in you screams to walk out the door again and come back later. But how were you going to face him later, knowing what he was doing right now?

You listen to the string of curses he lets out, mixed in with his lewd moans. He’s clearly trying so hard, chasing his orgasm.

“Y/N, fuck. Please,” you hear him beg and the sound goes right to your heat, the dampness in your panties becoming just slightly uncomfortable.

There’s no way he’s seen you. You can’t even see his face, just his lower half. But he’s made it clear he’s thinking about you.

You debate going in there. It’s totally wrong to do so, but it’s probably equally as wrong to stay out here and just listen to him. You almost turn away and run right out of the house but JJ lets out a frustrated huff and you can’t help but peak in on him once again.

He’s still achingly hard. You can see the angry red tip of his dick. His hands are by his sides, fisted in the already messed up sheets.

He’s so desperate and clearly he’s not reaching his release.

“JJ?”

He knows it’s you. He could blindly pick your voice out of a lineup if he had to. His head whips in the direction of the door, now realizing that John B must’ve left it open. He still can’t see you, but he knows you’re out there. His teeth release his t-shirt, but it’s still bunched up at his chest.

“Shit. Fuck. Dammit. How long have you been here?” He’s panting.

You lean your shoulder against the wall, still looking in on him. “Long enough,” you laugh. “I heard you moan my name.”

Your words cause JJ to let out a long groan. He’s frustrated and embarrassed, ready to spill out a thousand apologies.

“I kinda liked it,” you add.

His breath hitches and you can see his cock twitch, and you grin.

“Touch yourself, JJ.”

He moans at your words and you watch his hands find his cock again. He strokes his thumb over the head of his cock and glides his hand all the way down the base and back up again.

“Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“You,” he inhales sharply, closing his eyes tight as he starts to think about it again. “Your mouth. You taking me in your mouth.” He drags his hand down and squeezes the base of his cock before moving up again in a twisting motion. “Your hands. H-How good they’d feel. Soft.”

“Uh huh,” you say, acknowledging that you’re listening to him.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Thought about fucking you. My dick buried in that tight pussy. Fuck, Y/N.” His hips lift off the bed slightly as he bucks into his hand.

“What, JJ?” you respond.

“Please come in here,” he begs. “Wanna see your face.”

You grin wide as you step through the slightly ajar door. You close it behind you for good measure.

Your eyes meet JJ’s blue ones. His face is red, you’re not sure from embarrassment or his arousal, and his hair is matted to his forehead. He’s covered in sweat and you wonder how long he’s been at this.

“That all you wanted JJ? Just to see me?” You tease.

He shakes his head quickly and swallows hard. “I want you to touch me.”

You walk the few steps to the bed, climbing onto it. JJ moves his hands and you quickly replace where they were.

A sinful moan spills from his lips and he leans into your touch. His hands grip the sheets once again and your name is a praise on his lips.

It only takes a few strokes before he’s cumming, hot, white ropes spilling onto your hand and his stomach. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time and he swears he sees stars.

He can barely catch his breath after.

“Fuck. Thank you,” he says through pants.

You sit beside him until he comes down from his high. You think maybe you’ll talk about what you just walked in on, but instead JJ asks, “Can I return the favor?”

You nod quickly and JJ sits himself up and lays you down in his place. He takes your shorts off and he can already see how soaking wet you are through your panties.

“You must’ve really liked watching me,” he teases as his fingers glide over the wet fabric.

He pushes your panties to the side, running one finger through your wet folds and grinning to himself.

“I thought about how good you probably taste. How much I would love to get my mouth on you,” he says.

He easily slips two fingers into your hole, prodding that sensitive spot inside you. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, and he relishes in the moans escaping your lips.

“Please,” you whimper.

That’s all he needs.

He keeps his fingers inside you, thrusting them and crooking them into you, as he mouth joins them. His lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking at it, swirling it, anything he can do to stimulate the sensitive bud.

You’re a mess above him, moaning his name, hands fisted in his blond locks. Watching him fuck himself to the thought of you had you a lot closer to the edge than you thought.

You feel JJ’s tongue prod your hole a few times, joining his fingers.

You’re right there, ready to cum. JJ’s lips move back to your clit and you can feel his tongue against it again, but it’s not moving in the circular motion it once was.

No. The fucker was drawing two J’s on your clit and an apostrophe S. He was claiming it.

Your release takes you by surprise, walls clenching around JJ’s fingers are you cum, the thought of him marking you as his sending you over the edge.

You’re both a mess.

JJ peels his shirt off, using it to wipe off his face, hands and stomach. He uses a clean part of it to clean you up as well before throwing it on the chair by the door, where he’s been putting all his dirty laundry.

JJ clears his throat and breaks the silence that’s fallen between you both. “So uh, what happens now?” He asks.

“Well, what do you want to happen now?”

“I think we should shower. And we should shower together to, ya know, save water.”

You laugh at his words and sit up. He surprises you by leaning forward and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss that you don’t hesitate to return.

“And then after, maybe we could cuddle and I can tell you about how I’ve liked you since before third grade.”

You giggle at him, cupping your hand around his cheek and kissing him again. “I like that idea.”

Taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @unholy-habits @hmsjiara @void-sadie @rudyypankow @freefallinintofandoms-n-fiction

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professorspork · 3 years

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superhell fic prompt: RB+J reunite with Yang

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Let no one ever doubt that Yang can be a champion whiner when she wants to be.

She was on her best behavior before, listening intently as Weiss caught her up on just how badly the fight with Cinder went, and brainstorming up next steps (get to the Tree; send up a flare with Ember Celica because if there were Grimm they needed to worry about, they would have run into some by now; wait). Only there wasn’t much to talk about after that that wasn’t wildly depressing, and they’d fallen into an uneasy silence-- Yang watching Weiss hunch tighter and tighter in on herself with every step.

So she’d filled the quiet: complaining about how they’d be there by now if only she still had Bumblebee; bitching about how unfair it is that they can’t seem to get their Semblances to work; grumbling over how she has no idea how long they’ve been walking because the light never seems to change here. And Weiss snaps back, of course, but Yang can tell the annoyance is feigned-- the more irritated Weiss’s answers are, the more relaxed her body language becomes. Normalcy’s thin on the ground, here; Yang will provide it anywhere she can.

Except--

-- except also something on the ground here, it seems--

-- is Gambol Shroud.

“Oh,” Yang breathes, in a tone of voice she’s not entirely sure she’s ever produced before. Weiss runs ahead and drops to her knees, but hesitates when she goes to scoop up the weapon-- her hand hovering over it, shaking.

“I-- sorry. It’s not my-- you should--”

“You should give it back to her,” Yang says, keeping her distance and a soft smile on her face.

Weiss looks up at her with wide eyes. “But you--”

“--didn’t have to see her fall. You did. And you-- you did really good, Weiss. You should give it back to her.” It seems a small concession to make, in the grand scheme of things. She’s going to have plenty of Blake, and soon. She knows it-- she’s sure of that down to her bones, now. So what is there to be possessive of? She waits until Weiss nods, and slips the katana through one of her scabbard loops. It’s not exactly meant to be carried that way, but whatever. It looks pretty badass. “C’mon,” she says, helping Weiss to her feet. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

Weiss roasts her mercilessly when it’s a good age and a half of walking before they even hit the tree’s roots (“Oh, are we close, Yang? Can you feel it?”), but they don’t come across any other surprises. When the roots start to twist and rise above them, Yang clambers up to a decent plateau and sets off two charges-- shooting them high into the air and watching them explode like fireworks. Yang smirks, tucking her arms behind her head as she prepares to settle in and wait--

-- and promptly slips and falls out of the tree when a trio of familiar voices happily cry “Yang?!” only seconds after the flare’s report.

(It’s not her fault, okay? She wasn’t expecting them to be this close, or together; wasn’t expecting Jaune to be down here at all; it’s whatever--)

By the time she’s picked herself up and dusted herself off, Ruby, Jaune and Blake have come into view, just across the clearing.

“Ruby!” Weiss cries, sprinting towards them, and that’s-- she’s Yang’s sister, she should get dibs on first hug, what gives, only then Weiss actually throws a thumbs up behind her as she runs and that’s just-- that’s just rude, honestly, as if--

“Yang,” Blake says, close enough to touch, and when did that happen?

“Blake, I--”

She has no idea how that sentence was supposed to end. Luckily, Blake relieves her of the burden, busying her mouth and bringing her thoughts to a grinding halt by pulling her into a swift, determined kiss. Yang’s struck so dumb by the shock of it that for a moment she forgets to kiss back-- hands hanging limply at her sides as she tries to process the intent pressure of Blake’s lips against hers; the swell of body heat where they’re pressed together, chest to chest; the tender way Blake cradles her jaw, all fingertips, the way you touch something precious and fragile. Every muscle in Yang’s body relaxes in an instant-- at last, finally, thank you-- and a needy, wanting noise tears itself from her throat, entirely without her volition.

It’s possible she goes a bit overboard when she finally gets control of her limbs again, wrapping her arms around Blake’s sides and dipping her into the kind of kiss she’s only seen on the covers of Blake’s novels, but it’s hard to care about how it looks-- not when Blake’s laughing into her mouth, and Ruby’s wolf-whistling (Yang releases her hold on Blake for that, briefly, only because she has to prioritize flipping Ruby the bird) and has she mentioned that she’s kissing Blake Belladonna?

She’s kissing Blake Belladonna.

She might never stop kissing Blake Belladonna.

Or, okay, maybe she will; her back kind of hurts holding this weird position so long. But when she pulls Blake back to standing, she suddenly registers wetness on her own cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised she’s crying only she’s-- she’s really pretty sure she’s not, so that means--

“Don’t cry,” she whispers, reaching up to brush the tears from Blake’s lashes. “If you cry I’m gonna cry, and--”

“I love you,” Blake breathes, and the words lay Yang out faster than any punch, knocking the wind right out of her lungs. The look on Blake’s face is beatific-- elated and adoring and thrilled. Like she’s proud of herself for being brave enough to say it; like she wasn’t sure she was going to know how. Only then the tears well up again; her voice hitches as she stutters: “I promised; I couldn’t get to you in time, you can’t-- I’ll follow you anywhere, I promised, I swear it, but you have to let me, I thought I lost you--”

This time it’s Yang’s turn to quiet Blake with a kiss, and she lets herself savor it. She clocks every sensation, every touch, every sigh, every brush of their lips. This isn’t about utility, or merely silencing Blake’s fears. It’s reassurance, and devotion, and a promise all its own: we’re okay. We can have this, now.

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, determined to find words that will mean as much as Blake’s just did, to make it clear just how much she feels--

-- only it’s a little hard to concentrate over how loudly Weiss is crying, a few yards away where Ruby and Jaune have her sandwiched between them.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-- I just-- you did promise, all of you, you said you’d never leave my side and I was-- I was alone, I was the only one left, and I--”

Yang takes Blake’s hand, gratified when she gets an understanding squeeze and a nod in return-- to be continued. Whatever confessions of love Yang’s got scratching at the walls of her insides, they can wait a little longer; right now, they need to be with their team.

Together, they join the group huddle, saying nothing as collectively they abandon any attempts at soothing words and instead finally let themselves fall apart. Ruby all but crawls into Yang’s lap, and a thread of tension deep within Yang finally, finally relaxes, knowing that her sister is safe. Jaune cries loudest and hardest of all, and Yang buries a hand in his hair, wishing she could make it better. She knows what it feels like, to stab down and feel the life leave someone’s body, but that was-- she’d hated Adam. To have to do it to an ally, a friend, to have that responsibility on you, for someone you love--

--kill me, and I can make sure the power goes to you--

-- she shakes off the stubborn image of Raven’s scarlet eyes filling her vision and focuses on the people in her arms.

“Not to be super morbid, but maybe...” She pauses and chews on her words, wanting to make sure she says what she means to. “We might be a little past promises, now. All of us. I don’t know where we go from here, and the choices are only going to get harder. But-- we’ve always found our way back to each other before. Even here, and-- and I don’t even really know where here is. So maybe we can just... trust that. See where it takes us.”

She doesn’t realize she’s closed her eyes in a wince, unsure of how she’ll be received, until she cautiously squints them open again and sees half her universe staring back at her with nothing but love.

“I think that sounds good,” Blake says,

but her eyes say so much more.

#rwby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #blake and yang #bumbleby #weiss schnee #fic what i wrote #Anonymous

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fruitcoops · 3 years

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Hi!

It's the anon of the Remus knockout fic. Could you write a mirror fic?

Yep! For anyone who is curious: a mirror fic is when you take the premise of one fic, then translate it to a different character with minor alterations. This one has the same theme as Knockout, where Sirius was knocked unconscious after a bad hit. This is also the first half-and-half commentary fic I’ve ever written!

SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for injury, minor blood, fighting, and unconsciousness

“Lee, are you seeing this?” Frank asked, excitement building in his voice.

“I am, Frank! There’s a melee on the ice—it looks like the Lions and Snakes have finally let their cork pop after that dirty check on Lions captain Sirius Black! Oh, what a hit on Malfoy by O’Hara! That’ll leave a mark,” Lee laughed. Several whistles blew, loud and shrill over the roaring fans. “Let’s get a playba—wait. Hang on a second, Frank, is that—?”

“There’s a player down,” Frank confirmed, sobering immediately. “Lee, I think that’s Lupin, but he’s not moving.”

“Black is waving medics over and it looks like the Lions have put their fists away for the moment. Snape tries to start something again, but—oh, shut down by the refs. Right to the bench for him.” They fell quiet as another person hurried onto the ice. “That’s Hestia Jones, Gryffindor’s newest addition to the training team. Lupin always speaks highly of her, so he should be in good hands.”

Noise rippled over the stadium after a period of suspended silence. “Is he moving? He is! Lupin’s conscious again, and nobody is calling for a stretcher, which is a great sign.” Frank paused for a moment as Hestia and Sirius helped pull him upright. “And Lupin’s heading toward the locker room with about half the team on his heels, mostly under his own power.”

“I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief after that,” Lee said. “I don’t know about you, but I never like seeing fights go bad. How do you think it happened?”

“Let’s take a look.” The jumbotron picked up just after number 8 on the Snakes collided with Sirius in a late hit, nearly knocking his helmet clean off; in mere seconds, the two teams were on each other in a pack of fury. Remus went after number 8, one of the enforcers—they tussled for a moment before a hard hit from his opponent knocked him flat on the ice.

“Lupin’s fiery, but he was well out of his weight class there,” Lee said, shaking his head. “It seems like no permanent damage was done, though. We’ve got enough Lions and Snakes in the boxes that both teams are going to their second strings, Frank! Back to you!”

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

Sirius’ heart pounded in his ears as they headed off the ice, moving as slow as possible to avoid damaging Remus on the off-chance something serious had happened. Hestia’s arm was a steel bar around his lower back; Talker, James, and Leo flanked them until they reached the boards, and each of the Lions put a gentle hand on Remus’ back when he passed them.

“I’m alright,” Remus said as they stepped into the tunnel, his head drooping forward. “ ‘m okay.”

“Can you help him get his pads off?” Hestia asked quietly, finally making eye contact with Sirius while they helped him sit on the PT table.

He nodded and gently guided Remus’ hands away from the straps and buckles, undoing them from muscle memory as he kept a careful eye out for anything they may have missed. Remus half-smiled, though more pain had overtaken the dizziness. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Sirius winced at his voice crack, but removed the heavy pads without missing a beat. “How’re you feeling?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder. “Hurts. Nothing out of the ordinary, though. Can you call my mom?”

“They’ll be here soon, I bet.”

“Did you see them?”

“Earlier, yeah. They’ve got seats in the middle.”

Hestia tapped Sirius’ hip and he reluctantly moved aside to let her run through the concussion protocol, though he didn’t let go of Remus’ hand and grabbed a nearby paper towel to clean up some of the blood on his lip. “You look good to me,” Hestia said after a few minutes. “A little banged up, but nothing scary. Get some rest and water, and you’ll be good as new.”

The paper covering the table crinkled as Sirius sat down, rubbing small circles on Remus’ lower back. “Do you want to stay here or head back to the bench?”

He made a face. “Stay here, I think. I’m kind of wobbly.”

“I’ll grab your water and be right back, okay?”

Remus nuzzled Sirius’ collarbone with a sigh, then kissed his cheek. “Thanks, hon.”

As soon as Sirius was out of the PT room, he leaned against the wall and blew out a shaky breath, running both hands through his hair. He had been too preoccupied with recovering from the late hit and shoving Snape to stop Remus from engaging with the Snakes’ enforcer; all he could do was watch as they traded one, two, three hits before Remus dropped. Dropped like a stone, and took Sirius’ heart with him.

Nobody else noticed at firs—both teams were a brawling wreck at that point, and for all of his hard work Remus was still one of the smaller guys out there. It was a miracle Hestia had even heard him calling for a medic as he gripped Remus’ hand and fumbled through hoarse pleas for him to open his eyes. He had been so pale when Sirius pulled his helmet off, save for the blossoming reddish-purple mark across one side of his face.

Hestia had let him stay while she worked, speaking clipped and clear by the side of Remus’ head until he mumbled “hear you” and “hurts”. It took another half-minute before he looked at them, and a dozen lifetimes before his breathing went back to normal under Sirius’ palm.

He’s okay, he told himself for the umpteenth time. He’s okay. He’s awake. Hestia’s got him.

Sirius walked to the bench in a daze, hardly glancing at the game while he collected their waterbottles and braced himself on the back of a chair for a moment. “How is he?” Arthur asked, worry lacing his tone.

“He’s okay. Bruised and dizzy, no concussion.”

“Deep breaths, Cap. Deep breaths.” Sirius inhaled slowly, then exhaled with a shiver. Arthur gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “There you go. Everything’s alright.”

“That was fucking terrifying.”

“Sit down for a second, yeah?”

Sirius shook his head. “Gotta get him some water. Christ. Okay, I’m okay. Don’t know if you want me back out—”

“No,” Arthur said firmly. “We’re ahead, and your boys don’t look like they’re going to let the Snakes take it back.”

“Thank you.” Sirius pressed his lips together as the delayed fear rocking through him began to abate.

“Go on, son. I’ll update the others if they ask.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face before heading back down the hall with both waterbottles, trying to calm his racing heart to the sounds of quiet voices coming from the PT room.

“Sirius!”

“Hey, buddy.” Sirius bent down to catch Jules in a hug and felt tears prickle back up in his throat as his ribs were nearly crushed beneath skinny arms. The second he straightened, Hope and Lyall pulled him close in a flutter of worry.

“Is he still awake?” Lyall asked.

“Hestia’s got him,” Sirius confirmed, running a steady hand through Jules’ hair. “He’s up and talking, no concussion. I was just getting him some water.”

Hope looked like she was on the verge of tears, but she nodded. “Thank you. Can we see him?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Sirius lifted Jules onto his hip—the kid wasn’t letting go of him anytime soon—and led them down the hall, then knocked before pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Almost immediately, Remus was mobbed by both his parents. “I’m fine,” Remus assured them as Hope inspected the bruise on the side of his face. “I should know better than to start fights with—”

“You didn’t start it,” Lyall interrupted. “That was a late hit and the refs should’ve called it before things went that far.”

“Oh, lovey,” Hope murmured, cupping his face in her palms. “We are so happy for you, and we one hundred percent support you, but please think before you punch people twice your size.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Remus laughed as she kissed his forehead. “Where’s Jules?”

“Here.” Jules wiggled free of Sirius’ arms and crept over, then clambered up onto the table and tucked himself against Remus’ ribs with a sniffle. “Don’t do that anymore.”

“You got it,” he promised; Sirius lingered on the outside of their group hug before Remus reached out and dragged him into his other side. “Family hugs include you now, remember?”

“I need all my boys in one spot,” Hope added, giving him a light jostle.

“You guys are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Hestia said from the doorway as she propped it open. “Cap, Loops, coach might want to see you after the game.”

“How much time do we have?” Sirius asked without extracting himself from the net of affection.

“Eh, maybe five minutes? We’ve scored two goals in the past ten, so I don’t think it’ll drag on too much longer.”

“Sirius, how are you feeling? That hit looked pretty hard.” Hope gave him a concerned look, as if she was expecting him to also drop unconscious.

“I might be a little bruised in the morning, but I’m fine,” he said.

Lyall narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Good. We need you.”

“I won’t be in for the rest of the—”

“We need you here,” he clarified, patting Sirius’ back. “Right here.”

Remus caught his eye and smiled softly; Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat and relaxed into the hug, resting his temple against the top of Remus’ head. He was okay. They both were. They all were.

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skyland2703 · 2 years

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Hallooo!😂

Mini fic about Javi and Amelia doing a mini vlog at Buzzblast???

YES.

No, but. Yes. Just YES.

Ps: I really don’t know the minute little differences between lip balms and chapsticks and lipsticks. I really apologise that I've never done a chapstick tasting myself. I know some friends who'd have written this fic wayyyyyy better.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia asked, frowning slightly as she saw the brunet boy enter the studio wearing headphones and apparently vibing to his music, and he didn’t seem to hear her, just took a spot next to her, on the table where the products they were testing out today, were kept.

“Heyy” he grinned at her, before looking at the stuff on the table, “hey what are we reviewing today?”

She realised he’d not heard her question, and hadn’t even realised she was saying anything, so she pulled at his headphone, and yelled in his ear “HEYY JAVIII WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” And that caught his attention immediately, he looked surprised, but then grinned, and pulled his headphones down, “there’s this song Worth the Fall, really niche but I’m totally obsessed” he explained, “so what are we doing today?”

“No; answer me first, what are YOU doing here? I thought this was my assignment”

“Oh yeah. I asked Jane” *cue flashback of Javi following Jane around saying pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease like a broken record till she finally got annoyed enough and said “FINE” and gave in* “And she said I could do the next vid with you! I hope you don’t mind” he chuckled, and she grinned, “okay, I got it. But are you sure you’re up for doing this one?”

He looked amused, “I’m doing it with you, why wouldn’t I be up for it?”

“It’s chapstick flavour testing” she said, like it was a big deal.

He looked at her just as he had before though, “yeah, so why wouldn’t I be up for it?” A completely genuine question, that brought a smile to her face, “nevermind. I was thinking about something else. Let’s get to it?”

“Yeah” the grin he flashed her could light up the entire studio; Amelia instructed the cameraman to run the livestream, and the two of them introduced themselves to their audience.

Meanwhile, in another part of Buzzblast, watching the livestream as it happened, we’re their friends, Ollie, Izzy, Aiyon and Zayto.

“Is it just me or is Amelia literally doing all the talking?” Ollie pointed out, looking at Izzy, who stared at the screen placed in front of them, where Amelia and Javi, standing side by side in front of the blue curtain, with a number of chapsticks arranged on the table in front of them, while Amelia explained what the video was about.

Izzy tilted her head, “also notice that Javi is just staring at her like a lovesick puppy”

Zayto and Aiyon looked at each other, then at the blue and green rangers, “are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Zayto asked, surprised, when they all nodded their heads, “he’s looking at her all the time anyway” Aiyon pointed out, “I don’t know exactly why—“ Ollie completed the sentence, “but whatever happens there’s like a spring attached in Javi’s neck that makes him turn to Amelia to see her reaction” the group chuckled at the observation.

“Looks like my brother seriously has a problem.” Izzy laughed, and then they turned their attention back to the camera.

“You realise this is their first video together? Jane usually doesn’t give group assignments” Ollie pointed out, and caused Izzy to laugh again, “i shudder to think what he might’ve done to convince Jane”

“Shush they’re starting” Aiyon pointed to the screen, and Izzy and Ollie silenced, while Amelia handed Javi a packet, and they showed it to the camera.

“And this is the latest edition of the Classic collection!” She said excitedly, while he read it off the packet, “it has a cherry, strawberry and spearmint flavours! How merry!” They watched as Amelia’s expression turned from a perfect happy smile to more of an amused one when she looked at Javi, “hmm, so what’s your favorite fruit, Javi? Let’s start with that”

“I think we can start with spearmints. Not exactly my favorite, but I know it’s yours” he winked at the camera now, and the team burst into laughter, “he should never wink. He looks like a baby when he does that” Ollie commented, causing Zayto to counter with a “I kinda like it. And I think Amelia does too” heads turning back to the screen where the pink ranger now picked up the spearmint one, “I didn’t think you’d know it was my favorite”

Javi looked at the camera, dead in the eye, and whispered, holding up his hand like a shield against his mouth, and whispered— as if Amelia couldn’t hear him— “she thought I wouldn’t know. I know everything” which caused her to burst into chuckles.

“So let’s see, spearmint tastes nice” she applied onto her, “a little less stronger than the cool mint, but guaranteed to make your breath smell ✨minty fresh✨”

“Any particular reason why you’d want your breath to smell minty fresh Amelia?” He winked at the camera again, whispering “you know what I mean”

“Javi!” She punched him on his shoulder, “he’s an idiot. And he’s an idiot who would like to try out the cherry chapstick next” she handed it to him, and he opened it, and smelled it.

“Is it… is it just me or are they flirting?” Izzy looked up at the boys, and the three nodded, looking like the holy trinity giving their verdict on the situation going on between Javi and Amelia.

“They are. They’re totally flirting” Aiyon nodded, leaning in closer to the screen, “and I think Javi’s blushing as he’s smelling the cherry chapstick.” He started to scratch his head, looking at the two teens, wondering why that could be.

It struck Izzy, then, “cherry. Oh god I should’ve known. Amelia’s favorite song is cherry. And she loves it. And and and and and when we went shopping last time, she got herself a large size cherry almond flavour shampoo…” she trailed off. Ollie’s eyes went wide in realisation, while Aiyon’s reaction was somewhat different, and they spoke in unison.

“You and Amelia go shopping?”

“Javi smells Amelia’s hair?”

Zayto took both the boys by the neck, and turned their heads towards the screen, where Javi had already applied the hot pink colored chapstick, and was now rubbing his lips together, and licking them to taste the flavour, “yes and yes. Fern goes with them too, and Javi writes his songs inspired by Amelia of course he notices things about her” Zayto explained, and the team returned to watching the chapstick review.

“So Amelia,” Javi was speaking now, but his eyes fixated on his partner instead of at the camera, “I think this cherry one is swell! What should we try next?” Izzy and Ollie exchanged glances at the word ‘swell’, being from earth and knowing just how cringe it sounded— while at the same time, Zayto and Aiyon looked intrigued.

The next few minutes passed without much drama, with Amelia and Javi trying out different flavours, giving mostly positive reviews, suggesting colors and flavours to each other, pointing out that they’d think the other one would like it, and in general making fun of the other’s lips having turned overly colorful. At one point Amelia even took a handkerchief to wipe Javi’s mouth on it because he couldn’t stop laughing looking at himself in the mirror with green colored lips.

“So as you could see, that last one had a rather.. interesting colouration factor…” Amelia chuckled, “in my opinion Pink looks the nicest for Javi. Green? Not so much” she winked, and Javi giggled, “I can handle a little pink. Also I think black suits you” he added quickly, looking at the camera, and she stared at him, “you know my color is pink right?”

“I think we should swap colors though, I’ll give you a doe makeover, maybe you can dye your hair a bit… and a leather jacket” he grinned, leaning towards her, like scrutinising her, and imagining how she’d look in black leather, and the Dino rangers who were watching the programme almost banged their heads against a wall, “that’s them being subtle, isn’t it?” Aiyon question, causing the others to laugh.

“Anyway, this next flavour is looking at me like it’s your favoriiiite” she said, waving the next packet in front of the camera, “it’s the s’more collection!”

“What?” His eyes twinkled, “you’ve got marshmallows in there?”

“I do— but you’re not getting a taste of them.” She winked, “it’s mine… and you can get your own later” and he looked aghast, “okay” he said in a small voice that made all their viewers blast the entire buzzblast’s reaction section feed with the “🥺” emoji.

“You think she did that on purpose to trouble him?” Zayto asked, and the others nodded, “maybe she got irritated at the pink and black comments?” Aiyon suggested with a shrug, and Ollie shook his head, “naah it’s Amelia. She doesn’t get irritated. At all. I mean— she’d have killed me already if she got irritated easily”

“He’s got a point” Izzy nodded, “what’s she up to…”

Back in the studio, Javi continued to watch Amelia, although he looked a little jittery now, watching her apply the marshmallow flavour one, and then temptingly smack her lips together, and pout, “I think it’s not the… best flavour? I like it a bit. I think we can have Javi’s (very biased) opinion now, Javi?” She turned to him, innocent as ever, smirking gleefully, “what’s your opinion on your absolute favorite flavour?”

“You didn’t let me taste it” he pouted, puffing up his cheeks, and staring at the camera, “Welllll you can try it now… if you don’t mind used lip balm, that is” she grinned, and THAT was when the rest of the team actually understood what she was intending to do. Izzy found a blush moving into her cheeks, Ollie looked at the screen incredulously, “oh my god she’s so SNEAKY”

"Wait, wait what's she trying to do—" Zayto couldn't complete his sentence, as the entire crowd burst into gasps, followed by a spamming of the heart eyes emoji as the livestream's viewers found themselves pleasantly intrigued.

You see, what had happened was this: Javi had stared at the used chapstick Amelia had offered her, and he'd taken her hand by the wrist, and he'd pulled her closer, while leaning in himself, and firmly planted his lips against hers, kissing her for an entire minute on the livestream while their audience lost their minds.

"No, no, no, no, no rewind that SOMEONE REWIND THAT" Izzy shouted, "MY BROTHER DOESN'T HAVE GUTS LIKE THAT THAT'S AN IMPOSTE—" she couldn't complete her statement, finding Ollie and Aiyon's hands covering her face together, and she gave them both a death glare, and the three rangers continued looking at the livestream where the pink and black rangers were still making out, now with Javi's arm wrapped around her waist, and hers around his neck. Finally, they broke apart, and he chuckled, "yeah, no, completely biased opinion, but marshmallow is still my favorite chapstick flavour" he grinned at the camera as if he'd not just made out with his co-star for an entirety of two minutes and forty eight seconds.

Amelia on the other hand, looked a little shaken. She ran a hand through her hair, and said, her voice sounding a little husky, "you know what... you might have an excellent point after all, Javi." she panted, her cheeks flushing redder than that cherry chapstick looked.

He grinned at her, and she finally brought a smile to her own lips too, while Zayto, Aiyon, Izzy and Ollie tried to make something of the interaction.

"Do you think they're secretly dating and he just blew his cover?" Ollie asked, brows furrowed, and Izzy shook her head, "she looks like she's in some kinda full blown panic mode…”

“Let’s see what they do next” Aiyon hushed them up, and the four pairs of curious eyes turned back onto the livestream, where Amelia looked like she was still recovering from the shock.

“So, uh, Javi” they watched with interest, as a coy smirk spread over her lips, “what’s next on the list?”

He didn’t look at her now, and they could all see his own cheeks warming up as he the full realisation and impact of his actions hit him. “I— I don’t know. You say, Amelia”

She handed him one, and he took it while still looking down, and quickly applied it to his lips, mashing them together to spread it evenly, and then stuck out his tongue, “aw god this is awful why did you give me this?” He whined, and turned to the camera, “it’s one of those gas station (awful tasting) watermelon flavoured ones!! Eeeesh”

“So does that mean she didn’t want to kiss him?” Aiyon asked, intrigued, his friends all shaking their heads in disappointment.

“They’re hopeless” Izzy finally stated, leaning back in the chair like a dead person, “I’m tireeedddd this has been going on for almost half an hour now!”

“Wait no look!” Ollie suddenly pushed Izzy’s chair forward so she almost faceplanted into the goddamn screen. They pulled her back though, because she was blocking the scene while almost chipping her teeth, “geez thank you guys” she said with distaste, but back on TV, Amelia was laughing like she’d inhaled laughter gas, and Javi was wincing, “I like watermelons, that’s why” she said, and this time, she leaned in and kissed him, pulling at him by his jacket’s collars, and keeping him there for a good minute. When she finally let him go, Javi looked like he was right about to faint from being giddy and throughout the rest of the session, continued to be light headed, and mixing up lip balm flavours and staring at Amelia as she continued her own end of the review, like a lovesick puppy.

“You realise we’re exactly back where we started?” Izzy asked, placing her head in her hands, and Aiyon nodded, “yeah. Yeah man those two are HOPELESS”

“I don’t think so? I think we made some real good progress with them today” Zayto grinned as the Buzzblast employees began wrapping up the livestream.

“I wonder how Jane felt about this whole mess” Ollie said, and Aiyon nudged him, “why don’t you ask her yourself?” Pointing to the blonde lady who ran Buzzblast, coming their way.

“Hey Ja—“ before either of them could actually say anything to her, she burst into an excited stream of words herself, “those two have sone REAL chemistry! It felt so genuine, the way they were around each other, a little cute and idiotic, yes, but they handled the review SO WELL and apparently the comment section has been going CRAZY!!! I wonder why that could be!” Every word she said was as if punctuated by an exclamation mark, and Ollie raised his eyebrows, “did we… did we watch the same livestream?”

“Oh come on! Your eyes were also GLUED to the screen” Izzy teased, Aiyon supported, “we all were!!”

“I usually don’t give our couples assignments, but I think I’ll have to RELAX THE RULES, a little bit” she did a little dance, “those two really stole the show AAhh” she said in a voice full of utter bliss, and Zayto giggled, as Jane swayed away towards Javi and Amelia, as they got out of the studio— probably to congratulate them— “I think she’s really happy”

“Well this was crazy” Izzy finally heaved back into the chair again, “dear lord.”

“WAIT—“ suddenly Aiyon spoke up, all eyes turned to him, “does that mean Javi and Amelia are an official…. COUPLE?”

“I think that oughta answer your question” Ollie pointed to where Jane had gone looking for them, while they hid from her behind a desk, and continued to make out.

“Oh geez!” Aiyon said, Izzy following suit, “I think we have a subject for teasing them for about… a month, right?” She smirked, “I’m in!” Ollie added, Zayto just shook his head, like a dad looking at the mischief of his kids.

“Okay, but just one month—“ they were off before he could finish.

#power rangers #amelia jones #Javi Garcia #dino fury #power rangers dino fury #I duckin forgot to post this anscnnvndndn #it was living in my drafts—#while its been completed and forgotten aboyt for over two months—#fanfic prompt #my fics #minific #wait no this got too long

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