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timetravesty · 3 years

Text

(Queen B Book 3) Say You Love Me Pt.2

(✨Pt.2 has arrived✨ Please enjoy!)

Context: I already have about four to five chapters prepared to post so I'll be scheduling those to be released throughout the weeks. I'll try to be consistent and upload the next chapter about five or four days after this one is released. I'll see if I can keep a schedule for this. Also, the "Take Me To the Heart Fair" Finale will be released in a few days, so please look forward to it!

Lastly, this chapter features a past scene from Belvoire which is italicized, but it's pretty telling. Most chapters from here on will feature a past scene from Belvoire.

Masterlist

General Content Warnings: Mature, Angst, Possible NSFW, Cursing, Internalized Homophobia, Cheating, and slow burn

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Bea sat at her desk. No notes, papers, or designs littered the area as the only thing in front of her was her monitor and a single photo on the screen.

Poppy Min-Sinclair’s photo.

She hadn’t changed a bit and Bea could tell it wasn’t just photoshop getting rid of any discrepancies in her appearance. She had the confident smirk, the seductive eyes, and the same iron-straight posture. Her hair was probably the only thing different, now parted down the middle and cascading down her shoulder in long waves. Was it even a bit darker now compared to Belvoire?

Bea bit the tip of her thumb, swinging in her chair as she looked at the picture, as if willing it to move, but it remained still… cause it was only a photo and Bea was staring at it like it would come out of the screen and attack her.

When she left Kath’s office, Bea immediately retreated to her small office that she shared with another employee who was currently out of town. She had only clicked to life her monitor and pulled up a different picture than what Kath had shown and just… stared at it for the past thirty minutes.

Bea couldn’t tell much from pixels, but she could tell that it was definitely Poppy. Poppy Min-Sinclair, the demon-spawn from Belvoire and her…

Bea cleared her throat, readjusting her position in her chair and turning her head. Maybe if she looked from a different angle it wouldn’t be Poppy on her computer screen at that moment.

A couple of seconds with her head tilted to the far-left, Bea straightened her shoulders and sighed. It was Poppy and Bea was screwed.

She hadn’t seen the woman in two years which didn’t seem like a long time, but to Bea, it wasn’t long enough. She did not want to ever see Poppy Min-Sinclair again.

“Is that the girl you bring coffee to three days a week?” Mei asked from the doorway as she leaned against the frame. Bea jumped in her chair before closing the tab and Poppy’s picture.

“What? No way! She’s-”

“The CEO of Belle: Fashion & Luxury.” Mei joked as she entered the small office, taking a seat on one of the chairs. “Poppy Min-Sinclair, right?”

“...yea, how do you know?” Bea asked, pushing back her hair that fell in her eyes as Mei raised a sharp brow.

“How do you not know? She’s already a legend in the business world. Youngest and fastest growing CEO in the country and she’s gorgeous.”

“She’s not that great.” Bea mumbled as Mei rolled her eyes.

“Okay Ms. “I think all blondes are smoking hot.” Mei teased as Bea rolled her eyes playfully before pouting.

“I told you that when I was drunk so it doesn’t count.”

“Sure, but isn’t she exactly your type?” Mei asked as she pulled out her phone and pulled up another of Poppy’s professional photographs. It took everything in Bea not to wince at the photo.

“She’s beautiful and she’s only 24. Some people get all the luck.” Mei said as Bea nodded, pushing the woman’s phone down to get Poppy out of her sight.

“Beautiful or not, she may be a potential client that I have to butter up at the upcoming Sterling party.” Bea told Mei who let out a small gasp.

“You’re going to the Sterling party?! What are you going to wear?” She asked as Bea laughed. She definitely hadn’t done the research Kath wanted and she definitely wasn’t thinking about her wardrobe.

“Just a suit probably.” Bea said as Mei scoffed.

“Bea, the Sterling party is full of A-list celebrities and business tycoons. You can’t show up in a ten year old suit.”

“First off, it’s a five year old suit and secondly, I’m not mingling with the celebrities, I have to talk to Pop- Ms. Min-Sinclair only, per Kath’s request.”

Mei crossed her arms, looking at Bea as if she had just insulted the very foundation of New York.

“You think the rising CEO of a fashion company would even give you a second-look if you show up looking like the wait staff?” Bea held up a finger to retort but paused for a minute.

“...you make good points.” She said, placing her hand back down as Mei giggled, scooting her chair closer and typing on Bea’s computer.

“You need to wow at this party. When is it?”

“Next week I think.” Bea said as Mei smiled to herself, pulling up one of the recent articles of Belle’s.

“Well, you have plenty of time to pick out a new suit, one that Ms. Min-Sinclair should be able to recognize.” Scrolling through the articles, Mei pointed out some designs and suits that Bea might like and Bea had to admit. The girl was probably correct that Poppy wouldn’t spare her a glance if she were a regular person trying to catch her attention, but Bea wasn’t a regular person. She and Poppy could always spot each other, no matter how big or small the crowd. She wondered if that had changed over these years.

“Mei, Mei!” Bea yelped at the woman rambling on about suits and designs from Belle. “Thank you so much for the info, but I really need to do some more research on the actual CEO versus shopping for clothes.”

Mei rolled her eyes, lifting her hand off Bea’s mouse as she looked at the brunette. “Okay, but I mean it, Bea. You need a new suit so I can tell my friends that I know someone who went to a Sterling party and actually looked like they fit in.” Bea laughed, waving the woman goodbye as she left the office.

Turning back to her monitor, Bea carefully typed in Poppy’s name and opened up multiple tabs on articles about the young CEO. Clicking through a few, Bea realized Kath was correct.

The only thing Poppy talked about in her interviews and tell-alls was her company and her

“fabulous” childhood. Anything related to the woman’s actual personal life was non-existent.

Closing one of the tabs, Bea leaned back in her chair, staring up at the white ceiling as her mind ran. Was the Poppy now so different from the Poppy from back then? Bea didn’t dare let the thoughts consume her once more, but she couldn't help but wonder.

Would Bea even recognize the Poppy now?

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

“Of course I’ll attend Don. I absolutely adored the roses you left the other day.” Poppy lied through her teeth as she leaned against her desk as Don laughed through the phone.

“That’s wonderful doll! I was hoping you would accept. It would have been incredibly boring without you there.” Don said in his deep voice that was so carefully crafted to woo women.

“Well, I would never miss a Sterling party.” She said, trying to puff up the man’s ego that was already inflated like a balloon.

“Can I expect to pick you up then? At your apartment?” He asked as Poppy swallowed hard. Like hell she was going to give this guy her personal address.

“”No, I… I want to surprise you with my dress. It’ll be worth it.” Don laughed with his whole chest as Poppy felt chills run up her arms.

“I can’t wait. I’ll be thinking of you till then.” He spoke as Poppy breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the line fall silent. She set the phone on her desk as she shook out her arms and the goosebumps running up them. Something about the man gave her the icks.

“Tevon.” Poppy called as the boy opened up her office door and stepped inside.

“Yes, Ms. Min-Sinclair?”

“Can you bring me the list of available spaces for offices? I want to look at the bidding prices.” Poppy said as the boy ran out of the office only to come back with a hefty folder. Poppy took a seat at her desk, flipping open the folder and pulling out various pictures of exteriors of large office spaces.

“All of these are open for reconstruction and for sale. Specifically, this one.” He tapped on a large plot with a great view and location. “This has about fifty-six stories and is being sold for around 900 to 850 million.”

Poppy looked at the design, while not much to consider, it had a stunning exterior and the location was exceptional.

“Has bidding for the lot started?” Poppy asked as Tevon shook his head.

“The lot is owned by a private corporation, but they’re willing to discuss prices with whoever meets their standards.”

“And what standards are those?”

“Standards that you are likely to exceed Ms. Min-Sinclair.” Tevon said as Poppy smirked, placing the design down and turning towards the man.

“Set up a meeting with the owner, we can discuss it over dinner at Le Bernardin.” Tevon nodded, packing up his folders and leaving a second later as Poppy picked up her phone, setting a quick calendar reminder before calling out.

“Tevon, please send in the first photographer.” Poppy instructed as Tevon opened the door a second later, holding it for a woman who came in with a timid demeanor. Poppy smiled, standing to shake the woman’s hand before gesturing for her to sit.

Almost an hour later, every interview was complete with Poppy hiring a new photographer to her crew. She shook the woman’s hand before leading her outside and waving goodbye like a good CEO does. Tevon appeared at the door a second later, handing Poppy a Chanel shopping bag and a Tiffany Box.

“Mr. Martina said he could meet tonight at Le Bernardin. I’ve arranged the reservation and picked up a new outfit for you to wear.” He said as Poppy thanked the boy, slipping back into her office and changing into the newly acquired outfit. A slim fitting dark red dress that fit perfectly with a stunning gold chain necklace. Poppy fixed her makeup in the bathroom attached to her office, curling her hair just a little, before grabbing a black handbag and walking back outside.

“Stunning Ms. Min-Sinclair.” Tevon said as Poppy smiled, pressing the buttons on her elevator as Tevon followed.

“What can you tell me about Mr. Martina?” “Poppy asked as Tevon followed her throughout the halls of the buildings.

“He’s old money and likes young women. His current wife, Janet Baker, recently gave birth to his sixth child who he loves to talk about. He’s been in possession of the building for the last seven years and has been looking to sell it to anyone interested. It’s a hefty project so if you show enough interest…”

“The building is mine.” Poppy smiled as she walked out into the streets of New York where Scott waited with a simple nod.

“I have no doubt you’ll succeed Ms. Min-Sinclair. Should I look into architects within the area to begin the bidding process?” Tevon asked as Poppy took a moment to consider it before nodding.

“Of course, but take the night off and start tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.” Tevon waved goodbye as Scott shut the door, moving to the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The drive to Le Bernardin wasn't unbearably long as Scott pulled to a stop in front of the large and exclusive New York restaurant. Poppy stepped out of the car, thanked Scott and walked into the building as the host met her at the door.

“Ms. Min-Sinclair, your table is right over here.” He led her through the elevators, towards a table with a gorgeous view and a middle aged man sitting in a chair.

“Ms. Min-Sinclair, a pleasure to meet you.” The man smiled, standing from his seat and shaking Poppy’s hand with a firm grasp. “I’m Martin Martina.” Poppy returned the smile as Martin pulled out her chair for her to sit.

“I must say, that is a stunning dress. As expected of such a successful business woman.”

“You’re too kind Martin. Tell me, were you waiting long?” Martin shook his head, threading his hands together like a man ready to talk money. Lucky for him, Poppy was excellent at talking money.

“Not long at all. I love this restaurant. The langoustine is fantastic. I never fail to compliment the chef.”

Poppy smiled, setting down her purse as a waiter came around to their table, speaking delicately to the two.

“Good evening, I will be your waiter for this evening. May I start you with a glass of wine or perhaps an appetizer?” Martin picked up his menu, ordering a few dishes and some for Poppy as well.

Normally, she would have spoken up, but something told her that Martin was typically the type to feel like treating a lady in hopes of something in return and Poppy certainly wanted something from the man.

“A bottle of your best wine. You’ll love it.” Martin told Poppy who smiled kindly but felt more like jabbing the man in the eyes. The waiter took their menus before walking away as Martin cleared his throat.

“Now I know you’re here to talk business, but it’s so rare to ever have a private meeting with the Poppy Min-Sinclair.” Martin said as Poppy laughed, the sound just sweet enough to make him smile.

“I’m an open book Martin.” She said as he let out his own hearty chuckle.

“Open book? Everyone is dying to know everything about you, but you’re a proclaimed open-book? I like you already.” He said as the waiter came back, displaying an expensive wine bottle as he poured two glasses for them.

Martin held his up, cheering towards Poppy who did the same. The wine went down smoothly as she set it on the table and looked at him.

“But in honesty, I’m here to discuss your building, the one on 96th street.” Poppy smiled as Martin waved his hand playfully.

“That old place? Please, let’s at least make it through the first course before we discuss business.” Poppy relented with a sigh. If she wanted anything from the man, she would have to abide by his rules for the night.

“I heard your wife gave birth to your sixth child? How is he?” Poppy asked, very uninterested in the topic but Martin’s eyes lit up.

“He’s beautiful! Takes after me in every way, even as a baby. Do you ever think of children, Ms. Min-Sinclair?” Poppy’s smile almost cracked as she shook her head.

“Not usually, but please, tell me more. How’s your twin daughters?” That lasted the rest of the night’s conversation and through the first and second courses.

“He’s a bright boy, but I worry he’s too much like his mother sometimes. The bitch she was…” Martin said as he poured himself his fourth glass while Poppy was still swirling her first.

“Fascinating, tell me Martin, how much are you pricing the building on 96th?” Martin scratched his receding hairline as he picked up his fork to continue eating.

“About 900 million, but that place needs so much indoor reconstruction, I’d settle for around 860.” Bingo.

“Would you be willing to discuss it further over the next few days with me?” Poppy asked as she waved the waiter down, asking for the check as Martin smiled.

“Of course Ms. Min-Sinclair. I’d love to discuss it more, perhaps over dinner once again?”

Poppy smiled slyly as she handed her card to the waiter and pushed her chair away from the table. “I handle most business deals in my office, but I’ll have my assistant contact you soon.” She waved goodbye to Martin as the waiter handed her back her card. The host escorted her outside just as Scott pulled up towards the restaurant and Poppy stepped inside. She placed her purse back down and fought the smile on her lips.

That building was definitely hers and a delicious dinner never hurt. “Home please.” Poppy instructed Scott as he pulled away from the restaurant and towards Poppy’s apartment complex.

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

“Wait, Poppy started a fashion company?” Zoey asked through the speaker as Bea carefully kneaded her pizza dough into a circle.

“Yea, crazy right?” Bea said as she grabbed a container of sauce from her fridge. “And get this? There’s news around town that she’s buying a building on 96th street and Kath’s bidding for the job.”

“Meaning you’ll be working on the team?” Bea bit her lip, smiling wide even though Zoey couldn’t see through the phone. Through the thumping in the background, Zoey was most likely taking a break from her DJing duties and probably found a spare VIP room to hide out in.

“No, Kath's giving me the lead. It’d be my first big project.” Bea said as Zoey erupted into high pitched squeals.

“What?! Bea, that’s amazing!!” Bea smiled as she spread pizza sauce on her dough.

“I know! I know, but the problem is, if Poppy really does buy the building, it might hurt Rensler’s chances of scoring the job if I’m the lead.”

Zoey went quiet before whistling under her breath. “I hadn’t thought of that. What are you going to do?”

“I have no clue. Probably just hope it’s not her or hope she doesn’t remember me.” Bea said as Zoey laughed through the line.

“Poppy remembers everyone who crosses her path, especially the people she hated.” Bea swallowed hard at Zoey’s words. Hate was…such a wrong word to use in this situation.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see. Rumor has it the bid is happening in a couple of days and if it is Poppy, I’ll be seeing her again at the upcoming Sterling party.”

“You’re going to the Sterling party? You really have grown.” Zoey commented as Bea rolled her eyes playfully as she sprinkled cheese all over the mini pizza.

“So, are you…ready to see Poppy again? If you do?” Bea took a minute to pause, hands resting against the counter as she thought back to how she felt even hearing Poppy’s name again.

Could she really face Poppy Min-Sinclair after all this time? After…giving everything to the woman only for Bea to be rejected with a snap of her fingers?”

“It’ll be professional.” Bea finally said as she slid her pie into the oven set at a high heat. “Trust me Zo, I remember everything too.” No matter how much she wanted to forget, but she didn’t add that part as Zoey’s voice came back through the line.

“Yea, but…I just want to make sure you’ll be okay if she can’t keep things professional.”

Bea laughed for a second, only to clear her throat and lean against the counter. “Then I’ll remain professional. Poppy and I… are a thing of the past.” Bea stated as Zoey went quiet, before a loud bass hit the phone as the girl mumbled.

“Shoot, they’re calling for me. I’ll call back when my set is finished.” Zoey said quickly, before hanging up and leaving Bea alone in the silence. Bea clicked off her phone, sliding it around the counter as she leaned against her palm.

A thing of the past was a short way to describe her relationship with Poppy. In honesty, it was a tornado with too many twists throughout the whole two years they had known each other.

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

“Mom, I got it.” Bea said as she swung her backpack over her shoulder, walking down the sidewalks of her new school, Belvoire University.

“I’ll call you every weekend and no, I’m not going to be one of those rambunctious college students.” Her mother spoke through the phone as Bea licked her lips.

“That was one time so it doesn’t count.” Her mother continued speaking through the phone as Bea walked further down the sidewalks, glancing at the looming buildings of Belvoire. She had already done a mini tour, noting all of the important buildings and the less important ones, but she was a little stumped on where the dorms were.

“Yes, ma. Okay, yes. I love you too.” Bea rolled her eyes playfully as her mother finally hung up as Bea pocketed her phone. She took a deep breath, stopping in her tracks as she looked across the grounds of Belvoire. There was a large horse statue, a larger pond in the middle, and a classic white fountain.

She would like it here, especially considering how great the programs were for most majors.

Walking towards the large picnic tables on the ground, Bea stopped, hearing a loud screech that sounded like it had come from a banshee of some sort.

“What the hell Tanya?! I asked for a decaf white mocha!” A platinum blonde screamed at a cowering brunette who held a couple of coffees.

“I-I only make runs for Poppy. I don’t answer to-to you and it’s Taylor! We have chem together!” She tried to stutter out before the platinum blond held up a perfectly manicured palm, completely ignoring her as she spoke.

“I’m Poppy’s second-in command, meaning you answer to me as well. And I wanted a decaf mocha!” She yelled again, picking up a coffee cup and almost hurling it at the brunette before Bea ran up, grabbing the blonde’s shoulder and turning her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Bea yelled at the woman who only looked up at her with a shocked expression. “You have no right to speak to her like that.” Bea demanded as the blonde tossed the coffee into the grass, the contents spilling out as she glared at Bea.

“How dare you touch me! What the fuck is your problem?!” She yelled at Bea as the brunette cowered away, as if trying to hide behind the thin umbrella stick.

“My fucking problem is you! Who the hell do you think you are?” Bea growled as the blonde actually looked a little spooked before Bea heard the click of heels and the gathering of students. Murmurs from the crowd came as Bea stared down at the platinum blonde who looked past Bea and at the figure standing behind.

“Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about who she is, but you should worry about who I am.” A sharp voice came from behind the two as Bea spun on her sneakers, locking eyes with another blonde with much more attractive features than the other one. Sharp eyes with the perfect touch of eyeliner, rosy colored lips, and long waves of golden blonde hair. Bea sharply inhaled, smelling a rose perfume that could only be coming from the pristine blonde in front of her.

“Now who the hell are you?” Bea subconsciously said aloud as the girl in front of her raised a brow. She glanced at Bea’s attire, slowly and critically.

“I’m about to become your first and last memory at Belvoire University.” She said, voice lowering as she looked at Bea with sharp dark brown eyes.

One of the hecklers in the crowd yelled out as other gatherers pulled out their phones. “Ask her what English sounds like in SweetCreek, Poppy!” He yelled as the crowd laughed.

‘Poppy’ apparently, turned on the boy, shooting him a glare before he piped down. “I don’t play the T’s games, Michael. The T plays for me, besides…” She turned once more back to Bea, who was momentarily confused at how that boy knew where she was from.

“I’d rather ask about her outfit. Tell me, do all the people in SweetCreek dress as if they went dumpster diving at night?” She asked as the crowd oohed and awed at her statement.

Bea glanced at her simple Henley shirt and black jeans, paired with her typical white and black sneakers, she looked back up at Poppy whose face remained neutral.

“Am I supposed to be offended you don’t like my outfit? News flash, not all of us want to look like we just rolled out of a 2003 B-film chick flick.” Bea snapped back as the crowd made small cheers at her clapback. Poppy shot them all another glare before they quieted down, but it didn’t stop the crowd from growing louder and larger as phones now started to record.

She slowly clapped, unfazed as she gave Bea a scrutinized look.

“Please, last I checked, Belvoire had a strict policy on no tattoos, or did your school back in SweetCreek forget to teach you basic reading comprehension.” Bea glanced at her arms, her simple shirt barely covering her forearms and exposing a section of her tattoo.

“They taught it alright and I can read between the lines that you’re an absolute bitch.” Bea snapped as Poppy’s eyes widened before smirking, the look sending goosebumps up Bea’s arms.

“You haven’t seen the bitch come out, but you'll have a front row seat at your funeral.” She retorted as Bea felt her cheeks heat.

“I’ll say this once Newbie and I’ll say it clearly. We’ve had mid-western hopefuls here before, but they were playing on my turf. You see, you’re all cut from the same cloth, thinking you can make it in the world of the elite when in reality, you’re all just babbling sheep.”

“How dare-”

“Hush, little lamb. I’m speaking. I’m going to have fun tearing you down SweetCreek Hughes, because no one, no. one, challenges me and lives to speak about it.”

Bea was at a loss for words. How the hell could one girl be so bitchy?!

She was an absolute menace as Bea took a step forward, clenching her fist as she glared at Poppy before a loud sound came from the crowd and Bea saw a gorgeous girl push through the masses.

“Oh Bea! Hey, you were supposed to be over here like fifteen minutes ago!” The woman said, grabbing ahold of Bea’s forearm and dragging her off.

“Hey wait-” Bea yelped before the woman used her momentum to pull Bea into a run as she glanced back behind her, where Poppy stood with a cool expression on her face.

“You can run all you like, little piggy, but this is my school and you just messed with the wrong wolf.” She yelled as Bea was dragged off by this surprisingly strong woman.

The crowd still watched Bea’s retreating form as Bea flipped Poppy the bird as the crowd exploded into laughter before Bea couldn’t see the quad anymore and couldn’t see that absolute she-devil.

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“It is a pleasure to have you here Ms. Min-Sinclair, I am Debbie Shull, the founder of Pulse Model Co.”

Poppy shook the woman’s hand, smiling as she led Poppy and Tevon near the back where a row of models stood, standing professionally as they watched Poppy enter.

“My girls are all trained in many aspects, the best aspects to become professional models. Here at Pulse, we strive to bring classic and elegance to the same table.” She said happily as she gestured at the women who waved hello to Poppy.

Poppy nodded, taking a seat near the stage where a small runway was placed. Tevon stood next to her, handing Poppy a sheet of the models names, ages, and heights as she glanced them over.

“I’d like to test if your girls will have the requirements to model for my magazine. May I see them on the walkway?” Poppy asked Debbie who nodded eagerly. Almost too eagerly.

“Of course, Sally, to the stage.” A tall dark skinned model walked up towards the stage, walking elegantly down the runway as she stopped at the edge, posing as if cameras were flashing before walking away.

Poppy watched, making her own mental notes of each of the girls. Each one had the same walk, the same…everything as Poppy began to grow bored at the tenth model who strutted down the walkway.

“Lana.” Debbie called as Poppy finally lifted her head. The woman walking down the stage walked confidently, not stiff or trained like the others as her copper hair fell around her shoulders. She glanced to the sides, catching the pretend eyes of the audience members before glancing at Poppy with a smile. She posed at the edge, elegant and fierce, before walking away, just as stunning as her entrance.

Even Tevon looked a little taken aback at the girl’s beauty as Poppy signaled for Debbie to draw closer. Poppy crossed her legs elegantly, looking at the woman.

“I’d like to interview each of your models, if possible.” Poppy asked as Debbie nodded, arranging for the models to move out as Poppy was soon only left with one.

“Lana Bennet?” Poppy asked as the girl approached. She was much taller than Poppy, but one of the shorter models compared to the others, a mere 5’7.

“Yes, I just want to say that I am a huge fan of your company, Ms. Min-Sinclair. Your story is just…inspirational.” She said, smiling wide as Poppy looked into the girl’s green eyes.

“That’s kind of you to say Lana, please, call me Poppy.” Tevon coughed loudly before Poppy shot him a subtle glare. The boy quieted down, biting his cheek as Poppy turned back to the model.

“Tell me, what got you interested in modeling as a profession?”

“Well, I’m a transfer student from London, but I love fashion. It’s actually my major right now and I love how it feels to walk on the runway. As if the whole world disappears and it's only you and a few flashes of light.”

Poppy nodded, staring at Lana’s portfolio of pictures. There was no denying, she was absolutely stunning and definitely one of the top models at Pulse along with a handful of others. The rest though…

“It says you have a contract with Pulse?” Poppy asked as Lana nodded.

“Yes, for about a year and then I can renew it. Am- Am I able to tell you all this?” She asked in a light accent as Tevon shrugged while Poppy rolled her eyes.

“Of course you are, I’m interested in the company, specifically, you.” Poppy stood, standing next to the woman who slightly towered over her.

“I’ll be in touch, Ms. Bennet.” Poppy said, shaking the woman’s hand as Lana smiled wide.

“Of course, it was wonderful to meet you Ms. Min- er- Poppy.” Poppy simply smiled, before gesturing for Tevon to follow and opening the doors of the studio, revealing Debbie standing amongst her models.

“Would you like another interviewee Ms. Min-Sinclair?” Debbie asked as Poppy shook her head. Tevon moved forward, handing Debbie a large document filled with legal papers.

“I’m interested in a contract with a few of your models, Debbie. My people will contact yours.” With that, Poppy waved goodbye to the women, leaving with Tevon as the two headed back to Poppy’s office.

A few days later, the contracts were finalized as Poppy looked them over carefully with Demi, her company lawyer. Poppy sat in her leather chair, spinning on the wheels as she read the contract, noting any fine print or clauses.

“Debbie agreed to let Lana, Sally, and Jo model for the next couple of issues. Royalties will be split 30/70 to the models and then to Pulse, respectively.” Poppy nodded as Demi overlooked a few more of the documents.

“See if you can find any loopholes within the Pulse contracts for contract termination.” Poppy instructed as Demi nodded, before walking out of Poppy’s office and out into the hall. Just as Poppy reached to turn her monitor back on, Tevon rushed in, holding more folders and a large dry cleaning bag.

“The contract for the building on 96th street has been approved. Congratulations Ms. Min-Sinclair, you’re now the proud owner of one of the tallest buildings in New York.” Tevon said as he sat the contracts in front of Poppy.

“Perfect, have you-”

“News has already gotten out that you’re the new owner of the building and bidding has started, but I’ve done my research and the best architect firm in the state is Rensler Co.”

He placed his iPad in front of Poppy who read the headline. “CEO Kath Rensler builds the empires of New York.” She spoke aloud as Tevon nodded.

“I also heard that she would be attending the Sterling party.”

“The Sterling party? But that’s-”

“Tonight.” He finished, placing the large dry cleaner bag on Poppy’s desk. “I assumed you forgot, so I prepared something for you.”

Poppy sighed in relief, looking at the iPad in front of her and then the large dry cleaner bag on her desk.

“You are a lifesaver Tevon.” She smiled at the man as he left Poppy’s office. Taking the spare bag, Poppy went to the bathroom, unzipping the outfit and looking it over.

The Sterling party wasn’t the type of party where one would wear ball gowns or puffy skirts, but the most stylish ensemble one could think of. Poppy had seen her fair share of dresses that people wore to the Sterling party, and she recognized the design of this specific dress. A Hazel Nguyen original.

A long magenta/ white dress with a thin flower pattern surrounding the chest area that trailed down to the tail of the dress that was cut right at the ankle. There was a thin slit cut into the dress to expose Poppy’s thigh and was paired with a gorgeous amethyst necklace.

Slipping carefully into the dress, Poppy touched up her makeup, bolding her eyeliner and reapplying her lipstick before she did her hair, styling it to her liking before pulling away, looking herself over in the mirror.

Absolutely perfect.

Grabbing a white handbag from one of the overhanging racks in the small closet attached to the bathroom, Poppy slipped on a pair of ivory stilettos, just as her phone buzzed and Tevon entered the room.

“Gorgeous, I’ll tell Mrs. Nguyen it was to your liking.” He smiled as Poppy nodded, taking Tevon’s offered hand as he walked her into the elevator. “Enjoy your evening Ms. Min-Sinclair.”

“You as well Tevon.” The doors closed as Poppy took a calming breath. There was still so much to do, things she could complete without going to the Sterling Party held in one of the tallest buildings in New York, but her father and mother expected her, which meant Poppy had to show.

She could only hope the night was uneventful.

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세계의 끝까지

#poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #MyBeaHughes #queen b choices #queen b 3

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skrltwtch · 3 years

Text

Scent

Prompt: a & b have been friends since they were children — but they’ve gone their separate ways during college. during that time apart, muse a and b were attacked by a vampire and werewolf respectively, undergoing a transformation they never expected. they kept it a secret from each other, hoping that this doesn’t change their friendship — until they meet up over summer and … holy fucking shit why do you SMELL like that? (Source in master list)

Word count: 5,123 words

Genre: Romance, supernatural

Warnings: Blood

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Impatience composed the rhythm my fingers were drumming on the table. Late. As always. The optimist in me would say it was comforting to know that some things remained the same after all these years. The pessimist in me, the unspoken captain of this ship, wondered why it had to be this gross habit that weathered the winds of change. He suggested this time and place. He had been insistent on meeting in the evening. I didn’t mind either way. I simply figured that being fussy about what time to meet meant that he’d put some effort into being on time.

Because the bar had a flood of new patrons and a dearth of ones contented enough to leave, I went inside and got a table for us first. I didn’t want to have to think of a new place for us to go if the place was packed by the time he got here — whenever that’d be. Time check: fifteen minutes and counting. He was such a lovely friend, and may God never fail to bless every brown hair on his head for every second of his life, but this was infuriating. Not even a text to tell me where he was and what was holding him up. Morgan, please!

His arrival melted away all the indignation I was feeling — and made every hair on the back of my neck stand.

No, that was the pins and needles from sitting cross-legged for too long.

‘Ellie?’ Confusion squinched his eyes. I expected this. The last time he saw me was in college, i.e., some twenty kilograms ago. I wouldn’t have pitched a fit if he’d thought the pictures I used were the result of Photoshop, Facetune, and/or angles. In contrast, he looked exactly as he did when the pictures he used were taken — in college, albeit maybe with a little less baby fat in his face than I’d remembered. Damn. Well, how much could a person change in three years? It wasn’t like he ever needed to lose an ounce of weight, too, let alone twenty kilograms.

When I confirmed I was the same Ellie he’d had the privilege of knowing since childhood, he enveloped me in a hug. I did what had been conditioned into me by the ‘dog’ that I told people was responsible for the scar on my arm the time I went jogging at night because I thought the full moon was bright enough to keep me safe. People were more keen on lecturing me for daring to have that train of thought as a woman in London than questioning what kind of dog it was exactly that could leave a scar like the kind I had, perfectly vindicating my choice of cover for what really happened.

His scent was like a bat to my face. I’d never smelled anyone like this before. People smelled like their diets, their emotions, their likes and dislikes, their best and worst memories: all that made them, them. The scents I’d have associated with him would’ve been the crisp brininess of sea air and the comforting sweetness of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. Instead, he smelled like blood, yet it didn’t smell like it belonged to him — or in him. I was also discerning a discomforting whiff of inhumanity, like something in him had been switched off. On top of that, he was clammy to the touch, and, most damningly of all, perhaps — no, no ‘perhaps’, as I pressed my ear to his chest, I couldn’t hear a heartbeat.

I put on my best poker face and released myself from his embrace. ‘You’re late.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He sheepishly ran his hand through his hair. ‘God, it is so good to see you. It’s been so long. And look at you! I couldn’t recognise you. (Is it gauche to say that was why I was late?) I only knew — I only had a feeling it was you because —’

‘Because …?’

He clicked his tongue. ‘That’s not important. Listen, I don’t know what I was thinking, asking to meet in a crowded bar … Do you want to go somewhere quieter? So we can talk better without having to shout?’

I downed the last of my drink, which I’d been forced to get earlier than I wanted so the staff wouldn’t kick me out for taking up a table in one of the more desirable corners of their establishment. I agreed with Morgan on the condition that he thought of where to go next. I hated crowds to begin with, and now that I was hypersensitive to all that the five senses encompassed, crowds were, to put it simply, a fucking nightmare. I should’ve put a kibosh on his suggestion to meet at a bar when he made it. I’d be comparing apples and oranges here, but not liking crowds was normal, whereas smelling and feeling like a dead person wasn’t.

We went for ice cream. The first thing he asked me was how I lost the weight. Had we not met on an app meant for matchmaking, his first question would likely have been something else entirely, something to do with what it was that had us seeing each other for the first time since college. I told him what I did to get in shape, which was to watch what I ate and move farther and for longer than the trips I made from my room to the kitchen or bathroom, or from my desk to the pantry or washroom, throughout the day. What I left out was how I’d been maintaining despite having ordered something as indulgent as three heaping scoops of gelato with chocolate brownie pieces and hot fudge sauce: catch something from an animal bite that counted an enhanced metabolism needed to sustain monthly bodily trauma among one of its many symptoms. It really was easy as that.

We opted for takeout and a walk around Hyde Park to pad out our evening. The open space did nothing to defuse his strange scent. It was all I could focus on, and I needed all the brain cells I could get to the office on such short notice focus on our conversation. We’d gotten the answers to simple questions about our lives over text prior to tonight: what we did after college, what we were doing now, how our families were doing, so on and so forth. You know, small talk bullshit. I hadn’t doubted that we’d broach the subject of our break from each other at some point during our reconnection. The elephant had made itself comfortable in the room the instant I received the notification he’d swiped right on me. The thing was, the elephant couldn’t stop another one of its ilk from invading its space, and now they were both arguing over which one of them deserved our attention better.

The almost pristine three-layered sundae drenched in strawberry sauce in Morgan’s hand provided the perfect icebreaker for me to possibly appease either elephant. ‘Are you okay, Morgan?’ I said. ‘You’ve barely touched your ice cream.’ Conversely, I was halfway through mine, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I had hot fudge sauce smeared across my lips.

It wasn’t only his restraint from inhaling his ice cream, the single course of action the Morgan I knew, the one who wouldn’t be smelling like a mortuary, would’ve carried out ages ago. He had been looking out of sorts the entire evening. Even softballs were answered with skittishness and reserve. Really, why’d he agree to meet if he wasn’t entirely over what happened all those years ago? If that was what this was about, that is. Did seeing me in person make him realise that it wasn’t the best of ideas to attempt to rekindle a friendship that’d turned awkward from differing expectations? It didn’t bother me in any way, but that was easy for me to say, considering the role I played in all this.

‘I’m fine.’ He gulped down a giant spoonful of ice cream without flinching. He and I understood the concept of ‘fine’ very differently. ‘Ellie … we’re friends, right?’

He’d wanted to be more than at one point.

‘Yeah,’ I said as deadpan as I could to prevent him from reading too much into my answer. I mean, I would if I were him.

‘We can tell each other anything.’

We sure did.

‘Promise me you won’t take this the wrong way,’ he continued.

I stared at him blankly. Caveats never came before anything good.

‘… Why do you smell like that?’

Wow, what the fuck. I should be the one asking that question, not him!

‘Like what?’ Still as deadpan as humanly possible. Disregard the fact that I hadn’t been human in a while.

‘Like … fuck, I can’t. This was a bad idea.’

‘No, tell me. Like what?’

‘Like the forest. Moss. Tree bark. Leaves. Dirt. And a little bit of raw meat.’ There were no pauses between his words, though the sounds were disparate enough to identify them as actual words. ‘No, a lot of raw meat. No, forget I said anything. Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight.’

‘Just what has gotten into you, period? Why do you smell like spoilt wine — like blood?’ I wanted to ask as well why he didn’t seem to have a heartbeat. I remembered in time that a stethoscope was required to detect that sort of thing, and I had no business owning one. I wouldn’t even know where to get one, short of robbing the doctor the next time I had to go in for a check-up.

‘Something happened to us, didn’t it? Other than the obvious.’

‘I think so. Say it together on the count of three?’ I needed the countdown to convince myself that whatever had made him like this hadn’t made him cruel. He hadn’t said or done anything that’d wound me. No, what was I thinking? This was Morgan I was talking about. What sacrilege to think he could hurt a living being. I should apologise to him for this.

He agreed to my proposition.

I started the countdown: ‘One — two — three —’

‘I’m a vampire.’

‘I’m a werewolf.’

Together: ‘What?’

‘Are you messing with me?’ he said.

‘Are you messing with me?’

‘Have I ever?’

He had a point. I really needed to apologise to him. ‘How did it happen?’ Why play dumb? I turned into a hulking wolf-woman hybrid once a month. There were obviously others like me. It stood to reason that vampires would exist as well.

‘I … met someone after college. She and I had … stuff in common. I thought she was kidding when she asked if she could feed on me the first time. I let her anyway, and so much about her made sense immediately. I asked her to turn me eventually. Being vampires together was fun at first … and then it wasn’t. I don’t regret it, though. Okay, I do regret not being able to really enjoy food anymore.’ He cast a wistful stare in the direction of his sundae. It was a milkshake by now. ‘You?’

‘I was bitten while I was hiking at night. It was an accident. He’ — I paid no attention to the wince he made — ‘realised what he did and brought me to safety. He revealed himself to me the next day. He taught me everything about being a werewolf. Of course, one thing led to another, and …’

‘He was your ex,’ he said stiffly. For the first time tonight, I smelled something other than blood on him: bitterness.

‘Yes, the one I told you about on Tinder.’ Because he asked. His responses in that part of the conversation, as brief as it was, had borne little to no emotion. Jude and I ended things on a good note. I made that clear to Morgan. There was nothing for him — as a friend — to have strong feelings about. ‘Please, Morgan.’ Us coming across each other and reconnecting on a dating app meant — was supposed to mean — nothing.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m sorry for what happened in college. I’m over it, I promise. The time and distance apart helped. I don’t want us to not be friends anymore because of this — because of what I did. I’m happy we got to meet again after so long … and after everything that happened.’

‘It’s okay, Morgan. I wasn’t — I’m not — upset about what happened.’ I wasn’t really anything about it. Okay, I might have been surprised that the roles had been as they were: Morgan glowed up toward the end of secondary school, a development that didn’t go unnoticed by most of the female population wherever he went, whereas I was pudgy, socially awkward, and not the right amount of weird for it to be seen as quirky, and would therefore be likely to latch on to my sole source of male attention. (I was now two out of three of those things.) ‘Things happen. We don’t get to control this kind of thing. I’m happy, too, that you’re back. I missed you. I’m happy you got to work things out and want to continue being friends. Let’s just put this behind us and move on, okay?’

I hugged him. Relief and cheer emanated from him, alleviating the musty scent that made sense to belong to a vampire.

‘I missed you, too. On the bright side, it made the vampire–werewolf confession easier to stomach, didn’t it?’ His grin revealed pointed canines.

I chuckled. We could compare our fangs sometime. ‘What do you do for food?’

He guzzled the entirety of his sundae-milkshake in one drag. I envied the apparent departure of the concept of brain freeze from him. I should learn more about vampire lore from him and see what Hollywood had gotten right and wrong. (It was mostly the latter for werewolves: we were underrepresented and misrepresented. I just could never get a fair shake on the big screen.) ‘You’d be surprised by how well vampires have modernised and worked the Internet to their advantage. Blood bag delivery services, forums and apps for vampires and … vampire enthusiasts to connect. How about you? What do you do on full moons?’

‘I drive out to the woods whenever I transform — whenever I want to. That’s a thing.’ Jude and I spent a lot of our nights together as wolves. I did miss that sometimes. Jude never prepared me for how lonely being a werewolf could be until it was too late. ‘I hunt. I play. I explore. I haven’t killed anyone to the best of my knowledge.’

‘I want to make a “good girl” joke, but you can literally tear me from limb to limb.’ I nodded with a slight air of pride. ‘This is so fascinating. Vampires are pretty straightforward. What you see in movies and on TV is what you get — mostly.’ Ah, hell. ‘Hey, can I tag along whenever you transform? So I can learn how to hunt animals. Blood bags are actually kind of shitty, and I’m trying to keep biting people to a minimum. I — um — I don’t want to accidentally go too far and turn or kill someone.’

I was deeply relieved that he was still the same caring, thoughtful person I knew in spite of the faint unfeelingness I sniffed earlier. I wouldn’t think twice if it were another vampire: maybe that was what was needed for them to survive. I mean … who was I to judge? I gave in to feral thoughts occasionally. Given a choice, the only thing I’d choose to hunt was the perfect red velvet cake. But this was Morgan, the same person I needed to apologise to for thinking he’d say something mean to make me feel bad on purpose.

‘Of course, I’d love to show you the ropes! Just don’t judge my wolf form, okay?’ I said.

‘Shut up. I’m sure you look great. Would you prefer being called cute or ferocious?’

‘Both, please.’

‘I figured. Can you believe I was afraid to tell you about this? I didn’t know how you’d react, especially after …’

‘Same.’ The club that knew what I was, was a highly exclusive one, consisting of only two members at the moment and for the foreseeable future. I didn’t dare tell anyone else. Just how would this come up in a normal conversation? ‘I know we can tell each other anything.’ We did. We were in a world where asking a friend to be more than friends was less cause for concern for one’s mental health after all. ‘And nothing’s come between us. Not even —’

He nodded emphatically.

We found a place to sit in the park and continued talking, sharing stories about our new lives and recounting those from our old ones. Time became inconsequential, as did the fact that it had done so on a weeknight. We left only because the park was closing soon and I got hungry, because enhanced metabolism. A Lebanese takeaway near the park was my saviour. Our conversation persisted into the wee hours of the morning and a long way away from where we’d started. As he turned down my request to have breakfast together before heading home almost at the crack of dawn as we were wont to do in our early college days (and he did so patiently, which was more than what I deserved for being a forgetful idiot), it hit me for a moment that being friends with a vampire might pose a challenge to scheduling, as if his chronic lateness wasn’t already a thing. Then I realised it didn’t matter. I was simply happy to have him back in my life, and while anything about us could change at any time, one thing was for certain: our friendship would be everlasting.

✦✧✦✧

It happened again.

I fell in love with her again.

As soon as I felt the same tingle in my stomach that gave rise to our long separation in college, I knew I had to call our friendship off for good. This couldn’t keep happening. She needed a friend she could count on to be there for her because he wanted to out of cordiality, not one whose intentions she’d constantly be second-guessing. She had to know something was up. She had to have sensed my feelings for her. What could that nose of hers not detect? No, we agreed not to read each other’s emotions using our sense of smell. We weren’t at that level of intimacy with each other, as much as I desperately wanted us to be.

And hell, did I ever want it so terribly. Being what I was, everything I felt was intensified. I didn’t know what I might do to her if I continued to be around her while she didn’t reciprocate my feelings, and I didn’t want to find out. I was prepared to spend all of eternity without her. There’d come a time anyway when she wouldn’t be in my life anymore. Werewolves weren’t immortal. I’d have to watch her grow old — at a slower rate than humans, sure. So that’d buy us at least a decade or two. So what? I’d still have to watch her die. The sooner I ended things, the better it’d be for the both of us. She could get a head start on the life she deserved, one free of a perpetually lovesick wanker.

I’d do it tonight — under the stars at the beach, the breeze appreciable but not disruptive, the waves lapping the shore with calm strokes, the waxing gibbous moon bathing us in a warm, tranquil glow. It was fucking perfect … for what I wished this was instead of what this was supposed to be. It didn’t have to be tonight. Did I want to ruin this lovely picnic she’d so eagerly planned and looked forward to? It had to be tonight. The longer I spent in her company, the more I feared I’d do something that’d push us beyond the brink of repair.

Desire and disquietude were making it difficult to focus on her words. She was talking about … her latest project at work or the 22nd and 23rd cats her sister had just adopted … or something. Her lips were mesmerising to watch. They must feel just as nice to kiss. Jude was bloody lucky to be the only person to know for sure. Fuck. Fuck, Morgan. You’d fucking lost the plot. This shit was exactly why you needed to get away from her. Fucking knob. Fucking loser who thought ‘once bitten, twice shy’ didn’t apply to him. She’d think you were a fucking obsessive creep, and she’d be right.

‘— I can’t stand to visit her. I don’t need to be a werewolf to think that the smell of twenty-something cats in an okay-sized flat is horrendous. And no one would dare call her out on it. You know what she’s like. It’s how she has twenty-something cats to begin with. She wasn’t even a cat person before. Anyway’ — Ellie held up her hands, the movement stealing my attention from her lips, ‘low contact, as it is with the rest of them.’ She popped a pie bar in her mouth. ‘And I just spent the last five minutes ranting about my sister and her lack of self-control. Totally the best thing to do at a time like this, right?’

I could listen to her spout off about the most mundane thing possible all night and find it all so riveting.

I sipped my drink — badger blood to bring out the sweetness of the fruit-heavy dishes and complement the fowl-based sandwiches she packed. I never would’ve thought of pairing the blood of different animals with human food to make the latter more palatable. She revived in me the thrill of being a vampire after two years of languishing under the spell of ennui and regret for an existence spanning all of eternity cast on me by the desolation of my split from Lorelai. And I was likely going to go down that rabbit hole again after tonight. It was for a good cause. I’d rather be miserable than be the source of her headache.

‘Morgan? You’re — um —’ She made a circular motion at my upper body, and then heaved her shoulders in an amused shrug. ‘I wish you all the best in getting all that out.’

I looked over what she’d gestured at. ‘Fuck it. I’d been meaning to toss this shirt anyway.’

I soaked up what I could with a napkin — or five — and took off my shirt before I’d retch from the smell. I practised controlled feeding for a reason. Now I was shirtless and a little bloodied, just in time for one of the most important conversations in my very long, soon to be very lonely, life to take place. Terrific.

‘Ellie, I — I have something to tell you.’

‘I fucked up the dip, didn’t I?’

‘No, it’s not that — it’s delicious.’ For something that didn’t come from a vein, at least. ‘Ellie … I love you.’ Again. Because I was a stupid fuck.

Her lips formed an O. Stop fucking looking at her lips!

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought I’d gotten over it the first time.’ It sucked that there was now a ‘first time’. ‘I just get this feeling when I’m around you. I feel safe, happy — I feel like I’m alive again. I don’t have to hide anything about myself. I can be me, yet you make me want to be the best I can be for you. But I can’t keep doing this to you and myself. I don’t want to settle on being friends this time. I know that part of me won’t let me either. And I don’t know what that part of me would do if I continue to be in your life like this.’

‘Morgan —’

‘I shouldn’t have come back. I’ve enjoyed the past year tremendously. But I think — I know I have to leave now while things are still … good between us. It’d be for the best. I don’t want to fuck up what we had since we were kids. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. I truly am.’

She simply stared at me. She must be thinking why the fuck she’d been saddled with a right prat for a friend. Where did things go wrong? Did I knock back too many whiskey shots on my 18th birthday? I vaguely remembered her asking me to stop after my eleventh. Why wasn’t she still saying anything? Did I break her?

‘No, Morgan’ was what she said at last — and the only thing she said for the longest time.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t leave.’ Her hand hovered over mine. Uncertainty swam about in her eyes. Her dilemma was plain to see. I took her hand and locked our fingers together. This was the only time I could get away with being this forward. I wanted to savour her warmth as well for as long as I could; I’d miss it so much.

‘I have to. It’s not safe for you to be around me.’

‘But … I want to be with you. Not as friends. Morgan … I’ve fallen in love with you, too.’

‘What are you saying? No, don’t — that’s not —’ Had I put her under some kind of glamour without realising it? Was she humouring me? Every fibre of my being yearned for what I heard to be true. Nothing I’d seen in all the time we spent together suggested the possibility. Nothing we did together seemed out of the ordinary.

‘I’m — I mean it. I should be the one apologising, I think. I’ve felt this way for the last couple of months. I look forward to being with you all the time. I love receiving your texts throughout the night and waking up to them in the morning. Nothing feels like it’s happened until I tell you about it. I get these butterflies in my stomach every time you smile at me and touch me. You remember these small details about us from so long ago. I think the moment I knew was when I was having a tough time transforming for whatever reason and you were just … there for me, holding me, talking me down. I love you. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you sooner. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how you’d react because of — because of what happened in college.’

She sniffled. Seeing that I was the reason for her tears stung my heart. I wiped them away for her. ‘I love you. I always will,’ I said.

Then our lips met. I’d waited so long for this, and it was both everything I dreamt of and like nothing I could’ve ever imagined. Her lips were so warm, so soft, so sweet. I tasted the tartness of cherries and apples, the smokiness of turkey, the acidic sharpness of vinaigrette, on her mouth, notes I thought lost to me forever. An indistinct thumping sounded deep inside my chest. Her fingers slid into my hair, making waves of it. I pulled her closer to me, my hands gripping her waist, in the hope that the rush of her skin against mine would allay my doubts that this was all just a dream. But how could it be a dream when everything seemed to finally make sense? While Lorelai had promised a life anew in death, Ellie was the promise of a life renewed and delivered from death.

I didn’t want this moment to end. It had to, as my body was beginning to respond to the call of her blood.

She pulled away. No, I wanted to cry out. She must’ve sensed my thirst.

‘It’s okay if you want to,’ she said. ‘I’m not afraid.’

She bared her neck for me. My nostrils flared. I could smell her blood — like red hot ambrosia. Her heartbeat pounded in my ears, growing louder with every second I dithered. Why was I hesitating? I wanted her. I needed her.

I sank my teeth into her neck. She shuddered; a soft moan fled her lips. Crimson flowed out of the punctures I made. Everything I’d imbibed prior paled in comparison to what I was now partaking of: little explosions of flavour — syrupy, racy, robust — went off in my mouth. I feared nothing else could do it for me after this. I lapped up every drop of ruby as if it were exquisite manna; I made sure none of it went to waste. The blood I ingested was making its way south, making a signal for another kind of craving to be met. Not now. It’d be too soon for us. I had all the time in the world to get to know her better.

Her scent and whines were becoming too hard to ignore. I stopped for fear that I was misinterpreting them out of my own bias. I found myself staring into enlarged amber irises in pools of black. Claws had popped out from under her fingernails. She, too, was sporting fangs. Her chest, lightly shining with sweat, rose and fell sharply. The changes reversed themselves in short order. Red spread across her cheeks in uneven blotches.

‘I’m sorry. I —’ she said.

I cupped my hand around her cheek. ‘You can let go if you want to. You don’t have to be shy around me.’ She’d always been sheepish about her wolf form and the lengths she went to for its emergence around me. The incident she referred to had only been allowed to happen because her panic attack drowned out any embarrassment, any diffidence, she harboured about the process. That was the only time I saw her in that state.

She shook her head. ‘I know. I just — I’d want to experience that — our first time — as myself, and I don’t think I can do that now. I hope that’s okay.’

I wiped my mouth and gave her a light kiss on the lips. ‘Of course. We don’t have to rush into things. We have a lifetime ahead of us’, and I wanted every second to be as special as the last. She smiled in agreement and enfolded me in a tight embrace. It startled me how much she felt just like home in my arms. I could do this with her forever, and for a fleeting moment, as I fingered the now unblemished skin where my teeth had pierced, I wondered if there would ever be the chance of her wanting to share in my idea of forever.

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #vampire #monster love #monster romance #mine

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

One Photo → Mark Lee [2]

↳ Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳ AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳ Word count: 2,610

↳ Chapters: Prelude | 1 | You Are Here! | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TUESDAY - 2

The next day you get up to your alarm, a little groggy and on autopilot. You mumble a greeting to Rhiannon who is already in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. It's not uncommon for you to be undressed in front of her, so she barely reacts for a few moments when you reach into your clean clothes hamper in the living room and begin to change right there.

However, in the midst of putting on your bra, Rhiannon squeals in excitement, nearly making you pee yourself.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim, now convinced that you're fully awake.

“You-your front! Your entire torso! Look!” Rhiannon stands from the little dining table and approaches you, poking your stomach. You nearly let out a scream yourself when you see it.

Your entire torso, from collarbone to hip is completely covered with scar tissue, as well as the underside of your arms and the palms of your hands. “Rhiannon, I-”

“Turn around.” She spoke quickly, and you obey her. She is silent for a little while, which is freaking you out even more than you already were. When she traces an outline over your right shoulder blade, your skin twitches in response. “(Y/N), this is the largest soulmate scar I've ever seen,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I-” You're barely able to stutter out any words. You stand there, half-naked as your best friend examines you.

“Does it hurt?” Rhiannon pokes and prods on the newly formed scar tissue, primarily focusing on your shoulders.

“N-no, not at all.” You purse your lips. You feel like normal if not a bit overwhelmed.

“This has got to be from a hug,” she concludes, nudging you to turn you back around. “There are perfect handprint scars on your back, too. You hugged Mark yesterday, right?”

“He, uh, hugged me three times,” you confirm. “Johnny and Jaehyun hugged me twice.”

“Then it's one of them!” Rhiannon is squealing with delight. “That is so exciting!”

Your face fell a little, finishing putting on your bra and shirt you picked out for the day. “Yeah,” you say softly.

“What's wrong?” Rhiannon is beginning to look concerned, ghosting a hand over your shoulder.

“It's Mark,” you state, “I can feel it, but…”

“But what?”

“If that's true, everything changes. When he leaves, am I going to be able to handle it?” you finish getting dressed and stop to look at your hands. “I… I already know I won't be able to handle the depression and separation anxiety, I won't be able to handle being constantly sick… I was never taught about any of this and I never even thought it would happen to me.”

“(Y/N)...”

“I need to go. I have class.”

You took in a deep breath as you gripped your tablet pen. You had been spending the last month's worth of photoshop labs on drawing a picture of Iron Man for your digital rendering final, and you had been doing well enough until today. Now that your hands had part of your scar, they gripped your pen differently and you were slowly growing more and more frustrated.

It's not that you were angry that you had found your soulmate, and you were definitely happy it was Mark- but everything was happening so quickly. What were you going to say to him? Would his scar ruin his career? Were you ready for any of this? You looked up to your computer screen, seeing your reflection in the black screensaver. Seems like you had been overthinking long enough for the monitor to go to sleep.

You can see the buds of forming tears in your reflection. They were totally uncalled for and you knew it. Finding a soulmate was a happy time. In a world where all of this was completely normalized, you had no idea why you suddenly started feeling like a freak. On your way to class, you had already started to feel eyes on you. Most scars were small, dainty and cute, like a handshake or a poke to the shoulder- not a giant one that covered your entire chest, the inside of your arms and the palms of your hands. Scars larger than an apple were extremely rare, and ones like yours were the rarest of all.

What a wonderful scar, you heard your teacher say when you walked into class that morning. They say that if your scar is big, you're meant to be together for more than one lifetime.

Maybe that was true, and it felt like a big responsibility you weren't ready for. You jumped in your seat when your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Mark: Are you in class?

You: Yeah, but it's almost done

Mark: What is your classroom number? I'd like to pick you up if that's okay

You: Are you sure?

Mark: Yeah! I wanted to spend more time with you today, I feel like it wasn't enough yesterday

You: You're cheesy

You: My classroom is 103A in M building

Mark: You know it

Mark: See you soon

You found yourself smiling at his texts. Talking to him eased some of your anxiety, but it still lingered in the back of your head. You put your phone down and shake your mouse so the screen comes back to life. Iron Man stares back at you, and you almost close the program. Your thoughts were irrational, and the only thing your scars were stopping you from doing was finishing the touch-ups of the last few pixels of this piece.

Your hands will get used to it, you scold yourself, this is a good thing, (Y/N). You're not your parents.

You're snapped out of your thoughts again as your classmates begin to pack up, the quiet rustle of backpacks filling the room. You look back at your piece, over a month's work put into it and all you needed was maybe five minutes more of touch-ups and it would be perfect.

The next time this classroom was going to be used was later tonight for the college's dungeons and dragons party, so you didn't think anyone would mind you staying to finish up.

The five minutes of touch-ups turned into 20 minutes of improving mistakes you've noticed, and 20 minutes of improving mistakes turned into an hour of being completely absorbed in your work. You had been so focused on everything that you barely even perk up when you hear one of the computer chairs rolling closer to you.

“I thought you went home, Moose,” you say casually, sticking your tongue out and swiping a line of light reflection onto a strip of red plating.

“You have a friend named Moose?” The voice replies, and you nearly jump out of your seat, the pen swiping across the tablet and drawing a large white streak across Iron Man's face.

“Mark,” you sigh, placing a hand on your chest and trying to take in a deep breath. “You scared me.”

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Sorry…” he looks at your computer screen. “I didn't mean to ruin your piece.”

You smile gently, hitting ctrl z on your keyboard. The streak disappears, you save the piece and turn off the computer. “It's okay. I'm just lucky I don't have autosave turned on.”

Mark sighed with relief. “You kinda scared me,” he starts, looking you in the eye. “You didn't come out of the classroom for so long that I thought you might have forgotten. I probably would have left if your teacher didn't recognize me and say it was okay for me to come inside.”

Your frown at him and avoid his eye contact, deciding to focus on zipping up your backpack. “I'm sorry,” you say dejectedly. “I was dumb, but I would just be a downright moron if I stood you up on purpose.”

Mark laughed softly, watching you pack up. “What did you want to do today?” he asked, voice softer.

“I don't know,” you say, standing and slinging your backpack over your shoulders. “I would like to drop this off at my dorm, though. It's kinda heavy.”

“Okay,” Mark nods. “We can start with that and go from there.”

While you travelled back to your dorm, nearly all of your anxiety about your scars disappeared. You talked about anything but the scar that was easily noticeable through your summery outfit. The more people looked at you, the more you wonder if Mark was keeping quiet out of courtesy for your aversion to his first question on the subject.

Mark was sweet, complimenting your outfit and keeping up a strong conversation about marvel movies.

“Have you seen Endgame yet?” you asked him once you got back to the subject of Iron Man, and Mark laughed sadly.

“To my disappointment, no,” he answered, letting you board the subway first, pulling up his face mask. “Haven't had the time.” he stood close enough to you on the busy subway car that you could still hear him properly.

“Well, if you want we could see it,” you offer quickly, blushing and looking away as you saw his smile through his eyes.

“Are you asking me out, (Y/N)?” he asks, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“N-no,” you respond, swearing up and down mentally that you were as red as a tomato.

“I would graciously accept, but how about we wait until tomorrow? I want to catch up a little bit, I haven't watched any of the films in a while, I've been so busy preparing for the tour.” Mark smiled when you turned back to look at him again.

“Okay, well, I have all the films at my dorm,” you say, biting your lip.

“Would your roommate be okay if we stayed in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, she would be more than okay,” you tell him, which causes both of you to start laughing. “She will probably faint if she sees you again.”

“I think I've had my lifetime fair share of people fainting in front of me,” he says humorously.

“I wouldn't worry. She is working on her finals today and probably won't be back until after you leave,” you say. “We will have the place to ourselves.”

“Okay, that sounds good. I'm looking forward to catching up. Do you have popcorn?” he asks sheepishly.

“Yeah, we-” the subway comes to an abrupt stop at your station, and you nearly lose your balance. Mark catches you before your face ploughs directly into his chest. He’s holding your arm gently as you exit the subway car, and it is then you truly notice that Mark's scars are clearly visible, from his palms to the edge of his t-shirt, just like you.

When you get back to your dorm room, you place your bag and your shoes in the hallway, leading Mark inside. He pulls down his mask and sighs happily, joining you in removing his shoes and placing them on the shoe rack.

“I remember when my dorm was about this size,” he says wistfully, looking around. You frown a little.

“You mean everyone in NCT used to live in a place like this?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to prepare a pack of popcorn.

“Not exactly, the different subgroups all had their own dorms, but they were all tiny, for more than 3 guys to live in at once.” Mark wanders over to you in the kitchen, leaning back on the counter and crossing his ankles.

“I'm sorry,” you say. “I hope it's different for you now.”

“Yeah,” he replies, watching you put the popcorn in the microwave and press the appropriate numbers. “We all live pretty comfortably now.”

You smile at him. “Good, I'm happy. You deserve to live in a place where you're comfortable.”

Mark is silent for a moment. The microwave finishes and he moves out of your way as you grab a large mixing bowl to put your snack in. He’s watching you diligently, and you feel that too familiar pinch in your chest. It's more intense than you've ever felt from just watching internet content of him on your laptop.

“What film did you want to start with?” you ask, leading him to the living room as you pull a tote bag out from under your coffee table that contains your Marvel movie collection. “We can just watch Infinity War if you want, or we can watch them in story order if you're feeling a little daring.”

“You know the order to watch them chronologically?” he asks, sitting down with the popcorn bowl in his lap.

“Yeah. Rhiannon and I watched them all in order up to the release of Endgame.”

“Wow, I'm impressed,” Mark comments, popping a couple of pieces of the snack into his mouth. “What's the order of the last three films?”

“Let me see… it's Thor Ragnarok, Ant-Man and the Wasp and Infinity War,” you answer. “Wanna watch those?”

“Yeah. Let's do that.”

A few hours later you both are now watching Infinity War, about halfway through the film. A blanket had made its way over your laps and the popcorn bowl has been long empty, sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You can tell Mark is nervous. You're sitting close, your legs nearly touching, and you wonder if you should say something. You hoped you didn't scare him away from saying anything when the topic was brought up the night before. You didn’t want your bitterness to ruin it all.

Once you spare one glance from the movie to look over at him, you notice Mark has already beat you to it. His gaze pierces right through you, and somehow you feel as if Mark is seeing your soul.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, half-smiling at you. “I don't want to repeat yesterday's mistake.”

“It's okay,” You say softly, “you didn't know.”

“But I should have.” He sounds serious and definitely looks the part, too.

You lick your lips as you watch him. There's something that hits you, like a wave of anxiety that is different from your own.

“Mark,” you have to pause to gather your words. “You've known me for two days. Mistakes are bound to happen, and I… I don't actually hate the premise.”

“Would you be okay with, um, talking about it?” The movie is playing in the background, the flashing images reflecting different lights onto Mark's face.

“There is not much to talk about, is there?” you asked, holding up your scarred hand. “It's here, on both of us, and I'm happy. Scared, but happy.”

“You're not upset about it?” he asked, and it was almost like he was bracing for rejection.

You took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “No. You said you wanted to know someone so well that you didn't have to think about it, right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Mark returned the grip, his eyes glancing between your eyes and your hand. “You're right, we don't have to think about it.” Mark smiles softly at you, freeing his hand from yours so he can wrap his arm around your shoulder, guiding you to lean into his side.

It's maybe two hours later when you're stirred ever so slightly by the jiggling of the lock to your front door. You don't open your eyes, trying to ignore the sound and continue to cuddle into the warm body squished against you on the couch.

Soft voices are muffled through your ears, and in your half slumber you can't exactly make any words out. Fatigue eventually grips you once again, returning to the vivid dream you were engrossed in just moments ago.

#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct #nct127 #nctu #nct scenarios #nct imagines #reader insert #fanfiction #kpop fanfictions #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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gukyi · 5 years

Text

for you, anything | ksj

summary: in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem.

{friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, fantasy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol mention, brief and non-graphic descriptions of violence, this is basically two fics in one so you get double the fun and double the word count!! a/n: once again, a massive, massive thank you to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me!! you can find her on twitter as well under @btspresso_!! she’s the genius behind this enemies to lovers and friends to lovers seokjin fic wrapped up into a nice package just in time for the holidays!! you ever seen a fic with e2l and f2l together? that’s right, i didn’t think so. enjoy!!!

check out the post-script drabble here!

♚ HERE ♚

“Oh, shit!”

From twelve feet away comes the sound of these three things in this order: fingers furiously mashing keyboard keys, wheels of an office chair swiveling angrily on the linoleum floor, and a war cry. All of which could either belong to a video game world championships in a big-city stadium or your simple, office of two-floors in a more-than-one-hundred-stories skyscraper based in graphic design and media for small start-up companies.

“I can’t tell if Photoshop crashed again or if you’re playing that weird online multiplayer game again,” Yoongi grumbles from across the way, where he’s gnawing on a Clif bar in one hand as he mindlessly taps his mouse with the other.

“Please,” Jimin says, carelessly waving a hand. “Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watching My Hero Academia multiple times this year while we were supposed to be doing work, you absolute piece of toast. But if you must know, I was in fact playing Kingdom.”

“I’m going to tell Namjoon,” Yoongi says with zero emphasis, because everybody knows that Namjoon’s got dirt on everybody in the office anyway (including Yoongi) and that if you try to expose somebody else to him, he’ll expose you back. It’s colleague culture.

“And what’s Namjoon gonna do? He already knows you carry a flash drive of illegally-downloaded animes with you wherever you go,” Jimin retorts casually. He’s not wrong, and you can confirm that Yoongi indeed carts around a USB drive in the shape of a pineapple that has 64GB of anime.

“What do I know?”

Namjoon comes trotting into view from the corridor that leads to the gender-neutral bathrooms with glasses hanging from the collar of his sweater vest, a clipboard with nothing attached to it in his right hand, and a steaming cup of jasmine tea (he hates coffee and declares this publicly at least three times a day) in his left.

“You know that Yoongi—”

“Has been doing his work the whole time you were in the bathroom so you don’t need to worry about him,” Yoongi interrupts quickly.

Namjoon shoots both Jimin and Yoongi a suspicious glare, but moves on. He’s got enough blackmail on the both of them to bury them into the next calendar year, but he’s wise, and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Just doing checkups on you guys before Boss Man calls me back into his office and gives me a pile of over one hundred hours of work I’m supposed to do in a forty-hour work week.” It’s been obvious from the moment you were hired that Namjoon does the most work out of anybody in this office, including your boss, and gets very, very little from it.

“You don’t even have any paper attached to your clipboard,” Taehyung points out rather unhelpfully, from where he’s been drawing hearts on the cheeks of the Surprised Pikachu meme he’s taped up on the wall his desk is pushed up against.

Namjoon looks down at his clipboard like it just spit mad fire at him, furrows his brows, and lets out a sigh equivalent to three years worth of pent-up aggression. “Shit.”

Jimin cackles from his computer.

“Whatever, I’m still going to do checkups.” Namjoon takes the pen from behind his ear and writes himself a note, presumably to get paper for his clipboard later. “Jimin, you’re still working on that website layout for the art critic and photographer. Yoongi’s on coding for that search engine that we all know is never taking off but is still paying us. Taehyung’s on marketing because he’s got the most charming voice and Hoseok and Jungkook are on media production for the indie movie company. Y/N and Seokjin, you guys are on clientele and coding. Everybody good before I go get more paper?”

“Yes, Tiny but Large Boss Man,” Jimin says, and it’s enough of a confirmation to send Namjoon scurrying down the corridor again in search of paper as everyone else returns to their prior business.

“Y/N?”

You turn around from the font website you’ve been browsing for about half an hour to find Seokjin standing behind you, an earpiece in his ear and that charming smile on his face. It’s the same smile he gave you on your first day on the job when he was introducing himself, same smile he gives when he meets clients in person, same smile he gives Namjoon whenever the man is about to have a breakdown. It’s a friendly, personable-but-universal kind of smile. The kind models need. The kind that Seokjin has mastered.

“Hey, Seokjin,” you say, only just then coming to realize that Seokjin is much closer to you than his voice originally implied. You’ve rotated 180 degrees in your office chair and he is hardly a foot away from where your feet are. It’s a lot. Seokjin is always a lot. In the best sort of way. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, just wanted to check in and see how the project was going for that one guy that wanted a nice advertisement to put on Angie’s List,” Seokjin says, leaning down to look at what you’ve been doing.

“Oh, well I’ve been browsing this font website for ages and I still can’t find a nice one for the sub-heading. All of these are too flashy or difficult to read,” you say, beginning to scroll as you and Seokjin both look for one that you like.

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” his voice sounds like honey and if you had any less dignity you’d let the chills send shivers down your spine. Luckily, you know how to maintain your composure in an office setting. And you also know that Yoongi and Jungkook would never let you hear the end of it, ever. “Oh, how about that one?”

“This one? Rose Quartz?” You ask, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “It has a nice flair that matches with the font for the business name, but it’s still easy to read. It would probably look really nice with a crisp shadow behind it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re onto something,” you say, clicking to read the fair use and copyright.

“Couldn’t have done it without all the hard work you’ve put into this,” Seokjin says, standing up and shooting you another one of his famous smiles. “You’re the best partner anybody in this tiny media production and design company could ask for.”

He leaves without bidding you farewell, but it’s enough to have you staring blankly at your computer, contemplating existence itself. Sometimes, a little part of you wonders if Seokjin only treats you like this and none of your other coworkers, but then you immediately remember that Seokjin is naturally charming and that he probably speaks to newborn babies in the same way.

Yoongi wheels over to your desk from where his is, smirk lacing his features as he chews on another, different-colored Clif bar.

“Ever heard of a personal bubble?” You ask snarkily, because you already know why he’s over here, and so does he.

“Why aren’t you asking the same question to Seokjin, hmm?” Yoongi taunts. He’s know about your dumb crush on your coworker (of all people, your coworker! A fellow employee!) for months now. He isn’t being any more helpful whatsoever.

“Go watch your pirated anime,” you grunt out, too overwhelmed with the way Seokjin smiles at you to really give Yoongi your full attention. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure, but I’m not Seokjin,” Yoongi says. Then he wheels away and you’re left staring at the Rose Quartz font, whose sample text reads: This was meant to be.

At least Namjoon doesn’t know.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday, and you’re just about to turn off the lamp on your bedside table and get some well deserved weekday-night shut eye when your phone begins to blare, a disgustingly ugly picture of Jungkook’s face appearing on the screen.

You stare at your phone like it’s personally offending you (which, if Jungkook’s face is anything to go by, it definitely is) before you turn off your ringer and close your eyes. Jungkook can wait. Very seldom is he at the top of your list of priorities.

Barely five seconds after you’ve put your head on your pillow, your phone begins to vibrate, this time even angrier than the last. Aggravated and a little concerned—because Jungkook never, ever calls twice—you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Something crazy just happened!”

“I hope so, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me at midnight on a work night,” you grumble into the phone, monotonous voice a stark contrast to Jungkook’s easily excitable one.

“Have you been on Kingdom recently?!” Jungkook asks, and you practically see his eyes bulging out of his head in front of you. One of your youngest coworkers, it’s moments like these that remind you why he bears a striking resemblance to a university student—up late playing video games even on a work night—despite having a couple years in the workforce under his belt. He keeps telling you that he wants to go back to school and get a Masters in something, but he isn’t sure what yet.

“No,” you tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. You typically begin to wind down your night around ten, which means that anything that’s happened on Kingdom in the past two hours you are thoroughly unaware of. “Can’t this wait? Kingdom’s fun and all, but I really do need to sleep.”

“But Y/N,” Jungkook says with a whine, insisting that you stay on the line, “someone beat you! You’re rank two, now.”

If Jungkook’s loud voice and jumpy attitude didn’t wake you before, you’re certainly wide awake now.

“What?” You ask, shocked. “Just now?”

“Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago! I don’t know what happened,” Jungkook says sadly, lost. “I was dueling with another knight when the horns and banners appeared on the screen and said there was a new top player. You’ve been dethroned!” He cries out like it’s him who’s lost their place.

You’re fumbling out of bed, making a beeline for your desktop computer across your bedroom. Normally, you’d be ashamed about how high-school you’re behaving around a video game, but you’ve invested an embarrassing amount of time and energy into Kingdom, and you’ll be damned if you think someone else can outdo you.

As you’re logging onto the game, Jungkook continues to wail into the phone. “I don’t even know who this person is, I feel like I’ve never seen them before! I mean, they must be really good since they practically appeared out of nowhere, but still! I’m a decent player so we must have crossed paths. Maybe I just don’t remember…”

Sure enough, the moment you open your screen the horns blare and the banners appear, congratulating a different player on achieving the top rank. You watch helplessly as the celebration fades on your computer before the leaderboard appears in the top left corner, your name a sad second place.

“Who’s JK0901?” You shout into the phone, earning an exasperated sigh from Jungkook on the other end. You scowl at the name that’s knocked you off your pedestal, before narrowing your eyes to look at it more closely. “JK? Is that you, Jungkook? Are you just calling me to make fun of me for beating me? Don’t disrespect your elders, Jungkook.”

Jungkook gasps like he’s been accused of murder. For people that take Kingdom as seriously as you and Jungkook, it may as well be. “No! What the heck, Y/N, you know that my username is KookieMonster97, for God’s sake. Accusing me of being the best, how could you?”

“You should have just taken the compliment,” you frown into the phone, “Now all the girls are gonna know you aren’t, in fact, the number one Kingdom player.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jungkook mutters. “But it’s not me, I swear. You would have received a very different phone call from me if it was. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even told you and then ruined your day in the office tomorrow. So it’s not me.”

“I can’t tell if I’d be more or less angry if it was you,” you admit.

“Why, because I’d finally have something to hold over your head other than my unwavering youth?” Jungkook taunts. Definitely still a university student at heart.

“No, because it means I’d have to hear the entire office praise you for a day, and I’d rather permanently pop my eardrums,” you tell him informatively. Jungkook has enough of a head. You actively try to not do anything to enlarge it unless he wholeheartedly deserves it.

“I love our coworker chats, you know,” Jungkook says. “Whoever this person is though, I bet they’re receiving bucketloads of praise for knocking you off the top spot. You’ve had it for like, three months now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this game and look how it’s repaying me,” you grumble, staring down the Kingdom home screen.

“JK0901 probably did a ritual sacrifice to beat you,” Jungkook supplies unhelpfully.

You sigh. Whoever they are, they proved that they are just as good at Kingdom as you are, a veteran player with an embarrassing several years of experience under your belt. In fact, they proved that they’re better than you.

♚ THERE ♚

It’s cloudy today, which means that more of the market stalls are out on the main street. You pass by them on your way to the castle, vendors calling out to you with promises of apples, jewelry, and perfumes.

You’ve got money to burn and your responsibilities can wait a couple of minutes, so you indulge one of the stalls and purchase a couple of apples. One should give you a bit of energy now, and the rest can be roasted later for a better meal.

“Miss Y/N, off to the palace?” The vendor asks. From how much you frequent this part of the kingdom, every artisan, farmer, and merchant alike knows your name. That, and the fact that you’ve amassed quite a group of followers from your daily knightly escapades.

“Of course,” you respond happily, paying the merchant with a couple of silver coins and then some, just as a thanks. The extra money helps the farmers raise the quality of their crops and allows them to earn more for their efforts. It also boosts your standing amongst the townsfolk. “His Majesty requested my presence for further instructions on fortification, most likely. But I’m just honored to be recognized.”

“As you should!” The man responds dutifully. “You are our best knight, after all.”

“Please, you flatter me. When the work day is done, go home and feed your children well, alright?” You ask, giving a firm nod to the merchant before you’re on your way. As you stroll down the stone-paved path, other vendors call out to you, hoping that you, too, will indulge in their finest clothes and trinkets on your way to the castle.

Maybe another day.

You take a hearty bite of the apple as you head towards the palace, a satisfying crunch ringing through your ears as the townsfolk nod and bow to you. It’s easy to figure out that you’re the top-ranked knight in the kingdom, with badges of honor pinned to your torso, ink black armor clinging tightly to your body, and red sashes tied around the black ones on your wrist, signifying approval from the highest ranking military official in the kingdom: the king himself.

The guards at the palace gates step aside as you nod to each other, bowing courteously. You repeat this process several more times as you slowly proceed towards the throne room, where the King (and maybe the Queen) are likely to be waiting for you. They had increased their security at every door frame after an attempted assassination several months ago, which you (with the help of other high-ranking knights and castle officials) discovered was a plot orchestrated by Their Majesty’s second-most-trusted advisor.

Finally, you reach the golden arches that signify that you’ve arrived at the most expensive room in the entire palace (save for Her Majesty’s bathroom, which, though you have never been inside, is rumored to have a golden bathtub and sacred water from the River Blancheur, over two thousand miles away. But you cannot confirm nor deny.), threatening red doors slowly creaking open as the King and Queen come into view.

They’re sitting on their thrones, as per usual, but they aren’t the only ones in the room like they normally are. Instead, there’s another knight, as equally decked out as you, standing before them, arms crossed behind their back.

“We hope that you can wear these honors proudly and do your duties with pride,” the King says regally, deep, thick voice echoing throughout the room.

“I will stop at nothing to ensure this kingdom’s greatness,” the knight says back, just as formal. The knight gives a long bow, red sashes around their wrist dangling towards the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being replaced. But of course, that’s not the case.

“Oh, Y/N,” the Queen says happily, noticing your waiting right in front of the closed doors to the throne room. “Prudent, as always.”

“I aspire to please,” you say with a bow. The King gives you a warm smile, one you’re willing to bet that this other knight isn’t often on the receiving end of.

“Your timing is impeccable,” the King says, ushering for you to come forward. You do so, taking calculated steps along the red carpet, woven nearly two centuries ago and maintained ever since. “We were just congratulating Sir JK on his recent accomplishments in the Black Forest.”

“Of course,” you say with a nod, refusing to turn to your left so you can stare down this Sir JK for yourself. “The military made groundbreaking strides for our kingdom there.”

“You are the first person to know this, other than him, of course, but we’ve decided to appoint him as the Head of the Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Kalar,” the King says proudly.

It takes everything in your willpower not to let your mouth drop open. You blink rapidly, making sure that you aren’t in a daze nor still asleep. Sure enough, you’re wide awake and your ears and eyes seem to be working perfectly. The knight next to you is taking over the highest position a knight can hold in your kingdom, one that even you haven’t been given.

You’ve been replaced.

“What an incredible honor,” you say, body stiff. You can practically feel the ego of the knight next to you radiating off of him. It makes your nerves twitch.

“I think so as well,” the King says proudly. He has, luckily, not picked up on your sudden mood change. “So, I’ve called you here to appoint you as his second-in-command.”

You bow graciously at his words, ensuring that, despite your bitter attitude, you are still thankful for this opportunity. Mostly. You are mostly thankful for this opportunity.

“I’m honored and grateful, Your Majesties,” you say, head facing the carpet. “I would rather die than let down my kingdom.”

“You two are to work together closely,” the Queen advises, words that make your ears bleed. Oh, wonderful, now you have to work hand-in-hand with the person that stole your favor with the royal household right from underneath your feet? You can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Your cooperation alone will ensure the utmost safety and security of this kingdom.”

“We shall do better than our best,” the knight beside you says. His words make your eyes roll back into your head, but you’ve been a bigger brownnoser in your past. You can forgive that, even if the man next to you radiates an energy you’d rather not surround yourself with.

“I’m pleased to hear it. Your training and work together begins now, so do not hesitate to get to know each other.”

You and him take one baited breath each before turning to each other. You both bow out of obligatory respect, which satisfies the King and Queen well enough. And as you come up, you catch a glimpse of each other’s eyes. His are dark, rounded pupils. They’re hiding something.

You’re determined to figure out what it is.

“Call me J,” the knight says the moment you’ve stepped foot outside of the palace. The setting sun shines dimly on the main road, and many of the vendors are beginning to pack up their belongings in order to head home.

“Okay, J,” you say suspiciously. Everything about him unsettles you slightly. Perhaps it’s the fact that behind the armor and the mask and the badges, he’s extremely good-looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that he swiped the top-ranking knight position right from your fingertips. It must be that. “It’s baffling to me that we haven’t met yet. If you’ve been in such high favor with the King and Queen, then I must have seen you somewhere.” You wonder if he can hear the bitterness lacing your features. You sure hope that he can.

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” J says, taking a bite out of a peach he just purchased from a farmer’s daughter, who was watching over the stall as her father haggled with another vendor. You watched as he winked to the girl as she gave him two peaches for the price of one. “I’m more on the ground than you are, am I not? You spend much of your time strategizing in the castle.”

“You don’t know what I do,” you huff out. He finishes the peach and wraps up the pip in a piece of cloth from his pocket before tucking it away. There is no place to dispose of it on the main street anyway.

“Don’t I?” J says with a sly grin, one that makes you want to kick him in the shin and push him into the grass. “Everyone knows what you do, Y/N. You were the King and Queen’s favorite.”

The way he uses the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“But, as it seems, being on the battlefield outweighs directing it from above,” J says. He keeps his eyes off of you and his head held high while your gaze focuses in on him out of pure fury, just another way to hold his newfound superiority over your head. Five minutes next to him and he already seems to know how to push every single one of your buttons.

“So it seems,” you say bitterly.

“You and I really must get along, Y/N,” J says casually as you begin to stray from the hustle of the main street. Neither of you seem to have a particularly clear destination in mind, only a path that must be taken for the sake of the greater good. It’s only the prospect that if you do well enough, you’ll impress the King and Queen and regain your favor with them that’s keeping you from socking J in the face and dashing off, taking his second peach with you. “We’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Doesn’t that sound like the bee’s knees,” you mutter to yourself. For the greater good.

“Should it not?” J asks innocently. It makes you want to wipe that smirk right off of his face, that knowing tone in his voice. “I certainly don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. Do you happen to have one with me?”

He asks it because he knows that whatever you say will incriminate you. He knows that if you say no, you’re a goddamn liar, and that if you say yes, you’re weak. Weak because you’re admitting that you can’t handle spending time with him even though you have to. Weak because you’re showing him that he has power over you.

“No, of course not,” you say, plastering the fakest smile on your face. Two can play at this game. “In fact, would it be alright if I had that other peach? I’m absolutely starving.” You can be civil. If he can, at least.

“Sure thing,” J says, unwrapping the peach from the woven napkin the farmer’s daughter gave him.

You reach out to take it from him, but in the blink of an eye his hand dangles it over your head, too far out of reach for you to grab without losing all of your dignity in the process.

“What do we say, Y/N?” He asks sweetly, like a parent disciplining their child. God, everything he does absolutely aggravates you.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Perhaps you aren’t on the front lines as often as he is, but you sure know how to fight. Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you received the same training he did.

“Please?” You ask, just as saccharine.

“As you request, Y/N,” J says with a bow, finally handing it over.

If this is what the next several months have in store for you, you wonder if maybe sinking down to a lower ranking might be worth it after all, especially if it means you’ll never have to see him and his bouncy hair and dark eyes again.

You take a bite into the peach. It’s sour.

Just your luck.

♚ HERE ♚

When you walk into work the next day, a hush falls over the room.

It’s not even as if the entire office has been quiet so far this workday, not as if the clock struck nine o’clock and everyone decided to start a competition to see who could shut up for the longest amount of time.

(For the record, if anyone were to win that competition, it would be Yoongi, who usually only speaks either 1) when spoken to or 2) to let someone know when they’re being dumb via insult. The first person to lose would be Namjoon, because his job description is to boss people around. And he’s awfully good at it.)

The elevator door dinged on the twenty-third floor and you could hear Hoseok’s loud gasps and Jungkook’s cackled laugh even through the glass door that separates your office from the rest of the companies that take up residence in this particular city skyscraper. And then, as your loafers tapped on the hard linoleum floor and the glass door creaked open, the entire office fell silent.

Quickly, you wonder if you’ve forgotten someone's birthday or if anybody’s due for a celebration of some sort. But nobody’s come to mind and the lights aren’t off, which means that this isn’t the kind of sudden silence that precedes a surprise party.

This is the kind of sudden silence that makes everybody go, “Oh shit.”

It feels like you’re walking on eggshells as you make your way over to your desk. You’re a couple minutes late due to oversleeping (for reasons that start with J and end with -ungkook) so everybody’s already here, and the office should be as boisterous and rowdy as always. And yet, something’s different.

You’re left entirely in the dark in concern with what the reasoning is, so you just decide that you’d rather not be the one to break the tense quiet that’s befallen your office and settle down, logging into your work desktop and checking today’s assignments on Slack.

Five minutes pass and you can’t help but think that, of the many, many days you’ve spent in this office with these people, this has got to be the most awkward by an overwhelmingly long shot. Not even the time Namjoon showed up with his hair dyed purple and traces of a sharpie drawing with a certain phallic design on his cheek was more awkward than this.

It seems that even Namjoon’s picked up on the vibe of your workspace today, walking in and out without a word. He wheels in a portable whiteboard from one of your meeting rooms and writes down everybody’s assignments on the board in his handwriting, which makes his O’s look like D’s.

Ten minutes in and this is the quietest your office has ever been in the history of mankind, probably. You’re almost convinced that genuinely no one will speak to each other until five o’clock, when Jimin’s end-of-work alarm goes off and you all pack up and go home, and that today’s workday is an exercise in meditation and peace, two things that are seldom available in your usual office environment.

And then, out of nowhere,

“Oh my God, I can’t take it anymore,” Hoseok says loudly, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize he had been holding. It’s highly unlikely that Hoseok spent the past ten minutes holding his breath because he wasn’t allowed to talk under your office’s societal norm of silence, but you honestly can’t put it past him. Speaking is essentially the equivalent of breathing to him. “I’ve been wanting to bother Jimin for not responding to my email from yesterday for the past five minutes. I don’t even know why we’re doing this, it’s clear that Y/N doesn’t care at all about what happened.”

“What don’t I care about?” You blurt out, equally as curious as everyone else also seems to release their baited breaths.

Hoseok and Jimin immediately begin to argue about appropriate email-response time between coworkers and Yoongi rolls a couple of feet over from his own desk to enlighten you.

“Jungkook told everyone that you had been docked from your top rank in Kingdom, and the whole office seems to have taken it very seriously,” Yoongi mutters into your ear, making you scrunch up your nose in exasperation. Is he kidding?

“That’s why everyone was so quiet? Because they didn’t want to bring it up?”

“I guess so, but I was just quiet because it was nice to have the whole office shut up for a few minutes in the morning,” Yoongi says with a shrug before wheeling back to his own desk, where an anime you vaguely recognize as Haikyuu!! is playing on his monitor.

Immediately, you whip around to meet eyes with Jungkook, who looks like he’s been expecting your furious glare all morning. He smiles guiltily and can offer you literally nothing other than a mouthed sorry because you two are in a workplace environment where shouting is, generally, socially unacceptable.

Despite your standing on the game, it’s easy to argue and even easier to prove that your coworkers care much more about Kingdom than you do. The loading screen of the castle in Monet’s art style is Hoseok’s desktop background. Jungkook has a little sword decoration next to his computer, and a couple of his pens are official Kingdom merch that you’re pretty sure he purchased from Hot Topic. Taehyung and Jimin play during their lunch break, the only time in the workday where shouting is socially acceptable, and the both of them came to last year’s Halloween party dressed as knights. Even Namjoon’s in on the game, though he rarely has time to play and usually has no idea what everyone else is referencing when they talk about Kingdom.

Contrastingly, you enjoy the game but very seldom do you actually broadcast that affection in public. You need to have at least some semblance of personal dignity in this absolute free-for-all of a place of employment.

So really, it’s no wonder that all of your coworkers acted like it was the end of the world when you got knocked from first place. To them, that would be like having a winning lottery ticket only to drop it onto train tracks and watch as the public transportation system has a field day with it.

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung says as he comes over and hands you a Tootsie Roll from the stash he keeps in one of his desk drawers for bad days. Apparently, this is a bad day. “Jungkook told us and we didn’t want to put salt in the wound.”

Even if their methodology was weird and slightly unsettling, the sentiment was there. “Thanks guys,” you tell Taehyung with a smile, “but I think you guys took it harder than I did.”

“Of course we did!” Jungkook says with a cry. He is objectively the most torn up out of the lot of you. “We had the top player in Kingdom in our very office, and now what! You were famous, Y/N! Whoever that bozo is who took your place is gonna feel the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company.”

“Who’s feeling the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company?” Seokjin asks as he strolls into the office, even later than you. To be fair, it’s looking like he’s got a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, which is enough for anyone to forgive him, even your hard headed boss. “Is it Jimin? Did he steal your Post-Its again? I saw he had a new pack.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for barely a second before they narrow in on Jimin, who is already skirting away to find Namjoon so he can use him as a human shield. Jimin has quite the history of taking Jungkook’s office supplies only for a second and then failing to return it.

“No, but I’m gonna deal with him later,” Jungkook says, fishing through his office supplies on the hunt for his Post-it notes, which may or may not be currently in his possession. “We were just talking about how Y/N got knocked from the top spot in Kingdom by some asshat none of us have ever heard of, and now he’s going to feel the wrath. Of us. Specifically me, but also us.”

“What wrath?” Taehyung jokes. “You’re fresh out of college. You’re practically as intimidating as a baby bunny.”

Jungkook growls just for emphasis, and it only proves Taehyung’s point more. He’s always had a baby face.

“Well, I brought doughnuts to cheer everyone up,” Seokjin says, opening the box to reveal a dozen doughnuts of varying kinds that is likely to be finished within the next thirty seconds.

“Oh my God, Kim Seokjin, I love you,” Hoseok says before immediately taking one and a half and bouncing off.

“Save the pink-frosted one for me, will you? It’s my favorite,” Seokjin requests. He’s not even monitoring the box, too busy putting all his stuff away and getting settled at his desk. He’s basically asking to be robbed.

“Aw, I wanted that one,” you joke sadly, already going for the chocolate-frosted one with rainbow sprinkles. The box is nearly three-fourths empty. Even Namjoon’s materialized out of nowhere to take the glazed one to eat while he completes the next fifty-four things on his to-do list.

“Then let’s split it,” Seokjin says without missing a beat. Your heart does the exact opposite.

“Jimin, you wanna split one with me?” Taehyung asks.

“Ew, gross, no way, I want a whole one to myself,” Jimin immediately rejects.

“I’ll go and grab it,” Seokjin says, standing up to nab the doughnut for some evil being (by the name of Jimin) takes it for himself. He plucks it from the box and takes two napkins, too, walking over to your desk as he splits the doughnut in half.

“For you,” he says casually, like it isn’t making your heart beat out of your chest.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say jokingly, taking the doughnut and placing it on the napkin he hands to you.

“Tell me about this Kingdom thing? You got knocked from first place?” Seokjin asks, making conversation as he lingers by your desk. It’s obvious that nobody’s going to be getting any work done.

“Yeah, but it’s really nothing special. Everyone was making a huge deal out of it, which you should be very glad you missed, because the first ten minutes of this workday were absolutely silent and it was awful in every way that something can be awful,” you tell him.

Seokjin laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. “Then I’m glad that I came late,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t imagine a day where Jimin and Taehyung were silent for more than two minutes.”

“I lived through it,” you say, smiling. “Anyway, everyone seems to have gotten over the fact that I’m no longer the top-ranked Kingdom player. I’m kind of down about it myself, just because I worked really hard, but whoever it is that took over, I’m glad for them. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“That it is,” Seokjin says. “How about a toast to your Kingdom-playing skills, and to whoever it is that beat you.”

“Cheers,” you say, holding out your half of the doughnut.

“Cheers,” Seokjin echoes.

The two of you clink doughnuts, and they squish together awkwardly.

“You should bring doughnuts more often,” You muse.

“If it means we don’t have to work and can just talk like this, then I will,” Seokjin says as he takes a bite, already heading back over to his own desk. He waves goodbye with a smile, and only then do you finally indulge.

Sweet. As always.

♚ THERE ♚

When you were moved to the Military Tactics Unit, the King and Queen pulled you out of military training in favor of you spending more time working on strategies for the Kingdom’s armies rather than sparring with fellow Knights. It was a wise move on the part of Their Royal Highnesses, who feared losing you to a rebel group or warring kingdom, and you didn’t mind not having to engage in the physicality of training with those that would be spending more time on the battlefield.

And at the time, you saw it as a much-needed break from hand-to-hand combat training for years on end when you hadn’t set foot on the front lines in months. But now, that decision has decided to come back and bite you where it hurts.

Because as second-in-command to the Head of the Knights, you (and J, both luckily and unluckily) are tasked with the important duty of supervising the military training of the new recruits. This spells doom in various ways, some of which include (and are not limited to):

Having to spend more time with J.

Having to spend more time with J without letting all of the recruits know you both vastly dislike each other.

Having to spend more time with J in a scenario in which there is constant hand-to-hand combat.

Having to spend more time with J without being able to make up an excuse about needing to attend to urgent military business in order to leave.

Having to spend more time with J.

Attempting to remember how to spar.

So, in essence, you’re screwed.

This is the mindset with which you walk into your very first training session in over six months, a few minutes late, of course. Recently you’ve been attempting to calculate the maximum amount of time you can spend either being tardy or leaving early from events that involve J without you facing any repercussions. So far it’s been working out well.

When you walk in the door, before you can greet any of the recruits or even offer J a slightly sarcastic wave, he says, “Look who’s finally shown up,” loud enough for all of the recruits to turn to look as you stroll in tardy.

“I got held up by a vendor on the main road, my apologies,” you lie like a liar. It’s obvious that J does not believe you whatsoever, but it satisfies the recruits, who return to their business as usual.

“Well, you’re just in time for warm-up,” J says, false positivity radiating throughout every single word.

You walk up to where he stands at the front of the room, wearing much less of his official armor than he normally is. Right now, he stands in front of you in a plain tan cotton shirt and training pants, similar to the rest of the recruits. It’s really quite jarring, to see him dressed so differently from what he usually wears—dark armor and scarlet red sashes. It makes him seem… almost softer.

“Thought you might have bailed on me,” J mutters into your ear as the recruits begin to stretch.

“Have a little more faith in me, for God’s sake,” you grumble in return. You may not like him, but you aren’t about to abandon your responsibilities just because of a little bit of distaste.

“Do you wanna take warm-up, or should I?” He offers, motioning to the recruits. They all look so nervous, so desperate to prove themselves on the first day of training. It reminds you of yourself, like you’re looking into a mirror and a time machine all at once.

“You’re the boss,” you say, unabashedly letting the bitterness seep through your tone. “You choose.”

Unsurprisingly, J decides to let you handle the warm-up session, something that is just a precursor to the main event and therefore, not as important. He takes a couple of steps back and follows your instructions as you go through stretches and basic movements in combat, allowing all of the recruits to get a feel for what knighthood is really like in the Kingdom of Kalar. Warm-up was always your least favorite part during training, so boring in comparison to the sparring and hand-to-hand combat that you would engage in soon after. Sure, it was necessary, but when you were a wide-eyed, overeager trainee, you were willing to risk a pulled muscle if it meant you could beat someone up sooner.

With this in mind, you wrap up the session in a fairly timely manner, letting the recruits do their own stretching after everything absolutely necessary has been covered. It also means that you can sit back and let J do most of the heavy lifting, which, while you’re bitter about him getting all of the attention, is better than having to do it yourself based solely upon memory. You remember combat well enough to handle yourself in the battlefield, but the technicalities of training have completely slipped your memory by now.

J and everything else about him may leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you have to admit that he’s a good teacher and an even better morale booster. This must come from his experience out in the field, on the front lines, where raising his troops’ spirits came as a necessary quality to develop when times were tough.

He speaks slowly, explains everything in enough detail to cover all of the bases without losing attention, and frequently opens up the floor for questions. And as per usual, the recruits already begin to cling to him like vines, desperate to soak up every ounce of knowledge that he doles out.

J doesn’t need the ego boost, that’s for certain.

“Now that I’ve gone through everything, I believe that the best way to learn how to spar is just to start doing it, even if you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing. Despite what you may think about me, experience is the best teacher,” he says with a smile, earning a laugh from the crowd.

You roll your eyes.

“Um, sir?” A timid recruit raises her hand, her body curled in on herself. You take one look at her, and know that she’ll come out of her shell soon enough.

“Yes, a question?” J asks.

“Would you mind giving a demonstration? Just so we can watch. So we, well, don’t injure ourselves or each other while we’re sparring.”

A demonstration? You blink, having awoken from the trance you had placed yourself in one J stepped up to take over the training session. Doesn’t a demonstration mean… well, you and him?

J seems to come to this realization at the same time that you do, and grins wildly, giddy. He knows exactly how much you’ll hate doing this, which is all the more reason to say yes. “Of course, we’d be happy to. Y/N?”

You hold in the sigh you’ve been wanting to let out for about five minutes now, taking a deep exhale as you turn to face J. You’ve been in close proximity to him before, but you are about to get a whole lot closer.

“If you say so,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep this as lighthearted and casual as possible. Though, both of those things are likely to be tossed out the window now that you’re about to spar with your worst enemy.

J grabs a mat from the side of the room to lay down on the floor in front of you, and the two of you step onto it. Instantly, you’re transported back to when you were still in training, bouncing up and down on your feet with your fists raised in front of you, ready to take on the next recruit. You had always been quite good at sparring, back then.

Now is a completely different story.

“Are you ready?” J asks as you face each other in front of a crowd of recruits, all of whom are watching you with hawk-like intensity.

“Guess I can’t say ‘no’, can I?” You joke, though if J offers you a way out of this, you’d gladly take it, shame and dignity be damned.

“Well then, do your worst.”

He’s an open target. You’ve never been given an opportunity to sock him in the face before now, and you’d absolutely love to take it, but this is a sparring session, not a revenge session. That can be saved for a later date. Instead, you bounce on your feet like a nervous, excitable recruit, and aim for his neck.

He easily dodges, but you expected that, and counter his attack with your leg. It goes back and forth like this, as your muscle memory kicks in and you remember exactly what sparring was like back in your training sessions. For a few seconds in the middle of it, you genuinely think you and him are on a pretty level playing field.

And then—

One punch gone wrong and he’s got you lifted up off of the ground and onto his back, having grabbed your wrist at the perfect time to hoist you over his shoulder. You gasp in shock, body not necessarily remembering this part, and then—

He slams the both of you down onto the mat, your back hitting the cushion with a thud as the breathe gets knocked from your lungs. You definitely haven’t done this part in a while.

You know the recruits are all watching you intently, but you refuse to lose like this, even if this is normally the part where the person pinned underneath the other one surrenders. With both of your arms and all of your force, you attempt to shove J off of you by using your elbow to punch him in the chest. If you go down (which you most certainly will), you will go down with a fight.

He sees your move coming from a mile away, and immediately pins both of your arms above your head with a simple swish of his hand. The other one is holding up his body by your head as you both stare at each other, breathing heavily. His leg sits in between both of yours, resting up against your thigh, and his head hovers a very dangerous less-than-three inches away from your own. If a particularly near-sighted person were to stumble upon the both of you, you’d be absolutely screwed.

The both of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, the wind knocked out of you. You never quite realized what his face looks like up close. His cheeks are bright red. But it’s a second too long because the recruits have gone silent, refusing to applaud or do anything else to signal that the sparring match is over.

And then, it feels like a million years pass as J slowly removes himself from on top of your body, standing up and dusting his hands off before leaning down and offering his hand to help you up. Too floored and absolutely speechless to reject his extended palm like you normally would, you grab onto his hand and let him hoist you up, unable to speak.

“How was that for a demonstration?” J asks the recruits, who are all blinking like they’ve just witnessed something far too shocking for their liking.

Another trainee, a boisterous young man who walked into today’s session with his energy fully up and his eyes on the prize, raises his hand. “Could you show us again?”

You and J take one look at each other.

No. Way.

♚ HERE ♚

Because your office is both tightly knit and also uncannily resembles a cast of grown adults playing various high school stereotypes in a Hallmark movie, every year you do Office Superlatives. Office superlatives are basically an excuse for everyone to come up with a way to insult each other 1) while getting paid to do so and 2) without facing any repercussions whatsoever.

For three years in a row, your office has designated you as “Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Really Important”, a superlative that came about because on your very first day, you spilled your coffee on the one and only Kim Namjoon, who you then mistook as your boss, and thus ensued the most embarrassing one minute and thirteen seconds of your entire life in front of a bunch of colleagues you would have to see every weekday for the foreseeable future.

Thankfully, you haven’t spilled your coffee on anyone important since then, even if you do regularly knock over your pencil cup and send every pastel-colored highlighter flying across the hardwood floor. It became such a frequent occurrence that, for April Fool’s Day last year, Taehyung and Jimin taped every single thing on your desk to your desk to see how long it would take you to notice.

(It took you over three weeks, but that’s besides the point.)

“I know that the saying is ‘the customer is always right’, but this client I’m working with right now is literally wrong,” Taehyung says with a sigh. He collapses back in his office chair, mindlessly playing with the fur of the stuffed Pomeranian dog he keeps on his desk, staring down the email on his desktop. “Like, I’m not Squarespace or Wix. Either you pay me to design your website entirely, or you do it yourself. I’m not a drag-and-drop of a person, and I don’t get paid to be consulted on every font choice.”

“Didn’t you write on your resume that you can identify every standard Microsoft font without being told the name?” Yoongi asks with a frown from across the office. He’s making the most of his gigantic desktop computer, and has a tab open with One Punch Man right next to a Photoshop logo design he’s working on.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Taehyung says with a frown. “I need someone who knows how to let people down easily.”

“Jimin?” Hoseok pipes up unhelpfully, earning an eraser to the face from Jimin, who is notorious for going on a bunch of first dates and very, very seldom going on a second one. You don’t even think that for the entire time you’ve known him, he’s ever gone a third date with someone. Ever.

“Do not make fun of my lifestyle choices!” Jimin shouts out defensively. “I just like meeting new people.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says like a white girl in a Disney Channel Original Movie, “and then never meeting them again.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Jimin tells him pointedly, already beginning to stand up from his office chair to attempt to further convince him that serial-first-dating isn’t all that bad. “Two weeks ago, I saw this guy that I had gone on a date with last year and he told me that his friend was starting up a small pet barbershop business and needed help with the graphic design for his company. Now I’m designing this guy’s logo and backsplash for his wall.” He says matter-of-factly.

Hoseok frowns. “So, what I’m hearing is that you saw a guy you had gone on a date with last year, and what you got out of it, was more work.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but he flounders. Hoseok cackles to himself, shaking his head because Jimin’s just proved his point further.

“I’ll ask Seokjin,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “He could tell me that I’ve lost my job and that I’m getting evicted from my apartment and I would thank him.”

Amen.

“Hey, where is Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, spinning around in his office chair for the most efficient way to scan the entire office in search of the man. “He was just here watching One Punch Man with Yoongi.”

“I didn’t even notice he had gotten up,” Yoongi says, turning to the empty spot next to him where Seokjin once was.

“I’ll go look for him, I need to grab something from the printer, anyway,” you volunteer, pushing your chair back, standing up, and avoiding the gazes of anybody in the office who happens to have knowledge of your not-so-secret secret crush. This means that you are staring down at the lines of the wooden planks in the floor as you walk over to the back hallway, because every single person in the room currently has at least… well… some insight.

“He’s all yours, Y/N,” Taehyung wolf whistles, making you roll your eyes as you head down the hallway.

Too busy counting the planks that make up the hardwood floor and hoping that you’ll maybe be able to identify Seokjin by the shoes he’s wearing rather than anything else, you don’t look at where you’re going as you make a beeline for the printing room. That is, you make a beeline for the printing room until you crash right into an unsuspecting colleague.

“Oh, shit!” Said colleague cries out.

Oh God.

You look up to find Seokjin standing in front of you, a nearly-empty cup of low-grade office coffee in his hand, and a growing brown stain on his pale blue dress shirt. One look on the floor and there’s a puddle of coffee gathered at your feet, wet splotches on your flats and his loafers.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide and apologetic as he immediately searches for some place to put down his coffee to avoid any more casualties. He looks right at you, making you want to curl in on yourself, before his eyes train down to your torso.

Only then do you realize he’s not shamelessly staring at your chest, but rather at the massive brown stain on the front of your blouse, quickly seeping into the fabric, the scalding temperature of the coffee having gone right over your head the moment you realized who exactly it was that you crashed into.

“Uh…” you stammer, brain crashing as everything that’s just happened in the past thirty seconds catches up to you all at once.

“Oh my God, I’m such a mess,” Seokjin says, fumbling awkwardly as he finally finds a trash can to toss his sad lump of a coffee cup into.

No you’re not, you want to tell him, but the words don’t come out and you’re left standing there, looking sort of like you blame him for everything, when in reality, you just have no idea how to function in front of him.

“Coffee stains,” Seokjin says, hands fishing through his seemingly bottomless pants pockets (he could probably fit an entire Nintendo Switch and its dock in there) until he pulls out this measly little thing that vaguely resembles your orange highlighter. “Here, I have a Tide To-Go pen.”

Before you can tell him that you can just deal with the stain and wash it in the privacy of your own home where you don’t look like a bumbling idiot, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the gender neutral bathroom nearby, locking the door as the light flickers on.

“Here, do you need help?” Seokjin asks, holding out his Tide To-Go pen as he wets a paper towel made of entirely recycled materials and begins fruitlessly dabbing at his shirt.

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, staring into the mirror and trying desperately to avoid the fact that Seokjin’s shirt becomes transparent when it’s wet. Maybe quitting your job and moving to another city doesn’t sound unappealing after all. “I can just get it out with OxiClean at my apartment, Seokjin, seriously.”

“Are you sure? That’s what the Tide To-Go pen is for,” Seokjin says, holding it out towards you again as a final attempt to get you to use it.

“No offense, Seokjin, but I don’t know if the Tide To-Go pen is even going to make a dent in the stain on my shirt,” you chuckle, the only thing you can think of to get him to stop offering the thing to you. The Tide To-Go pen is meant for when you accidentally get a bit of ketchup onto your jeans as you move the french fry from your plate to your mouth. Not when you’ve got a giant coffee stain on the front of your shirt.

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to try and get a better grip on the fabric as he relentlessly scrubs at it. God help you. He may as well take the whole thing off at this point—though you really, really hope that he doesn’t. “I’m such a klutz.”

“No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you tell him. You still know that you passed by 107 wooden planks before you crashed into him, because that is what you do when you don’t want to look anyone in the eye.

“Seriously, though, I had the cup of coffee. I feel really bad, I could pay to get it dry cleaned for you?” He offers, eyes wide and in search of some way to make it up to you.

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m can handle a stain, Seokjin. I’m an adult. I live in my own apartment and everything,” you say firmly, refusing to accept anything else from him. God, if he paid for your dry-cleaning, you’d never be able to live that down. “Maybe I’ll finally stop being voted Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important,�� you joke, trying to make light of the fact that you’re standing in the tiny gender-neutral bathroom together, Seokjin’s practically got half of his transparent dress shirt unbuttoned, and you both have massive and very conspicuous brown stains on your tops. All wonderful, wonderful things.

At this point, Seokjin stares down at his shirt and, quite frankly, just gives up, smoothing out his shirt as best as he can and tossing the poor, now-coffee-colored paper towel away.

“I suppose it’s high time we give you a break for always knocking over that pencil cup of yours,” Seokjin jokes back as he opens the door, motioning for you to leave first.

“We should invest in some Velcro for it,” you suggest, making Seokjin chuckle as he shuts the door behind him.

“Uh… what the fuck?”

The two of you are stopped in your tracks by a particularly suspicious Taehyung, who just witnessed the two of you walk out of the same bathroom with both of your clothes fairly askew.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you immediately tell him, eyes wide. Count on him to get the wrong idea.

“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Taehyung, come on, I spilled coffee on the both of us,” Seokjin attempts, but Taehyung is absolutely not having it.

“That’s what they all say,” he says cryptically, nodding as he heads to the printer room with his eyes still narrowed. He glares at the both of you until he rounds the corner, out of sight, and by then your cheeks have heated up so badly you think you might actually start sweating.

“Now the whole office is going to think we’re dating,” you say, somewhat jokingly but also somewhat seriously. There’s no way Taehyung’s going to be able to keep his mouth shut for any longer than the next five minutes.

Seokjin laughs, looking at you and shrugging. “There are worse things, right?”

Are there?

♚ THERE ♚

“Oh, Y/N!”

You inhale.

Of all of the places in the Kingdom that J has not yet infiltrated and ruined for you, the small cafe on the edge of the kingdom borders has to have been the last one. You discovered it while you were on night watch as a baby knight, a task given to those too dedicated to the job to release but not yet prepared enough to fight on the front lines. It’s a quiet place, open more hours of the day than closed, owned by an old lady with no other family to take care of the business. You’ve already promised her that after she passes, you will immediately begin funding the cafe yourself, too much money on your hands and not enough wonderful places like this to spend it on.

When days are loud and hectic, when the King and Queen and all of their military advisors are stressed and have been snapping at you all day, this is where you come. The old lady keeps her door open especially for you (at least that’s what she tells you), always with a steaming cup of jasmine tea and a wise old story to tell you. Sometimes, you’ll get to tell a story back, and you exchange words of wisdom from a knight at the highest ranking in the kingdom and an elder with many years of experience in the kingdom behind her. She always tells you, “keep your eyes wide and your heart open, because things can only enter it if you’re looking out for them.”

You’ve held those words close to your soul ever since the first time you heard them.

But when your eyes are wide and staring down a certain knight in the kingdom who seems to have stumbled upon your one sacred place, you’re a little bothered, to say the least.

You exhale.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say sourly, the scalding tea burning your tongue as you take a sip.

“I’ve never seen this place before,” J admits helplessly, already bowing to the old lady who runs the place. He introduces himself handsomely, and much like everyone else bewitched by his good looks and unrealistically charismatic personality, she immediately warms up to him.

“I wish it could stay that way,” you mumble to yourself, far too quiet for anyone except you and your tea to hear. “It’s far away,” you say to him as the lady ushers him to the seat next to yours, already promising him tea on the house. You sigh. “Wouldn’t expect you to go hunting for a nice tea place when there are so many wonderful places in the city.”

“I guess it’s nice to branch out,” J says with a shrug. “I have to say that I don’t really go out to cafes all that often. Too busy.”

“You know I understand how that goes,” you tell him honestly. For once, it’s something you can actually relate to. “But I think that it’s important to take a break from our duties and just relax. We don’t have much time to do that, you know.”

The lady brings over tea, and J insists he pay her for it despite her insistence for him not to. She shuffles off into the back before he can even get out some coins.

“Tell me, where can I leave this? I feel terrible not paying,” J asks you. It catches you off guard, really, mostly because he seems to be the kind of person who walks around the center square winking at every vendor in the hopes of receiving free merchandise.

“Oh,” you say, embarrassingly speechless. “Well, I suppose I could take it and give it to her. If we left rather soon then we could simply leave it on the counter for her to find. It’s likely that she won’t come back out for a while, since I have company.”

“Am I your company, Y/N?” J asks, almost teasingly. It makes you want to chuck your cup of jasmine tea into his face.

“Don’t think too much of it,” you advise him, a warning to tell him to knock it off. “We’re just here together.”

“Lucky us,” J says, holding up his cup of tea for a toast. You indulge him (begrudgingly so), letting your glasses clink together as you both finish a much needed warm drink on a chilly afternoon.

Too soon, the respite of the cafe is broken by a knock at the door. You both turn to find a messenger waiting patiently outside the cafe, motioning for J to come and speak to him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” J says, scooting back his chair and heading over, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, the old lady reappears from the back of the room, collecting your finished cups as you both listen intently to the murmuring outside.

“That young man mentioned that the two of you spend lots of time together,” the muses, cleaning the cups with a wet rag. She’s got a knowing look in her eye, like she’s picked up on something the both of you seem to have overlooked.

“We’re both knights,” you correct. It’s important to you that she knows that you don’t spend time together out of personal preference. It’s merely obligation. “So we see each other quite often.”

“I’ve never seen him around before,” she says pointedly, “but he seems to know quite a lot about you.”

“Oh, not really,” you insist. How could he? You’ve barely known him a month. Still, it’s clear that the lady doesn’t believe you.

“As you say,” she says, skeptical.

You’re about to open your mouth and reject her notions further, but then the door opens up again, and J looks terribly apologetic as he walks inside, joining your side. “We’ve been called in.”

As per usual, the Kingdom appears with impeccable timing to ruin the rest of your afternoon. It has a striking tendency to do that.

“For what?” You ask, exasperated. J doesn’t look much happier.

“Criminal hearings,” J says, and the words make you you toss your head back and sigh.

Criminal hearings and its many, many procedures are quite possibly your least favorite part of being a top-ranked royal knight. With your knowledge of the ins and outs of the military and the kingdom’s inner workings, as well as with you being an advisor to the generals and the King and Queen, you are often obligated to attend these, just in case there is a desperate need for the technicalities of military crimes that no one else can provide. It is, admittedly, extremely boring, since you can’t really offer any sort of insight or opinion on the actual criminal and their crime at hand.

“Fine,” you say, suddenly much less energized than you were approximately thirty seconds ago. “I suppose that we’ll have to be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” J says, attracting the attention of the old lady behind the counter. He holds out some coins, palm facing up. “Please accept this from me. I couldn’t leave without paying you for your wonderful tea and service.”

“Oh, pish posh,” the lady says with a shake of her hand. “Any friend of Y/N’s is well-deserving of some tea. You both work very hard. You should take any opportunity that presents itself to relax, and enjoy being young.”

“Please,” J insists, placing the coins in her hand, “a token of my gratitude. We shall return soon, right Y/N?” He gives your shoulder a nudge, making you look up at him. Return? You’d be blessed if J forgot about this place entirely, though you know that he’s bound to come back soon.

Perhaps there are worse things than losing your favorite cafe to him. Perhaps, you can simply learn to enjoy his company, instead.

“Of course, how could I resist?” You say, waving goodbye to the lady at the counter. “We really must be going, but I shall see you soon.”

“Take care of yourselves, the both of you!” She sees you off with a smile and a wink directed right at you for a cause you aren’t too keen on picking up. Old ladies are always so vague.

When you walk outside, you’re surprised to find yourselves alone. “Where’s the messenger guard?” You ask, looking around to see if he’s found a tree to take respite from the sun under.

J laughs, warm and hearty. “I sent him off, told him we would be able to make it ourselves.”

“Oh, alright,” you say with a shrug, already beginning to trudge the familiar path towards the castle.

You take six steps before realizing that J is neither next to you nor following you, still standing on the porch of the cafe as the sun makes his hair glimmer a dark caramel in the light.

“Aren’t you coming?” You turn around to ask, an eyebrow raised as you tap your foot on the cobblestone road.

“Have you ever skipped a criminal hearing before, Y/N?” J asks, and the very notion of bailing makes your eyes go wide.

“Skipped?” You clarify.

“That’s what I said,” J confirms.

“No…” You trail off, feeling more and more like the try hard you once were while training, wide-eyed and eager to prove yourself. Standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on your toes and twiddling your fingers as he steps off of the porch, taking long strides to reach you, makes you feel so nervous. With every step he takes closer to you, your heart begins to beat faster, faster, faster.

“Well,” J says, reaching out his hand to take hold of your own. “Would you like to start?”

When you were stationed on the Kingdom’s borders, you thought you had explored every nook and cranny of Kala. You had wandered through forests, across rivers, and into small edge villages with goods you had never even heard of before. You thought you had seen it all.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

J pulls you off of the cobblestone path and immediately takes you into the woods that surround the cafe, weaving past trees and ferns and grass alike. This time of year, the forest is ripe with greenery, right when summer is coming to an end but the leaves have yet to begin to fade to brown. Even without landmarks or a path to guide him, J seems to know exactly where the two of you are going, like he’s taken this road a million times before. And still, you had never seen him before this.

It’s a wonder that the two of you missed each other for so long.

“Where are we going, J?” You ask, laughing as the exhilaration of skipping your duties in favor of a fun day in the forest begins to flow through your veins. You’ve never done this before.

“Just wait, you’ll see,” he says cryptically, taking you down a large hill. You must be out of the Kingdom borders by now, with how far you’ve been going, and yet, no one had ever thought to place guards in this area.

Five more minutes of travelling and you’re near convinced that J is about to take you to some cave in the floor of the forest and murder you, when he tugs you up a hill to reveal—

It’s a clearing with grass so green you’d almost think it was enchanted. The leaves of the trees whisper to each other, voices flowing with the wind that breezes by each and every one, saying hello to the branches as they rustle. Tall grass and ferns grow on the edge of the forest, disguising the clearing to anyone who wouldn’t bother to keep looking, make their way through the overgrowth and into the oasis.

Never in a million years would you have been able to find this place on your own.

“What do you think?” J asks excitedly as he pulls you into the middle of the clearing, where the leaves of the trees have left an opening for the sun to shine through, a halo in the middle of the forest.

“I—I’m speechless,” you say, eyes wandering from every piece of bark to every blade of grass. You’ve always loved your Kingdom and its beauty, from the extravagant castle to the little shacks on the border, but this is more than that. This isn’t just beauty—it’s magic. “How did you find this place?”

“Strayed from the pack during military training outside,” he says guiltily. Clearly, skipping out on responsibilities has become a habit of J’s.

“Unbelievable,” you say, fingers tracing along the wildflowers growing close to the forest floor. You take a seat in the middle of it all, letting the sun stream through the leaves as the flowers open their petals at your touch. It’s as if every single living thing has been enchanted—like none of this could exist naturally.

“Do you like it?” J asks, taking a seat on the stone next to you. He reaches down to run his fingers through the grass, letting the soft dirt gather on his skin.

“I don’t think I have the words,” you tell him. You thought you had found a hidden respite from the hustle and bustle, but he has found not just a respite. He’s found a home. “Why would you show me this place?”

“What do you mean?” J asks. He finds a small yellow flower, a buttercup, and plucks it from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

“I mean, why would you bring me here? Wouldn’t you want to keep this place all for yourself?” You inquire, curious. Certainly, that’s what you would do.

J pauses for a moment, staring down at the buttercup in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, watches as your fingers touch his own, taking the buttercup from him. You twirl it between your fingers, and wonder what all of this means.

“No,” he eventually answers. “Because a place like this deserves to be shared with the people that deserve to see it.”

♚ HERE ♚

[You have 5 unread messages]

Jungkook (5:53PM): Is it still acceptable to talk about Kingdom at company dinners? Jungkook (5:53PM): Is the ban that Yoongi instated last company dinner still going? Do you think he’ll be mad if I talk about how I just got a bunch of gold from solving the mystery of the time capsule?

Yoongi (5:55PM): If I have to sit through another company dinner where everyone is talking about Kingdom and nobody is talking about anime or my dog Holly I will lose it

Taehyung (5:57PM): You’re coming, right? You mentioned having a thing that ended pretty late this evening so you weren’t sure you’d make it

Seokjin (6:03PM): Excited to see you tonight! Promise I won’t spill anything on you tonight haha

Your office’s annual company dinner is the one and only opportunity you, as employees, get per year to talk about whatever you like in front of your colleagues, all while getting a meal paid for by your wonderfully unassuming, hardheaded boss. It is both a celebration of camaraderie and, of course, being employed, and a chance for your personal group to talk about Kingdom for two hours straight without repercussions.

Needless to say, many of you are looking forward to it.

To Jungkook (6:07PM): Yes, but only if we get to talk about how I’m still the best at the game out of everyone To Jungkook (6:07PM): Also, don’t forget to talk to Yoongi about My Hero Academia I know that you secretly love it

To Yoongi (6:08PM): Bring earplugs? Or maybe a manga book to get the conversation going?

To Taehyung (6:08PM): Yeah, I’ll be there To Taehyung (6:08PM): Probably be late though To Taehyung (6:09PM): Save me a seat!

To Seokjin (6:10PM): Not sure if I can promise the same thing! Fingers crossed we make it out tonight unscathed by scalding hot liquids

The company dinner starts at 6:30, which means that it really starts at 7:00 by the time everyone arrives, but even still, you’ll probably be late because you are actually doing last-minute laundry, and not attending a special event like you had told Taehyung. Sue you. Your clothes were dirty.

Standing in the middle of your apartment wearing the slouchiest clothes you own, you wonder if it’s even worth going when you know that you will probably 1) be late and 2) have to endure two hours worth of Kingdom talk and other things that leave you thoroughly embarrassed, like your nonexistent love life.

You’ve never skipped out on a company dinner before, but then again, never have all of your colleagues been so on top of you about your very insignificant, not at all soul-crushing, extremely minimal, super unimportant, tiny little infatuation with a certain coworker, so there’s that to consider.

Not to mention the fact that your entire office genuinely believes that the two of you hooked up in the gender neutral bathroom during the middle of the workday, which is a circumstance so improbable you have no idea how Taehyung managed to convince everybody that that was actually what happened. It’s not as if your coworkers didn’t see the ridiculous brown stains on the front of your and Seokjin’s shirts, or didn’t smell the office coffee stench all over the both of you.

So, for once in your life, you are genuinely considering just staying at home, finishing your laundry, and eating the frozen veggie burritos you bought from Costco two weeks ago. It sounds very tempting.

This thought is immediately combated by the fact that you usually have some of the most fun during the year at this company dinner, and a free meal at a nice, upscale restaurant is something that you would normally never pass up. But then again, Seokjin will be there and he will be dressed very nicely, and the rest of your coworkers will also be there, and they will be relentless.

Jungkook (6:33PM): Tae said you’d be late but please come soon! We can’t talk about Kingdom without the best player present!!!! Jungkook (6:33PM): Oh no Namjoon sees me with my phone

And out of every possible text you could have received that night, that one is the one that convinces you to pull out the same dress you’ve worn to the company dinner (it’s not as if anyone else will remember) every other year, tug it on, and head out. Your Costco veggie burritos will have to wait for another stay-at-home night.

You arrive fashionably late as always, walking into the restaurant and just asking for directions to where the “big group of loud office workers” is, a term easily identifiable by the scrambled hostess with fifteen different tables to seat all at once. She points you to the back room, where you can already hear Hoseok’s laughter from outside in the main dining area.

“You guys are loud,” you say in lieu of a greeting, everyone letting out cries of “Y/N!” and “You made it!” as you look around for the last empty seat.

“Here, saved you a spot right next to me,” Seokjin volunteers helpfully, motioning to the empty velvet chair next to him. In the seat next to that sits Taehyung, who is grinning guiltily, like he didn’t just dupe you into thinking he had saved you a seat next to him and someone else other than the person you were hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of.

“Thinking of me when I’m not even here, how thoughtful,” you say, walking over and sending a glare Taehyung’s way as you take your seat, the glass at the top right corner of your placemat already filled.

“How could we forget about you?” Seokjin reasons, and he says it so casually but it makes your heart flutter all the same.

When Seokjin’s finally started talking to Hoseok and Jimin on his other side, the two of them attempting to explain the inner workings of Kingdom to him (to little avail, as per usual), you round on Taehyung, who is every bit the best wingman and the worst friend in the entire world.

“How could you do this to me?” You hiss at him, trying not to attract the attention of the man sitting on the opposite side of you.

“I said I had saved you a seat!” Taehyung says defensively, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

“This was not what I had in mind,” you tell him pointedly.

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have hidden it from you,” Taehyung says. He motions to Seokjin, who’s laughing at something that Jimin’s just said, eyes crinkled into half moons as the waiter places the cocktail he’s ordered down in front of him. “You know, it’s not so bad having a crush on him, right?”

“He is our coworker and way out of my league, of course it is,” you remind Taehyung.

Taehyung shrugs you off with a wave of his hand. “Give yourself some credit, Y/N. You’re hot. Embrace it.”

“I will not, thank you very much. This conversation makes me want to hurl,” you say as normally as possible, blinking to show your discomfort to Taehyung.

“You need to stop being so afraid of what might actually come out of this,” Taehyung says, a reassuring hand on your arm. “You never know what might happen.”

“What’s definitely going to happen is that I’m going to feel too cold from the vent above my head, and we’re going to switch seats,” you say. You immediately make to stand up, but Taehyung grabs onto your wrist and looks up at you like a child begging for candy in a supermarket.

“Please, Y/N? Just give it a try, and if you hate it by the time the entree comes around, we can switch. Alright?” He asks, a simple compromise to get you to sit back down.

You sigh. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shoot your shot, no matter how terrible your aim is.

“I didn’t order any soup, so hopefully we can last through this dinner without ruining more of our clothes,” Seokjin says, an icebreaker to ease the obvious tension between the two of you. He breaks down your walls so easily, carves out a path in the side of it to waltz right through.

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically,” you better finish that cocktail soon or we might both be in big trouble.”

Seokjin chuckles, warm and full, and takes another sip of the fruity drink for good measure. “Don’t know how you keep getting crowned Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important when I’m here, a walking coffee volcano.”

“When the superlatives roll around, I’ll petition the court and see if we can crown you instead,” you promise.

“I’m honored. I’ll cherish that title for as long as I live,” Seokjin jokes, bowing to you just for good measure. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?” You ask, peering down at the large group menu. Everything looks awfully delicious and awfully expensive, so you just go for a classic pasta dish and hope that Taehyung orders something different, so you can try each other’s.

“Sitting next to you,” Seokjin says like it’s obvious, making you blink at your menu like it’s just offended your entire family ancestry. “I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up like this at a company dinner.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” You ask hopefully.

“It’s nice,” Seokjin says. “I feel like we don’t get to talk very much at work.”

“You said you’d bring more doughnuts,” you remind him. Seokjin has held up on his promise, actually, and since the first round of doughnuts, he’s brought on two more occasions to brighten up everybody’s day.

“I think I need a better excuse than doughnuts,” Seokjin says to himself. “I can’t keep going to Dunkin’ right before work, pretty soon all of the workers will know me by name and that is a level that I’m not sure I’d like to reach yet.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell him, a hand instinctively coming to rest on his shoulder as comfort. “Some of the Costco employees recognize me even when I’m wearing my sunglasses inside.”

“You wear your sunglasses inside Costco?” Seokjin asks with a laugh.

“Sometimes I just forget to take them off when I walk from my car into the store!” You say defensively. “It’s really bright in there, sue me.”

“No, no, I think it’s cute,” Seokjin assures you. “Maybe being recognized by the Dunkin’ employees won’t be that bad. At least they probably wouldn’t know who I was if I had my sunglasses on.”

“I’m being attacked, I’m pretty sure,” you say pointedly.

“Only affectionately. You’re still ridiculously endearing.” Seokjin says with a chuckle, smiling at you as Jungkook calls your name to tell him something about Kingdom that he’s forgotten. But even as Seokjin gets tugged into another conversation and you get pulled into your own, your brain can’t help but replay the sound of his voice in your head, over and over.

You’re still ridiculously endearing.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin asks over a mouthful of complimentary bread with olive oil. “Did you ever figure out who knocked Y/N from the top spot in Kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook cries out, suddenly thirsty for justice. “It makes me so mad that I don’t know who they are, especially since they’re getting all the in-game brand deals and Y/N gets nothing,” he says pointedly as he motions to you, clearly exasperated for a cause that wasn’t even his to begin with.

“Jungkook, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a game,” you remind him, the table too wide to reach over and pat his hand comfortingly. “I still get a lot of things in second place.”

“What’s Jungkook talking about?” Seokjin asks, motioning to where Jungkook seems to be on a rampage as Jimin and Namjoon listen in.

“Oh, Kingdom, like always,” you say fondly. “He’s determined to figure out the name of the person who dethroned me.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him. How many people play Kingdom?”

“Hundreds of thousands, probably,” you say. “Maybe millions.”

“Millions of people, and somehow we ended up with the second-best player in the game right at this table,” Seokjin says with a grin. “We should be honored.”

“It’s just a game,” you remind him, even though the sentiment is awfully sweet. “I think I much prefer the real world, don’t you?”

Seokjin smiles at you as the waiter comes around to offer him another cocktail.

“Another one, sir?”

Seokjin looks down at the cocktail, then at your unstained clothes, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” The waiter nods, taking his empty glass and moving onto another coworker. He looks at you, and his eyes are swimming in stars. “I think that I do, too.”

Dinner ends with Hoseok and Jungkook gobbling down everybody’s leftovers, your boss paying the bill without even glancing at the check, and you laughing alongside Seokjin, who keeps your end of the table entertained with fantastic stories about his past job at a luxury department store and less-than-fantastic dad jokes that he prides himself for coming up with on the spot.

Taehyung had nudged you when the entrees had come around, motioning to the vent above your head, but you hadn’t even noticed the cold.

“Ugh,” Jimin says with a groan as the group of you head outside once everyone is finished, the chilly night air hitting your skin as you open the door. “I hate that we could only schedule this for a Wednesday, because it means we have to come into work again tomorrow.”

“When else are we supposed to schedule it for?” Yoongi asks with a frown. “Did you even look at the When2Meet? Nobody had any free time for the rest of the month.”

“Well, if everyone’s cleared their schedules just for this dinner, anyone want to keep the celebration going at my apartment? I just bought a box of wine from Trader Joe’s,” Jimin asks.

“On a Wednesday?” Yoongi says, nose scrunched up in disapproval.

“Yeah, when else would you drink boxed Trader Joe’s wine?” Jimin responds like it’s obvious.

Everyone begins to either disperse back to their cars or get Jimin’s address so they can get wine drunk on a Wednesday like you’re supposed to, leaving you and Seokjin out of the crowd.

“Are you heading over to Jimin’s?” He asks you as you begin to walk towards your cars, taking a step every five seconds as you watch Jimin tell everybody his exact address, loudly and slowly enough for any burglars and axe-wielding murderers within a three-mile radius to also hear him.

“No, I think I’ll just head home for the night,” you say, checking the time on your phone. It’s nearly ten, already. Where did the time go?

“Ah, then I guess I will, too,” Seokjin says. “Oh, here’s my car.”

“You parked close,” you comment.

“I thought that I’d be late because I arrived at 6:45, but I was the second one here,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh.

“Sounds like our office, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. We’ll have to do this again sometime just to see how late everyone shows up,” Seokjin says.

“Promise I’ll be early next time,” you say.

“Next time, then?” Seokjin asks, already opening his car door and beginning to step inside. You stand on the sidewalk in front of him, watching as he pulls the door shut and waves to you through the windshield. A next time sounds awfully nice.

“Next time.”

♚ THERE ♚

The King and Queen never do find out about your truancy, though you have to admit, you were never really worried about that in the first place. Not when J was grinning as he told you he had sent the messenger guard off, laughing as he dragged you through the forest, smiling as he twirled a buttercup between his fingers. He had done it before and he’ll do it again, and look where that’s gotten him.

Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him.

Still, despite your high ranks, the two of you can’t avoid your responsibilities forever. Eventually, you will always have to report back to the castle, get a new assignment, and start the cycle all over again.

“At least they’re letting us go together,” J reasons as the two of you nod to the knights standing guard at the border of the kingdom, by the main forest that leads directly to a kingdom with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong. No wars have broken out between your two lands in years, but never has stability been one-hundred percent earned, which means that both kingdoms must be on high alert. You never know when a rebel group will attempt to invade the land.

“Like I’d want to spend any more time with you,” you joke, giving J a nudge in the side as you stroll along the forest edge. In the middle of the day with the sun high above your heads, neither of you are particularly worried about being attacked. It would be foolish for an enemy group to do so, especially at a time when the kingdom’s guards are the most awake.

“Am I really such awful company?” J asks, and he’s smiling but he asks in such a way, it’s almost as if he means it. The two of you have never been on the best of terms, but you’ve found yourself growing out of the competition-fueled rage you once always found yourself in whenever you were near him. No longer is regaining your first place your most important priority. Rather, it’s doing your job and doing it correctly, upholding the duties that the kingdom has entrusted you with, regardless of who’s by your side.

(Though, even if you’d never admit it, J makes quite good company, most of the time.)

“No,” you insist, a hand reaching out to rub comfortingly at his forearm. “You aren’t.”

“You think so?” J says with a laugh, almost bitter. “I must say, you’ve never been that fond of me.”

“You may have charmed your way into the rest of the kingdom’s hearts, but I needed some convincing,” you remind him, reminiscent of how he would tease you constantly, dangle his promotion right above your head like a trophy you’d never be able to reach.

“Did I do a good job, then?” J asks, hands in his pockets. It’s a quiet day, today. Even the birds have begun to murmur.

“You did quite alright,” you say, nudging him. “Though I must say, I absolutely hate how all of the vendor’s daughters fawn all over you and give you free items like fruit, and jewelry. I’m never given that treatment.”

“You just don’t have my naturally charming, handsome, soft looks,” J says, posing in front of you as the two of you walk. The obnoxiousness of it all makes you almost want to chuck the apple you’re about to eat right at his face.

“What do you mean? I can be charming,” you say with a pout. You pretend to flip your hair, just for emphasis.

“You and I are different types of charming,” J says casually. “You’re strong. You speak loudly and clearly and you don’t ever flounder. You always know exactly what you want, and know the best way to get it. You aren’t afraid of anything, and are always willing to take on any challenge that comes your way. It’s… it’s different.”

And even if he thinks you never flounder, never stumble over your words or stutter, for once, you can’t think of anything to say. You’re walking along the forest’s edge with a knight you had convinced yourself that you would never befriend, and he’s just told you all of these wonderful things about yourself you never would have known he’d thought otherwise.

J’s right. It is different. This is different. And you can hardly remember when it started to be like this. Only one day, it was just like this, and it never stopped.

“Do you really think all of those things about me?” You ask, staring down at your boots as you walk along the dirt path, kicking small pebbles as you go. They go flying off into the grass, never to be seen again. But sometimes, you come across one you had kicked a few steps back, and you try again, earnestly hoping to see how far it will go with you by its side.

“I mean, well…” J says, stumbling. “I don’t just think those things about you, you know? They’re facts, aren’t they? Those are things that, well, I suppose, everyone would think about you. Right?”

“You know what I think?” You ask, looking up at him. His dark hair shimmers in the light, like reflects of gold have been sprinkled amongst the ink black. “We are different types of charming. You’re charismatic and friendly, always willing to listen. You accept things graciously and are always grateful for what you receive. You pay people back whatever they’ve given you, even if it’s not the same item, even if it’s just the thought that counts. You always want to do better, and then you do. You work hard for each thing you get, and you never take it for granted.”

J grins down at you. “But you don’t actually think that, do you?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Just facts.”

“Just facts,” he echoes.

When did talking to him become so easy? When did it all start coming to you naturally?

“Did you ever hate me?” He asks you, curious. He knows, he must, that that’s not the case anymore.

“No,” you admit, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “I think that I just hated that you were better than me. But… like you said, it’s different now. Now, I don’t care if you’re better than me. That sort of competition makes me a better soldier. You make me a better soldier.”

“Really?” J wonders, genuine. His eyes are wide in surprise, shocked at such a candid admission coming from you. To be honest, you’re surprised with yourself, as well. “I had no idea.”

“Keep it up, then. You know—”

A taut string let go.

The wind stopping in its tracks.

And an arrow headed right for your heart.

“Oh my God!” You shout quickly, unable to do much except alert the man next to you that the two of you are in imminent danger.

Before you can even blink, close your eyes and wait for the tip to pierce your heart, J is pushing you out of the way, sending you flying to the forest floor and he pulls his bow from his back, sending a steel arrow flying in the direction of the woods. You both wait there, only a second but it’s a second too long, until you hear a thud on the ground, a final breath, and then—

Silence.

The moment you’re both positive the assailant is dead, J turns to you, eyes wide. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m alright,” you assure him, telling him (and yourself) over and over as he pulls you up from the ground. Your heart is racing and you can’t quite seem to catch your breath, but you’re alive and so is he, and that’s all that matters. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he immediately says. “As long as you are.”

You look behind him to find an arrow stuck in a tree, but what alarms you more is the sight of blood on the tip. Immediately, you turn back to J, only to find the side of his arm covered in blood, bleeding right through his armor.

“Oh my God, J, you’re hurt,” you cry out, fumbling for something to stop the flow.

“I’m alright, Y/N, really,” he insists, placing a hand on top of your own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for good measure. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to take you back to the kingdom,” you push, already beginning to head back towards the gate.

“I’ve suffered worse injuries, Y/N, seriously,” he tells you, hoping to ease the pit of worry in your stomach. “I’m a top-ranked knight who prefers the battlefield over anything else. I’ve broken bones, gotten stabbed, and nearly died. This? It’s nothing. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

“We still have to get you back to the Kingdom and patch you up,” you insist firmly. “Even if you say you’re alright.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Y/N.” J goes with you obligingly, lets you walk him back to the kingdom gates.

You urge him into the local medical practitioner, sit him down on the bench and watch as the doctor bandages his wound, reminds him not to engage in any strenuous activity while it’s healing. He sits patiently, glaring at you slightly and rolling his eyes any time the doctor speaks, which is fairly frequently. It’s clear only one of you wants to be here right now, and it’s the one of you without a scratch on your body.

When the doctor leaves to tend to another patient, you get up from where you’re seated and sit down next to him on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder.

Working for the Kingdom makes you stronger. Sitting in the cafe makes you think. But being with him, standing by his side, it makes you wonder. It makes your heart race and your mind clear. It makes you feel safe.

“I think you saved my life,” you whisper softly, clutching onto him like a lifeline, like if you let go, one of you will drown.

But that’s not the case. Neither of you will let go. Not without the other. Never without the other.

“Really?” He asks. He already knows the answer.

“No, I know you did,” you tell him. Things are different now, but maybe they’ve always been like this. You just never noticed. “Because in a heartbeat, I would do the same for you.”

♚ HERE ♚

“I have not seen Seokjin all day,” Jimin comments loudly one day, making everyone immediately turn to Seokjins’ desk, which looks practically untouched. His computer is asleep, his chair is pushed in, and his desktop is empty. The only thing that suggests that the man is even here in the first place is the messenger bag resting against the desk drawers, though it doesn’t look like it’s even been opened today.

“Probably too busy avoiding you,” Yoongi deadpans, earning a “zing!” from Hoseok that makes you feel even more like you’re standing in the middle of a high school movie made by people who don’t know what high school is like.

“Is he even in today?”

“He is,” you pipe up. “His bag is here.”

“Of course you would know!” Taehyung teases, and he earns a highlighter to the face for his trouble.

“He’s probably just trying to get his work done in a place that doesn’t consist of screaming and constant insults being hurled across the room,” Jimin says with a sigh, turning back to his work. It’s a fair statement, especially when the environment in your office is most often distracting, loud, and not at all an ideal work environment. It’s an absolute wonder that any of you manage to get your work done while you’re here.

“Y/N, wanna go hunt him down?” Taehyung suggests, sending a wink your way as your eyes widen.

“No, absolutely not, no way. I will not be tricked by you again,” you say, very reminiscent of the last time you went to go look for Seokjin and ended up with a coffee-stained shirt and a group of coworkers who thinks the two of you hooked up that one time.

“If you say so…” Taehyung says, voice trailing off as he turns back to his work.

But for once in your life, Seokjin’s absence is more noticeable than ever. He’s become a fixture in your everyday office life, always stopping by your desk with a second cup of low-grade office coffee for you (with a lid, of course), sending you emails complaining about Jimin and Hoseok when they’re being loud, asking you for help on every one of his difficult font decisions for logo designs, drafting emails to clients with you. It’s a sort of closeness that you never really had before—sure, you worked together and often got paired up for projects, but it’s different now. Like you jumped ship on being just colleagues but instead of drowning, you began to float.

Five more minutes pass and you pretty much resign yourself to getting back to your work, knowing that Seokjin’s probably just grabbed his laptop and found a place where he can work in peace and quiet without Hoseok’s shrill voice interrupting his thoughts. You’ll have to ask him what place he’s discovered.

When there are four minutes left in the workweek and you are finally beginning to close out of the fifteen thousand tabs open on your Google Chrome window, the door busts open.

It doesn’t actually bust open, so much as Seokjin comes flying through it and it slowly goes to rest on the padded door frame like it’s been designed to. His tie is loose around his neck like he’s been tugging on it all afternoon, his laptop is clenched carefully between his arm and his torso, and he’s got a flurry of papers freeballing it in a stack in his hands.

“Oh my God, what tornado did you come from?” Jimin asks as Seokjin rushes over to his desk, cramming everything into his tiny messenger bag that definitely isn’t meant to fit a laptop and a stack of papers that thick.

“Sehun just dumped an entire project on me that’s due on Sunday at noon with no warning, and now I have to pull together fragments of a crumbling magazine label before their final review on Sunday afternoon,” he says, terribly out of breath. He’s scrambling to gather his belongings, crashing into anything within a two-foot radius of him.

“Dude, what the heck? I’m gonna tell Namjoon to kick Sehun’s ass,” Hoseok says with a frown, nose scrunched up. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’m alright, I can do it,” Seokjin insists, rubbing a hand through his hair as he leaves before the clock has even struck five.

“Are you sure? You look like you want to jump out of the window,” Hoseok asks again, just for clarification. He’s not wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Seokjin become so stressed in such a short period of time before. “At least let one of us help you get settled back into your apartment.”

To your right, Taehyung whispers into Jungkook’s ear, who then does this sort of weird hand movement to Hoseok, who nods understandingly. It looks suspiciously like they just plotted someone’s murder.

“I can’t,” Jungkook says with an obnoxiously fake yawn, suddenly speaking much slower than usual, “I’m deadbeat tired.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung says, coughing in the way people do when they just want to get out of something. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

You whip your head around as everyone besides Yoongi comes up with an absolutely bullshit excuse not to accompany Seokjin to his apartment—Jimin says he has a date right after work and Hoseok says he needs to feed his puppy before he gets too hungry, leaving only you and a Yoongi that hasn’t been listening to the conversation whatsoever to vie for the spot.

“Yoongi?” You ask, somewhat desperate not to be the one to accompany Seokjin to his apartment. You turn to your head to glare at Taehyung, who shamelessly coughs again when he meets your eyes, smiling guiltily.

“Huh?” He asks, turning around.

“Fine, you know what? I can come with,” you say with a sigh, already grabbing your belongings as Taehyung and Jungkook high-five next to you.

“Oh, really? You’re a lifesaver, Y/N, you know that?” Seokjin says, and even when he’s stressed it’s like the weight has been lifted off of his shoulders once you volunteer, and you suppose that there are worse things that can happen than accompanying Seokjin to his apartment for ten minutes.

Seokjin gives you the address of his place so that you can drive to it yourself, the both of you pulling into the parking garage underneath his apartment complex at the same time, waving to each other from adjacent parking spaces.

“I really, really appreciate this, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a smile as he brings you into his apartment complex, nodding a friendly hello to the security officer in the lobby. “I know that it’s a Friday night and everything as well. You’d probably want to be doing something else.”

“Ah, yes, you know me, I frequent all of the clubs and bars in this city,” you say sarcastically as you walk into the elevator. Seokjin hits the button for the seventh floor and laughs. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It was a dick move of Sehun to drop this on you when it’s due in, like, thirty-six hours.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin says, exasperated as he leans back against the steel walls of the elevator. “I thought I would just get to go home this Friday night, pull up Netflix, and have a one-man movie night, but now I have to spend the next thirty-six hours doing this.”

“Well, you know all of us are just looking out for you, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure yourself from stress before you got back to your apartment,” you say as the elevator door dings. Seokjin leads you down the hallway to his door, sticking his key in and jiggling it until the door pops open.

Admittedly, you have never been in Seokjin’s apartment, but you it was like you had already painted a picture of it in your head from his personality traits alone. You thought it would be fairly minimalistic, clean and neat, not too many flashy colors or kitschy items but things like photographs and magnets to make it feel like an office and more like a home. Pictured it as a sort of very simple, modern home, like the ones that celebrities live in because they can afford to keep their belongings clean all the time, because Seokjin looks exactly like a celebrity, gorgeous and put-together.

Instead, Seokjin’s apartment is almost a hodgepodge of everything he could think to find to decorate, a stack of photobooks on his coffee table, slouchy leather couches wrinkled from wear, various kitchen supplies splayed all over his countertops. It’s the kind of place you can imagine him being in, existing in. You can see him standing behind his kitchen island with all of the ingredients and supplies for this wonderful dish he’s making littered across the counters. You can see him curled up on the couch, leaning against the corner of it to find that perfect spot, watching television.

There’s a difference between owning a place, and living in it. Living in it makes it feels like a home, like it’s real, and not just for show.

“Wow, your place is—”

“It’s really messy right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests,” Seokjin says, letting his messenger bag plop down on the ground as he scrambles to make his living space nicer for you.

“No, I was going to say it’s lovely,” you tell him. “It feels exactly like you.”

“Does it?” Seokjin asks genuinely, a soft smile lacing his features. “Well then, thank you.”

You wait around in his apartment awkwardly, not really sure if stepping past the front of his couch is socially acceptable since you’re just “visiting” and he hasn’t officially invited you inside yet. The main objective of accompanying him to his apartment has already been accomplished: you made sure he got home safely and that he can do his work in peace. Finished. But even still, you’re hanging around, wondering when he’s going to kick you out for being a weird, unknown fixture in his home.

“Um, would you like to stay for dinner? I made soup last night and I have way too much for me to eat on my own,” he offers, opening up his fridge and taking out an enormous pot. It clinks as it hits his countertop, the metal sound echoing throughout his apartment.

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, taking this as your cue to remove yourself from the situation before you do anything else to make an absolute fool of yourself.

“I insist, please,” Seokjin says, stopping you in your tracks. “I may have a whole project to finish by Sunday, but we should at least spend this Friday night together, right?”

You look down at your shoes before looking up at him, meeting his eyes from where he stands behind his counter island.

“Then I will,” you say, removing your flats and padding over to where he stands, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter island. “But only if you let me help you with the project, too. It was asshole-y of Sehun to dump it all on you. At least let me handle some of the graphic aspects.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching his hand out over the counter, “you have a deal.”

This deal mainly consists of you eating some of Seokjin’s homemade soup on his couches, your laptops on his coffee table and that ridiculously thick stack of papers spread out amongst you. Seokjin already has a fair bit of information about the project at hand, but he still has absolutely zero progress since he received the assignment four minutes before the end of the workweek.

“So, basically, what we have to do is re-organize the magazine’s overall design and aesthetic before their final review on Sunday, because if they don’t appeal to the publisher, they’re getting tanked,” Seokjin says, paging through the papers in search of a sketch.

“So we’re their last hope,” you summarize.

Seokjin nods. “We’re their last hope.”

“Great,” you say, not at all enthused. “No pressure at all.”

“I know. I’m so relaxed right now,” Seokjin says, clearly not relaxed.

“You know what’s making me relaxed? This soup,” you say, finishing the last of what’s in your bowl. “It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “I picked it up when I moved to college and didn’t know how to make anything except toast.”

“You’re a very fast learner, then,” you say. “I’d pay you to make all of my meals, honestly.”

“Would you like more? I have a ton, so we can eat it all if you’d like,” he asks, already standing up and reaching his hand out for your bowl.

You hand it over, shaking your head as he makes his way back to his little kitchen, ladling more soup into both of your bowls. “You’re too nice, Seokjin. Seriously. How am I supposed to pay back this kindness?”

Seokjin lets out a warm chuckle as he warms up your next serving in the microwave. “Believe me, Y/N, volunteering to take on this project with me with a due date in less than thirty-six hours is more than enough. You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to. You deserve someone who’s willing to help you with big things like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it all on your own.”

Seokjin grins as he returns, handing you your bowl of soup as you get back to work. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

What was supposed to be a couple of hours spent grinding out a project over a shared pot of soup turns into a night’s worth of work, scribbles on paper and the redoing of the same logo fifteen different times on your computer’s much slower, less-updated version of Photoshop. The application crashes on three different occasions, causing you to nearly slam it into the wall, but you just try to look on the bright side. Find the silver lining. Of which there are none.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring any better than you are. You’ve never seen the man under such pressure before, not in the office and certainly not while you’re out of the office. He’s tugged on a crewneck sweater over his dress shirt and paces around his apartment in bright pink slippers, brainstorming aloud as you bounce ideas off of each other in a panic.

“What if we rebranded them?” Seokjin suggests wildly. When you turn to look at the digital clock underneath his television, it says 11:17PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t collapsed underneath the pile of work he’s got on his plate.

“What do you mean? Do we even have the authorization to rebrand them?” You ask, pulling up a new tab on magazine marketing techniques.

“The project description says requests for anything that will keep them afloat,” Seokjin says. He immediately opens an old photobook, buried underneath your laptops, sketches, and papers, flipping through before he sits down right next to you on his slouchy leather couch. “What if we gave them more of a minimalist kind of style? They’re trying to jump off of this super quirky, very basic Urban Outfitters kind of aesthetic, but I think it makes the magazine too young, you know?” Seokjin suggests. “We could do something more grown-up, attract their market audience.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” You ask, thoroughly interested. Maybe Seokjin’s onto something.

“Who says we can’t?” Seokjin responds, and it’s good enough for you to hop on board.

Sitting in his apartment like this, brainstorming different ideas and collaborating on logo designs, magazine layout, and website design together, you are more productive than you’ve been in a very, very long time. Even as the night stretches on into the early hours of the morning, as you watch the clock turn from 1:00AM to 2:00AM to 3:00AM, the two of you are wide awake, the only things illuminating his apartment being a floor lamp by his television and the blue light of your laptop screens.

“It’s…” Seokjin yawns when it’s nearly four in the morning, pen slipping from his fingers, “so late.”

“I know,” you say back, feeling your eyelids beginning to sink. “I’m surprised we’ve even stayed up this long.”

“Haven’t been up this late since college,” Seokjin says, smiling hazily at past memories. “Always had code to finish for my class the next morning.”

“At least we get to sleep in now,” you joke. Even if you still have to finish putting together a brand new image for this magazine that’s about to go under, tomorrow is still a Saturday.

“Thank God,” Seokjin says, resting his head on the back of the couch cushion, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I feel like we did a lot tonight.”

“We were very productive,” you agree.

He yawns. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask, leaning over to move your computer from your lap to the coffee table, exchanging it for a sketchpad to keep brainstorming.

“I think,” Seokjin begins, and it must be just the sleepy haze his brain has entered rather than anything else that could spur him to express this, that makes him say, “that you and I make a perfect pair.”

You sit up straight at this, looking over at Seokjin as the pencil in between your fingers falls onto the sketchpad before rolling onto the floor. It looks like he’s fallen asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming him as all of the work he’s done catches up to him. In the dead of night, the only sound in the room is his soft breathing, chest rising and falling slowly as his mind begins to wander. You watch him, eyelids heavy, and think that he couldn’t have possibly thought that. No way would he say such a thing to you if he was perfectly cognizant, wide awake. After all, you’re the one with a crush on him, not the other way around.

You lean back, pondering why a man like Seokjin would ever invite you into his home, offer you soup, and shower you with subtle compliments that couldn’t just be friends being friends, and before you know it, your eyes fall shut.

It is nearly one in the afternoon by the time you wake up, the sunlight streaming in from the side of his apartment. It forces you to finally open your eyes, groaning as your blurry vision begins to clear.

That is when you register these four things in this order:

This is Seokjin’s apartment.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, in which you worked on a project with him last night.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and you fell asleep on his couch.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and he thinks that you’d make the perfect pair.

You hear a clink from across the room, and turn to find Seokjin, still wearing the same thing he was wearing last night, standing in his kitchen, pouring two glasses of orange juice.

“Morning,” Seokjin says. He pauses, then corrects himself. “Afternoon, actually.” He walks over to you, handing you a glass of orange juice as you rub your eyes, waking yourself up.

“How long have you been up?” You ask him, too tired to thank him out loud for the glass of orange juice.

“About an hour,” he says, checking the time. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.”

“I feel awful, I didn’t mean to intrude on your apartment for, like, an entire night,” you say, rubbing your forehead as you try to smooth out your hair, make yourself look less like you fell asleep at four in the morning in your gorgeous crush’s apartment.

“No, it’s alright, really,” Seokjin insists. “It was nice having company, for once. And I think we got a lot done.”

“I still feel bad, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” you say, looking around for your belongings as you try to gather your bearings.

“It’s fine,” Seokjin reassures you, sitting down on the couch next to you as he begins to clean up the absolute mess of the coffee table. “But your phone has been ringing nonstop, so someone must have missed you.”

You fumble around for your phone before finding it having slid in between the couch cushions, pulling it up to see three missed calls from Taehyung and two missed calls from Jungkook, as well as a slew of texts from the both of them.

“Oh, it’s just Taehyung and Jungkook,” you say with a shrug, deciding that now is not the time to bring them into the conversation. A quick scan of the texts gives you a rough summary of what you would have heard if you had answered their calls instead.

Taehyung (9:35AM): Y/N Taehyung (9:35AM): HELLO Taehyung (9:35AM): ARE YOU ALIVE??? Taehyung (9:36AM): YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE ARE YOU OKAY??? Taehyung (10:03AM): I WENT BY YOUR APARTMENT AND YOU DIDN’T ANSWER IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT Taehyung (10:04AM): TEXT ME 1 IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND 2 IF EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY Taehyung (10:05AM): LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE GOING HOME WITH SEOKJIN DID HE MURDER YOU??????? Taehyung (10:18AM): oh Taehyung (10:18AM): oh wait Taehyung (10:19AM): OHHHHHHHHH Taehyung (10:20AM): ;)

Jungkook (12:18PM): Kingdom just started a new event! Get online with me and let’s crush this thing pleaseeeee

“Just want me to play Kingdom with them,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s text messages and pretending like they don’t exist.

“You really like that game, don’t you?” Seokjin asks.

“Oh, they like it more than I do, really, I just try and keep the obsession to a minimum,” you say casually.

“But they always talk about how good you are,” Seokjin adds. “You’re ranked second, aren’t you? That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that exciting. I mean, it’s just a game,” you shrug it off.

“But you like it, which means that’s important,” Seokjin says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of the things you like. They matter to you.”

“You think so?” You ask, smiling at him.

“I know so. Tell me about Kingdom,” he urges, nudging your side. “Please? I’d love to know.”

And for once, you don’t just shrug it off and brand it as a game you play occasionally. You let yourself love that game, for all it’s done for you and your friends (even if you aren’t the best anymore) and your happiness, and you tell Seokjin about it. About how you started playing it when you were bored one day during work and saw a forum on it. How you got the rest of the office hooked on it as well, even if they were much more obnoxious about it than you are. How you go home after a long day of work and log on, letting yourself relax as you weave your way through the rankings and quests, finding solace in the familiarity of it all. You tell him why you love it, and why you probably won’t stop playing it for a long time, no matter what becomes of your ranking.

“It was nice being ranked first, but I actually don’t mind whoever it is that’s taken over,” you tell Seokjin honestly. “Jungkook wants to hunt them down, but I think that, whoever they are, they deserve that spot. You know, I used to hate them because the top-ranked player gets all of the best rewards, but our characters have recently started to spend so much time together that I feel like they’d probably have fallen in love by now.” You chuckle to yourself. If life were a movie, everything would always work out perfectly.

“You do?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “They spend so much time together. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Seokjin says, smiling. “I also have something to tell you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with anime, please. That is where I draw the line.”

“Don’t shame us,” Seokjin says, a hand on his heart like he’s been personally offended. Your eyes widen. “I’m kidding,” he says, laughing as you exhale, relieved. “I actually play Kingdom, too. I just wanted to ask you about it.”

“Seriously? All this time and you just pretended like you had no idea what it was?” you say in disbelief. He’s been hiding this from you for how long? God, the rest of your office is going to have a field day with this information.

“I just wanted you to tell me about it,” Seokjin admits sheepishly.

You shake your head. “You could have talked to me about other stuff, you know.”

“I know, but you never talked about Kingdom and I could always see how much you loved it. It was nice, listening to you tell me about it,” he says.

“I’ve been betrayed,” you say dramatically, opening up your laptop to pull up the game. “What’s your ID? We can add each other.”

This is where Seokjin goes silent. “Actually, I think you might already know who I am. I’m above you in the rankings.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You’re JK0901? Are you kidding me?” You ask, absolutely floored. All this time and you had no idea that Kim Seokjin was a Kingdom expert. “What does JK stand for? I was convinced it was Jungkook and he was just lying to my face, but in reality, it was you who was lying to me!”

Seokjin lets out a chuckle. “Jin Kim. I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“I can’t believe this,” you say, practically speechless. “How long have you been playing?”

“Not that long,” Seokjin shrugs. “I picked it up because I wanted to impress a girl I liked.”

“Really? All this effort for a girl you like?” You ask, still in disbelief. You suck up the way your heart is sinking at the thought of him liking another person, but then you remember that it wasn’t like you had ever made a move on him anyway. Smiling, you ask, “Will you at least humor me and tell me who it is?”

Then, Seokjin looks you dead in the eye, and says, “You.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he wraps a hand around your torso and pulls you into him, pressing his lips firmly on yours as you gasp into his mouth, body tensing up before you melt into his touch.

It’s a quick kiss, nothing too crazy, but it overwhelms you nonetheless, leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been underwater this whole time and have finally surfaced. When you part, you look up into his eyes only to find that they’ve turned into crescents. He’s grinning down at you like he’s finally gotten it right.

“You did all of that for me?” You ask. “How did you even know?”

Seokjin looks particularly guilty. “You’re not necessarily… that discreet, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the heat already flaring in your cheeks. “Oh God, you knew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Seokjin admits. “But the good news is: I felt the same way. So, no harm done.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you say, curling into his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

“You’re incredible, Y/N, you know that?” He asks, pulling you away from him just so he can get a better look at you. He’s standing in front of you, looking at you like this is what he’s been waiting for. Like all this time, he’s been waiting for you. “I’d do it all over again if it meant I could end up with you.”

“You would?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. There’s plenty more where those came from, but you’re already feeling greedy. Why wouldn’t you? If life was a movie, then wouldn’t this be the happy ending?

“In a heartbeat.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

#seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #seokjin scenario #jin scenario #bts scenario #jin fic #bts fic #bts au #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #bts imagine #bts enemies to lovers #bts friends to lovers #w: for you anything

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momentofmemory · 4 years

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FICTOBER 2020 - day twenty-five

Prompt #25: “Sometimes you can even see.”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Characters: Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani

Words: 1937

Author’s Note: In the aftermath of a rough mission and all the philosophical questions it entails, Joe takes Nile to the Aarhus Art Museum in Denmark. All pieces mentioned were displayed in the Objects of Wonder: From Pedestal to Interaction exhibit, which ran from Oct. 2019- March 2020. Nile POV.

>> the sweetness remains

Nile scrolls mindlessly through Pinterest, wishing for not the first time that she’d been allowed to recreate her socials.

Copley had barred her from practically all of the actually useful ones, but she’d bullied him down to just having an account on Pinterest, with the argument being that no one cared about the site. Granted, she doesn’t really want to be on Pinterest either, but sometimes the comfort of an app with infinite scroll is all she’s looking for in a distraction.

And right now, she really, really needs to be distracted.

Overly photoshopped cat pics.

Memes ripped straight from tumblr or twitter.

The most white girl aesthetic imaginable.

Three slugs ripping through her abdomen and spitting her liver out the other side—

Nile breathes in sharply. Exhales.

Her thumb resumes scrolling.

Photos of downtown that feel like home.

Recipes for harvest butternut squash soup.

Tips for keeping braids fresh longer.

Nile scrolls, and scrolls, and breathes.

Her abdomen still aches every time her lungs expand, even though she knows it really doesn’t. It’s perfectly healed; not even a scar for her troubles. But it’s hard to forget how her instincts had screamed that a gut shot like that shouldn’t be survivable, even as she pushed herself towards the next target.

(She didn’t survive it.)

(She didn’t survive the next half dozen times it happened, either.)

“Did that phone of yours do something to offend you?”

“Whoa!” Joe’s sudden appearance next to her only makes her clench her phone tighter. She forces out a laugh and eases the tension out of her fingers. “Feel like you should know better than to sneak up on someone that’s part of a bunch of immortal warriors.”

“Most of them would have caught me coming long before you did.”

Nile snorts. She scrolls a few more seconds, then closes the app and opens Temple Run. The game’s ridiculously old, but she’s a millennial. Sue her for being nostalgic.

She can feel Joe watching her as she starts the round.

“Am I correct in thinking you enjoy the arts, Nile?”

It’s not the question she was expecting, and she winds up tilting the screen to the left a half second late, and her character falls off the bridge.

It’s okay though, because she can just use a gem and respawn in the same place, so it’s basically like not dying at all.

Right?

“Uh, yeah,” she says. She winds up restarting the round entirely. “The military was supposed to pay for my degree, but I don’t think I can cash that if I’m technically KIA.”

“That would present a certain set of problems,” Joe agrees. “Andy talk to you about that?”

“Yeah.” Nile’s stomach twists. “Guess it depends on how easy it is to schedule classes between firefights.”

She’s practically laying the opening for a talk out herself, but Joe seems uninterested in taking it.

Instead, he shifts beside her, propping an elbow on his knee. “What kinds of art did you want to specialize in?”

She dies again. This time, she begrudgingly uses the in-game save. "I prefer classic sculpture, but I’m not against modern.”

“You like what was modern art for me, then.”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I dread the day I become as weird as you guys.”

He laughs, patting her on the shoulder as he stands. “I suspect by that time you’ll be too busy tormenting our next recruit. But unfortunately, the exhibit we’re going to will be more in the contemporary style.”

It takes Nile a half second to register his words. “Wait, what?”

“The description said it would be 1960s to the present only. If it suits you, we could hold off on our discussion of it for another thousand years or so. I’m sure we can claim it as classic at that point.”

“What?” Nile locks her phone and zeros her attention on him, registering the mischievous glint in his eyes this time. “Museum?”

“The Aarhus Art Museum has a special exhibit on loan from the Tate Modern at the moment.” He glances down at her phone, the corner of his mouth forming a grin. “I’m told its purpose is to help move its audience’s attention from their devices.”

Nile scowls and looks back down at her phone. “I died a dozen times yesterday. I’m allowed my coping mechanisms of choice.”

And.

Whoops.

“Of course you are,” Joe says, offering his hand to her, and she’s once again surprised he doesn’t force the conversation. “But phones are portable. You can take it with you to the museum.”

Nile worries at the edge of her lip with her teeth. She doesn’t really want to go anywhere right now, but…

But Joe’s brown eyes are warm and welcoming, and his callouses help steady her when she takes his hand.

“You said contemporary sculpture?”

The grin he gives her is blinding. “For now.”

_________________

It’s a twenty-five minute drive from their safe house to the museum, and the route takes them next to the Bay of Aarhus for most of it.

Nile stares out at the water, determined to not give Joe any more ammunition for making fun of her regarding her phone.

It’s hard. She’d never considered herself a technology addict—never had enough time to be one—but she really, really wants to stop thinking about the fact that she knows what the inside of her liver looks like.

Or did look like, she guesses.

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there—

“D'you know about the Ship of Theseus?” She spits it out before she can decide against it. She figures if she’s thinking about it, she might as well talk about it. “And don’t say you were there for it. You’re not Andy and I at least know enough about you to know when you’re lying.”

The grin on his face tells her that he was very much intending to before she called him out on it. “It’s a thought experiment. The character Theseus owns a ship that, over a long span of time, has all of its parts replaced, until nothing of the original still remains.”

“Yeah, and so then the question is, is it even the same ship,” Nile finishes.

Joe weaves in and out of traffic, a pensive look on his face. “I assume you aren’t asking simply to test my knowledge of early western philosophy.”

“No.”

Nile looks down at her hands. She can still remember how horrifically mangled they were from her impromptu dive off a skyscraper, but at least—at least she’s pretty sure they’re the same ones she had before.

Though that might not last long.

“In your opinion,” she says, cautiously, “if—if there’s nothing left of the original—if you have to rebuild something that many times—”

“Nile.” The sound of the car’s turn signal distracts her spiraling thoughts. Joe nods towards the windshield. “We’re here.”

It’s a large, red brick square building, fairly nondescript but for the circular and multi-colored glass walking track at its top.

“Come on, he says, parking the car. “I find physical objects superior to mental ones for solving such issues.”

Nile doesn’t understand why the one time she wants to talk about something like this is the one time Joe decides to go full mysterious.

She climbs out of the car and follows him inside.

Despite her misgivings, she quickly discovers Joe was right. The exhibit is genuinely incredible, and there are pieces from multiple names she recognizes—Anish Kapoor, Donald Judd, Rasheed Araeen—and pieces she finds herself strangely moved by, such as Damian Hirst’s Away from the Flock, Richard Long’s Red Slate Circle, Rachel Whiteread’s Airbed II. Nile stares at that last one in particular for a long time: a concrete casting of an airbed, the artist’s presence made known in the negative space where her body had pressed the material down.

Joe, however, seems to be moving with a specific purpose in mind, and it’s not until they round one of the walls of the orange-pink room that Nile has a guess as to what it is.

In the far corner, bathed in the additional light of a single fill light, is a massive pile of multicolored cellophane wrapped hard candies.

Joe walks her over to it, an almost reverence to his steps.

“Untitled: Portrait of Ross in LA,” he says. “Are you familiar with the piece?”

She shakes her head, bending down to inspect it. It doesn’t look like much more than what she’d seen from a distance—candy, multicolored, on the floor. She looks to Joe for an explanation.

“Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s partner died from AIDS,” Joe says. The grief on his face is hard to look at. “To honor him, he made this as a portrait—one hundred and seventy-five pounds of candy, representing Ross’s weight from when he was still healthy.”

Nile looks at the pile—it’s a lot, but it’s not a hundred and seventy-five pounds worth of a lot.

Joe notices her confusion and smiles. “Take one.”

“What?”

“Take one,” he repeats. “The purpose of the work is to invite you to partake in both enjoying his presence and lamenting the lack of it. A sort of communion—choosing to take part of his body into your own. It was a powerful statement when so many were afraid to even be in our presence at the time.”

Nile looks at the pile again, and just like with Airbed II, her heart aches at what isn’t there, rather than what is. She selects a red piece and brings it out of the pile, cupping it in her hand and considering its weight.

“What happens when it runs out?”

Joe selects his own piece—a green one—and it rolls around in the palm of his hand. “It has. Many times. But that’s the beauty of it—it’s the curator’s responsibility to replenish the pile, metaphorically granting immortality and new life to the loss.”

The cellophane crinkles in Nile’s hand as she unwraps the piece. “How do they decide where to get the candy from?”

“The only firm rule is the original weight. Outside of that, there are no set instructions for the candies themselves.” He chuckles, threading his fingers behind his neck and leaning back against the wall. “Sometimes you can even see these strange combinations of greens, oranges, and purples.”

Nile considers the candy. “Not your favorite?”

“It has an almost Halloween quality to it. I tend to prefer the rainbow.”

The candy in her hand feels heavier than it did before—weighed down with the knowledge of what it represents, what it’s taking away.

She slips the candy into her mouth and her eyebrows raise in surprise. “It’s sweet?”

“It’s candy,” Joe says, unwrapping his own piece. “Did you expect something else?”

“I thought it’d be…” She pauses, trying to parse out her feelings. “Bitter. Or sad, somehow. Considering.”

“It could have been,” Joe agrees. “But the portrait isn’t meant to represent just grief and loss. Candy is a happy thing—a reward for yourself, or a lover’s gift on Valentine’s. And even when it’s gone, the sweetness remains. Still lingering on the tongue, or dwelling in the mind. It is the love of friends and partners that keeps the memory alive—and what keeps this the same portrait, even though its pieces have been cycled through many times.”

The candy melts away on her tongue, and she closes her eyes in grief for its loss, appreciation for what it was, and hope for the pieces that would come after it.

She swallows the last piece of it down.

Her stomach settles.

#fictober20 #fanfiction #the old guard #nile freeman #yusuf al-kaysani #joe | yusuf al-kaysani #philosophy and art #memsfic

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okimargarvez · 4 years

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Pic posts

GARVEZ

Why Penelope and Luke should be a couple ; If your dog doesn’t like someone… ; Drowing ; The mother of his children ; The things you really need ; Someone should go to Penelope office ; She still doesn’t like him ; Lisa is not here ; Bro ; Luke faces during Penelope speech in the Finale ; You understand you are done ; Yeah (Cool) ; Let me die here ; Complaints ; Looking back ; Wasted chance ; Paget approval ; Couple / group ; Supposed girlfriend ; Puppy eyes ; Connection ; Why Luke is fucked ; Why Penelope is fucked ; Luke Alvez in almost each episode of CM ; The Great Communicator ; Calleigh/Eric - Garvez ; Let’s be in the moment ; What Luke wanted to say during the ask date scene ; What Penelope wanted to answer to Luke during the ask date scene ; Housewarming party ; Aesthetic ; Basorexia ; Stalkers ; Another way ; alternative 13x15 ; Wedding card ; No coincidence ; Solar System ; Young garvez ; Garvez recap ; Dear Penelope ; Fuck ; Why they are perfect for each other ; Recurrent phrases ; Fortuity ; Once upon a time ; The right one ; How to court a woman ; You can’t understand ; Shadow kisses ; Normal people vs Luke ; You have just met Emily Prentiss ; Garcia & her men ; Easier ;

- Comparison: Dancing time ; Angry Luke ; Same mood look ; I’m here

- All moments: S12 ; S13 ; S14 ; S15 ; S16

- Creative: How to combine business with pleasure (love expression) ; Thank God for photoshop ; How the analysis came out ; Shades of crazyness ;

- Finding garvez everywhere : one ; two ; three

- Fake garvez chats : one ; two ; three ; four ; five ; six ; seven ; eight ;

- Storm thoughts : Happiness ; Sexual tension ; Embarrassment ; Miss you ; Miss you 2 ; Regret ; Family ; Absence ; Connection

- Times : All Luke bullshits to hold Penelope attention on him ; Drinks ; All the times they touched ; Each time Luke stared at the direction where Penelope disappeared / before leaving ; Sweetest moments ; Times they flirt on work ; Elevator

- Garvez + quotes : Parallel lines ; The bringing together ; Erica Mou ; Ennio Flaiano ; Stars & darkness ; Emily Dickinson ; Absence ; I miss you ;

- Luke who does things - Penelope reaction : S12 ; S13 ; S14 ; S15 ; S16

- Garvez incorrect scenes : one (blind date) ; two (first date)

- Parallel: [14x8 vs 16x1] ; [13x20 vs 16x1] ; [13x16 vs 16x1 vs 16x2] ; [14x15 vs 15x10] ; [14x15 vs 15x10] ; [12x17 vs 16x9] ; [12x17 vs 16x1] ; [8x17 vs 13x12] ; [13x5 vs 15x4] ; [13x16 vs 16x2] ; [3x8 vs 16x8] ; [14x6 vs 16x9] ; [13x16 vs 16x2] ; [12x17 vs 13x3] ; [3x8 vs 16x8] ; [13x1 vs 16x9] ; [12x17 vs 16x1] ; [2x5 vs 15x7] ; [4x1 vs 15x3] ; [7x3 vs 13x3] ; [12x1/12x4 vs 13x12] ;

- Zepeto : first date ; Valentine’s day ; second date ; Yeah ; Fairy tale ; School ; Subway ; Halloween 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 ; Take a photo ; Cupido ; Musical ; Little things ; Sunday ; Picche

- Series: Inside the (crazy) mind of a garvez shipper ; When ; What means “context”? ; Find someone ; Staring ;

PENELOPE

The dress ; Rainbow dream -Outfit : S1 ; S2 ; S3 ; S4 ; S5 ; S6 ; S7 ; S8 ; S9 ; S10 ; S11 ; S12 ; S13 ; S14 ; S15 ; S16

LUKE

Luke emoji ; Luke girl ; Linda problem ; On-demand attention is worthless ; The pathologist ; When he cares ; Best friends ; Sundial ; sinkholes ; Luke likes to be teased ; Desk ; - Outfit : S12 ; S13 ; S14 ; S15 ; S16

CRIMINAL MINDS

- What I adore of 15x5 ; R.I.P. jet ; Chess ; - Face mask : Penelope ; Luke ; Jennifer ; Emily ; Spencer ; Rossi ; Matt ; Tara ; Hotch ; Derek

CSI : MIAMI

- Calleigh relationships ; Horatio & Yelina ; Great minds think alike ; Eric & Calleigh aesthetic ;

- Parallelism CSI : Miami / CM: 1 - Eric&Calleigh/Penelope&Luke. Suspension ; 2 - Eric&Horatio/Penelope&Derek. Don’t be a hero ; 3 - Eric&Ryan/Morgan&Reid. Scared friends ; 4 - Ryan/Spencer and the famous girl ; 5- That time the bad guy hit the ground ; 6- Professionalism (Calleigh vs Penelope)

THE GOOD DOCTOR

- Shea recap

- // Garvez: There are so many ways (/shea) ; Jordan & Danny aesthetic ;

OTHERS

Goodbye, Warrick (CSI : Crime Scene Investigation)

Men & dogs (Sam / Roxy)

Jonathan Safran Foer

Door phone

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #luke x penelope #penelope x luke #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #penelope garcia x luke alvez #luke alvez x penelope garcia #my stuff

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lilwenney · 4 years

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LONDON BOY (pt. i)

pairing: will x female!reader warning(s): none word count: 3.2k a/n: WHAT A LOVELY LITTLE SURPRISE x coming in five days sooner than originally planned. this is part one of an eventual two-part series. and whoever sent me an anon months ago saying an imagine based off london boy by taylor swift writes itself, you are correct, & i thank you for putting the idea into my head. i hope u all enjoy x

London September, 2019

A nautical twilight began to set over London as (Y/N) trekked home from the Edgeware station. Her headphones were perched over her head and she listened to the sweet sounds of an indie song while admiring the turn of the blue sky. In the distance, behind the towering London skyline, night had fallen. Unlike all of the other days she rushed home right after class, this day she was taking her time, enjoying the warm, late-summer breeze and the smell of the rain in the air.

She had been cooped up in a university computer lab for five hours that day, working on a digital clip for one of her courses, so now she was taking her chance to stretch her legs and take the deep breath she had desperately needed hours ago.

Just a little ways from her flat, while crossing the street, her phone vibrated in her hand. It was a text from a food delivery service, saying that they were on their way to her address with her order. Even though she had lived in London for just two months, she had already caught on to a few things. And ordering food on the tube knowing that she would make it home just as they pulled up with her delivery was one of them.

And just like always, as she crossed the street to her building, someone on a bike pulled up right next to the entrance. She confirmed her order number and the woman handed her the bag, and with ease, (Y/N) scanned her key and headed into the residential building, taking the lift to her floor.

Shoving her key into the lock, she turned it and pushed the door open, greeted with a hello and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. “Hey Marg,” she said in response, dropping her key into the small bowl on the foyer table.

Toeing off her own trainers under the table, she looked down to see another pair of unfamiliar shoes next to hers. She raised a brow, not recognizing them from any of the friends who came to visit often. “Whose shoes are those?” She asked, walking into the kitchen and into view of her flatmate, Margot. She crossed the hardwood floors and to the dining table, setting her bag of takeaway down.

Margot hummed, plating her dinner. “Oh, those are Will’s.”

“Will?”

“My brother,” she said slowly, looking over to (Y/N) and the girl just shrugged before sitting down at the table and pulling out her food. “The air system broke in his flat so he’s staying in our guest room until it’s fixed. Should only be a couple of days.”

She nodded, deciding to not ask anymore questions. It was a common occurrence for people to come over and spend the night, mostly Margot’s friends. Her and Margot had only been living together for two months now, so there were still some things they were figuring out about each other.

When (Y/N) moved in, her and Margot hit it off quickly, and within six hours of her finishing her unpacking, they were sitting on her unmade bed with a bottle of wine talking about their lives and spilling secrets they swore they would never tell anyone else.

By the end of the night, (Y/N) found out that Margot came from Newcastle, she had a dog and a boyfriend, and that she was the youngest out of three, and Margot knew that (Y/N) was originally from California, an only child, and that she loved the occasional night out with a vodka soda in hand.

They had almost an entire year to find out more about each other. There was no shortage of time.

(Y/N) was only staying in London for a year to study abroad, it was a spur of the moment decision that led her halfway across the world, moving in with a complete stranger, and living in a foreign world. And so far, she loved every single second of it.

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asked, popping open the lid to her chicken and noodles.

Margot flipped off the stove and walked over to the table, sliding her plate down in front of the seat next to her flatmate. “I’m going to Charlie’s tomorrow morning. He’s gotta finish editing and stuff so we’re just going to hang out.”

Charlie was Charlie Albarn, Margot’s photographer boyfriend. They had been dating since Margot first moved to London a couple of years back. (Y/N) had only met him twice, but she liked him. He was cool enough to help her with photoshop for an entire night when she desperately needed to get an assignment done and was on the verge of a panic attack.

“What about you?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It’s supposed to be nice this weekend and I want to do something new besides staying in all day.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” Margot asked.

“No, not yet,” she said, standing and grabbing a drink from the refrigerator and returning to the table. “I have done all the… touristy things. I want to do something new besides going to the same shopping centre or fighting against a thousand people walking down the street.”

“You went to Piccadilly?”

“You didn’t warn me!” She called out and Margot let out a laugh.

“Everyone should experience the absolute hell that is Piccadilly at least once in their lives. It’s a bloody nightmare.”

(Y/N) laughed, picking up her noodles with the chopsticks and taking a bite. For the next hour, they ate together, talking about their busy schedule and the nonsense that ensued during the day - Margot had missed her train, making her late for class, and she panicked before realizing her professor was standing right behind her and he had also missed the train, and (Y/N) had accidentally tripped in front of a tour group while jogging up the library stairs, and of course, laughter followed.

Margot cleaned up her mess, washing the dishes from dinner while (Y/N) tossed her trash in the bin and walked down the hallway to her bedroom to take a shower. She stripped of her clothes and tossed them into her hamper, stepping in and allowing the hot water to steam the bathroom and wash all of her stress and worries away. Sometimes, long days and the university life truly got the best of her. Even though she loved it and wouldn’t regret studying abroad, it was tiring and overwhelming most days.

If it wasn’t a Friday night, she would already be in bed with the blankets over her head. Instead she put on her pajamas, wrapped her hair in a towel, and lounged on the sofa with Margot when she finished the dishes. They laid facing each other on opposite ends of the sofa and flipped through channels and streaming sites before settling on re-watching episodes of their favorite series that they could watch without worrying about falling asleep in the middle of it.

An hour later, in the quiet hum of the flat, the lock on the door clicked open and (Y/N) shot up, her hands gripping the soft cushion beneath her as her wild eyes met Margot’s. “Is someone there?” She asked, her heart skipping a beat in surprise.

Margot nodded, screwing the cap of her bottle back on as she glanced down the hallway. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just Will. I gave him a key earlier when he left for dinner.”

She plopped back against the arm of the sofa with a sigh of relief. The door shut and footsteps began to trail down the hallway, and she turned the volume on the television down as a body stepped around the corner.

(Y/N) looked up and away from the television, landing on a tall figure standing in the doorway. It was Will. Her eyes landed on him and she quickly took in the sight of his dark hair, his sharp jaw, and even caught a glimpse of his black jersey before she looked back at the screen so he wouldn’t catch her lingering gaze.

“What you doing back so early?” Margot finally asked when he stepped into the room.

Will lowered down onto one of their chairs, picking up the throw pillow and holding it in his lap. “Didn’t even get dinner. Just wound up at Alex and George’s and hung around for a bit.”

“So you came back to eat the dinner you knew I was fixing?”

He looked at her and smiled wide. Eyes trained back on the screen, (Y/N) laughed lightly when she saw just how far he and Margot’s relations went. They shared a few physical qualities, and when she noticed his teasing smile, she knew they were siblings for certain. Margot had pulled the same smile on her numerous times.

Margot sighed in defeat. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you.”

“Right, right,” he jumped up and turned around, walking into their connecting kitchen where he grabbed the plate from the microwave. “It’s like you knew I was starving.”

“No, just knew you liked to steal food so I made extra.” And (Y/N) heard his laugh from the other room and she smiled.

A few seconds later, his feet tapped against the floor and he walked back into the living room, lowering down into his chair with the plate of food in hand.

��Oh,” Margot looked at her flatmate and smiled warmly, “(Y/N) this is my bastard of an older brother William, and Will, this is (Y/N).”

In the semi-dark living room, their eyes met across the coffee table and they quietly said hi to each other with a smile. She noticed how the corners of his lips met his eyes with a smile, and when he took a bite of the vegetables on the plate, she realized once again, she was staring. So she cleared her throat and quickly looked away, her eyes meeting the television where the characters were talking, and then she noticed the time on the clock on the wall.

“I should probably go to bed soon.” She said when the clock hand showed near ten thirty. It was around the time she went to bed every night unless she was up studying or finishing homework.

Will raised his head at her voice, taking note of the lack of a British accent. Margot had told him about her briefly, but he hadn’t paid much attention after the words “uni student.” At first glance, he thought she was cute.

Margot looked up from her phone. “Have you figured out what you are doing tomorrow?”

She yawned and shook her head. “No, not yet. I will probably just pick something to do in the morning and go with it.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Will creased a brow, glancing at his sister and then to (Y/N).

“I’m trying to figure out something to do tomorrow. The non-touristy, crowded stuff though. I have had my fair share of fighting crowded streets and pubs.” She explained. “And I can’t think of anything that I want to do. But I just want to get out and do something.”

“Ah, there’s this really cool place that’s out in the middle of like, fucking nowhere, but it’s a huge building filled with neon signs.”

She laughed. “Do you remember what it was called?”

Will paused and then tilted his head as if searching through his memory. He looked back at her and squinted. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Okay,” she laughed again before standing up from the sofa, “I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

The siblings quietly said their good-nights and (Y/N) walked down the hallway to her room, shutting the door behind her, and she slipped under the covers with ease, falling asleep no less than minutes after her head hit the pillow.

***

The West London flat was quiet the next morning. Slowly, the sun rose above the horizon and peeped through the buildings of the skyline, filtering in through the curtains of (Y/N)’s room. She woke up a couple of hours after Margot had left, once gently awakened by the opening and closing of the door down the hallway at eight a.m. sharp, and then she fell back asleep for as long as she could.

She woke up and pulled herself from the depths of her bed, facing the day once and for all at ten a.m.. Sliding on her slippers and walking into the connecting bathroom, she quickly brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair before stepping out of her room and into the hallway. The flat was cold and still, the only sound coming from the slight hum of the air conditioning through the vents.

Margot was gone and Will wasn’t awake yet, so she was trying to be as quiet as possible while she made up a quick breakfast. But her attempts at being quiet were another’s “banging pots and pans.” And that’s exactly what she sounded like to Will.

Plating her eggs and slices of bacon, she heard the quiet rustle of the comforter from the guest room and then the door clicked open. A second later she turned to see Will walk into the kitchen - he was yawning, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palm. He was wearing a jumper and a pair of shorts, hair disheveled from his sleep.

“What are you doing awake?” She asked innocently, using the spatula to shovel the rest of the food onto another plate. After last night and him insisting Margot also fix him dinner, she made sure to make extra for him.

“I woke up after the… third time you burnt the toast? When you were trying your best to whisper.”

(Y/N) felt the back of her neck heat up in embarrassment. “You heard that?”

“All the ‘shits’ and ‘fucks.’”

“Ah, you must have missed the ‘bullshits.’ Those were in the mix too.” She picked up the extra plate and turned around, holding it out for him as she walked towards the dining room.

Will dropped his hand and looked down at the plate. “Ah, you didn’t have to fix me anythin’.” He said and she picked up on his gravely morning voice.

“I know. Just felt like you would want some anyways..” She sat her plate down on the table and grabbed a juice from the refrigerator before returning to her normal chair at the dining table.

He looked at her and smiled sleepily before following her steps over to the table. Like Margot last night, he pulled out the chair across from her and lowered down, taking his fork and diving into the food in front of him.

“You decided what you’re doing today?”

She tsked. “Kind of. Just know there are a couple of places I want to go, but I haven’t really planned it out yet.” She said before glancing back down to her plate. “I found the neon sign place you were talking about. It’s way north, but not too long on the tube.”

“Yeah, can’t remember the name of it for the life of me. It’s fuckin’ weird though.” He said and she laughed, taking another bite of her food. Will looked at her for a second before dropping his head back down, poking his fork at the eggs, mind swirling through his plans for the day, and then he looked back up to her. “But I know the area pretty well, so I can show you, if you want me to.”

Her head snapped up and she looked at him with a small smile. “Yeah?” He nodded and she followed along. “Then, yeah, yeah, you’re more than welcome to come along if you’re not doing anything.”

“Ah, I planned on fixing lunch, probably end up burnin’ it, and then waiting for Margot to get back.”

“Well,” she laughed, “I can promise you a slightly more eventful day than that.” And he smiled at her before they turned back to their breakfast.

An hour later, after eating and washing the dishes, the two returned to their respective bedrooms to get ready. In a rush, she blotted on concealer under her eyes and spritzed on sunscreen, and lastly tousled her hair before deciding to leave it be. Back in her bedroom, she slid into a pair of ripped denim jeans, a black tee, and a pair of matching shiny black boots. But when she saw the cloudy sky through her bedroom window, she made sure to grab her green jacket on her way out too.

“What do you want to see first?” Will asked as they strolled down the pavement to the underground a handful of minutes later.

Jogging behind him down the steps, (Y/N) quickly took in his outfit - black skinny jeans, a plain black tee, and a light denim jacket. She cleared her throat while watching him pull his tube pass from his wallet.

“I don’t know,” she said scanning her pass, following behind him in the turnstile, “you know the place better, what do you have in mind?”

Will paused, stuffing his pass back into his phone case while waiting for her to catch up to him, and they began to walk down the set of stairs to the platforms among at least a dozen others. “Little Venice isn’t too far from here, and then there is the junkyard you wanted to go to,” he listed off, “and there is this really cool rooftop beer garden in the city centre that you would like.”

She raised a brow, a curious grin on her lips. “That I would like,” She repeated, teasingly. “What do you think that is?”

Will turned around, walking backwards while leading her down the platform where the tube was coming to a stop at the station. He met her eyes, a brow raised in a test. “I guess you just have to trust me.”

“Should I?” She teased. “Because I just met you for the first time about nine hours ago.”

Will shrugged. When the doors opened next to the platform, he looked down at his feet and then took a step backwards inside, looking at her with a raised brow. “The choice is all yours, love.”

(Y/N) licked the inside of her cheek as she looked at him with a smile. He was a cute boy offering to show her around the city, to show her the places she had once dreamed of seeing. Of course she couldn’t help but follow along.

When the automated voice stated that the doors were closing, she took two swift steps off the platform and into the tube, her body clashing with Will’s as the doors closed just inches behind her. Looking up, she saw him smile down at her, and her cheeks flushed at the realization of just how close they were. She could smell his cologne.

A beat later, he chuckled and she took a step back, straightening her own jacket. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.” He said, reaching up with both hands to hold onto the railing above them, and he looked back down at her. “I’ll give you the bloody best non-touristy-tour of London that will make you wish you paid me.”

“That’s up for me to decide though, isn’t it?”

“Nah, not really. I know how good I am.” And she rolled her eyes before he chuckled before the tube began to move onto their station just a few stops away.

#fic: london boy #will

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saysomethingspiderman · 5 years

Text

Something Wonderful (PT. 5)

Synopsis: During your time as a professional photographer, you had come across incredibly good looking men, but there was just something about Tom that stood out. Who would have thought shooting the self-titled “walking meme” would change your life forever?

Chapter word count: 6.4k

Gif by @tmholland

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight

London hadn’t changed. It never did. The rain always seemed to be present and the sun constantly hid behind the grey clouds. It was supposed to be summer, wasn’t it? You’d been back home for nearly two weeks now and not a single day went by where you didn’t speak to Tom. He always managed to make time for a phone call or FaceTime no matter what country he was in. Neither of you had tried to discuss exactly what you were, which was something you were actually glad about; it was too important a conversation to have over a connection that could easily fail at any given moment. No, it was best to wait until you saw each other again.

The sound of thunder echoed in the city and feeling the first drops of rain splash on your nose, you pulled an umbrella from your backpack and opened it just in time for the rain to start pelting. A young boy ahead in the street grabbed onto his mother’s hand for dear life, whining about not wanting to get his “Spidey” coat wet. The red and blue coat brought a small smile to your face and you couldn’t help but think back to the night you’d spent with Tom in Philadelphia.

The second Tom’s lips touched yours, you just knew from that point onwards, you were his. It was like every kiss you’d ever had in the past was wrong and this one was making up for all those mistakes, taunting and showing you what you’d been missing out on. His lips were like a drug and it scared you how much you craved them, already wanting more before this fix was even over.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, gentle but demanding all the same. You gasped quietly. Every inch of your body dissolved into his. He pushed his weight onto you as your hands found their way into his hair, tugging on the thick curls. He gave a groan and you smiled against his lips; it immediately became one of your favourite sounds. His hand slid down your side, grabbing your hip, your leg, your bum - anything he could get a hold of. He pulled you closer, pressing his hips against you.

“Wait, Tom, wait,” you whispered hurriedly, though couldn’t bring yourself to break away from his glorious lips.

He moved back slightly. You could still feel his breath on your skin, but the sudden parting made you feel cold. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly and you were thankful for the lack of light just so you couldn’t see the hurt on his face that was evident in his voice. “Did I… Should I not have-”

“What? No, no, it’s not that,” you interrupted, absently twirling a curl at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “I just… I just don’t want this to be a one night stand. I don’t want to go home regretting this.”

“I don’t want this to be a one night stand either,” he replied and gave you a chaste kiss on the lips before sitting up. He reached over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. “I wasn’t planning on taking it that far, as much as I want to,” he sighed and ran a hand over his flushed face as he shot you a wicked smile.

“Oh I know you want to, I could feel how much you want to against my hip,” you snorted and chanced a glance down at his crotch. The strain against his boxers made your mouth water, but you knew it was the best decision to stop things before they went too far.

“I can’t control it,” he laughed and shook his head, grinning now. The redness of his cheeks deepened and you could only imagine how flustered you looked in comparison. “But you’re right, we’ll stop.” His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on the pillows scattered across the floor. “Want me to build the wall again?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage to control ourselves.”

“I know I will, I just don’t know if I can trust you,” he smirked, sending you a wink. As you rolled your eyes, he leaned over to turn the light off again before getting comfortable in bed next to you. After a brief pause, he rolled over and pulled you into his chest, spooning you without a word. Despite the sudden pent up frustration that would only be solved by the man whose arms you were in, you had one of the best nights’ sleep in a long time.

You could hear the squeal of laughter from your little brother before you’d even managed to get to the house, the sound loud enough to make it two houses down the street. It had been weeks since you’d seen them, maybe even a month. Life had just gotten in the way. It was hard, even though you did only live a few miles apart. Letting yourself into the townhouse, you sang a hello and grinned at the little boy who instantly came running through into the hallway, throwing himself at you. “Hey, little man,” you beamed and pressed a kiss into his curly mop of brown hair. You lifted him up a little higher and groaned quietly. “God, you’re getting heavy, Oliver. Soon you’ll be bigger than me!”

“Daddy says that,” he giggled and tightened his arms around your neck, almost cutting off your oxygen supply as he hugged you.

“Olly, don’t smother her.” Your mother, Julia, appeared and wrapped you up in a gentle hug as though to show Olly that not everything needed squeezing like a pimple. “It’s been a while, love.”

“Well you know how work gets sometimes,” you hummed and carried Olly back into the front room, setting him down on the couch that was piled with his toys and books. “Dad working?”

“Yeah, he’s got a big case on at the minute,” Julia said and gave a nod in the direction of the hallway, telling you he was in his office. “I wouldn’t go in yet though, I got an earful for bringing him a cup of tea. He said I was distracting him.”

You smiled and shook your head a little. It was always best to leave your father alone when he was busy on a case to avoid getting your head bitten off. Daniel had been a criminal lawyer since way before you’d been brought home and yet after all this time, he still had trouble separating his work life from his private one. Once he got a case, that’s all he cared about. Of course, he wasn’t completely inhumane and forced himself an hour away to do Oliver’s bedtime routine every night without fail. So you could forgive him for that.

You mother, on the other hand, had always made time for her children. She’d even given up her job when she found out she was pregnant with Olly. He wasn’t expected at all, what with Julia having suffered through a horrendous amount of miscarriages for years previously, so she’d decided to take the time to rest in fear of anything blowing the good luck. The original plan had been for her to start looking for jobs when he turned one, but he was now three and she’d yet to send a single application.

“I’m half expecting him to shout about me closing the front door being a big distraction,” you chuckled and sat on the couch to let Olly drive a toy truck along your thigh.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. So, what’s been keeping you so busy these days?” Julia took a seat on the recliner, relaxing into the cushion. “Nothing to do with a boy, is it?” The twinkle in her eye and smirk on her face made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Mum!” Even though you were a grown woman, there was nothing like the humiliation of a mother wanting to discuss boys with her daughter.

“Olivia popped in the other day,” she explained, chuckling gently. “She was passing and stayed for a bit and just happened to mention you gallivanting around America with a boy. She refused to tell me about him, though. Promised you she wouldn’t say anything, she said.”

“I wasn’t gallivanting.”

“Do I at least get a name?”

“Alright, his name’s Tom,” you murmured, coming up with a plan to murder Olivia without leaving any kind of evidence that would lead back to you. An afternoon with your father’s files would surely help you with that. “We met when I did that shoot for GQ, the one over in California.”

“Wait… Tom… Tom… Why does that sound familiar?” Julia asked and frowned a little. “Wait, is it this Tom?” She got up and went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the magazine. You’d forgotten it went to print this month.

“Why do you have this?” you asked, avoiding her question.

“We always keep your work.”

The comment brought a smile to your face and you took the magazine, staring at the handsome actor on the cover. His curls were gelled slightly but the wind had caused them to mess up, making him look even cuter. You could remember him moaning about having to wear a leather jacket in the heat, only shutting up after you threatened to photoshop devil horns onto the images. Feeling the questioning gaze of your mother, you looked up at her and then gave a quiet sigh. “Okay, yes it’s him. He was working over in America the same time I was, he was doing some press stuff, so I just extended my stay.”

“He must be a keeper then for you to do that,” Julia smirked and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“He’s nice, Mum,” you told her and tossed the magazine onto the wooden coffee table. “We’ve seen each other a few times, I think I’m seeing him again this week at some point when he’s gotten over the jet lag.”

“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner?”

“Mum, I’ve not even been out to dinner with him yet. Give us a chance.”

“Well what were you doing while you were over the- Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know!”

“We weren’t doing that!” you squeaked and buried your face in Olly’s hair to hide your flaming cheeks. He giggled quietly and took the opportunity to wrap you up in another tight hug. “We didn’t actually spend that much time together. He was working a lot… We went out for lunch one of the days, but it was a bit rushed since he had leave for an interview. The only dinner we’ve actually had is a burrito in the car. Nothing particularly… Romantic.”

“What weren’t you doing?” Olly asked innocently, looking up at you with his big brown eyes.

“We weren’t buying you presents, that’s what,” you replied and tapped his nose. “But I’ll make up for it. How about we go shopping? I’ll buy you whatever you want, within reason.”

His face lit up with a big grin and he jumped up on the couch before pouncing, happily attacking you with a shriek. “Can I get a big car?” he asked, voice high and loud and clearly excited.

“As long as it’s a toy one, yes,” you promised and he hopped off the couch before running out of the room, barely slowing down when Julia shouted after him not to run in the house. You followed him up the stairs to his bedroom and pulled a woolly jumper over his t-shirt, then helped him into a pair of shiny yellow wellies. After zipping up his matching raincoat, you said goodbye to Julia and left the house hand in hand.

It didn’t take too long to get into the city centre, thankful you only had to catch one train instead of rushing around for multiple. Even though it was the middle of the week, it was still busy, but what else would expect from London? Keeping a tight hold of Olly’s hand, you wormed your way through the tourists and workers on their lunch break, eventually making it to Hamleys. As soon as you stepped through the doorway, screaming children and scolding parents could be heard. There were a number of birthday parties being held and as much as you loved children, you couldn’t think of anything worse to experience. Seeing the bored looking parents made you laugh quietly to yourself. With a promise not to run out of sight, Olly let go of your hand and headed straight over to the Lego, gazing up at the creations in amazement. The vibrations of your phone in your back pocket caught your attention and you pulled it out, smiling at the name on the screen.

“You not forgotten all about me yet?” you asked Tom and you couldn’t help but grin when you heard his laugh.

“Not yet, no. Maybe by the end of the week. We’ll see.”

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Keeping your eye on Olly, you moved over to sit on one of the empty chairs by the escalator. “I thought you’d be sleeping your jet lag off.”

“I thought so too but I wanted to see you instead,” he replied and your stomach flipped at the softness of his voice. Whether it was down to fatigue or genuine sentiment, you didn’t care. “So are you free?”

“Well I’m actually out with my brother at the minute,” you said. “I promised to buy him a toy but I can tell you now, he’ll definitely work a few more than one into the basket. He knows how to get his own way with me.”

Tom gave another hearty laugh. “That’s what kids are meant to do! But I can… I can, um, come meet you if you want?”

“What, really?” You hadn’t expected him to be up for shopping with your little brother. Well, you hadn’t actually expected him to call today since he only landed home the night before. “I mean, we’re literally just gonna be wanderi- Olly, come back please! Stay where I can see you.” You sighed a little and Tom chuckled quietly on the other end of the phone. “Sorry, he’s a bugger for walking off. But as I was saying, we’re just shopping for him and he tends to take about two hours deciding which socks he wants to wear in the mornings, so picking which toy he wants is gonna be a big one.”

“I don’t mind, I just want to see you.”

“Gosh, does being tired also make you incredibly needy?”

“I’m afraid so, [Y/N].”

“Well I suppose it’s something I’ll just have to deal with,” you smirked and got up from the chair when Olly ran off again. It was easier just to follow him than try and make him stay in one section for more than five minutes. “We’ll probably still be in Hamleys by the time you get here.”

“I won’t be long, I promise.” With a goodbye, he hung up and you slid your phone back into your pocket.

True to his word, Tom managed to find you just as you’d convinced Olly to go onto the next floor of the shop, sneakily steering him away from the ridiculously expensive teddy bears. He wasn’t much of a teddy person, but you didn’t want to risk getting persuaded into spending a month’s rent on a bear that would only collect dust at the end of his bed. Tom made his way over just as you tried to pull down a jigsaw from a shelf that was a little bit too high.

“Need any help?” came his voice from behind and you spun around with a grin. He reached up and grabbed the box. You held back your comment about him having to stand on his toes, too.

“What do you say, Olly?” you coaxed as Tom held out the puzzle box to the small boy.

“Thank you,” Olly whispered and instead of taking the jigsaw, he hugged your leg tightly and hid his face against your thigh.

You gave Tom an apologetic smile, but he just shook his head and crouched down to Olly’s height. “I don’t bite, I promise,” he said gently and placed the box down onto the floor between them. “I’m Tom, I’m your sister’s friend. She’s told me loads about you,” he grinned and Olly turned his head a little to glance at the stranger. “She’s told me how much you love cars. They’re pretty cool, huh?”

“Really cool,” Olly corrected quietly, making Tom’s face brighten. He loosened his grip on your leg and faced Tom properly, trusting him now more than anyone else in the world because he liked cars just as he did. He picked the jigsaw up from the floor and held it close to his chest. “Will you help me with this?”

“We have to pay for it first, Ol,” you chuckled and ruffled his hair before looking up at Tom, who’d stood back up straight. Despite speaking near enough all day every day and talking about everything from work to space conspiracy theories, all you could think to say was a soft, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he laughed and, much to Olly’s disgust, leaned over to give you a peck on the lips.

“Mummy says we don’t kiss friends,” Olly spoke up, looking between the two of you with a slight frown.

“Tom’s a special friend,” you explained and gave his curls another ruffle. “Why don’t you see if you can go find another toy? One more and that’s it.” As Olly hurried over to the Toy Story figurines, you pulled Tom into a tight hug. God, you’d missed him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist was something you loved and couldn’t even begin to picture yourself in anyone else’s.

“Olly’s cute,” Tom smiled when you finally forced yourself to move back. “He’s got your eyes.”

“Okay, now I know you’re just being polite,” you snorted and gave his shoulder a light shove. The confused look that crossed his features made you laugh. “Come on, I know you weren’t expecting him to look like that. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t catch that look sooner that everyone always has when they meet him, or anyone else in my family.”

“What d’you mean?” he asked, though it was pretty obvious he completely understood what you were talking about.

“He’s not my biological brother,” you hummed and leaned back against a table of toys, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “The stark contrast of skin colour sort of gives it away. Well, I suppose he could have been my half brother,” you shrugged. “But no. I’m actually adopted.” The second floor of a Hamleys wasn’t exactly the place you’d imagined having this conversation, but you were so comfortable with the subject that it wasn’t an issue.

“Adopted? How come you never mentioned it?” he asked and you caught the look in his eye that you hated, the one that you used to receive all the time when children in school would question your parentage. You’d always been aware of where you came from and it took you until your high school years to understand that not everyone would accept it straight away, and not instantly pity the poor little adopted girl.

“Because of that look you just gave me!” you laughed and held your hand up when he went to respond, “I’m used to it, don’t worry. I know it’s just a sort of reflex thing. I was around Olly’s age when Mum and Dad took me in, so I don’t know anything different. As far as I’m aware, they’re my real parents.”

His face softened and he went to reach for your hand, but Olly came running over, shouting excitedly about the Buzz Lightyear figure he’d found. His pudgy fingers took a hold of yours and using all his strength, he pulled you over to the shelves. After the hard decision of choosing which of the identical toys he wanted, Olly eventually picked “the best one” and threw it into the basket.

“Do you like superheroes, Olly?” Tom asked as you all carried on making your way through the aisles.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the question, though managed to hold your laugh back. Of course he’d ask about that. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he tried to convert Olly into Spider-Man’s number one fan.

“Capt’n ‘merica is cool!” Olly grinned and ran circles around you both, throwing punches in the air as though he was the hero himself.

Tom chuckled and stepped away from your side to join in the fun. He swiped a Captain America shield from the Marvel display and gave it to Olly, then grabbed one of the Thor hammers. “No one can beat the mighty Thor!” he proclaimed, deepening his voice. He slowly aimed the hammer at the shield and dramatically threw himself back a couple feet when the plastic collided. He’d been defeated.

“Gosh, it’s like looking after two children! And it also looks like Captain America is the best of all the Avengers,” you smirked and high fived Olly. “Maybe even better than Spider-Man.”

“What? That’s not true!” You couldn’t tell whether Tom was really offended or not, and that’s what made you laugh harder. “Olly, who’s better: Spider-Man or Captain America?”

“Capt’n ‘merica,” the boy replied without a second thought, hugging the shield close.

“I beg to differ,” he mumbled with a pout.

“I’m sure the opinion of a three year old who’s only seen about ten minutes total of the whole franchise really matters to you,” you teased and reached over to pat his cheek. He replaced his pout with a grin and finally took a hold of your hand, slipping his fingers between yours as you walked over to pay for Olly’s new toys.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” you asked as soon as you saw Tom take out his wallet after the toys had been scanned and packed away in a bag.

“Um, paying?”

“No you’re not. Put your wallet away.”

“But he destroyed me in a fight, it’s only fair.”

Unable to argue back, you gave a heavy sigh and put your purse back in your backpack. Tom paid for the toys and you left the shop with two bags and an extremely giddy child. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still painted grey, casting a gloomy shadow over the busy street. With Olly’s hand in yours and the bags in Tom’s, you headed left to follow the majority of the crowd.

“Now what do you say to Tom, Olly?” you asked, giving the singing boy a pointed look.

“Thank you, Tommy!” he grinned and began skipping along the pavement, the anticipation of playing with his new toys vibrating from his small body.

“Just don’t go fighting too many baddies, leave some for the rest of the Avengers,” Tom told him and Olly just nodded his head a little, though was barely listening.

“I need to take him back home,” you said to Tom, stopping on the pavement for a moment to let Olly pet a dog. The dog sniffed his hand and then scurried off. “You want to come back? We won’t be long and then afterwards… I don’t know, we could do something?”

Tom struggled to hide his smile and he nodded. “I know what we could do, but I’ll tell you later.”

All the way back to your parents’ house, you found it near enough impossible to stop wondering about what he had planned. He’d only been back in London since the night before, so that didn’t exactly give him plenty of time to plan anything big. Whatever it was, you knew it would be fun. After the three of you stepped off the train at the station, you took your time walking back to the house, laughing with Olly as he sang the wrong words to his favourite Disney songs. He begged and begged to be swung, so you each took a hold of his hands and lifted him high, swinging him over the puddles until you got to the garden fence. When he realised he was back home, he ran ahead and hurried inside.

“Don’t be so nervous,” you laughed, catching Tom’s brief look of fear that swept over his face. “God, what is it about meeting parents that makes people so scared?”

“I’m not scared, I’m just trying to think of the best escape route… You know, just in case.”

“You’ll be fine.” You reached over and squeezed his hand, then led him into the house. Olly could be heard in the living room, talking a million miles an hour about his day. Julia laughed as she listened to the boy’s story, already asking questions about his new toys, which just excited him even more. You looked at Tom and laughed at how terrified he seemed, then gave him a nudge, pushing him towards the living room.

“[Y/N], you’ve spoile- Oh, hello!” Julia chuckled when she spotted Tom standing awkwardly in the doorway. He was the last person she’d expected.

You gave him another push and followed him into the room, smiling a little sheepishly. “Mum, this is Tom. Tom, this is my mum Julia.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Julia,” Tom said and pushed his nervousness aside as he smiled at the older woman. Was this how he dealt with new, uncomfortable situations, by putting his acting skills to the test? If so, he was doing brilliantly.

“And you too. Come in, stop standing there, you can sit down,” she said and nodded over at the couch. She’d cleaned up Olly’s toys since you’d been out, but Olly was beginning to make up for it by taking them all out of the toybox again, putting them back in their rightful place on the floor. He’d already forgotten about his new presents.

“Also, I didn’t spoil him,” you told Julia and took a seat next to Tom. “Tom wanted to treat him. Olly won him in a fight so that was the prize, though I’m pretty sure that wasn’t agreed upon beforehand.”

“Well it’s only fair for him to win something cool,” Tom chuckled, leaning back on the cushions. “Even if it wasn’t a Spider-Man costume.”

“I don’t like Spider-Man,” Olly piped up. He finished pulling all his toys from the box and looked around to decide which one he wanted to play with, then after a moment, scurried over to the newest additions.

“You don’t like Spider-Man? But he’s-”

“Are you really going to argue with a toddler?” you questioned, brow raised.

Tom gave a quiet sigh and visibly struggled to agree on how he’d respond, then his shoulders sagged a little in defeat. “No.”

“He changes his likes and dislikes every day, so I wouldn’t get too offended,” Julia laughed and got up from the chair to start packing away Olly’s abandoned toys. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, we’re actually gonna head off,” you replied. “Only came to pop in for a minute, I’ll come round for dinner next week. I’ll even bring food over.”

“Oh, well it was nice to see you, Tom, for all of two seconds,” Julia laughed and showed you both out, stopping at the front door to give you a hug and a kiss. “Maybe by next week she won’t be scared I’ll say something embarrassing and might actually bring you over for dinner, and let you stay for more than five minutes,” she said to Tom with a chuckle and, ever the hugger, wrapped Tom up in her arms briefly.

“You know I can hear you, right?” you hummed and they both laughed. “See you soon, Mum.” After another kiss, you waved goodbye and left the house with Tom. When you got to the train station, you followed him onto the right train, still having no idea where you were going now. Did he even know or was he just winging it? “So what are we doing?” you asked impatiently once your train took off.

“I’m surprised you managed to hold off asking until this point,” he laughed and stretched his legs out in front of him, relaxing in the seat. He looked out of the window. “I thought since you let me meet some of your family, why not let you meet mine?”

The colour drained from your face. That definitely wasn’t what you’d expected. Why didn’t he let you prepare, to at least change your outfit so you didn’t smell of the city? Had he forgotten about you wanting to wait? Neither of you had actually discussed what sort of relationship you had, if any, so was now really the best time to meet his family?

“And you told me not to be scared.”

You looked up from your hands to see him grinning cheekily. “I’m not scared.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out! I just thought I’d give you warning instead of just throwing you in at the deep end, and just so you know, she’s the most important woman in my life.”

“What? You can’t do that to me! I need at least a week’s notice!”

“And her opinion matter most to me,” he continued as though you hadn’t uttered a word. “I’ve brought home a few girls in the past who she really didn’t like and I just… I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t get along with her.”

Of course you could understand that. If a guy you brought home didn’t get on with your mum, that would be a huge issue for you. You prayed you clicked with his mum. “Well I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“I’ll make sure she’s on hers.”

You continued to quiz Tom for the rest of the journey, but he gave absolutely nothing away. No tips, hints or tricks on how to make the best first impression. Nothing. And it frustrated you to no end. You pictured his mother laughing at the sight of you, telling her son that he was crazy for even thinking about bringing you home to meet her. Then he’d join in, both knowing he was far too good for you. Yeah, that’s exactly what would happen. There was no doubt about it. Your questioning didn’t halt when the train did, and you carried on questioning him as you walked along the streets. You didn’t even notice he’d stopped until you bumped into his back mid-sentence.

“Home sweet home,” he winked and skipped up the few steps to the front door. When he slipped the key into the lock, he paused and turned back to you. “Now don’t be nervous, I’m sure she’ll love you.”

You took a quiet, deep breath as he pushed the door open and you followed him inside the house. Scratching on the wooden floor could be heard and within seconds of Tom shutting the door behind you, a small dog came scurrying into the hallway. She barked excitedly, tail wagging so hard that her whole body shook. The ecstatic dog jumped up against Tom’s leg and he bent down to scratch her ears and give her a cuddle.

“[Y/N], meet Tessa,” he grinned and started rubbing Tessa’s belly on the floor. She continued wiggling around, unsure of whether she wanted to be petted or hugged more.

You stared at the couple. The love between them could almost be physically felt, but you looked between Tom and Tessa in confusion. “Wait, this is who I’m meeting?” you asked and suddenly burst out laughing. He grinned up at you. “This is the most important woman in your life?”

“Well yeah. You didn’t think I meant anyone else, did you?” His grin turned into a sly smirk and you wanted to slap him and kiss him and just laugh. You stuck with the latter.

Tessa scrambled up as though she only just noticed your presence and bounded over to sniff your legs. When she decided you smelled good enough, she barked happily and, chuckling softly, you knelt down to give her a proper greeting. For as long as you could remember, Staffy’s had been one of those breeds that people warned others to stay away from, that they were dangerous and shouldn’t be kept as pets, but Tessa proved all those idiots wrong. She was so friendly and seemed to want to give as much love as she could.

“She’s gorgeous,” you beamed and sat down on the floor. Tessa whined and shuffled closer, pushing her nose under your hand so you’d get back to scratching her. “And needy.”

“She just loves her cuddles,” he said and stood watching you with a warm smile that lit up his entire face. “I do have a couch, you know. I’ve heard it’s comfier than the floor, but whatever floats your boat.”

“Come on, Tessa!” you grinned and pushed yourself up, much to the dog’s disappointment. She ran after you into the other room and jumped up on the couch to curl into your side, completely content with her new found friend.

“I didn’t think I’d actually feel jealous.” Tom relaxed by your feet and tried to get Tessa to go to him, but she was having none of it. “Okay, I might just have to kick you out, you can’t steal my Tessa away from me!”

“Well can you blame her?” you laughed and stretched your legs out over his lap.

“No, I really can’t.”

Being in Tom’s home added a whole new level to your relationship. It was like seeing a side of him that barely anyone else saw, only those close to him. Framed family photos stood along the fireplace and a small stack of scripts and books sat on the coffee table between the couch and television, which he’d switched on to show New Girl (“It’s my guilty pleasure, don’t give me that look.”). Tessa’s bed had been placed in front of the fireplace, though clearly she wasn’t shy about settling on the couch instead. There wasn’t much clutter, it was nice and tidy, but still completely Tom.

“Do you mind if I ask about your parents?”

The curtains had been closed, a Chinese takeaway had been ordered and you’d watched so many episodes of New Girl that you’d told Netflix two times that yes, you were still watching. During each episode, you’d shifted positions so that eventually you lay curled up against his side with his arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders. Tessa moved whenever you did until she settled in the space between your bent legs and bum. It was easy and it was comfortable and it felt so normal. The conversation flowed easily and you didn’t even have to think about holding anything back. When he brought up that question, you looked over at him and shrugged a shoulder, inviting him to continue.

“How come… No, that sounds horrible,” he frowned and shook his head, trying to come up with a better way to phrase his question. You knew exactly what he wanted to ask, only because you’d heard it so many times before.

“How come they adopted me when they could have a baby of their own?”

“It sounds horrible. I don’t mean it like that, you know I don’t.”

“I know, don’t worry. It’s something practically everyone wants to know,” you chuckled, not offended by any means. He relaxed at your reassurance and absently ran the tips of his fingers along your arm, tickling you lightly. “Mum was always told she couldn’t have kids,” you explained, snuggling Tessa a little closer. “They tried for years and years before they even thought of adopting. I think they’d thought of going down the surrogate route, but I don’t think Mum liked the idea of someone else carrying her baby. I guess with adoption you don’t see that, you’re just given the end product,” you chuckled. “But yeah, Olly was a big surprise. She found out she was pregnant on her forty-sixth birthday. Everyone thought she was crazy for going through with it, but he’s her little miracle baby,” you smiled and nudged your elbow against his side when he stopped tickling.

He got back to it. “Do you remember what it was like before your Mum and Dad?” he asked a little hesitantly.

“You don’t have to be shy about asking questions, I’m really okay with being adopted. It’s not like I can do anything about it,” you said. “But yeah, I remember a tiny bit. Not much since I was only three, but I remember my bedroom and some of the other kids. Not their faces, I just remember playing games and running around the house. Not much really and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.”

“It sounds like you had a good experience there, which is good.” The doorbell rang and after placing a kiss on the top of your head, he went to collect the food. He unpacked it in the kitchen and brought it all out to lay on the coffee table.

You leaned over and grabbed a prawn cracker to munch on, warming up your stomach for the feast while you piled up your plate with the goods. “Tom, do you think maybe we could-”

“Have a drink? Yeah, I’ve got a bottle of wine in the fridge.”

“Well, I was going to ask if we could talk, but I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Alright, I guess we can talk, too,” he laughed and grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring you a glass before giving himself one. He sat back down and dug into his noodles.

“Okay, first thing’s first,” you started, pushing the beef around your plate. “Did I pass the dog test?”

“Pass it? I think she loves you more than she loves me, [Y/N].” At your smile, he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb against you. It was comforting. “I really like you. I just wanted to make sure I’m not making a mistake… And I don’t think I am.”

“I might be a bit biased, but I don’t think you are either,” you grinned and leaned a little closer. His aftershave was delicious. His coffee coloured eyes shifted and stared at your lips and he smirked faintly before meeting you halfway. He kissed you gently, carefully, but it wasn’t what you wanted. Grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt, you pulled him closer. The kiss was hungry and needy and you tried to pour everything into it.

“No, definitely not,” came his whispered reply.

Boy, were you in trouble.

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