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mickey-henry · 3 years

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𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff for the grammar help, and @midnightf for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

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zoraalja · 2 years

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prompt: row • words: 2,071 • era: endwalker • [ masterpost ] a noisy, acrimonious quarrel.

Annette never expected the other Scions to be agreeable when the matter of Zenos’s survival became the subject of debate for the day.

Each of them had their own private hatreds of the man that had plagued their lives for years now, and she understood each of them. They were all tired and ready to see a period put at the end of his sentence. They could not begin to understand how she felt, considering only a few of them even knew what he meant to Annette.

Having the conversation over linkpearl was an unfortunate consequence of seeing the Scions split up and hurtled in every direction across their world. She wished they could be together again, sitting around a table in the Rising Stones, so they might see the look in her eyes when she told them the truth of the matter. Maybe they would be gentler with her if they saw the tears in her eyes as she spoke of him.

Or maybe she would only be there to see their trust in her die.

But it was a necessary discussion about a tense topic, and recent events made the events of the past pertinent yet again.

Sitting alone in her bedroom, warmed beneath a pool of waning sunlight, Annette revealed all.

She started her story at the very edge of the universe where all life ended, where all life began. Two characters stood upon a precipice — her, relieved; Zenos, desperate and enamored and bloody-mouthed. It was there that their paths ought to have diverged. It was there that what remained of his life should have faded into unknowing.

“You must know that I did leave him there,” Annette whispered, throat tight.

Her hands curled into fists so tight that her fingernails turned to fangs rather than just teeth, tearing rather than biting into the flesh of her palms. They could not understand. The choice to leave Zenos behind was not one easily written; it was self-sacrifice.

“I abandoned him.”

“And we’ve been all the better for it.” Thancred’s voice rose above the quiet. A picture of him rose in her mind as he spoke. An inn room shared with Urianger, one with two narrow beds and a poorly lit hearth barely hot enough to brew tea. Him, back to one of the beds, pieces of his gunblade laid out before him for cleaning. He sounded distracted, barely there. Casual. “Has anyone slept poorly since coming back to the Source?”

Annette’s lips parted, but before she could respond, someone else did.

“The chill in Garlemald makes it impossible to sleep comfortably,” Alphinaud said. “I haven’t been warm in weeks.”

Alisaie chuckled. “You’re such a child.”

“Both of you,” Olivier interjected, his entrance into the conversation as smooth and swift as his voice. “I believe Thancred’s question was rhetorical.”

It took some effort to flatten her palms to the surface of her desk. The raw skin ached at the pressure, just as the rest of her ached at the echo of friendly voices in her ear. Perhaps it would be better if her intentions remained a secret, shared only between her and Olivier and the others who had traveled into the Thirteenth. The offer had been given to her by Y’shtola, and both Olivier and Estinien agreed that it would be better if only those who knew knew.

But Annette was stubborn and honest, and the Scions had been her friends for so long.

They had weathered so much together. Cutting the others off from such an important decision felt wrong, not that it was a decision that would be made by anyone other than herself. She couldn’t deal with the thought of someone trying to stop her.

She didn’t know what she would do to someone who sought to stand between her and Zenos.

Oh, you know, Annette’s darkest thoughts whispered to her. They were vicious, seductive things that she tried in vain to ignore at every turn. You would leave them a burned out husk. Flesh torn to shreds by wind. Bones crushed by stone. You wield the power of the Phoenix and Bahamut; they would not survive.

Her head bowed, brown hair spilling over her brow and cheeks.

When her voice rose again, it was stronger by half.

Her nails dug against the grain of the wood as words spilled out of her — from the tale of his end at the edge of the universe to their first meeting and the connection she felt, from duels in dusty Gyr Abania to rainy Yanxia, from secret meetings under the stars to letters carried by well-paid couriers. She told them everything, and she unveiled the truth to shocked silence.

For a single, painful, endless minute following the reveal, there was nothing. No one spoke. She could not even hear them breathe.

They were all of them staring at her, waiting, wondering —

Again, it was Thancred who spoke. His voice set her on edge. “Why bring this up now?”

He knew there was something happening. He knew that the supposed end of Zenos’s sentence had changed; it had become yet another comma the former Garlean prince did not deserve, in his eyes.

He knew, but he wanted her to say it.

Annette drew in a slow breath that trembled on her lips.

“I am bringing this up now because I am going to bring him back.”

The shocked silence became a storm following the lightning crack of revelation. Thancred shouted something she could not grasp among the sudden buzz of conversation. Quietly, Urianger urged him to calm himself. That only spurred Thancred on quicker and louder, and among the voices, she heard the slamming of a door.

Annette’s heart raced. Her eyes burned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Thancred spat out. The texture of his voice had changed, shifting from casual distraction to fury carried on heavy footfalls. “After everything that’s happened, you’re bringing him back? How does that even work? I’m assuming it’s nefarious. Something that could bring him back would have to be, wouldn’t it?”

She moved to respond, and she heard Olivier do the same. But neither of them managed to say a word before Thancred filled the silence again.

“Don’t even get me started on how long you’ve been keeping this from us!”

Anger bubbled in Annette’s stomach. It boiled.

“Thancred, please. We understand your frustration, but—”

“My frustration!” Thancred cut through the word with its echo, his voice sharpened and stricken. “I am not going to be hushed and coddled by the man bending at the waist for Gaius van Baelsar!”

Slamming her hands down onto her desk, Annette hauled herself up onto her feet. She swallowed back the pain that shot up from her palms and instead used it to support her words.

When she spoke, she did not shout. She did not howl and claw at the walls to tear him down. Her voice was a quiet roll in her throat.

“You would be wise to pursue that topic no further, Thancred.”

What might have quelled someone else’s rage only served to farther incense him. Over the linkpearl, she heard another clatter of a door thrown open, followed by a grunt of, “Oh, that’s so like you.”

Urianger cleared his throat. “Thancred, thy tone—”

“You needn’t act like this with her.” Y’shtola remained behind in Thavnair, but she felt close-at-hand. Her presence — distant, but warm — was as much of an anchor as Olivier’s. “You know Annette as well as all of us.”

Thancred laughed.

“Untrue,” he said, bitterness wrapping itself around his throat. “Apparently.”

Annette leaned against her desk as tension unfurled down her spine. She had expected this. If everyone had simply wished her luck on her endeavors, she would have suspected that something was terribly wrong.

But that didn’t cool the burning of anger, not when it was Thancred at its point of origin.

Thancred, who so willingly took her to bed long before she regained her memories of him following the Calamity. Thancred, whose desperation to be useful made him a target for the Ascians. Thancred, who broke her heart and refused to let the wounds mend for years.

Thancred — Thancred was angry at her.

“Does this feel like a betrayal to you, Thancred? To you personally?” Annette asked him. She rubbed uselessly at her flushed cheeks as she peered through the darkened window before her. With the warmth of the sun gone, she swam in the light of stars. “If you’d like me to explain how it truly feels to be betrayed, I would be happy to walk you through it.”

Two linkpearls disconnected from the call. The topic for discussion was over, and she knew that most of them would not stick around just for a fight.

“I kept my feelings for him a secret because the world felt as if it was crumbling around me, and I didn’t have the energy to listen to you whine!”

Another left. She did not know who remained; she did not care, truth be told. Olivier would remain, and as long as she knew he was on her side, it didn’t matter who else stood behind or alongside her.

“This is going to happen whether you like it or not,” she continued.

The words rushed out of her mouth, giving him no opportunity to riposte. Any response he might have given did not interest her. He had ruined any chance he had at her being patient with him when he turned upon Olivier and bit down.

Now, she would show him that she could bite, too. That her jaws were stronger.

“The only reason you’re furious with me for bringing him back is because you know that you will have to live with it.”

Her breath shook in her chest.

“Because you know that you have no chance of beating him.”

This time, when someone disconnected from the call, she knew who it was.

Victory was a thing with a bitter flavor, and as Annette sank into her chair again, she spilled forward onto the desk, her hands trembling as her frayed nerves struggled to recover.

“I shall endeavor to speak with him,” Urianger murmured. She did not know where he stood, not from the sound of him or the words he imparted upon her, but she knew his storied history with betrayal… and loss. “Time will be of import.”

Olivier spoke where she could not.

“Thank you,” he said, gently despite the obvious hurt she found in his voice. When Urianger left only him, Y’shtola, and Estinien in the call, Olivier let go of a terse sigh. She could imagine him pinching the curved bridge of his nose where his glasses often laid. “We will return to the First soon. Then, to Elpis with the crystal. If anyone can figure out what to do with what remains of Zenos, it will be Hades.”

Alone in a puddle of moonlight, Annette’s chin trembled. As the fight bled away from her, something half-empty was left behind, something hollowed out and yearning to be held.

But there were no hands to pick her up, no arms to wrap around her. Only she remained to soothe the painful ache that Thancred’s fury left behind.

After all, Zenos was a pale, purple light in her peripheral vision, a soul in a crystal on a bedside table, and he could not comfort her.

“A week,” Annette whispered. She lifted her head only to rest a warm cheek against her forearm. The burning of tears in her eyes trailed away, and she peered through the glass to Mor Dhona. “I will meet you in the First in a week. We will progress from there.”

It could have been tomorrow. Her heart longed to run.

They still did not know if Hades was capable of returning Zenos to her. That was what forced her to slow down, to take her time, to give Olivier a much-needed week in Terncliff.

If they arrived in Elpis only to discover that Zenos was indeed lost or forever trapped within the crystal, Annette herself would be lost.

“Thank you,” she murmured weakly.

“Love is complicated.” Y’sthola sounded tired. “Thancred knows that just as well as many of us. He will come around in the end, and if he does not, he will be brought.”

Annette felt the corner of her mouth curl.

“Still… thank you.”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #zenos yae galvus #thancred waters #y'shtola rhul #type: ffxivwrite #oc: annette #oc: olivier #ship: zenos x annette #mine: writing

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

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Locked up Christmas - Harry Styles

❄️ FANFICmas 2020 ❄️

Read more about FANFICmas here!

happy holidays everyone!! this is the first one of my two christmas fics, the second one coming tomorrow, giving you well enough content to keep you busy when you’re not stuffing your belly or enjoying your time with the fam haha. let me know what you think!

word count: 5k

masterlist

Fishing your keys out of your purse you curse a little as your eyes fall on the big double doors. This is not how you planned to spend your Christmas evening, but you are desperate to earn that promotion in January so now you have to make sacrifices, such as leaving your family home, come into the office and smooth out some things your boss emailed you about a few hours prior.

“Who the fuck is working on Christmas?” you mumble to yourself as you try to find the right keys on the chain. The woman is completely nuts, you’re not even sure how she was able to score a husband because the woman lives in the office.

“Think about the money, Y/N,” you tell yourself. It just gonna be a solid two hours in here, you’ll be out of the building by nine and make it back home to watch Home Alone with your nieces. They begged you to stay and your heart was breaking when you had to leave instead of playing board games with them, so now you are desperate to get it done as fast as possible.

Unlocking the double doors you walk through every damn morning, you walk inside and lock them back up behind you, not wanting any creeps to scare the shit out of you, entering the building while you are in here.

You are so busy cursing your boss out that you almost don’t even notice the lights on upstairs in one of the offices, but when you do, you stop in your track, knowing well whose office it is. Taking a few steps closer you see the tall guy walking around, searching through his shelves with his hands on his hips.

Harry Styles has been working two offices down from yours this past year and you’ve had the fattest crush on the dude ever since he smiled at you on his first day, introducing himself. From his magical green eyes, through his several tattoos he tries to hide under his shirts, to his luscious curls, the guy is a walking, talking perfectness, making you turn into a stuttering teenage girl every time he even looks in your way, let alone when he comes up to you to talk about anything.

Standing in the open area of the cubbies, you debate whether you should say hi or go straight to your office, and though your nerves would appreciate the second option, you know it would be rude to just ignore his presence when it is literally just the two of you. So shoving your keys into your bag you head towards his open door, hoping you won’t make a fool out of yourself.

Just as you are approaching the entrance of his office, his eyes fall on you and you can’t just not notice how adorable he looks as he raises his eyebrows at your arrival.

“Y/N? What are you doing here on Christmas?” he questions, a stack of paper in his hands as he stares at you, a slight smile playing on his pink lips you’ve daydreamed about way too many times at work. You notice how he is wearing a simple white t-shirt, a brown, knitted cardigan and jeans, something you have never seen him in, he is always wearing stylish suits and crispy looking shirts, making sure his appearance is spotless. But you kind of digging this loose, casual version of him.

“I could ask you the same,” you chuckle tilting your head to the side. “I uhh—Samantha emailed me about one of my cases, so I have a few things to go over.”

“But couldn’t it wait?”

“I’m really hoping to get the promotion in January, so it couldn’t.” Harry nods in understanding as he glances down at the papers in his hands. “What about you?”

“Oh, I came in this afternoon, but I kind of got stuck, so now I think I’ll just finish it anyway.”

“You’ve been here all afternoon? Didn’t you want to spend the day with your family?”

“Well, my family lives in the UK. My mum got a cruise from her boyfriend so she is on the Caribbean sea right now and my sister is working through the holidays as well, so we agreed to have Christmas a little later this year.”

“Oh, I see,” you softly say, feeling a little bad for the guy to be stuck here at Christmas even though you know he is gonna see his family, just a little later. “Alright. I’ll just—I’ll be in my office then,” you mumble motioning down the hallway and he nods with a soft smile.

“Sure, sure!”

You jump right into work, eager to finish as soon as possible, and for your biggest surprise, you find yourself breezing through the case faster than you expected. Maybe it’s the emptiness of the whole building, the complete silence or just the will to leave finally, but you manage to finish everything before half past eight, putting you half an hour earlier than you expected to be done. You quickly pack everything up and shut your computer down before grabbing your coat and bag to head out. Just as you step out of your office, Harry emerges from his, wearing his black coat and a backpack hanging from his shoulder. Your eyes meet and he chuckles softly, waiting for you to catch up with him so you can head down together.

“Finished everything?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. How about you?”

“I think I’m like two weeks ahead now, but at least I’ll have a breather after the holidays.” He politely lets you ahead as you step out of the office area, into the stairwell, the two of you walking down the stairs shoulder by shoulder. “Heading back to the family?”

“Yeah, promised my nieces to watch Home Alone with them.”

“Classic.”

“Uhuh, very fascinated when you’ve seen it a thousand times, but it’s their first time,” you chuckle shaking your head.

“I feel like everyone is complaining about seeing it so many times, but deep down, we all know we’ll keep watching it till the end of times,” Harry smirks and you nod in agreement.

You step to the exit and push your keys into the lock, trying to turn it, but it doesn’t want to move, just stays stuck in it. Wiggling it a little you start to feel nervous, thinking how Harry will see you as a complete idiot who can’t even open a damn door, but no matter what you try, the key stays stuck.

“I uhh—It’s not opening?” you anxiously say, glancing over at Harry. Furrowing his eyebrows he asks if he could try, so you step aside and let him make an attempt to unlock the door.

However, the key stubbornly stays the same, as if it was cemented into the lock. His grip tightens around the metal, his other hand holding onto the handle of the door, shaking it in hopes it’ll magically open up, but that’s not the case at all.

And then you hear the snap. Your eyes widen when you see that the top part of the key stays on the chain and Harry holds it up just as shocked as you are, the other part still in the lock, broken and totally ruined.

“Please say we didn’t just lock ourselves in and broke the key into the lock on Christmas,” you mumble, shutting your eyes, hoping that when you open them it’ll all just go away and Harry will be holding the door open for you. But then your eyelids flutter open and your gaze is met with Harry’s anxious eyes.

“I uhh—I wish I could say that we didn’t, but we did.”

Letting your head fall back for a moment you take a deep breath, contemplating what you did that made the universe turn against you, but you don’t remember killing babies to earn this, so you are left with your boiling rage.

After a moment of mess you realize it’s time to pull your shit together and figure out the fastest possible to get out of this building as fast as possible.

“Alright, we-we need to call someone,” you breathe out, pulling your phone out of your pocket, trying to figure out who you should be calling in this very specific situation.

“Should we call Samantha?” Harry asks, still holding your keys in his hands.

“It’s not that we need another key, she wouldn’t be able to get us out. We need a professional, right?”

“Yeah, good idea.” Harry is quick to pull his phone out as well, opening up Google to find a locksmith that could free the two of you.

A few minutes later the both of you are frantically calling numbers of businesses you found online, but most doesn’t even answer and though you know it’s reasonable, since it’s Christmas, but you’re mad that with each passing moment the feeling that you’ll be stuck in here all night grows. The two of you are pacing around in the hall as all calls go to voicemail or just simply stay ignored, making you desperate.

When you are about to give up to find just one locksmith in the area who could help you out, the ringing finally stops and a voice answers your call. The old man doesn’t seem delighted to be disturbed at such time, but as you describe the situation on your hand, he quickly realizes his help is much needed.

“Now, Miss, I have some bad news,” he tells you and you feel your stomach drop to the floor.

“And what would that be?”

“The soonest I can get there is around midnight. I’m out of town, but I could leave right now.”

Closing your eyes you inhale sharply. It’s not that bad, you tell yourself. At least he can come, that’s all that matters.

“Alright. It’s fine, we really need you, Sir. And again, I’m really sorry to bother you on Christmas.”

“I’ll pack up and leave now. Will contact you when I’m there,” the man tells you before you hang up and meet Harry’s anticipating eyes.

“He is coming, but he’ll get here around midnight,” you tell him and he immediately checks the time on his phone.

“So… we are stuck here for three more hours?” You nod, pressing your lips together. “Alright,” he sighs, hands on his hips. “Could be worse, right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you nod, trying your best to see the best side of the situation. You might be missing Christmas with your family, but you are stuck with your work crush for three entire hours, so yes, it definitely could be worse.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, nodding to himself as if he is acknowledging the situation, and the turning to you, he smiles softly.

“There are some leftovers from the Christmas party on Wednesday. You hungry?”

Soon enough the two of you are seated in the kitchen, roaming through everything Harry found in the fridges, from saggy fries to fried chickens and veggies, you are sure you won’t starve to death until the locksmith arrives to rescue you.

At first, you both are just eating in silence, kind of still processing that this is how you have to spend the evening. Harry reaches over to get some more peas onto his plate and his cardigan rides up on his arm, your eyes falling to the several tattoos and before you could stop yourself, you speak up.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

His eyes flicker to you, then follow your gaze on his arm and he smiles softly. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck for a moment, his smile is so enchanting. He has to know the effect he has on females for sure.

“A lot. Don’t even remember the exact number if I’m being honest.”

“Really? Can I ask where else you have? I mean other than your arm.”

“Well, I have the most on this arm, then just one on the other. Some on my chest, my upper stomach, above my hips and a couple on my feet and leg,” he explains and your eyebrows raise at the amount. You figured he had quite a few, but it really sounds like a lot. You push down the urge to ask if you could see them, though your imagination is soaring right now, thinking about all the different inks splattered across his body.

“All planned or were some impulsive?”

“Most of them were random,” he chuckles shaking his head. “Do you have any?”

“I do,” you shyly smile, glancing down at the plate. “I have… well, I have one, but it consists of three parts.”

“Oh!” he breathes out and waits for you to elaborate.

“I have the sun, the moon and a few little stars on my back along my spine. It’s not big either, so you won in the tattoo game,” you chuckle.

“But I’m sure yours is way more sophisticated and planned out.”

“That I’m sure of,” you nod laughing and he joins you. “Would have never though you have so many under your suits,” you admit and his eyes jump up to you, a playful smirk tugging on his lips.

“Well, I didn’t think you had any under your pretty dresses, if I’m being honest.”

Now you are sure you are blushing hard, something in the way he said it making your hormones act up in a blink of an eye. Has he been thinking about what’s under your dress or did he just phrase it weirdly?

“What else is there you think is unlike me?” you find yourself asking and though Harry seems slightly surprised by the question, he leans back in his chair, looking at your intently, as if he is trying to read you like a book.

“I think that… the way you dress at work is far away from your real style,” he states, eyes glaring down at your current outfit that doesn’t give a lot away about your style. You were already in your pj’s when you decided to come into the office, so you just threw on a black t-shirt and a pair of boyfriend jeans. You can’t hide the smile that curls up your lips at his statement. “Am I right?”

“I guess you are.”

“So what are you like when you are not wearing your colorful blazers?”

You choose not to comment on how he noticed that you have a collection of blazers in basically all existing colors, so you always have something to put on with your dresses and pencil skirts at work.

“What do you think my style is like?” you challenge him tilting your head to the side. Pursing his lips he takes a few moments to think over his answer.

“I think it’s a lot of vintage jeans and shirts, oversized jumpers, tiny hoop earrings… maybe some turtlenecks, but the funky types, nothing serious. You seem like the type of person who likes to be cozy but also fashionable.”

“That was very specific,” you chuckle softly, but you are also impressed by how spot on his description was.

“Was I right?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But add some loose maxi dresses. I love them too, especially with sneakers.”

“Fits the picture perfectly,” he smirks as you both continue your feast.

You have never been alone with Harry for this long and you feel like you cracked the code to stop feeling nervous around him. Yes, you are still quite anxious about doing or saying something stupid, but the more you talk, the easier you find it to be around him. He is great company, an amazing listener and an even better story teller. Once you start sharing tales about your childhood and teenage years, Harry opens up about what it was like growing up back in the UK and he tells you all about the little pranks he and his mates did through high school.

“You had such a baby face!” you beam when he shows you a picture of himself when he was just fifteen. He is definitely recognizable, but he was lacking that hint of manliness back then, a rounder face and smoother lines made him appear very youthful, while now he is definitely a charming, mature man.

“I know, worked hard to lose that,” he chuckles leaning onto his arms on the table. “Alright, now you have to show me one too,” he says locking his phone once you give it back to him. Chuckling you unlock your own phone, looking for a photo you could show him, though you don’t have many to choose from.

“This one was taken on my sixteenth birthday,” you comment sliding the phone over to him, a picture of you shown on the screen from your birthday where you are sitting on the couch, hugging the puppy your parents surprised you with as a gift. Back then you had longer hair and a bare face, free of any makeup since you didn’t start wearing any until you were eighteen. You had a few pimples and spots on your forehead, but overall it’s not a disastrous photo.

Harry takes his time examining the photo and you see his smile grow wider with each passing moment.

“What?” you question him.

“Nothing, it’s just that… If we knew each other back then I just know I would have crushed on you hard.”

Your lips part at his blunt answer, you were definitely not expecting him to say that and it’s making you feel some kind of way for sure.

The two of you pack up everything left from the food, cleaning up after yourselves and as Harry washes the plates you two used, you check the time, seeing that it’s only quarter to eleven, leaving plenty of time still until the locksmith arrives.

“It’s so damn quiet in here, I’m not used to hear… nothing,” you tell him as you follow him out of the kitchen. Harry turns to you with a sly smirk.

“Wanna have a private party? I know for a fact Jim has a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in his office.”

“I’m absolutely in,” you grin as the two of you head towards the corner office.

Harry was right, the Bluetooth speaker sits lonely on Jim’s desk and you don’t hesitate to borrow it for your entertainment in this absurd situation. He connects his phone and sets it down on a random desk outside where the cubbies are.

“Alright, what’s your song request?” he asks opening up Spotify.

“Guess what kind of music I listen to,” you challenge him arching an eyebrow and as his eyes meet yours, he smirks back confidently before he turns his attention back at the phone in his hand. You watch him scroll for a while before his finger stops on a song and after a moment of hesitation he taps on it at last.

“Don’t come at me if you don’t like it,” he warns as the song starts playing through the speaker and you immediately recognize it. I Feel It Coming by The Weeknd and Daft Punk flows through the empty office area and you can’t push down the smile that tugs on your lips. “Did I do good? You like it?” he asks with bright eyes.

“You did. I do like The Weeknd and it’s a fun song,” you nod and Harry throws a fist into the air in victory.

“Yes! Alright, you guess next,” he tells you handing you the phone and you need a moment to think about what he might like. A specific song pops into your mind and though you know you’re taking a risk with choosing it, but something is telling you he is the kind of guy who appreciates this kind of music. You patiently wait for your song to end before starting the one you chose for him.

You intently watch his reaction as Juice by Lizzo starts playing through the speaker and the moment you see the corners of his mouth curl up, you know you guessed right.

“It’s one of my guilty pleasures,” he admits, his head immediately bopping to the rhythm.

“No need to call it guilty pleasure. It’s a great song,” you tell him handing back his phone and with each passing moment his body gets into the rhythm more and more until he is full on dancing.

You let out a laugh, watching him sway and move around, enjoying the song and you can’t stop yourself from joining him. Jumping around, the two of you make the whole place your dance floor, moving around between the desks and cubbies, letting loose as the song fills the whole place.

“It ain’t my fault!” you hear Harry sing from across the room and you can’t hold back your laugh. Seeing how funny you find it, he makes his way towards you, swirling and moving his hops around. He is not a bad dancer, in fact, he is perfectly on beat with his movements, but he is definitely not a professional, though you find it quite adorable, while the way he doesn’t care to dance carefree is making him incredibly hot.

He dances around you, relentlessly singing the lyrics that he seems to know by heart. It’s quite the sight to see him like this, so unlike but still… very much like him. This version is even more attractive and you wish you could see him like this more often.

One song follows the other and the two of you absolutely let loose, putting on the show of your life, forgetting about everything else, it’s just the music, Harry and you. He shows you his favorite songs and you do the same, feeling a special connection through the process, because in a way, he is baring his true self to you through the music that’s closest to his heart and you are happy to be the person to see him like this.

“What’s a song that turns you into a rockstar?” Harry asks, panting a little from all the dancing you two have been doing in the past hour. You stop in motion thinking about what he just asked.

“A rockstar?”

“Yeah, you know, one that makes you sing and dance and perform like you are in the middle of your sold-out show at Wembley.”

You love his specific descriptions of feelings. Smiling to yourself you don’t have to think long about what song it is for you. After searching it you add to the queue and put the phone down to the nearest desk as you turn to Harry.

The starting beats of Plastic Hearts by Miley Cyrus start playing and you immediately feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins. You’re ready to completely change right in front of his eyes. Grabbing a chair you push him down to sit as you walk away from him, snatching an abandoned bottle of water from one of the desks, using it as your microphone before starting your performance. Hooking a finger into the elastic in your hair you pull it out and let your hair fall to your shoulders as you start singing along the song, sending him a seductive look over your shoulder.

“Hello, the sunny place for shady people, a crowded room where nobody goes…”

You know every line by heart and the fact that you’ve been listening to it on repeat the past few weeks just helps your case. You are able to put on quite the show for Harry.

Dancing around the desks, even hopping on one and lying down as you sing into your pretend microphone, you truly make yourself believe there are thousands of people watching your performance.

“I’ve been California dreaming, plastic hearts are bleeding!” you shout the chorus, completely letting loose, dancing towards Harry who is watching you in awe, lips parted, eyes bright as they follow your every move. “Keep me up all night! Keep me up all night!”

Right in front of Harry, you drop to your knees, whipping your head around, your hair flying with it before you straighten up and look straight into his eyes. Hunger fills his eyes, raw passion and you see how his knuckles are turning white as he is gripping the sides of the chair he is sitting in. You can’t push down the satisfied smirk that tugs on your lips.

He stays put as you live out your wildest rockstar dreams, turning the whole office into your stage. With a heaving chest and heavy pants, the song ends and nothing follows. Turning to face Harry you see that he turned the music off so no other song started after your performance. Now he is standing, eyes burning down on you and the tension is thicker than ever.

It’s about to happen, you feel it. He wants you just as much as you want him. Is he gonna act up about it? Will he finally break what’s been building up between the two of you?

All your questions get answered as soon as you see him leap towards you, your body starts moving at the same time and just when you are about to meet in the middle in the hottest kiss you’ve ever gotten, you jump back hearing your phone’s ringtone on a desk near you.

“Fucking—“ you hear him mumble under his breath as you rush over, seeing that the locksmith is calling.

“Hi!” you pant into the phone and immediately realize how ambiguous you must have sounded.

“Miss? I think I’m here. Can you come to the door in question?” you hear the man.

“Yeah! We’ll be down in a sec! It’s the front door.”

Ending the call you turn to see Harry standing behind you, his green eyes burning a hole into your head and you can tell he shares the same thoughts as you and though you’d love nothing more than to continue what was about to start, but you can’t make the locksmith wait.

“Come on, we are getting rescued,” you chuckle grabbing your stuff and Harry follows you downstairs.

The old man is standing with a bag of tools at the entrance, he sends you a small smile when he notices you.

“This one right here?” he asks through the glass and you nod. Harry stands beside you as the two of you watch him get down to work. Though the tension is still there, you can feel it radiating from the both of you, you still manage to hold yourself back.

It doesn’t take long for the man to get rid of the ruined lock and the door finally opens up, letting you and Harry out of your prison. He quickly fixes up a new one and gives you the keys. You already know Samantha won’t be happy about having to copy a new set of keys for everyone, but there was not much you could do.

You obviously pay a fortune for the guy for everything he did tonight, he surely was a hero. It’s way past midnight by the time you say goodbye to the man and watch him drive away, leaving you and Harry standing in the parking lot.

The sexual aspect of the tension between the two of you has definitely fallen back, but something is still there and you really don’t want to ignore what was about to happen before the locksmith called. Luckily, it seems like Harry thinks the exact same thing.

He runs two fingers over his lips, clearly trying to come up with something to say, and then he finally speaks up.

“Listen, about what happened in there—“

“Want to come over to mine?” you blurt out before you could stop yourself, clearly surprising him. Then you feel a wave of awkwardness about how blunt that was, so the urge to fix it a little takes over. “I-I mean you could come over to my place for the night if you want, and since you-you don’t have family here now, you could just come to my family tomorrow for lunch, it’s always so much fun, we play board games and stuff. B-But I get it if you don’t want to.”

Harry smiles widely at you, finding your word vomiting quite amusing and cute if he is being honest.

“You sure I wouldn’t disturb if I joined for lunch?”

“Of course not,” you smile warmly. You already know your nieces would be all over Harry if he came, wouldn’t even let him alone for a second for sure.

“Then… I would love to go. And… to your place as well,” he adds, a soft blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Okay, then follow me?” you chuckle nodding towards your and his car parking near to the other.

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling wide as you both head to your own cars. You have to bite into your bottom lip to stop the excited squeal when you unlock the doors. Right as you are about to open up the door on the driver’s side, someone grips your wrist and turns you back around. You gasp a little, but immediately melt into Harry’s arms when his lips press to yours, holding you tight in his embrace.

His lips taste like French salad dressing and mint after the feast you had earlier and the gum he chewed on afterwards. They fit so perfectly with yours, moving in sync as you let your hands wander over his upper arms and broad shoulders until they come to a halt at the base of his neck. He is such an amazing kisser and you just know that whatever happens between you and him after this, you’ll surely have a hard time looking at him at work and not think about how he tastes on your lips.

When he pulls away, he pecks your lips one more time before his arms fall from around you.

“Sorry,” he smiles nervously, even though he has no reason to be. “I just… had to do it before we leave.”

“Glad you did,” you smirk and kiss his soft lips one last time before sending him away to his own car. He shoots you one last charming smile before you both get into your cars and head straight to your place.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought about it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #fanficmas2020 #fanficmas 2020 #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas 2020

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ktheist · 4 years

Text

title. “it’s armani, not polyester.” | m

pairings. ceo!jimin x secretary!reader x ex-boyfriend!director!jeongguk

inspired by. conan grey’s heather.

genre. e2f - f2l , office romance, sugar daddy-baby-esque.

words. 10.6k

warnings. explicit content (obviously). mentions of alcohol use.

concept. a retelling of conan grey’s heather in its future days.

story time.

“that’s your ex?” wendy blinks once before proceeding to openly ogle the - as per jennie’s excited text - ‘tall and handsome as hell cutie’ who’s in the middle of speaking to irene who seems to be sporting a larger-than-her-daily smile as her body moves as she nods and laughs and nods again, “i mean - i was expecting some hobo looking guy with spectacles bigger than his head and snot running down his face.”

with a cringe, you shoot her a much needed side eye, “okay first off - ew,” throwing your gaze back at jeongguk, “second off, we only dated for like three months before everyone started sleeping with everybody.”

“like orgies and shits?” this time, it’s her turn to cringe.

“no,” you roll your eyes, “i mean we had our first fight, he slept with my best friend so i slept with his brother who was dating that best friend.”

“oh,” you can almost feel the way her eyes shift from you ex to you as you continue to type on the computer, “guess no more family dinners.”

“it gets better,” you feel a creep up your face as you turn to meet her wide eyed gaze, “me and his brother got into the same college and we decided to stay friends and now his mom knows me as taehyung’s best friend instead of her second child’s ex-girlfriend.”

by the end of it, wendy’s jaw is quite literally on the floor, missing her chance to greet the cutie who’s obviously led here by irene. standing up, you fix the man who seems to have turned into ice, “thank you, irene, i’ll take it from here,” without even missing a beat you give jeongguk a once over, admitting his worth of the nickname he’ll soon forth be known as in the office, “mr. jeon, mr. park is thrilled to meet you.”

jimin didn’t exactly say that - he only yawned when you briefed him about the interview with the possible new tech guy before dozing off in the passenger seat for the rest of the ride.

“you work here?” thawed from his initial shock, jeongguk hurriedly tries to catch up to you when he sees you walking towards the double doors of your boss’ office which is just twenty feet away.

“oh no, i just deliver pizza and happen to know where the ceo’s office is,” and that marks your second eyeroll for the day to which jeongguk’s lips tuck into a blatant sneer.

before he even finished his “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed”, you’re already knocking twice on the door before strutting into the room where jimin’s face lights up at the sight of you before returning to its unsmiling state when his eyes lands on something over your shoulder.

“mr. park, mr. jeon is here for the interview for the management information systems director position,” you hand him the ipad with jeongguk’s resume opened and ready for inspection.

jeongguk pretends not to see your feigned smile as you pass him but before you manage to exit the room, a voice stops you, “oh, miss ____, do you mind telling irene to make me an extra strong coffee?”

“i can make that, mr. park,” you announce, eyebrows threatening to weave themselves together at the peculiar order.

jimin only chuckles, “miss ____, you and i’s definition of extra strong is vastly different,” but before you can debunk it, he’s already complementing his insult with a praise, “you make the nicest chamomile tea though.”

all while jeon jeongguk stands in the middle of the way yet he’s the last thing you see and probably the last thing jimin notices.

“that’s fair,” with a nod and an amused smile, you leave through the door, knowing full well jeongguk is more than able to distinguish between what’s a facade and what’s not.

and he may very well be the first to call bullshit on your too respectful interactions with your boss.

jeongguk gets the position. naturally, he would - he graduated at the top of his class, became valedictorian, dished out an inspiring speech to which taehyung showed you a video of when you were having your trimonthly meet up a year a ago.

he was a cutie with brains and brawn. his department sucked him in as their new director and colleague in no time. the news of the new tall and handsome as hell cutie who apparently looks better than most people in suit has spread to every other department with wendy and irene liasing between the rumors - considering the fact that they take the ‘first interaction’ privilege.

perks of being part of jimin’s secretary trio, you suppose.

the aforementioned man peeks up at you with a smirk, his leather black salvator snaking up the side of your black mesh pantyhose as you stand in front of him and just until five seconds ago, were briefing him about his meeting with the representative of the manufacturing company for the new chip.

“miss jisoo will be here in two hours and she’ll be discussing the direct materials cost, direct labor cost and manufacturing overhead - that’s where i’ll need you to pay attention because maque it is known for their concrete bargains but exceptional product outcome.” you inform.

“mr. park,” his eyes snap to yours, “my eyes are up here.”

you’re not sure what he sees, but it may or may not have something to do with your unyielding force but flirtatious tone - either way, he lets out a surrendered chuckle.

“i got it - bargain, get the cheapest overall cost but the best production,” he says before guiding your hand that’s under his chin to his mouth, taking your pinky finger between his pearly whites.

“good, call me if you need anything else,” you nod in approval, lips curling into a satisfied smile before summoning your hand back to your side.

the sound of your heels reverberate against the walls as you make your way to the doors but before you manage to step one foot out, he’s calling out for you, “____,” voice unsettlingly calm but his words couldn’t have been any more overbearing, “i expect the same amount of dedication for your... other line of work.”

you would have let that smile tuck into a knowing smirk, would have given him something to look forward to - enough to keep him on his toes for the rest of the day but not enough to be a distraction to his tasks. if not for the sight of a flock of wavy black hair and darkest brown eyes.

“mr. jeon,” your voice may have rose a pitch higher but you’ve managed to school it into a pleasant smile, “how may i help you?”

jeongguk’s eyebrows falter just the slightest bit as a flash of confusion mixed with suspicion crosses his face before he plainly says, “i have something to discuss with the ceo about my work.”

“i’m not sure how things work at your previous company but you need to schedule a meeting with mr. park before anything else but i’ll be glad to navigate you through your scope of duty since mr. park will redirect me to you anyway,” you say simply, noticing how the man’s eyes flit towards the tinted grey glass with three horizontal parallel line down the middle where one can distortedly see jimin’s body turned towards the glass the way it had been when you last saw him.

clearly, he’s watching this unfold through the same see through space.

“it’ll just take a sec - i promise,” jeongguk sounds halfway annoyed with your insistence.

when he takes a step to the side, you take another to the same side, “mr. jeon, this kind of behavior - and on your first day, at that - isn’t something you need on your record and i didn’t make that policy, it was mr. park,” with a the slightest tilt of your head, you let the smile turn into a snide one, “and since you’ve been going around chatting with your new coworkers, you should know a thing or two about how seriously mr. park values one’s descipline during work.”

he shoots you one last pondering look, tongue forming a gentle protrusion in his left cheek like he’d unconsciously do when he’s debating to do the opposite of what he’s told by first agreeing and then finding another way to get what he wants.

“fine,” his shoulder line jolts as he shrugs, hands shoved into his pocket as a strand of hair falls over his forehead, “i need a list of names of the people in my department as well as the last twenty year’s worth of projects held by the company.”

the smile you have on threatens to split into a disgruntled sneer at his ridiculous demand. ten years is the maximum amount of time someone would take to review and understand the workings of the company. fifteen is a stretch because there’s a chance of a change of policy. but a record of the past ten years means you’ll have to do some digging in the storage room since not all files were digitalized and being the new director of the IT department, jeon jeongguk is not oblivious to that very fact.

“i’ll have them on your desk by thursday,” you announce and he reiterates, “i need them by tomorrow.”

and that’s the last straw for you - letting out a sound between a scoff and a snide laughter, you place your hand on your hip, “huh, are you crazy?”

“i mean, as the new director, i need to learn the ropes of the company asap, no? don’t tell me you can’t even do that?” a smile creeps up jeongguk’s face, one that mimics that of a predator who’s caught his prey walking straight into his trap, “and all that talk about discipline.”

the contemptuous chuckle at the end is what boils the blood in your veins and before you know it, you’re spouting out words that you instantaneously regret as soon as they come out.

“of course, i’ll have them on your desk by tomorrow.”

“achoo!”

you curse underneath your breath as you sniffle from the remnants of the sneeze. fourty-three minutes in and you’re already on your nth sneezing fit. index finger flitting across the labels on the box, it takes you three nose scrunching and five boxes down the shelf to find a light blue label with ‘1998′ written next to a ‘september’.

well, that’s the second month of the year 1998 that you’ve managed to locate. the process repeats itself for a good twelve more minutes before you hear the screech of the in-need-of-oiling door and the echo of footsteps against the quiet walls before a tall, black haired figure steps into your periphery.

he’s looking as fresh and crisp as the tie hanging around his neck while you’re pretty sure your updo hair is halfway to giving out to gravity with how you’ve been moving boxes of files around.

“so what are we looking for?” jeongguk begins unnervingly calmly.

but you’re not one to turn down a hand, “anything blue with a label of 1990 up till 2010 - oh and they come in months.”

instead of complaining or at least making his displeasure known, the man simply starts searching the shelves five feet apart from you.

and so it goes, your file searching journey with your ex slash newly appointed coworker. multiple scenarios rushed through your head when you first heard jimin’s excellent review after jeongguk left. the elder man had been typing away on his mac when you’d come to pick up the empty mugs of coffee when he’d passingly say, “you know, there’s something about him that the other candidates lack - where’d you find this guy?”

but you never thought that being stuck in the files room alone would ever come up with this outcome-

“i heard you were the one who recommended me,” that voice of his is as sweet as the first drop of nectar but instead of the boyish tint, it’s tinged with a taste of wine and masculinity.

it’s familiar yet foreign all at once.

“then you must know all three secretaries were required to pick someone to recommend the job for,” with that, you twirl on your heels, a partially full box in your hand as you strut towards the desk where its blue shaded comrades awaits.

“so i’ve been told,” and that’s how you know jeongguk’s initial casual nature was just a facade to conceal his guilt-ridden conscience, “why didn’t you tell me? you didn’t even sign your name in the email - you never mentioned anything -”

“it’s nothing personal, guk,” you cut him off, back on him you pretend to rummage through each individual file of the recent box you’d found, “we needed a new IT director and you fit the criteria but if i gave out any indication that i was the one who reached out to you, your decisions might be affected by that - even just the slightest bit and that’s the last thing i want,” you say simply, “not to mention we pay better - so you get it, right?”

when you twirl around to face him, arms crossed over you chest, ass leaned up against the desk whilst your left knee slants to rest over its right counterpart, you finally meet the man’s curious doe eyes. they’re marred with the signs of life but still as exuberant and beautiful as the first day he stopped you in the hallway. his smiles are more expensive now and he doesn’t shyly look down before talking to you but he’s still the same high school heartthrob you’d had the fattest crush on.

and that’s the thing about high school and the matters of the heart - they’re meant to stay in the past as a fond yet foolish reminder of the things you would do when you were 16.

“i can’t have my guy prancing around the office like an uncivilized raccoon and ji- mr. park is extremely particular about time,” you sigh, throwing your gaze to your blood red soles if only because you can’t hold his gaze longer than this, “trust me, i don’t do things to inconvenience you just because i should have some kind of personal vendetta against you - i don’t.”

“wonder why i have been getting the opposite vibe from you ever since i came,” his shoulder line jolts slightly as he shrugs, eyes rolling but the tiniest smile on his face tells you that it’s all a good natured jest.

“i’m sorry - every time i look at you, it feels like i went back to being that high school girl who lashed out at everyone and everything,” it’s the way his eyes sparkle like stars at your words that drives you to quickly add, “my therapist told me to take a step back every time i feel like saying something mean to you because it’s just my own defense mechanism - i’m still working on it.”

“oh,” is all he says before a blanket of silence wraps around the both of you. it goes on for the longest moment with jeongguk’s unfocused yet heavy gaze on you.

he does that - staring off at something when he’s processing information and knowing his ex-girlfriend who he cheated on now goes to therapy, isn’t something one hears everyday.

“well, let’s get these,” you light tap the box on your left, “to your office - i’ll have the intern pick the rest later.”

“oh-” almost as though snapped from a daze, jeongguk blinks. one. twice. until he’s rushing to your side to get at least two boxes, one piled on top of the other, in each arm while you choose to only carry two.

when he finally finds his words, the first thing he says it -“you don’t have to get me all 20 years of record - 10 is enough and if you walk me through how things work, i’d be really grateful.”

you scoff, a smile on your lips before he mimics yours, “are you like, concerned about me cause i told you i’m seeing therapist -”

“me? concerned? about you?” his body moves along with his eye roll but his tone lacks the sarcasm he’s intending, “not in a thousand years.”

jeongguk is concerned. he tips toes around you like you’re the thinly veiled ice over a lake of emotions. as though one wrong move and you’ll break. and that’s how you know you’re not the only one who’s changed and grown with the years you spent apart.

the jeon jeongguk you knew couldn’t care less if you’d fallen into the darkest depth of your ruins - only because you’d hurt him just as much.

though you haven’t got to the point of having lunch together like wendy and irene and the entire team from his department had, you’ve had moments in between coming back from lunch with jimin and just before lunch hour is up where you’re in the pantry with ice cream in your hand and your phone in the other.

while you’re sure no one would be coming around this time of the day, jeon jeongguk finds away to surprise you with his sudden appearance. strutting in as if he doesn’t notice you, picking up the instant coffee packet only to place one newly stirred coffee cup between you and him as he sips his own that he made with the one he’s apparently gifting you.

“why?” you narrow your eyes at him, suspicion filling every inch of your curled lips.

“oh you know,” his shoulder line shrugs and you realize he’s grown a few inches taller because his shoulder fully past your head, “cause i heard you like your coffees with cream too.”

“how do i know it’s not poisoned?” still dubious, you keep your eyes on him like a hawk - nothing can get past you, not even a nervous gulp.

but instead, he throws his head back, sighing, “___, you literally saw me make them.”

“i don’t know, you’re acting kinda sus, guk,” you insist, phone screen long dead as you take one last bite of the ice cream before tossing the stick into the trashcan.

“sus? me?” his free hand comes flying up to his chest as he looks at you in disbelief.

“give me yours,” you finally announce, hand struck out with your palm facing upwards.

“whatever, idiot,” he shakes his head still, despite failing to hide the tiniest smile that begins to tuck on the corners of his lips before placing the cup he’s been holding on your awaiting hand.

“yay,” you grin, delighted before taking one long sip and breathing out in satisfaction, “i live another day.”

and so it goes, the light banters between moments in time. luckily for you, jeongguk is all round charmer that makes anyone and everyone - men, women and non-bonarys alike - who’s talking to him smile from ear to ear from something he says. possibly a compliment, possibly an agreement to what the other party was saying.

nobody suspected that either of you knew each other prior to this and that’s one less office rumor to look out for. you offer to help jeongguk settle in, murmuring names of the people who greets him so that he’d greet back with their informed name, seeing their faces light up a bit more at the realization that their new boss’s recognition.

“aren’t you with park 24/7? how do you know everyone in this company?” he asks one fine morning after you both got to his desk.

“i’d say it’s talent but i basically had to memorize them overnight right after i joined,” you shrug, “it wasn’t easy but you realize the difference it makes in everyone’s performance when they think their boss knows who they are.”

“so that’s the kind of person park is,” jeongguk nods whilst clicking on the ‘transfer files’ option on the screen of his computer.

“mr. park isn’t like the devil boss from hell - he’s just really self-disciplined,” you correct.

“if he was then why did he make you memorize the names of his employees?” he shoots you a look, one that says ‘you know i’m right’ to which you only roll your eyes.

“the same reason why he needs three secretaries to do his bidding - he’s too busy,” you shoot him a ‘no, you’re not’ look before sticking out your hand after the files are finish being transferred.

“how come i only get one?” his eyebrows knit together in a mixture of dissatisfaction and confusion as he places the usb drive into your hand, not quite showing any signs to take his own hand off just yet.

“maybe ‘cause you’re not that important?” you shoot him a similar ‘you know i’m right’ kind of manner and before he can even say anything, you’re curling your hand over the drive before twirling on your heels.

“ouch, you know that kinda hurts,” a voice comes up behind you and almost like a tidal wave, your apology comes in a second too soon, “really? sorry, i went too far-”

before you can even finish your words, you’re left rooted in your spot. a few feet away from the glass encased room where most of the executives and their secretaries are seen stepping in.

it’s the chuckle that reverberates against your eardrums that washes away your initial guilt like sand on shore, “you’re so-” jeongguk pauses, staring at you with eyes you can’t quite decipher and a flash of emotion you have never seen him make, “you’re so soft, you know that?”

“that wasn’t funny, jeongguk,” you fix him a hard stare, arms crossing over your chest.

“sorry - what i meant is,” and that’s the thing about the two of you - ever since you’d admitted your faults, jeongguk has followed your lead to apologize first. pride seems to be the last thing standing between the two of you at the moment - and it’s times like these, where you’re willing to listen and he’s willing to explain, that you think you might just escape that dark dwelling you call your past.

“miss ___,” a familiar voice drums in your ears, a hand on your lower back pulling your attention from the man in front of you to the attractive devil that’s on your side. the infernal spark in those dark eyes of his disappears as soon as he turns to - “jeongguk, i take it miss ____ has been a great help with the presentation you’re about to show us?”

“yes,” the aforementioned man nods, a look of unadulterated confidence making its way to his face as it replaced the lingering stare where jimin’s arm disappeared behind you, “i couldn’t have finished it this fast without ___.”

at jeongguk’s words, jimin lets a smile slip onto his strong features, making him look less like the unapproachable man he’s known for, “i’m looking forward to it.”

it’s only after jeongguk is walking a few steps ahead towards the open doors of the meeting room and jimin’s hand has long left your body, does the man murmur under his breath, “i’ve received applications for jeongguk’s secretary position, do you mind looking through them for me? though... i left them at my place - if you could come up with me to pick them later after work, it’d be great.”

“really?” you quickly say, before realizing it’d come off too excited for a request of overtime so you clear your throat, looking around the vicinity to see if anyone noticed, “i mean, yes, i can do that - i can drop by for a few minutes.”

“perfect,” his eyes disappears into crescents as the corners of his lips tuck higher before you part ways - him taking the seat at the end of the oval table while you head over to the computers connected to the projector, shoving the drive you’ve had trapped in your hand into its port.

“i’ve heard some things,” jimin’s honey voice is barely the subject of your conscience as you watch his lithe fingers working around the buckle of his belt until one end hangs loose before he pulls on the other, the sound of leather against fabric cutting the air like knife.

after jeongguk’s presentation which was met with praises and positive responses by the board, jimin had easily approved of the proposed updates on the - as the first would call it - a tad bit out dated data base. when the wendy, irene and the rest of his team was about to head out for dinner to celebrate their well earned success, you’d belatedly told them that you couldn’t make it because you had to drive jimin home.

seeing as it was a norm for the head secretary to also take on the role of the ceo’s chauffer, nobody questioned it.

nobody but the latest addition to the company.

jeongguk looked like he wanted to say something, stared at you a little longer as you fixed him and the rest of your leaving coworkers a ‘have fun, guys!’ kind of wave. but you suppose that could wait.

“i didn’t think you’d be one to pay attention to rumors,” you manage to say, swallowing heavily as you tear your gaze from jimin’s apt hands that are looping the belt into its buckle.

“this one’s a little bit interesting,” the chuckle he lets out is sinfully innocent compared to the way he slips the looped belt through your head and pulls on it, forcing the leather material to envelop your neck like a collar, “something about you and jeon having a special relationship.”

“that’s-” the words gets stuck in your throat when your heart leaps up at the slightest tuck on your neck, almost as if he’s saying to ‘choose your words carefully, dove.’

“it’s a matter of the distant past,” you say, sending a grateful prayer to the gods for allowing your voice to sound unbothered.

“didn’t seem like what the rumors are saying,” his breath fans your face as he whispers against your ear - you have to clench your fists together to stop the shivers from wracking through your body, “but that’s alright - at the end of the day, it’s my name you’re screaming.”

a moan escapes your mouth when a pair of plump lips press against yours. sparks in your veins and passion in your heart. before you know it, you’re blindly grasping onto the zipper of of jimin’s trousers, salivating at the thought of a part of him you know too well.

“please, daddy, let me suck your dick,” you plea, eyebrows knitting together with a sort of yearning and frustration from how achingly patient the striking blonde man in front of you is.

if it were up to him, you’d be soaking up the carpeted floor with your arousal throughout the night and he’d still manage to edge you on until you’re begging to come.

but that’s the thing, either way, you’re going to be begging for him. and you’d learned earlier on that you gain less from holding onto your pride than holding onto jimin’s dick.

with your mouth, that is.

it’s the morning after that - that you curse yourself for not putting any restraints to your carnal desires. in your defense though, begging and pleading jimin to push you to your limits seemed like an irresistible option at the time. that is, until you’re digging out what clothes you have in the drawer in your allocated room only to find most of them catering to the neck-to-just-above-the-cleavage-reveal kind of look.

so you opt for scarves - the bruises aren’t bad but the first days are always the hardest. and jimin notices the way you’re craning your neck from side to side as you keep your eyes trained on the red light that’s about to turn green anytime soon.

“does it hurt?” the saccharine sweet voice drips with honeyed concern whilst his hand goes to massage the back of your neck.

you hum in appreciation, “that feels good.”

“maybe i should’ve been gentler,” the tinge of remorse in his voice doesn’t go past you.

“that’s not even where it hurts most,” you giggle, feeling the familiar tingle in between your legs but you manage to push it to the back of your mind as you say, “but you know i like it when you’re rough.”

jimin only laughs, head shaking at your blatant confession. and so the mini massage session continues until the car starts rolling into motion. you go on with your morning routine of reminding him of the list of things he’ll have to do and people to meet for the day.

it’s only after you’ve parked the car and turning off the ignition that your phone dings with a notification of a ‘you received 50, 000 dollars from park jimin’.

squealing, you hop out of the car, heels click clacking against the concrete as you mini run towards the blond who’d slipped out of the car a second earlier.

“thank you, daddy!” you grin, hands wrapping around his arm as he chuckles softly, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

“i booked you a session at lotus nirvana for the weekend,” he says a minute later as you stand in front of the elevator.

“oh my god,” you gasp, jaw hitting the floor, “the lotus? really?”

“and you can bring a plus one,” he boops your nose with his index finger, making you scrunch it because of the ticklish feeling it leaves.

“you’re the best!” you stand on your tip toes, placing a kiss on his cheekbone just before the elevator stops one level below the ceo and chairman’s parking level, revealing none other than jeongguk in a dashing cobalt blue louis vouitton suit.

you’ve managed to detach yourself from the now-unsmiling ceo who shoots the newcomer a brief smile as a greeting when jeongguk takes longer to look between you and his boss before finally stepping in.

“morning,” you greet with a wave, hoping to brush off the elephant in the room.

the man echoes back your words but nothing else - at least until you reach the 19th floor where jimin turns to you, hands in his pocket, “miss ___ i need to discuss something with you in my office,” just before you’re about to point out the sunken eyes in the younger man’s appearance.

“yes, mr. park,” you say in a heartbeat, before mouthing a ‘catch you later’ to the brunette.

in the next few days, you’ve opt for a variety of scarves to match your outfit. but more importantly, to hide the darkening bruises around your neck as you style your hair to hide what the scarves can’t.

it’s times like these that you keep your distance from people, choosing to stay in front of the computer unless jimin calls for you. whether to ask for if you’re up for having lunch with him, to inquire about the meeting he has or simply to just say “i miss your chamomile tea.”

at that, you can’t help but let the giggle break through your iron wall of a facade, “that’s what you called me for?”

the man’s eyes flit to the right for the briefest second, as though in search for a better answer which he finds none of before meeting your own, “yep, that’s what i called you for.”

“you’re so cute, daddy,” you gush, before placing you ipad down on the desk, hands coming up to frame around jimin’s cheeks as they turn round from the smile that slips onto his face, “i’ll make some for you tonight!” but then your shoulder line falls, eyebrows coming together, “wait - i have dinner with jeongguk tonight.”

“you mean jeon?” he raises an amused eyebrow to which you nod, hands falling away from his cheeks.

“i’ve been avoiding him these past few days and i think he’s getting a little suspicious about us spending so much time together - he thinks you’re... forcing me to do things,” you sigh - just this morning, the black haired cutie caught you in the middle of your way to your desk, pulling you to the side with a set of concerned eyebrows knitted together, “are you okay?”

you took a moment, eyes roaming around the vicinity as though it’d help spot the reason to this abrupt intervention before looking back at him, smiling cluelessly “...yeah, i’m fine.”

he let go of your arm to push his soft tresses which seemed to be missing its usual slick gelled look today, “the ladies have been saying park tends to work you to the bones every few times a month - like right now, and that’s a normal thing here?”

and because it wasn’t the kind of question you got asked often - people just accepted and were even glad that it wasn’t them that jimin was calling to his office every hour throughout the day, you had to take a moment to ponder on your answer “...yeah, it’s normal.”

“and you don’t care?” jeongguk’s blinked, mortified.

“i mean, that’s my livelihood right there so...” and you shrugged.

“i don’t know, i don’t like him,” his shoulder line tensed as he turned his body towards the wall sized window, eyes casted towards the neighboring skyscrapers.

“why?” was all you said - you’d understand intimidating. strict. unapproachable to describe the words jimin is, but no one’s ever confessed to outright disliking the man. but then again, you are the closest person to jimin in the company, no employee would risk getting fired because they blurted out their dissatisfaction towards their ceo to his head secretary.

“there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way,” instead of shrugging like what 17-year old jeongguk would have done, this older version of him didn’t even stutter.

you suppose one’s confidence and sense of reasoning - even though there wasn’t any particular reason for him to dislike jimin-

“...something about a ceo calling his head secretary ‘miss’ while he casually address everyone else by their name but never really talk to anyone beyond business matters while nobody’s has a single bad thing to say about him,” when jeongguk’s obsidian eyes fell on you, it was as though the background faded and you found yourself trapped in a glass cage - unable to run away from the truth he seemed to possess, “especially the person he’s overworking the most.”

“well,” there’s this habit that you do - laughing in the face of crisis and this was damn well a crisis because, “if you feel that way then you feel that way.”

“is there something you want to tell me?” he pressed on, speaking under his breath, “if you need help, you can always come to me.”

and that was when the laughter broke into a fit and you’re holding your stomach and his shoulder with your other hand, “jeongguk - i’m fine, really,” there was a tremble in his eyes as self doubt crept up his conscience, which meant whatever you were doing was working, “listen, how bout we go for dinner tonight with wendy and irene? i’m late but i wanna hear how your first staff dinner went.”

you managed to escape jeongguk right after his ‘...yeah, sure’ before mrs. yoo came up to you to ask about the arrangements of the seating for the upcoming corporate dinner. it’s in five months but preparations must be made in advance.

“if he’s starting to notice that means i’m not the only whose got his eyes on you,” the sweet honeyed voice pulls you out of your memories, almond shaped eyes staring at you with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

and for some reason, you felt the need to clarify where you stand and where jeongguk stands, “we were kids when we started dating - we know better now that both of us clash like two magnets on the opposite poles if we go beyond what friends are.”

“you know i have the utmost respect for you,” butterflies set flight in your stomach when jimin guides your right hand to his lips.

the place you end up going to is called han chu where it’s most famous for its variety of chicken-based cuisine which happens to be irene’s boyfriend’s family’s long standing business. it’d been packed with people, mostly those who’d got off work like yourselves but apparently, they have a different room for adhoc visitors who popped up out of nowhere.

“irene’s taking a long time at the washroom,” wendy announces, a small, jealous pout on her lips as she sticks her chopsticks into the rice bowl before you and jeongguk exchange a knowing look with each other.

since her boyfriend works here, you’re pretty sure that everyone in the room knows irene, in fact, did not go to the washroom. and wendy isn’t too secretive about her want for a man she can call her own to which, two bottles of soju later, she slams her glass against the table and confesses, “i’m so lonely, i want a boyfriend!”

by then, irene’s already back and chiding the younger woman about how she needs to stop drinking so much because apparently, at jeongguk’s congratutional dinner, she was that coworker that drank herself silly and might or might have not blurted out something about jeongguk’s exceptional proportions in front of the entire IT department.

“___! you’re single, right?” the way jeongguk’s hand seems to be take longer to pick up one of those spicy-sweet chicken even though he was gobbling them up like there was no tomorrow just five seconds ago, doesn’t go unnoticed by you, “let’s go to a mixer! i’ll text my friend to include our names for one this weekend.”

this time, the way jeongguk’s visibly tensed shoulder line is no coincidence.

“i’m good, thanks,” you chuckle, patting the woman’s shoulder.

irene on the other hand, looks increasingly worried about her fellow coworker as time passes. it’s when wendy starts to gulp down the soju straight from the bottle that you step in, swiping it out of her hands and placing it back down on the table.

“alright, that’s enough for tonight, let’s get you home” at that, you shoot irene a signal with your eyes, counting a short ‘1,2,3′ before you both hoist her up to her feet, directing her arm over your shoulder while irene does the same with the other one.

“i’ll get the car - you ladies wait at the front of the restaurant ” jeongguk announces, just as you step out of the room.

“thanks, guk,” you fix him an appreciative smile, grateful for not having to drag the half-conscious woman’s body all the way to the parking lot.

“you know, he’s been staring at you the whole night,” a voice giggles - and seeing how wendy can barely even open her eyes, that could only mean that it’s the only other woman that’s holding her up that also decided to let out such absurd statement.

“that’s cause i was sitting next to wendy - who by the way, isn’t exactly a quiet drinker,” you roll your eyes, before a separately realization hits you- “you didn’t drink.”

“well, i can’t really at the moment,” the brunette’s voice takes a gentler turn as you watch her free hand clasp her stomach.

“oh my god,” jaws on the ground, you’re not sure if you’re even blinking, “you’re pregnant? how long far along are you?”

“a month, me and jae were discussing how we’re gonna tell our families,” she meets your wide eyed gaze half-heartedly, “and if i’m going to continue working after i give birth.”

“either way i’m so happy for you,” you reach out your free hand that’s not wrapped around wendy’s waist to which the elder woman accepts, squeezing your hand just hard enough for you to feel her fears and excitement and overflowing joy flow through you, “you and jaebum are gonna be the best parents.”

“i never really said it but you helped me a lot when i just started,” the tears in her eyes makes them look like sparkling stars in the midnight sky, “and you’ve always been so supportive - seriously, ___, thank you.”

“stop,” you squeak in between holding your breath and holding back your tears, “i’m gonna cry.”

“if you cry, i’ll cry,” irene is already pulling her hand away and fanning her face, glimmering eyes turned to the sky.

it’s a moment later that a car rolls to a stop in front of the two of you. the window rolling down, revealing an extremely concerned jeongguk, “what happened?”

the “it’s a girl thing” comes a few moments later, particularly after you slipped into the passenger’s seat next to him while irene sits at the back with wendy’s head in her lap.

by the time you reach wendy’s apartment building, irene announces that she’s staying over at the first. if only to look after the drunken woman and make sure she’s okay.

“are you sure?” you ask to which she nods, murmuring something about how wendy couldn’t survive without her hungover soup if she didn’t stay and make it.

wendy manages to sober up and walk with irene holding her hand. and with the way she’s slow-waving at you, you take it as your cue to leave too.

“call me if you need anything, okay?” is the last thing you say before the two of them step through the clear glass door.

the rest of the ride is filled with silence, save for the faint sound of low volumed music in the background.

that is, until one of you decides to break it with a kind of heartwarming concern you thought already left his mind, “so are you okay?” he peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, as if to check if the tears were still there, “you were crying just now.”

you can’t help but laugh, “don’t worry - they were tears of joy.”

“oh?” only then does he allow the smile to tuck on the corner of his lips, “what about?”

“i don’t know if i can say it,” you feel your own lips curling, “not my story to tell.”

“okay,” he nods, “as long as you’re okay.”

and so the silence returns but this time, it’s no where suffocating or makes you want to hop out of a moving car just to get away from the man you thought you could never stand to be alone with five months ago.

at first, you told yourself that it was for the good of the company - that you didn’t need to be friends, civility was enough. but then you had that talk in the storage room - both equally tensed but both grown out of their youthful impatience into someone who was willing to listen and learn.

and you realized that you work well together - too well, in fact, that jeongguk’s own secretary would come to you even after four months of working with him, just to ask you if he’d prefer his coffees black or with cream.

but you suppose it was because this was her first job after graduating - you were used to taking notes of the littlest of things jeongguk did because that was what worked best for jimin. that, minus the already known facts about jeon jeongguk that you’d gathered during your two years of knowing him and three months of dating him.

and it’s almost as though the plants and the stars align, as the car comes to a stop in front of your apartment building and as he pulls the brake before turning his upper half towards you, “i had a great time tonight.”

“me too, guk, and thanks for driving irene, wendy and me home - you’ve become quite the gentleman,” you chuckle to which the corners of his lips upturns, while his eyes casts itself down to his hands before they meet yours again.

“it was the right thing to do,” but then you can’t escape his eyes - those obsidian eyes that seem to reach through the windows of your soul effortlessly.

“well,” the smile may have been forced but it’s still comes from the heart, “i better go in.”

“yeah - yeah you should,” he nods and you thought you’re just imagining things - irene’s initial observation might or might not have gotten to you.

but just as you’re about to open the door, hand on the handle, jeongguk speaks again, “i was hoping,” at that, you turn to him, “you and me,” you can only hope he can’t hear the sound of your pumping heart, “we could try again, you know?”

you’d like to believe that you’ve gone past that part of your life where you hurt and you hurt others back - the ones that tried to help you, pull you out of that darkened cocoon that you grew so accustomed to.

like to believe that it took a bit more nudging for you to break through the cocoon and that was okay - everyone needed a little bit of help at some point of their life. yours happened to be when you were sixteen hitting seventeen. and even now, you still need help to fly - to let your wings flutter through the wind without breaking and hitting the hard cold ground.

but all of a sudden, you find yourself that same cocoon you thought you abandoned with the ugliest dark brown and maroon walls - the color of the school mascot that seemed to be the symbol of the baseball team’s undefeated victory throughout the year. and all because taehyung’s brother, jeongguk just joined the team.

and you were just one of the many girls who had her eyes on the ace. except your best friend was dating the captain so you sometimes joined her as she watched him practice. until jeongguk noticed you. until he lift you up and broke you down.

“jeongguk,” you say, heart erratically clawing against your chest - obsidian is the color of jeongguk’s eyes as he waited for your answer with bated breath, a rap song is playing in the background, smooth is the material of the handle of the door under your fingertips, marc jacobs is the perfume that faintly wafts from jeongguk’s collar and sweet is the taste of peach soju you had, “i think it’s best to maintain a professional working relationship instead.”

almost as though being pulled from a trance, jeongguk recoils, eyes blinking once before he blurts out a “yeah,” then, a moment later, “yeah, that’s probably the best - sorry for-”

“it’s fine,” you shrug.

“-making everything awkward.” he finally stops.

“i’ll see you on monday,” you say - not so sure if it’s the right thing to say, but jeongguk nods, echoing your words, “yeah - see you monday.”

and with that, you slip out of the car, heels clicking against the ground as you tread towards the door without looking back.

monday turns to tuesday and then tuesday turns to an abundant of weeks. your interactions ceased to a strictly professional, work-based relationship. jeongguk talks to you only when he needs clarifying where his own secretary can’t give him an answer.

you go to him when his secretary is doing a job that requires her to go mia for the day. wendy and irene are well aware of the sudden shift in your dynamics but if you’d gladly told them jeongguk was your ex-boyfriend then you gladly told them what you told jeongguk that night.

your only regret was taking away their own friendship with jeongguk. none of them went out for dinner with him because they were torn between their loyalty to their colleague-turned-friend and the boss whom they were halfway to befriending if not for your complicating the whole thing up.

“but you decided to keep your peace instead of the peace around you and i’m proud of you for choosing yourself first,” jimin had told you as he traced patterns on the dip of your back.

and you might or might not have cried and fell asleep in his arms that night before cancelling your appointment with your therapist with the next day and choosing to have it at the end of the month like you were supposed to. ever since then, your relationship hadn’t been all that physical.

“i think i need time for myself,” you’d told him in the middle of getting stuck in traffic with unmoving cars on either side of you, “but i also still want to see you.”

jimin who’d been staring out of the window mindlessly had turned to you - instead of asking you to repeat what you’d said because he barely caught it, he’d fixed you the warmest of smiles, “it’s been over a year, ___, didn’t it ever occur to you that i wanted more than just sex from this? from us?”

if there was something park jimin was, it was arcane. mysterious - just as you thought you figured out his wants and needs, he makes a 180 and surprised you in ways you never would have seen coming.

“doesn’t it bother you that i’m... this?” there was no word for it - for being yourself but also feeling like someone entirely different all at once.

“no, it doesn’t,” he’d look straight at you as he said it, “i know you probably don’t feel like it right now, but let’s go on a walk by the han river.”

and that was where you talked about your feelings and what you could and couldn’t give while you nibble on the fish shaped bun that was wafting with heavenly scent throughout your walk until you found the stall.

jimin still wanted to pay you for the times you’ll be spending together even though there won’t be sex invloved.

“we still have another few months of the contract, if i don’t pay you then i’d be breaching it,” he’d argued with crescent shaped eyes and the most beautiful smile.

“alright but i’m paying for dinner and lunches from now on,” and there was no changing your mind.

so it goes, you work in the day and leave with jimin for the night. he’d steal away your mac and you’d steal away his but for the most parts, you’d do work in the same room. he’d stop and stepped out only to bring you a cup of hot chocolate and marshmallows and you’d pay back with chamomile tea.

then came the annual dinner which marked five months since that night. he’s decked in a stylish cut black tux with a blue sheen reflected under the light. paired with a glass flute of white wine, he’d probably already won at least three hearts only an hour into the commencement of the dinner while your teeth clamor at the low temperature of the hall.

you’re halfway ready to curse yourself for foregoing your crop blazer in jimin’s car all because you remember been too warm in it - but that was last year and the air conditioning needed fixing - when something warm engulfs your open shoulders.

“jimin,” you blink, recalling the last man talking to a board member just a moment ago before you’d stepped out.

“you should’ve told me you were cold,” he chides and only then do you notice the lack of blazer on his vest-hugged body.

stealing a glance into light poured room, you briefly stand on your tip toes, hands wrapped around the man’s arm as you pull him down to meet your halfway.

“thank you, daddy,” with that, you step away, feeling the rush of heat on your cheeks and the thrill of adrenaline in your veins.

“you’re welcome, dove,” and as soon as he goes back inside, he’s swarmed with other guests who must have wondered where the star of the night went.

and you would have turned to the cityscape if not for the glint of light trapped in glass.

“jeongguk,” your voice is strained, so you clear your throat and put on a smile to cover it up, “how long have you been there?”

a scoff follows your inquiry, “you’re not 16 and a guy giving you his jacket doesn’t mean jack shit, ___.”

at the uncalled for response, you subconsciously tug on the center front of the blazer, “first off, it’s armani, not polyester,” you say, not missing the way his eyes twitching at the comparison - he used to lend you his jackets and sweaters back when you were dating, “and whatever i do with my personal life is none of your business - i don’t have to explain myself to you.”

another scoff hits the air as he steps out of the shadow and into the sliver of light that pours from the hall and onto the veranda, “so all that talk about maintaining a professional relationship were just excuses? because you couldn’t get over the past?”

“the p -” you almost choke on your words, “the past when you cheated on me with my best friend all because i said taehyung was in the right for getting mad at you over you ruining his only chance to get into one of the best theater school in the world?”

“it’s cause of you!” the fact that his voice rose doesn’t go unnoticed even to him as he looks around and only after making sure that nobody was listening, does he continue is a hushed but harsh tone, “i slept with heather because you pushed me to her. if i wanted someone to point out the many list of things i did ‘wrong’ i could’ve just went to my parents.”

you sigh, “that’s the problem, guk-”

“don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that,” he shoot backs.

“jeongguk,” you rephrase, fingers fiddling with each other until you’ve hit the ten-second mark, “what we had was toxic. we needed so much work on our self-esteem and personal traumas but we turned to each other hoping the other could fix it and all we did was make it worse.”

“please, you were the one who was so insecure about heather - you think i don’t realize how you look at her? how you compare yourself to her when all she did was be your friend?” it takes everything in you not to flinch at his choice of words, “what personal trauma,” he laughs dryly.

“that’s what i’ve been working on but i’m not the only one flawed -your parents,” you say, choosing to ignore the first part of his retort, “them constantly paying more attention to your brother just because he was older and achieved a little bit more than you did. and everyone else who compared you to taehyung’s ‘legacy’. so you turn to the only girl who noticed you,” there’s a flash in his eyes, one that burns bright with anger - just like it did all those years ago.

but you pretend not to notice, “and i was so caught up with the idea of a boyfriend of my own - a guy that didn’t choose heather over me that i did everything i could to keep you. i was toxic to you because i agreed with everything you said, i put down others while i lifted you up but as soon as i tried to fix what i’d done,” you heave out a sigh, “one push - that’s all it takes for you to fall right out my arms and if that wasn’t enough i hurt you by sleeping with taehyung.”

the last thing you see is the boy the with maroon and brown jacket, staring right at you with eyes prickling with tears and face flushed pink but no words come out from his clamped mouth.

so you turn you back on him like you did five years ago. you turned your back on jeongguk and you don’t look back.

you find jimin somewhere amidst the crowd, conversing with a guest from your rival company.

“mr. park,” his eyes focus on your tight-lipped smile as soon as he sees it, you don’t even have to say another word when he excuses himself and you, not even sparing a glance at the guest before his hand finds itself on your waist, guiding you through the room and into the empty hallway since all the guests have arrived and jimin was supposed to deliver the opening speech before you took him away from it.

you barely remember the ride to his place and how he’d sat you down on his bed, kneeling right in front of you with eyes overflowing with concern.

smooth is jimin’s skin under your fingder pads when you touch his face. plump is his lips that you kiss and sweet is the taste of his mouth from the red wine you’d seen him down at the beginning of the event. the woody scent of bleu de chanel that you got him for his birthday last year is what fills your senses.

but they’re gone too soon.

“are you sure?” jimin’s eyes bore into yours, searching for something - something you can’t pinpoint.

“jimin, please, i-” and that’s all it takes for him to press his lips harder to yours, one hand groping your breast while the other pushes the weight of the jacket off your shoulders.

the room is silent.

save for the tapping sound of your fingers across the keyboard. that is, until another pair of hands capture them and brings them across your chest in a hug whilst you giggle at the ticklish sensation of deep violet strands brushing against your cheek, “let’s have dinner together tonight.”

at that, your mouth clamps shut, body recoiling to the side to meet a pair of almond eyes, “don’t you have dinner with chairman of samsung tonight?”

from the way jimin’s lips purse together into a pout, it seems like you hit the nail right on its head, “you quit being my secretary - you should let me lie to you and say i’m free so we can have some ‘us’ time.”

“nope,” you shake your head, breaking free from the man’s grasp before looking at him pointedly, “you’re not going to skip a meal with one of the most influential person in the world.”

“how’s the website going?” he attempts to change the topic, eyes focusing on the sequence of letters and numbers on the screen of your mac as if he understood what the codes say.

yet you humor him, “it’s going okay, though i can’t seem to figure out how to configure the servers.”

it’s been six months since you’ve quit the job. three since you permanently moved in with jimin and one since you’ve got the paperworks done to open up your own joined business with irene. she decided to follow your footsteps to quit even though wendy was basically clinging onto her legs when she came over to pick up her belongings with a growing belly and a sort of radiance on her face.

naturally, the position for co-secretary was opened and applications were flooding in, so much so wendy had to beg you to meet with her somewhere just to review them together.

“i don’t know how to read people,” she lamented, “i do the technical stuff and you do the mind games - by the way,” something flashed in her eyes as her voice lowered into a whisper, “how did you to it?”

she meant, the explosive and tea-worthy news of how you and jimin came to be.

nobody knew about you and him until much much later. when you were free to go out to dinners and social events together with your hand on his arm and him strutting in with a never-before-seen smile. more jaws dropped that afternoon than the money raised for the event.

jeongguk is still the director of the IT department - you left to keep your peace but you’d also hope to keep his. because that’s the thing about past loves and open wounds. they hurt and they bleed with just the right words as knives but it’s how you choose to treat them that heals you.

and though your way of healing is by tearing a piece of yourself over and over again until you grow a new, steeler part that doesn’t mean you loathe the parts you’ve chosen to cut off.

as such, you don’t hate jeongguk - you still want him to live life to his fullest potential. you still want him to thrive like a wilting flower after a rainstorm.

you just didn’t want to - can’t be part of that life.

“my father used to say, ‘if you find yourself in a dry spell of ideas’, take a break,” jimin’s voice is laced with a sort of playfulness as his eyes disappear behind crescent moons, “particularly in mauritius.”

“you did not book a plane to one of the most beautiful islands in world,” you can feel your cheeks hurting from the growing smile that creeps up your face, “did you?”

“our flight scheduled to leave at 2 in the afternoon tomorrow,” he sweeps you up into his arms like you weight nothing at all.

“jimin!” a yelp escapes your lips in between him twirling around and the background moving too fast whilst your arms find their way to his shoulder, “you know i can’t hide a whole ass romantic getaway from my mother! what am i going to tell her when her unemployed, supposedly single daughter starts missing our daily calls because i was too busy vacaying?”

“a month,” jimin adds, head bopping against yours - you’re not quite sure when he stopped twirling, “we’re staying there for a whole month.”

“oh my god,” at first, excitement flashes across your face, then worry follows a second later, “what about your schedule? it’s gonna get pushed back - the phone calls wendy’ll have to make!”

“lisa’s in charge of the phone calls,” he means the new addition to his line of secretaries.

“doesn’t make it okay to give her all the work!” you say, not quite as passionate about someone you’ve never met as he gently lowers you, arms still banded around your waist whilst your foreheads touch.

“after we come back, i’ll make arrangements so your parents could come here - so i could meet them,” he steals a kiss from your half-open mouth.

“you’re kidding, you’re gonna meet my parents?” you echo, halfway into believing that you’re hearing things if not for the way his recently dyed hair bounces as he nods.

“i need their blessings first, don’t i?” he says, chuckling.

“after banging their daughter into the bed every single night, you’re gonna need a whole lot of those,” you pat his hair, in a ‘good luck’ kind of manner - your father isn’t the most welcoming and your mother won’t be as pleased to hear the out-of-the-ordinary ways you fell in love.

a bout of chuckles later, he’s swiping you up in his arms again as he carries you towards the familiar hallway where your shared bedroom lies while you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“but daddy, it’s still morning,” you giggle.

“didn’t stop you from begging for my dick yesterday, did it?” the corner of his lips curve into a smirk.

note. story time (a short post where i talk about the background of the fic eg. why i decided to write it, the overall message of the fic etc.) is already up (queued along w the fic)!

i’m aware that armani is a brand and polyester is a clothing material so it technically can’t be compared together but in a deeper sense, armani’s material is more comfortable than polyester so it works (pls make it work) ahahahahahaha

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sweeethinny · 3 years

Note

Hi! Today I saw a newborn baby and it got me thinking so maybe a Ron and hermione’s POV of them watching Harry and Ginny interact with newborn James Sirius, like maybe a dinner at the burrow and James being a month old or something like that , if you don’t want to though it’s fine! Don’t worry, las ve your fics btw

thank you anon, really, I had a shitty day, and writing about James Sirius being pampered by his parents, made me smile again <3

i hope you liked it :)

Harry looked happy, very happy, Ron thought. He thought he never saw him as happy as Harry seemed when he held little James in his arms, sleeping peacefully after being fed by Ginny, his small hands clinging to his father's shirt.

He looked tired too, very tired, and Ginny looked even more so, they both had dark circles under their eyes, messy hair like someone who hasn't taken a real shower in a few days, and wrinkled clothes. They looked exhausted.

But still, when Ginny passed James Sirius to Harry to lull and put him to sleep, he looked radiant.

James had been born less than a month ago, Ron and Hermione had taken turns to help the two manage the house, make food, and still take care of a baby, so they always stopped by twice a week, checking to see if friends didn't need anything. Also, to see their godson, who Ron thought was the cutest and most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

The boy had fluffy, pink cheeks, a tuft of brown hair that looked like a beautiful mix between Ginny and Harry's hair - but it was still quite dark and messy, and Molly said the boy would look like Harry when he grew up - and the most adorable hands and feet that Ron ever thought he saw. Chubby and cute, that smelled like a baby and made him embarrassingly in love, making him kiss the soles of his feet, or ''hide'' behind his little hands, just to make James let out that giggle that was also the most adorable thing.

And when Ron looked at Harry cradling James, he thought his friend felt everything he felt, but elevated to the tenth power.

The guy looked ridiculously in love with James, a twinkle in his eye that Ron had never seen Harry have, even when he married Ginny. It was different, a completely different joy that everyone seemed to notice when they went to visit the two.

Ginny also looked very happy, of course, but Ron was a little swayed by Harry's happiness.

Molly had said it was as if James was able to turn a key on Harry that would trigger a side of him that no one had ever seen. As if that little baby, less than a month old, was able to finally make Harry look like the 25-year-old man he was, and not that frowning man who always seemed to be waiting for the worst to happen. Harry even started crying and showing feelings in front of everyone, without even looking embarrassed.

He looked almost stupid, crying like an idiot after James was born, showing his son on his lap through the nursery glass. Everyone was there, watching Harry smile like a fool and wipe away the tears that never seemed to end, waiting to pick up his son again.

'How are you doing?' He asked, after storing the food he had brought in the fridge and cupboards, organizing the kitchen and living room a little, going back to their room soon after, finding Harry still cradling James and Ginny in a different outfit from the pajamas from before. A tired smile on her face.

'Good, thanks for helping us.' She hugged him. Ginny had also become much more loving, she was always giving hugs and saying 'I love you' to the brothers when they left. 'James has been sleeping more now, still with us, but it’s too cold and he is never covered at night and would probably freeze if he slept alone.'

‘Still waking up every hour?’ Ron accompanied her out of the room as Harry prepared to place his son in his crib.

'He's been taking a break, waking up every three hours.' Ginny laughed, sounding exhausted, but still looking happy. 'Yesterday was the first night that he woke up only twice, which I am very grateful for.'

'Mione and I can take care of him in the afternoon for you and Harry to sleep.' Ron offered, again.

‘You don’t really need to, we’re holding up well.’ And again, Ginny denied, sitting on the island stool and eating the chicken salad that Ron had brought her. ‘Thank you, again, for helping us.’

'I thought you would like to eat real food.' He smiled. 'Harry told me that you don't even have time to cook.'

'Yes, James likes attention.' Harry walked into the kitchen, his old shirt wrinkled and his son's cloth over his shoulder, sitting next to Ginny and attacking his chicken salad, looking almost as hungry as Ginny. ‘I left some ready-made frozen foods, but I’m still trying to understand how the microwave works.’

'You should just apply a heat spell to food,' Ron debated, pouring juice for both of them. 'Mione sent to ask if you need an ... uh... ointment for your breasts. She said that because of the winter, your skin may be very dry.' He tried not to blush, but Ginny didn't even seem to mind the question, denying it and filling her mouth with salad.

'Harry bought it for me, but tell her that I appreciate the concern.'

'How are things at the office?' Harry asked, looking genuinely curious. Ron wondered if, one day, he would quit work to stay home with his kids, or being active was something Harry needed to feel useful. While he seemed happy to have won that time to be with his son, he also seemed happy that Ron was there to talk about what was going on at work.

'Boring as always.' Ron shrugged, laughing with Harry. 'Robards are in a very bad mood without you there, I think he is a little lost. And Joe finally called that guy from the Department of Transportation.’

'Oooh! Finally! Nobody put up with that sexual tension that surrounded them whenever he came to our office.’ Ron agreed. 'I think that maybe I should come back next week, just part time.'

'I miss you there, it's kind of lonely without having my mate to pretend I'm working when we're actually doing anything but that.' The two laughed, but again, Ron saw that look on Harry's face where he seemed torn between go back to work or stay with his child at home. ‘When do you start training again?’

'Only two months from now.' Ginny sighed. 'Gwenog said she can't take me back until at least three months of recovery.' She smiled, looking a little sad. ‘But doesn’t it look too soon? James will only be three months old and he won't have his parents around… We are still deciding how we will do it.' Harry nodded, his mouth full of juice.

'You will know what to do,' Ron said, smiling at both of them. 'You two look happy, even with sleep deprivation.'

'James brought a life to the house, even Teddy felt it, he came here over the weekend and he looked a lot happier, even when Harry said they couldn't fly.' Ginny smiled.

A few years later, when Ron held Rose for the first time as well and also cried like a fool, he would understand what Ginny was trying to say. For now, he just thought it was adorable as his sister and his best friend looked happy.

The war was over a few years ago, Ron thought that if there was anyone who deserved to be happy, it was Harry. And it was even better that it made Ginny happy too.

'Let me know if you need help, or a moment alone.' Ron raised his eyebrows maliciously, smiling at the two who laughed and looked at each other, seeming to be talking silently.

'Thank you mate, but I think the thing I most want to do in bed now, is to sleep.'

#hinny #harry x ginny #romione #ron is a good brother and godfather #james sirius potter

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purecantarella · 3 years

Text

Sweet Promises

so this is overdue, i had this drafted a week ago but tumblr deleted ALL of my drafts :") so updates will take a little longer. i'll keep on writing but yeah, i'm gonna fix my account first. anyway, this is sort of my pride month fic. i genuinely hope you all enjoy it! 💖 disclaimer : shin yuna x female!reader, this contains hate speech and actions against the LGBTQ+ community. some angsty fluff ahead. reader's discretion is advised.

The story of your romance with Yuna was one of the classics. You'd been neighbours as kids and became inseparable as you both grew up and became best friends. Being attached at the hip since childhood, she knew your likes, your dislikes, your secrets, and your burdens. And you knew hers.

The attraction was hardly noticeable until Yuna had taken care of you after the biggest fight your parents had had to date.

The argument had been boiling in the house for the entire week when the brunette had come over to have dinner with you all since her parents had to work later that day.

"So, Yuna how are things at home?" Your father asked politely as you all ate at the table. Since all of you had sat down, the tension was present and eating away at the both of you. Yuna offered a polite smile before saying, "Good, Mr. L/n. But my dad recently got a promotion so he hasn't been home often and my mom is still looking for work." She explained hastily before taking another spoonful of food.

Your mother, who'd been glaring at your father, chimed in with, "Oh, see that, dear..." She began sarcastically. "Yuna's father has gotten another promotion." The man at the head of the table clenched his fist before giving the middle aged woman a tight grin. "And her mother is contributing something to the family, my love." With that harsh words were exchanged and they both screamed at one another, not even caring that both you and Yuna sat there in horror watching the adults fight.

She turned to you tentatively. As she saw you stare intently at your parents while your eyes glossed up with tears, she took your hand in hers under the table. Your gaze immediately shot to your best friend. She tilted her head to the backyard, silently asking you both to hang out there until things boiled down a little.

You and Yuna slipped out of the house and were welcomed by the cold night air and the beam of the moonlight. The shorter girl looked up at you, a broken expression etched onto your features. She gave you a small smile before plopping to the ground and dragged you down with her.

Giggles briefly swirled around the air, making light of the situation you were in. Once the both of you had settled down, she scooted her way into your lap as you chuckled and wrapped your arms around her waist. Your face nuzzled into her neck making her giggle. The night was almost serene, except of course for the heated debate inside the house. Yuna looked down at your comfortable features as she felt damp tears begin to trail down her neck. She bit her lip tentatively before placing her chin over the top of your head.

“It’s all going to turn out fine, N/n…” The brunette whispered in a baby voice, her hand moving to the back of your head. Making sure that you felt safe and secure despite your position. “I don’t know about that anymore, Yuna…” You paused to lean back. She shuddered as the cold wind hit the back of her neck, your warm embrace now missing. "This isn't the first time they've argued." You explained before returning to lean on her.

The dark haired girl turned her head, still cross legged, to look directly at you. It was a strange occurrence for her; seeing you so defeated. She'd always admired your strength in the public eye. You were the rock to her balloon. Yet here you were, so vulnerable. Yuna knew that she was the only one who got to see you like this. You needed her as much as she needed you, and that was always heart-warming to her.

But it was different this time.

The way she could feel your breath fanning her neck, the warmth that radiated off of you. Attempting to shake off the feeling, knowing you needed her support, she adjusted herself to no longer be leaning on you. Yuna moved to kneel in front of you, offering you a gentle smile, her hand placed over yours.

"I'm here Y/n. No matter what." She paused, leaning closer, brushing her nose against yours. "When things get tough, I promise I'll be here for you. For whatever you need, whenever you need it.” It was a simple enough promise. Something Yuna would always say. But there was something about the sincerity in her eyes and the proximity of her face, just a breath away.

You’d always known she was a beautiful girl. Everyone at school had their eyes on her but you’d just never seen the hype to her. She was your best friend after all.

Realizing you were both staring at one another, you pulled away and thanked her softly before laying down onto the grass to which she followed suit. You both stared up at the dark sky, your hands still intertwined.

After that, it became hard to ignore the creeping feeling in each of your chests that made your pulses hammer erratically. You couldn't ignore the butterflies in your chest when she smiled just for you, when her hand intertwined with yours, and when you cuddled how she propped her head over your chest listening to each detail, not letting a single thing run amiss.

It was the same with her. Movie nights became harder to navigate without getting too flustered, touches lingered longer between the two of you and it confused her to no end.

Before long, longing glances turned into loving stares and one drunken night after your highschool exams, you two finally kissed and admitted your feelings for one another.

Your relationship had become an open secret around the school and each of your households. Despite it being so out in the open, her parents had no idea. You were just clingy best friends to them. Which had become the subject of your petty arguments.

She was afraid to come out to her parents and with good reason. They'd raised her as a reserved child. Her parents wanted her and her sister to have a full and happy future. That came with a successful job, a loving husband, and kids. She didn't want to disappoint them. So you were understanding of her situation, as her best friend and her girlfriend.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" You said as you walked her to stairs leading to the porch in front of her house, handing her her book bag. She looked up at you and gave you an adorable pout. The dark haired girl wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you down to her level. You grinned dumbly, leaning lower. "You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so small—"

She placed her hand at the back of your head. "You always like to run your mouth, N/n." Yuna teased before pulling you towards her, pressing your lips together ever innocent, ever sweet. You relished the feeling of her soft lips against your own, placing your thumb and pointer under her chin to deepen the connection.

Your arm was about to wrap around her waist when you heard a sharp squeal from the household's door. Both of you jumped back. Her head whipping to the side, eyes going wide in horror as she saw her mother looking at her with utter disgust and disappointment.

"Your daughter has corrupted ours!" Her father screamed to both your parents, his face going red in anger. You looked over at Yuna. Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes were red and puffy, and she had clutched herself as if preventing herself from falling apart right there and then.

You wanted terribly to hold your girl in your arms and tell her everything was going to be fine. But you knew that if you took even a step closer, you might not get the chance to.

Your father rubbed his eyes tiredly yet raised a brow at his neighbour. "What are you talking about. Y/n's been nothing but a good friend and person to your daughter." Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her brown eyes narrowing at you, silently cursing you before pointing.

"Or so we thought. Turns out she's been filling our angel's mind with sapphic and devious thoughts." She spat at you. Yuna tried pulling her mom back, begging for her to stop her attack on you before she was pushed back violently. "Do you see? This is all your daughter's doing!"

No longer caring, you strong-held your way to her. "Are you okay, baby?" You asked, your thumb tracing over her cheekbone in the most delicate way you could. Her arms jutted around your waist pulling you closer. "Shin Yuna, get off of the monster." Her father said sternly.

"That monster is my daughter." Your father said standing up. Both of Yuna's parents scowled at your father. "What's your issue here? These two clearly care about each other, why get in the way of their happiness." You smiled at your father's words as you made eye contact and he offered you a small smile.

"Well now it's clear that this isn't the child's fault, more so you both as parents didn't raise her right." Mrs. Shin said, tutting softly. Your mother then gave her a tight grin.

"If you're going to insult me, my family, and my manner of raising my child. You know where the exit is." Your father wrapped an arm around your mother, agreeing wholeheartedly.

The two glared at your family before turning a heel, motioning for Yuna to follow. But she simply held onto your torso tighter. The sneer on each of their faces deepened before her father spit in your direction and walked out the door, her mother at his heel.

Hours went by after the incident, her sister had called to check up on her and they had talked it through. It'd been decided that Yuna would stay with your family for the time being, not that either of you were opposed to the idea anyway.

You lay in your bed, she was curled up on your chest. Hiccups fell from her lips every so often as a result of her hours of sobbing. Your arm securely wrapped around her waist and your hand running through her hair as you whispered sweet nothings into her ear in attempts to calm her down.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way. I wish I'd never forced you to tell them." You said suddenly. Yuna got up to meet your eye. Her face was, at this point, flushed. Both your hands sat on her cheeks, wiping the damp patches on her skin. She choked on another hiccup before shaking her head. "No, it was right this came out now. I don't want to hide us anymore..." She paused, putting her hands over yours, pressing them harder. "I don't want to hide anymore."

You gave her a small smile before tentatively taking her lips again. Your forehead then pressed against hers, wanting to feel a little closer to her. Her eyes were downcast and her expression still grim.

"It sucks right now, I know." You paused to force her to look at you. As you looked into her gorgeous brown eyes, you finally said, "But I'll be here for you. Every step of the way. I promise."

A small smile crept onto her face as she asked, "Promise?"

"I promise." You sealed your words with another peck of the lips. You took her in your arms again. Yuna looked up at your serene expression and she'd felt content and safe.

She had you, you had her. That was your promise.

cheesy, overdue, and hella late. yeah that's my brand now apparently. HAHAHAHAHA i hope you all enjoyed and i hope you all had a good pride month. remember that if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable or bad for who you love, no matter who it is, it's probably best to distance yourself from them for the time being. love is love and you should never feel bad for feeling things. anyway, requests are open and i'm very open to criticism and comments are very appreciated. i love you all and stay safe always! 💖 mini update : tumblr said that they have fixed my tags and i hope you all can see this. taglist : @labrachrosite

#itzy #itzy x reader #itzy imagines #itzy yuna #shin yuna #yuna x reader #yuna imagines #girl group imagines #kpop imagines #gxg #girl group x reader #happy pride 🌈

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xlehukax · 4 years

Text

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist! @sanderssidesgiftxchange!

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus

Word Count: 8374

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything!

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language)

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way.

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same.

No friends.

No challenges.

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester.

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine.

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins.

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.”

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple.

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?”

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly.

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close.

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing.

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal.

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers.

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.”

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?”

“Indeed.”

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?”

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar.

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?”

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard.

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators.

Logan takes the stairs.

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional.

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing.

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot.

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces.

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other.

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie.

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,” he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while.

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down.

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty.

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply… enchanting.

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?”

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly.

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie.

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says.

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.”

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands.

Logan smiles.

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?”

Virgil nods meekly.

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend.

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too.

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more.

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours.

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent.

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens.

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable.

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,”

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly.

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him.

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things.

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone.

Virgil and Logan are the same age.

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them.

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous.

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then.

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed.

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton.

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip.

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-”

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily.

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,”

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look.

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-”

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,”

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony.

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,”

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet.

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see.

His lips purse.

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly.

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows.

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’.

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click.

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan.

“What is it?” he signs.

“Fancy a game of chess?”

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute.

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.”

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him.

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?”

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind.

“Do you have a soulmate?”

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more.

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-”

“No. I do not have one.”

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever.

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,”

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute.

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!”

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!”

“I think you are,”

“No! What? No!”

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board.

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it.

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear.

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day.

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy.

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries…

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him.

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does.

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing.

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats.

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows.

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones.

“Where to, Virgil?”

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles.

“How about sushi, then?”

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy.

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more.

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests.

“It’s fine.”

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…”

“Fuck you.”

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil.

“Eat in or take out?”

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype.

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be?

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him.

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?”

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds.

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.”

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve.

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,”

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.”

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips.

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies?

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing?

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway.

“Why are you doing that with your chest?”

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him.

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly.

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush.

“What are you looking at, nerd?”

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat.

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured.

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles.

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.”

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters.

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him.

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor.

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?”

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil.

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop.

Virgil.

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway.

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact.

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.”

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him.

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?”

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back.

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay-

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way.

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-”

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks.

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.”

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly.

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-”

“Forcibly swept away!”

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him.

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound.

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him.

“Cute!” “Ick.”

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!”

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,”

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?”

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?”

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.”

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone.

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman.

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!”

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable.

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?”

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter.

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains.

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”?

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could?

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms.

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face.

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers.

“It was only teasing!”

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands.

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil.

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-”

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly.

“Wait- how could you-”

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,”

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice.

It shouldn’t bother Logan.

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”.

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan.

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down.

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about?

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine.

Logan makes a low growl.

It’s not fine.

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around…

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile.

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up.

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…”

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.”

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this?

Before Virgil, was it always like this?

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…”

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,”

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom.

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,”

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse.

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them:

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…”

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time.

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,”

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows.

Patton.

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work?

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation?

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan.

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers.

“What?”

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-”

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.”

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars across the left side of his face.

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles.

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-”

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat.

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all.

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…”

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs.

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,”

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open.

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,”

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens.

This is what it’s supposed to be like. This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft.

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to-

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent.

Logan… needs to sing.

~~~~

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate.

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.

This has to be perfect.

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing.

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes:

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly.

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly.

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away.

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.”

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same.

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.”

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then…

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust.

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed!

Taglists:

Anything & Everything: @myraiswack, @blindtaleteller, @head-over-heart, @karushinekomiya

Sides of the Sanders: @a-goldengirl-in-a-condominium246

If you enjoyed, please reblog- it truly means the world.

Want to be tagged on other works in this genre or just generally? Asks, DMs, or comments are all wonderful.

Liked it a whole coffee’s worth? Here’s my Ko-fi.

#analogical #mociet #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fandom #soulmate au #sanders sides soulmate au #logan #virgil #patton #logan sanders #virgil sanders #thank you for the music #logan x virgil

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katsukisbayy · 3 years

Text

The Wrong One (Eijirou Kirishima x Female Reader)

Hi all! This is my contribution to the BNHArem servers villain/hero swap! Special thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku for listening to me vent about this piece!

This is the masterlist for the collab! Go check out everone else’s work!

Warnings: slight cussing, reader is pregnant, Kirishima slits someone’s throat

No beta read cause this was due Saturday and I literally just finished it so if there’s typos, my bad.

Word Count; 3,620

“Ms. Y/N, you’re pregnant.”

Ever since those words were spoken to you in front of your boyfriend, one of the most notorious underground villains since UA collapsed, you were constantly followed. Whether it was by your boyfriend Eijirou, his best friends Bakugou and Kaminari, or one of the underlings who followed those three around you were never alone. Except for this particular moment when a massive job had been thrown their way.

“We’ll be gone for less than a day Y/N, don’t leave the house. Don’t answer the door, don’t answer the phone for anyone other than me, Kaminari or Bakugou. Only those who need to know know that we’re leaving to do this job. Do not, for the love of god, do anything that could hurt you or our daughter okay?” Eijiro sighed, pulling you into a hug and resting his head atop yours.

“Ei, I know the drill. Whether you like it or not, I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been with you three long enough to know how to kill someone if I need to. We will be fine.” You told him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He held you a moment longer before removing his arms from around you, kissing you softly, and walking out the door. He called out “Love you!” as the door swung shut. You glanced around your apartment, debating on cleaning the damn near spotless living room before deciding to watch a movie instead. You put on your favorite, grabbed a blanket, and laid down on the couch. Mind wandering to what the boys were doing, you barely paid attention to the movie before sleep found you not even twenty minutes later.

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

Eijirou Kirishima was 6’2 on a bad day, 280 pounds of pure muscle and extremely lethal to everyone but you and his two best friends. He and Bakugou tried their hardest to keep you out of that part of their lives, especially now with you pregnant, but you’d caught glimpses into just how lethal the three of them were. You’d seen Kirishima nearly behead a man using his quirk, and Bakugou AP shot a person’s head off. Kaminari had electrocuted someone to the point where it smelled like seared flesh for three days afterwards, maybe longer. Not many people, villain or hero, wanted to mess with your three boys. But some people are just stupid.

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

A loud noise from right outside the apartment door jolted you out of your sleep. Pulling your phone off the coffee table, you checked the time. 6:35pm. There was no way the boys were back yet, and you knew that anyone else would’ve called before coming over. This was bad. Quickly, you shoved your phone into your sweatpants and ran to your bedroom. As soon as your foot crossed the threshold, the front door slammed open.

“What the fuck Tsukasa? Did you need to kick the door in?” A man’s voice yelled out.

“Did you want to get into the apartment or not?” another voice, Tsukasa you assumed, responded.

“We could’ve used a credit card to get in. That normally works for me and DOESN’T ALERT THE WHOLE DAMN NEIGHBORHOOD!” You heard rustling and assumed that the men had made it into the apartment. Making your way to the closet which had a hidden door in case something like this happened, you slid the fake panel out of the way and shimmied inside before sliding it back like nothing had happened.

Your phone was still tucked into the pocket of your pants. You knew you had to call Eijirou, or at least Kaminari because if Eijirou didn’t answer that meant Bakugou wouldn’t either. Sliding it out and unlocking it was as far as you got before you heard the men come into the bedroom. Your breath caught in your throat and you hesitated, debating on not moving or breathing until they left the bedroom and you could call someone to help you. As you move to put your phone back into your pocket, your ringtone alerting the men to your presence.

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” You mumble under your breath, quickly moving to decline the incoming call. Kirishima’s name popped up on your phone screen, more than likely wanting to let you know that they were on their way home and to check on you and your daughter. You declined the call and shoved your phone into your pocket before crouching into a corner as far away from the panel as possible.

“Find where they are now.” Tsukasa said calmly. The door to the closet slammed open and clothes were shoved around as they tried to find you. You hoped that they wouldn’t notice the false panel in the back of the closet. Those hopes were dashed as you felt a hand clamp onto your ankle and drag you out. Your hands scrambled around for the bat hidden in your closet and finally closed on its handle. Taking a deep breath, you swung the bat as hard as you could against your captor. The sound of metal hitting could be heard and you hoped you’d swung hard enough to do some damage.

Pain radiated through your cheek and it took a few moments to realize you had been slapped.

“Stupid bitch. You thought you could hide didn’t ya?” A tall, dark haired man chuckled.

“Easy for you to say Kizuki, you did not get hit with a bat.” The other man was stocky and tall, with long dark brown hair glared at you.

“What do you think Tsukasa, should we kill her or keep her?” One of the men, Kizuki, asked his partner.

“She may be useful. And if not, we can dispose of her later.” Tsukasa responded.

You reached for the bat again, hoping to strike them when they were distracted, but it was taken from your hands just as fast as you had reached for it.

“No, no. You’re not pulling that again. Go to sleep, little bitch. You’re in for a rude awakening when you wake.”

The last thing you saw was a fist flying towards your face before the world turned black.

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

Kirishima tried your number for the fifth time since leaving the job.You hardly ever declined his calls after jobs, wanting to make sure the three of them were fine and wanting to know the exact moment they would be home so you could have the first aid kits out and ready. If you ever did decline, you would always shoot him a text letting him know why. That didn’t happen this time, and he had a bad feeling settling into his stomach. He clicked away from the phone app, clicking Find My Friends instead. Thankfulness settled over him that he had talked you into downloading it shortly into your relationship so he could make sure nothing happened to you while you were out or for instances like this.

“Shit.” He muttered, noticing that your phone didn’t pop up onto the screen, just a Last known location popping up.

“Guys we might have a problem.”

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

Pain was the first thing you felt before slowly cracking your eyes open. Well, eye. Your right one was swollen shut. You tried to rub your face and noticed that your hands were tied behind your back and to a chair. Surveying where you were the best you could with one eye, you noticed you were in a bare room with nothing in it except a light, a table with an ashtray, and another chair across from where you were sitting. Your head was throbbing.

“Well, well. Look who’s awake.” Kizuki stated as he walked into the room and sat across from you. A cigarette hung from his lips, ashes falling onto the floor.

“Why am I here? Why didn’t you just kill me when you saw someone was home?” You glared at the man, subtly eyeing him up and down. He was tall, not as stocky as your boyfriend, and you’d yet to see him use his quirk. Eijirou will still take him down in about two seconds. He was in for a rude awakening when Kirishima arrived. It was basically a death sentence for anyone who messed with you before, but now that you were pregnant with his child he was extremely overprotective.

“Why else would I keep a beautiful woman alive? There’s too many men around here. None of us can unwind after a long day and we needed someone to take care of us sweet cheeks. That’s where you come in. Now, you can either agree and this can be the start of a wonderful partnership, or you can fight back and I can give you some scars on that pretty little body.” He chuckles, standing from his chair before caressing the side of your face.

A slow smile spread across your features.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” You asked sweetly.

“Why would I? You’re nobody important in the hero world that I know of, and someone living where you do had to know something like this could happen. You don’t exactly live in the best area.” He smirked at you.

“Did you ever think there was a reason why someone like me was living there? Like maybe I had connections to villains and not heroes?” You saw his face go white for a split second before he regained his composure. He removed his hand from your face and slid it into his pocket.

“Why would I care if you had ties to the villains? Besides, you couldn’t have been that important to them if they left you there all by yourself.”

“Have you ever heard of Red Riot? Maybe Dynamight or Chargebolt?” You noticed the minute the dots connected in his head.

“No, there’s no fucking way. I would know if any of them had a bitch.” Kizuki sputtered.

“Yeah, no you wouldn’t. Riot’s really good at keeping me hidden from the world. Especially when he has Dynamight and Chargebolt helping to keep me hidden.” You chuckled seeing the color drain from his face. He knows they’re in trouble now. Hopefully Tsukasa is here too so Eijirou can kill them both and we can move without anyone knowing about me and the baby.

Kizuki opened his mouth to say something before shutting it tightly and walking out of the room. You sighed, collapsing in on yourself slightly. Exhaustion settled over you like a heavy blanket. Eijirou where are you?

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

Days had passed and you were still tied to the same chair. The only times you were allowed to be untied was when you had to use the bathroom. Kizuki or Tsukasa fed you, and as far as you could tell they were the only two in this area with you. You were unsure if it was a house, apartment, or just some random building that they were using as a base for the time being. Kizuki had alerted Tsukasa that you were “property of Red Riot” as he had worded it, and neither one of them spoke to you unless it was absolutely necessary. You were going crazy.

“Can’t you guys just let me go? I won’t tell Riot that I know who kidnapped me. I’ll tell him that I never saw anyone, my head was constantly covered. You can let me go in some alleyway and I’ll find my way home.” You plead for what felt like the thousandth time.

Tsukasa let out a low grunt and shook his head. Knowing that was all you’d get from him, you turned your attention to the TV they had brought in for you while they tried to figure out where to go from there.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

It was safe to say that Eijirou knew you were gone, and you knew that he would tear down every building in the city until he knew that you were safe in his arms. The crime toll had risen drastically in the last few days and you could tell what of the damage shown was Eijirou, Bakugou and Kaminari. The buildings and areas destroyed by the three of them were always left collapsed and on fire, with the power grid having been overloaded right before the attacks. Eijirou was looking for his girls and it was only a matter of time before he got to you.

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

Ten days after your abduction Kizuki ran into the room looking terrified.

“I passed someone on the street saying that Red Riot was in the area. We have to lea-” A loud explosion cut him off and threw him against the wall. Small slices of pain spread across your body as debris hit you. Smoke filled the room, blocking your vision and making you cough. Groaning filled the small space as Kizuki tried to move. A blonde headed figure flew across the room and picked him up by the throat.

“You think it was smart to take one of the most feared villains girl? Do you have a death wish stupid fuck?” Bakugou’s voice growled out. Relief flooded your senses. Eijirou had finally found you, now he just had to get to you.

“I-I-I didn’t know! We had just picked an apartment to ransack and she happened to be there! I didn’t know she was Riot’s girl, please don’t kill me!” Kizuki had tears streaming down his face as Bakugou pressed into his throat tighter.

“Where. The fuck. Is she?” A more familiar voice called out. The calmness in his voice was terrifying. You had never heard him talk like that, and it both turned you on and terrified you.

“Ei! I’m right here.” You called out, trying once again to break the rope holding your hands behind your back. You felt wind fill the room, clearing the smoke in a split second. Rage overtook Kirishima’s face as he took in your disheveled state. Your black eye, though fading, was still prominent on your face. Bruises and dried blood were covering your wrists from trying to break your restraints, and you looked almost emaciated from ten days with little food. You noticed his pupils dilate slightly before he rushed to your side. He quickly cut the ropes from your wrist with his quirk, careful to not cut you while doing so.

“It’s okay baby. I’m here now okay? I’m gonna get you out of here and we’re gonna go home I promise. I just have to take care of a few things first. Can you go through the hole Bakugou made and go out there with Kami?” Kirishima asked. He slowly rubbed his thumbs over your wrists and you relaxed, leaning your body weight against him. Ten days being tied to a chair and only being allowed to walk to the bathroom had taken its toll on you. Your legs were weak and Kirishima had to wrap his arm around your waist to help you up.

“Ei, I don’t think I can walk out there to him. Can’t you carry me?” You whined in his ear.

“No baby I can’t carry you. I have to find the other fucking idiot who decided it would be smart to kidnap my girls. I’ll yell for Kami to come grab you okay? And do not move from his side. I’ll be out as soon as I get done with these idiots.” Kirishima kissed your forehead and you wrapped your arms tightly around him.

“I don’t wanna leave you baby. Can’t I just stay here until you’re done with them? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and the baby can’t see yet anyway. Please don’t make me leave you. I went ten days not knowing if I’d see you again. Please don’t make me leave.” You whimpered. His arms tightened slightly around your waist.

“Go sit back down okay? It won’t take long for me to take care of them.” He kissed you softly on the lips and helped you sit on the chair you’d been tied to five minutes ago. As soon as you sat down, a flip switched in Kirishima.

“Where’s the other one?” He growled out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about man I’m the only one here. It was just me.” Kizuki gasped out. Bakugou’s hand was still pressed against his windpipe making it hard for him to breathe. Kirishima hardened his hand and slammed it into the wall next to Kizuki’s head making him yelp.

“I don’t like being lied to. I know there were two of you involved, now tell me where the fuck he is so I can kill you both and get on with my life.”

“You better do it man. We can make your death swift or painful and drawn out, it’s really up to you.” Bakugou shrugged casually. The sound of water hitting the floor hit your ears and you realized that Kizuki had pissed himself.

“That’s disgusting. Shitty hair just kill him now, we can find the other one after.”

Kirishima grabbed Kizuki by his hair and pushed him down to his knees. Hardening his arm again, he pressed it tightly against Kizuki’s neck before glancing up at you.

“Don’t watch princess.” He told you. You looked up at the ceiling before the sound of blood dripping and gagging hit your ears. A loud thump alerted you that you could look again. Kizuki’s body laid in a crumpled heap at the feet of your boyfriend and his best friend. Blood surrounded him, and you figured that Kirishima had used his quirk to slit the man’s throat. You sighed and cleared your throat.

“The other man’s name is Tsukasa. He’s the one who hit me and knocked me out when they came into the apartment. He’s in here somewhere, but I don’t know where. Eiji, please let Bakugou find him and let’s go home? It’s just those two. I’m positive he can take him on his own.” You begged. Bakugou shrugged.

“I mean I can just demolish the place with him inside if you want me to shitty hair.”

“No. This dumbass hurt my girls, make him suffer.” Kirishima responded. Bakugou smiled and turned to search the rest of the building. Hands wrapped themselves around yours and Kirishima hoisted you up onto your feet.

“Are you two okay?” He asked, his right hand grabbing both of yours and his left hand moving to rub your belly slightly.

“As good as can be, I guess. I’m starving though, and I just want to go home and shower.” You sighed contently, wrapping your arms around your lover once more and leaning your head into his chest.

“We’re not going home. We’re gonna go to a hotel, Kaminari and Bakugou are gonna grab anything you want and need from the apartment, and when you feel better we’re gonna go look at houses. I know it was just a fluke, but we need to make sure that no one else knows who you are or where you are. I can’t lose the two of you.” He glanced into your eyes and you noticed the unshed tears covering his. A massive explosion from somewhere within the building drew your attention away from each other.

“Sounds like Bakugou got a hold of the other guy.” Kirishima chuckled. He knelt down slightly, grabbing the back of your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. You followed suit, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into it.

“Oi, you two coming or are ya gonna wait for the police to get here?” Bakugou yelled out. You looked up at him, noticing his soot covered face and smiled.

“Yeah yeah Blasty. Let’s get out of here.”

#bnharem collab #kirishima #kirishima x reader

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bellafarella · 3 years

Note

Fluff oh your jealous

Misc I think I just ripped my pants

Do your best bestie 😘

Thanks for prompting these bestie! <3

The sentences came from this post. This work has been added to my series: Shameless Sentence Prompts on AO3.

Fluff #5: “OH you’re jealous!”

**********************************************

You're my best friend

Ever since they moved into their apartment, Ian’s been making friends with others who live in the same building as them. Whether it’s at the gym or at the pool, he even made one in the laundry room, Ian is collecting new friends. Mickey’s happy that his husband has found other people to spend time with. What he doesn’t really like is being forced to also hang out with these people. There are just some he does not want to have to fake being nice to. The couple he met when they first got there and Mickey had what Ian now calls the pool tantrum like he’s fucking six years old and was told he had to stop playing in the pool. Mickey doesn’t remember their names but they definitely don’t care that they don’t see Mickey and only hang out with Ian. There’s also the lesbian couple that live right above them that Mickey doesn’t like either. They’re so boring, unlike any lesbian couple he’s ever seen - which is only Debbie and whatever girl of the week she’s seeing. They like to debate a lot and Mickey just can’t deal with it.

Tonight though, they’re having over this gay couple who live a few doors down. Ian met one of them by the pool - shocker - and has been hanging out with them quite a bit. They also like to garden so they go to the market together a lot and do yoga and all that boujee ass shit Mickey hates doing but does because Ian asks him to. Now Ian’s got a friend to do that with so Mickey agreed to a double date or whatever the fuck this is so that he could meet his husband’s new friend and his husband. Ian hasn’t met the husband yet either but he’s heard a lot about him from his friend and has filled Mickey in. Well, Mickey’s only half listening.

There’s a knock on the door so Ian calls from the kitchen, “Mick, get that please!”

Mickey groans as he gets up, taking his beer with him and chugging down the rest as he goes, leaving the empty can on the table. He opens the door and sees two guys. “Hey,” he nods his head to them. “Uh, come in.” He steps aside, letting them both in before closing the door.

“You must be Mickey! I’m David,” the tall, darked haired man says. “I’m the one who keeps stealing your husband away,” he adds with a laugh.

“Nice to meet you,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say and isn’t that what polite people do?

“And this is my husband, Patrick,” he says as he rubs the slightly shorter man’s broad shoulders. He has light brown hair that’s just starting to show is curly and he has these hazel eyes that look so soft.

Patrick smiles, offering his hand to Mickey. Mickey shakes it as Patrick says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mickey.”

“Yeah, you too,” he says, noticing how strong the man’s shake is.

Just then Ian comes out of the kitchen, no longer wearing that super girly apron Debbie bought them as a gag housewarming gift. He has a grin on as he makes his way over. “David!” he says walking over and hugging him. David squeezes back, eyes shutting, and his big hands rub at his back. He has four gold bands on his left hand. Fancy.

Ian gets introduced to Patrick and Mickey wanders off, taking his empty beer to the kitchen and tossing the can in the recycling. “Can I get anybody a drink?” he calls out.

“I brought a red!” David says as Mickey pokes his head out to look, seeing Patrick holding a bottle in his right hand. “Honey, go help Mickey,” he hears David tell his husband, again rubbing his shoulder. Patrick smiles at him, kisses his lips once before excusing himself and heading for the kitchen.

They nod at each other when he joins him in the kitchen. Mickey gets three glasses out for Patrick to pour them wine, as Mickey grabs another beer for himself. “Not a wine drinker?” Patrick asks, nodding to the can Mickey cracks open.

“Nah, not really,” he tells him.

“Me neither,” Patrick admits with a small chuckle.

Mickey opens the fridge and grabs another can. “Beer?” he asks him.

Patrick nods so he hands it to him. “Thanks,” Patrick says. He puts the can down, pours their husband’s a glass of wine and they each grab one and their own beers before rejoining.

David and Ian are already sitting on the sofa chatting and Ian throws his head back laughing. Mickey’s never seen Ian laugh like that in front of anyone but him and his family. He hands Ian the wine glass before sitting on the chair near him.

They do the obligatory small talk - how did you meet, how long have you been married, how long have you been together, what do you do for work. Stuff that they probably already know if Ian told David already but from their curious expressions and interest in their answers, it doesn’t seem like Ian’s gotten into much detail, not like they are now.

Ian made lasagna because apparently it’s Patrick’s favorite and always asks David to make it. It was really good. Ian and David go out on the balcony, leaving the screen door open only so that they could still hear them if need be. Mickey sits on the sofa with Patrick, scrolling through the channels. They both have fresh beers and Mickey finds a baseball game on so he puts that.

“You a fan?” Patrick asks, nodding to the screen.

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I mean I’ve never really kept up all that much. Didn’t really have a normal childhood but um, when Ian and I started dating or whatever, we used to sneak into games all the time. We were like seventeen - or well, I was, he was like fifteen or sixteen.”

Patrick has a soft smile on his face which reminds Mickey a lot of Ian, and that soft smile he gets sometimes when he looks at him. “That’s really sweet that you’ve been together for that long.”

“Had a lot of breakups and setbacks on the way,” Mickey tells him.

“But you’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Mickey smiles before rubbing at his mouth with his thumb. He clears his throat. “You a fan?”

“Oh huge fan. Used to play for my school’s team. Could have gone pro,” Patrick tells him.

“No shit,” Mickey says. “Why didn’t you?”

“Life,” he shrugs. “Responsibilities. Thoughts about what I should be instead of what I was.”

“I hear that,” Mickey says before knocking his can into Patrick’s.

Mickey likes Patrick. He’s not annoying. He likes sports but not obnoxiously so. He’s only come to terms with his sexuality late in life, something he can relate to. He likes math. He has a sense of humor. He likes beer. So far, this is one person in his building that he doesn’t hate.

Ian and David finally come back inside and Mickey’s laughing at Patrick’s reaction to a call made in the game. “Dude, you’re fuckin’ dramatic,” Mickey tells him.

“Pah!” Patrick makes an offended noise. “I definitely am not the dramatic one in my relationship.”

“Excuse me? What did I just walk into?” David asks, eyebrows drawn and mouth hard.

“Nothing,” Patrick tells him, pulling him down to him so he can kiss him on the lips.

David kisses him back and when he pulls away and stands back upright he says, “Mhm, sure.”

“What were you laughing about?” Ian asks as he sits in the chair next to Mickey, kicking at his foot lightly.

“Nothin’,” Mickey tells him and turns to wink at Patrick, making them both laugh and leaving their husbands confused.

“Okay, this isn’t fun for us,” David says, getting up. “More wine, Ian?”

“I’m gonna take a beer,” Ian says as he gets up, following David to the kitchen. They come back to join their husbands - Patrick now in the middle of the sofa in between David and Mickey, and Ian left to the chair next to Mickey’s side of the sofa.

Mickey finishes off his beer so he gets up, tosses it and grabs a new one before heading to their room to grab his smokes and lighter. “Either of you smoke?” he asks the new couple as he passes through the living room.

“No,” they both say.

Mickey shrugs. He’s about to light one when Ian says, “Let’s go outside for one, Mick,” getting up from his seat. “You guys don’t mind?”

“No, no, go for it,” David shoos them away so Ian and Mickey step outside on their balcony, closing the full door behind them so the smoke doesn’t go inside.

“Our fuckin’ house, could have let me smoke inside,” Mickey grumbles as he lights his smoke now, leaning against the railing and looking out over the pool.

“Would have been rude, Mick, they don’t smoke,” Ian sighs, coming next to him, close enough that their elbows are touching against the railing where they rest their arms.

“Whatever,” Mickey says through a lungful of smoke. “They’re cool,” he adds after a few quiet beats.

“Yeah?” Ian smiles, looking at his husband.

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, Patrick is. I don’t know much about David,” he tells him.

“Ah,” Ian notes, nodding his head and turning back to face the pool again.

“What’s wrong?” Mickey asks after a minute.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Are to. You got all quiet and you don’t usually unless you’re annoyed so just tell me what it is,” Mickey tells him. He knows Ian better than he knows himself most days.

“I don’t know - you just got like really chummy in there. I don’t know, it’s dumb,” Ian rushes to say.

“OH you’re jealous!” Mickey says, connecting the dots.

“What!?” Ian asks in that dramatic way he does. “Why would I be jealous? He’s married. We’re married.”

“You’re so jealous,” Mickey teases. He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray Ian bought so Mickey stops tossing cigarette butts out towards the pool and getting them in trouble.

“Mickey,” Ian warns.

“Are you jealous because I like him or because he likes me?”

“Both?” Ian asks with a small smile on his face.

“You’re an idiot,” Mickey laughs as Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and leans down, kissing him softly on the lips. Mickey holds onto Ian, pulling him in closer and sliding his tongue into his husbands mouth, showing him why he has no reason to be jealous.

There’s loud knocking on the door before it slides open. “Oh my God, we can totally leave if you two need to you know,” David says before he does some weird winking/blinking face.

Mickey knows he turns beet red, he can feel it. Ian laughs and tells David to fuck off for a second before turning back to Mickey. “Finishing this later,” he whispers. Ian winks at him before heading back inside. Mickey stays out there for another smoke, needing it after that.

Cuddled up and ready to pass the fuck out, Mickey lays on his back, naked, with Ian half on top of him. Mickey’s eyes are closed, waiting for sleep to come as he listens to Ian breathing, his soft, warm breath hitting his chest, and his gentle fingers tracing his name tattooed on Mickey’s chest.

“You asleep?” Ian whispers.

“Not yet,” he whispers back, turning his head slightly, Ian’s soft hair tickling his nose.

Ian lifts his head so that his chin is now digging into Mickey’s chest. He looks at him, barely any light illuminating his face, and says, “So you liked them right? Did we finally make couple friends that we can hang out with?”

Mickey chuckles softly, shaking Ian’s head since he’s still resting it on him. “They’re definitely better than anyone else you’ve made me meet but -”

Ian waits and when Mickey doesn’t continue he asks, “But what?”

Mickey sighs, shifting slightly. “I just don’t care about any of these people. I like when it’s just us.”

“Awww, Mick,” Ian coos, snuggling closer by shoving his face into his neck and kissing him all over.

“Okay, okay, okay, stop, Ian,” Mickey warns as he feels like he’s going to lose it soon, getting ticklish.

“That was so fuckin’ cute,” Ian says after he pulls back, giving Mickey some personal space.

“Not cute,” Mickey grumbles.

“You are. You want me all to yourself,” Ian says and even though Mickey can’t see it, he knows Ian has a huge fuckin’ grin on his face.

“Yeah so I actually like my husband and spending time with him, sue me,” Mickey says, making Ian laugh.

Ian tilts Mickey’s head towards him and kisses him softly. He only catches Mickey’s top lip but with some adjusting, they kiss sweetly and so filled with love. “I love you, Mickey. You’re my best friend and I love spending all my time with you,” he tells him softly.

“Okay well then I guess sometimes we can hang out with them again. Not every fuckin’ week though.”

“Deal,” Ian says before kissing his cheek loudly then getting back into position with his head on Mickey’s chest and fingers lightly tracing his tattoo.

Mickey holds him close, kissing the top of his head. “Night baby,” he whispers against his hair.

Ian kisses his chest, “Night baby.”

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

May passes into June and they quietly acknowledge that it has been one year since the day Mulder walked into the autopsy bay. They spend their weekends watching movies, making love, and hanging out with the Gunmen, Missy often in attendance as she and Byers become somewhat of an item. Every other Sunday they have lunch with her mother, Mulder meeting Bill by way of an awkward phone call and a promise that they will come out to visit San Diego sometime soon. The moratorium on weekday overnights fades away and the days they spend in each other’s beds begin to outnumber those that they don’t.

One day in early August, Mulder laments how lonely Priscilla gets when he’s gone for the night, crying and following him from room to room when he comes home and plaguing him with guilt. Scully suggests that he bring her over with him, setting up a litter box and food bowl in an unused corner of the living room. Without the daily need to care for a cat, he spends more and more time at her apartment, his suits taking over half her closet and his T-shirts occupying one of her drawers. He still has his fish to feed and so they can tell themselves that they don’t technically live together, though it’s been weeks since anyone slept at his apartment. The excitement of new love gives way to the familiar comfort of domesticity, questions about their lives prior to meeting morphing into what they’re having for dinner and whether someone can pick up toilet paper on the way home from work. They each visit the doctor for a full workup and, everything coming back clear, stop using condoms, relying on the progestin shot Scully goes in for every three months to prevent pregnancy.

Far from boring, they find worthy sparring partners in one another, debating everything from whether the moon landing was a hoax to the merits of String Theory, arguing their points of view passionately before they agree to disagree and then let their clothes fall to the floor. They discover the things they love best about one another; Mulder’s unrelenting curiosity and Scully’s bottomless compassion, as well as those they like the least; his forgetfulness when he’s focused on something and her tendency to shut him out when she’s upset. Whether completing a crossword puzzle together or watching Jeopardy, they embrace the ways that they are different and how they balance one another out; his creativity to her order, her planning to his impulsivity, his acceptance to her skepticism. Yin and yang, tall and small, bold and tempered; there is a completeness in their union that makes them each feel whole.

Even in their intensity and their commitment, Mulder has never again uttered the words ‘I love you’ and Scully has never said them at all. Far from a red flag or a hesitance to be vulnerable, they simply don’t feel the need to express it aloud. She knows he loves her when he drives forty minutes out of his way to pick up her favorite donuts or reads the latest issue of JAMA just so he can discuss the articles with her. He knows she loves him when she indulges him in theoretical discussions on the mating rituals of Sasquatch, not bothering to point out that the creature doesn’t exist, or wastes entire Saturdays watching movies that were bad enough to earn Razzies because he finds poorly made films entertaining.

Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, accepting his explanation that his mother is cold and his father distant, which is why she feels caught off guard when he calls her at work on a Tuesday to tell her that his mother had a stroke, and he is on his way to the hospital. He doesn’t ask her for anything, but she leaves work anyway, approaching the reception desk of the emergency department with a level of calm only a doctor is capable of.

“I’m looking for Teena Mulder, she should have been admitted within the last few hours,” she says to the young woman behind the desk.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman answers, “but visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 and someone is already with her now. Are you family?” The woman looks at her expectantly.

“Um, no, I’m not,” she replies, not bothering to explain that Tenna Mulder is her boyfriend’s mother, who she’s never met.

“You can take a seat then,” the woman says with a well-practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She finds an empty seat and pulls in a deep breath, taking out her cell phone in hopes she can reach Mulder, though cell reception in hospitals is notoriously bad.

“Excuse me, are you Dana?” someone says from a few seats away, and she turns to see an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with receding dark brown hair and tired bags under his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies, eyeing him skeptically as he rises from his seat and takes the one just beside her.

“I’m Bill Mulder, Fox’s father,” he says, offering his hand.

She takes it, scanning him for similarities to Mulder and finding none, other than his complexion and hair color.

“Oh, hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Mulder,” she stumbles, a bit confused. As Mulder tells it, his parents are divorced and not on friendly terms.

“Please, you can call me Bill,” he says with a small smile, and she nods. “Fox is with her now, though I don’t think she’s awake,” he offers.

They sit in awkward silence, Scully realizing she has absolutely no information with which to start a conversation. Mulder has told her nothing about his parents, aside from the details relevant to his sister’s abduction. She doesn’t know what Bill Mulder does, or did, for a living, or where he lives. Just when she’s considering going home, Mulder emerges from a set of double doors.

He was clearly looking for his father, but when he sees Scully his eyebrows knit and his chin puckers in relief. She stands and he scoops her up, squeezing her so tight it hurts.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers hoarsely into her ear.

They part, hands clasped, and he addresses his father.

“Mom just woke up, you can go see her soon, but since Scully is here I’d like to take her back first.”

Scully gives him an incredulous look.

“Mulder, I’m sure your mom doesn’t want to meet me for the first time from a hospital bed,” she pleads.

“I know, but I want you to look at her chart. I just want to make sure that what the doctors are saying is accurate,” he says with desperate eyes, and she nods.

He leads her back through the double doors and into a room where a tall white-haired woman is reclining in the bed, an oxygen cannula tucked under her nose. While she saw little resemblance between Mulder and his father, the likeness to his mother is almost jarring; her stately nose and hooded eyes curating in Scully an immediate fondness for her. She blinks slowly at them, confusion furrowing her brow.

“Mom, this is Dana,” he says, and her expression shifts into one that is slightly pained.

She attempts to speak, one side of her mouth rooting for words that she can’t quite find.

“Hi Mrs. Mulder, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” Scully offers, “I’m a medical doctor, Fox asked me to take a look at your chart, if that’s okay?”

Teena nods and closes her eyes, and Scully goes to retrieve her chart from near the door. After she’s looked it over, they say goodbye and return to the lobby to find Mulder’s father.

“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll see you in there,” Mulder says, and then walks Scully to her car.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as they stand next to her open car door, worry crumpling his features.

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, Mulder. Her stroke was significant, you can see that by the degree to which it’s impacting her speech and gross motor function. It shouldn't get any worse, but she’ll need to go through rehab, and likely need some in-home care for a bit until we know the long term impact. It’s very possible that she’ll be able to continue living independently, but not right away.”

Mulder heaves a big sigh and nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, but I think I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” she replies, bringing her palm to his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, again, for coming down here. You didn’t have to.”

“Mulder, of course I did,” she says with concern. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

He kisses her one, two, three times, pulling her close for a beat, clinging to her for dear life.

“I love you,” he chokes out, and she hugs him tighter.

“I love you too,” she replies, her chin tucked tight into the crook of his neck.

When he releases his grip on her, she brings her hands to his jaw, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out,” she assures him, and he nods tersely.

———

She’s in bed reading, Priscilla curled up on her stomach, when she hears the thunk of the deadbolt.

“Mulder?” she calls out, and he pokes his head through the door.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be in in a minute,” he says, then disappears again.

He returns ten minutes later, shower-fresh and warm. She sets her book aside to envelop him in her arms, his head finding a home on her chest as his arms snake around her ribcage.

“How is she?” she asks as she strokes her fingers through his hair and down his neck soothingly.

“The same,” he says with a defeated tone, “they might release her to rehab tomorrow.”

“And how are you?” she asks, giving his neck a little squeeze.

He groans. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About your mom?”

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbow to look at her, “about life, I guess.”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to toil away in the BSU for the rest of my life, Scully. If I die tomorrow, what will I have to show for it?”

She frowns at him sympathetically.

“You make a difference in the BSU, Mulder. You help catch murderers, prevent further loss of life. It may not seem like it because you’re so far removed from the people it impacts, but you do.”

He flops back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re probably right, but it still feels pretty pointless.”

“What would you rather be doing?” she asks gently, rolling on to her side to face him.

“Honestly?” he steals a glance at her before continuing, “investigating The X Files. Making progress in understanding what happened to my sister. Working to expose those who are responsible for the coverup of secret government operations.”

“Maybe you should talk to AD Skinner, try again. Maybe The X files could be reopened,” she says softly, brushing her palm over his arm.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Scully. They won’t let me operate without a partner and no one wants to work with me.”

“I’d work with you, but that’s against bureau policy,” she says with a small smile, and he looks at her with an affectionate gaze.

“I’m sure you’d have a field day debunking all my work,” he says coyly.

“I would never,” she retorts sarcastically.

He rolls back towards her, pulling her close with her head tucked under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“Well you do have me, so there’s no point in thinking about it,” she replies.

He sighs deeply, reaching past her to turn off the bedside lamp, and they sleep.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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evafrechette · 3 years

Text

It’s a Match

↠ yoongi x jimin | smut | hookup au | 18+ | 3.4K

↠ Summary: Loneliness can make you do questionable things. Like signing up to a dating app to suck the cock of a stranger.

↠ Warnings: deep throating, public blowjobs, cum sharing, kind of a social media au - but not, drunk Yoongi, flirting, masturbation, gagging.

Yoongi never thought he'd be desperate enough to download the app on his phone, but here he was at 11:37 on a Friday night, finger hovering over the install button.

"Ahhh fuck it.."

He clicked and watched as the app downloaded and installed on his phone. He never thought it would get to this point. He'd been single for years. Preferring his own company, he never found it necessary to date. People annoyed him, too loud, too intrusive, too manipulative. So he remained alone. But 4 years is a long time to be on your own and he was starting to grow tired of his own hand. Plus he'd watched evey fucking video there was on his favourite porn site a year ago. That should have been the sign he needed to get laid, but his dumb ass wallowed in misery for another 12 months and that's why he's here now, creating a profile in the hopes of getting fucked this weekend.

A frown formed on Yoongi's face, he had been scrolling through profiles for the last 30 minutes and hadn't matched with anyone. He knew it was because he was being incredibly picky, swiping left on nearly every single profile he'd come across. He wasn't gonna get his dick sucked carrying on like this. He swiped left on a profile of a man in his 40s - already starting to bald, arms wrapped around a girl half his age - when his eyes landed upon the profile of a young man.

Yoongi was intrigued. The man had the prettiest face Yoongi had ever seen, beautiful plush lips pulled into a seductive smile, with his blond bangs hanging over his eyes. Yoongi clicked to view the profile in full, Jimin - the beautiful man's name was Jimin. He used emojis in his profile, which made Yoongi let out a frustrated groan. He hated emojis, too childish. He continued to read the profile and decided that the two of them were too different and even though the man was beautiful he would swipe left, like he had been all night. Maybe it was an accident or maybe Yoongi's subconscious wanted those plush lips around his cock, because instead of swiping left he swiped right.

He put the phone down and got up to make a drink. He shouldn't have a coffee this late, but apparently he was living recklessly tonight. With the steaming hot drink in his hand he climbed back onto his bed. He took a sip of the dark hot liquid when he heard the ding of a notification. He cautiously leaned over and grabbed the phone, swiping away his lock screen. He could see that he had been notified of a match, so he quickly opened the app, curious as to which one of the very small pool of men he'd swiped right on that would like him back. Yoongi could feel his cheeks starting to heat up. He didn't expect to match with the blond with the lips to die for. Not only that, but the man had messaged him too.

Yoongi couldn't tell him the truth, he WAS going to swipe left, what the fuck happened with that anyway.

Yoongi choked on his coffee, Jimin looked like an angel, but an angel wouldn't talk that way. How the hell does he respond to that? Does he even want to respond to that? He placed his coffee on the side table and dragged his hand through his hair. If he didn't take this opportunity his blue balls would actually kill him. Well fuck, his response just made him sound like the world's most pathetic asshole.

Yoongi checked the time, it was quite early in the morning now. The coffee had helped wake him up, but the prospect of meeting with the cute man had him feeling even more awake than what was humanly possible. The two of them talked for the next few hours. Sharing stories of their worst dates, childhood pets, who was more powerful Superman or Ironman and their favourite songs. Yoongi finally said goodnight and put his phone on the charger. They had agreed to met at Jimin's favourite bar the 'Hit List' at 8pm that night. Seventeen hours for Yoongi to work himself up into a worried hot ass mess. Fucking great. And yet as he stared up at the ceiling a small smile broke out on his face.

Yoongi spent his Saturday doing everything he possibly could to distract himself from his date that evening. Was it a date? Do you call meeting some random off the internet to possibly fuck a date? He was too old for this shit. He rearranged his vinyl collection, read a decent chunk of his new book and practiced a few new songs on his guitar. Once the sky had turned a beautiful shade of orange and pink Yoongi knew he had to stop stalling and get his ass ready. He took an extra long shower, debating on whether to do some manscaping (since all the young kids do it these days) before deciding not to. He liked his bush, and if pretty boy wasn't a fan well tough shit for him.

He teamed his black and white shirt with a pair of black jeans ripped at the knee, a leather jacket and finished it off with a few pieces of jewellery. With one last look in the mirror Yoongi slid his phone and wallet into the pocket of his jeans and left his apartment. Just as he stepped into the lift his phone pinged. It was a message from Jimin.

*******************

Jimin is sitting at the bar when Yoongi arrives. He's deep in conversation with the bartender, so Yoongi stands by the entrance awkwardly looking around. It's a nice place, very quiet and intimate. It's dark, a few low hanging lights scattered around and tealight candles sitting in a whisky glass on each table. To his right is a large floor to ceiling window, surrounded by a mix match of old leather chairs. There is a faint smell of smoke in the air. Oddly this smell starts to calm Yoongi down, it reminds him of his grandfather. Okay, now he's nervous again. Thinking of his grandfather at a time like this?

"I'm a fucking mess." he mutters to himself as he walks over to the bar.

"Uhh sorry to interrupt, Jimin right?"

The blond turns his head and smiles, he is really more beautiful in real life Yoongi thinks to himself. He's wearing a black shirt with one too many buttons undone, his hair parted in the middle falling gracefully to each side framing his angelic looking face.

"Mmm that's right and you are?"

Um what?! Fuck, Yoongi knew he made a mistake by coming here. Ahh fuck, why did he have to make that stupid profile? He loved Amateur Bareback 3-Way #2, he could have easily watched it 100 more times.

"Relax cutie, I'm just playing, you should have seen your face," a giggle escaped from Jimin's lips. "Nice to meet you Yoongi." he stood up and extended his hand out to shake. Yoongi quickly wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and returned the handshake. Jimin's hand was engulfed in Yoongi's. He looked down and couldn't help but smile at the scene. Jimin's hands were so petite compared to his. It was a rather lovely sight.

"Order yourself a drink and we'll go sit over there." he pointed to the leather chairs Yoongi has been eyeing up earlier. He ordered an Irish Mule for himself and a Negroni for Jimin. He carried the drinks to the table, while Jimin followed closely behind. A little too close Yoongi thought. He could smell his perfume starting to mix with the smoke smell. It was a delicious combination.

The first half an hour was straight up torture for Yoongi. Even though the two of them had spent the night messaging each other it was different once he was sitting face to face with the most stunning man in all of Seoul. Yoongi avoided eye contact, mumbled and laughed dryly at Jimin's jokes. He was well and truly fucking this entire thing up.

Jimin huffed "You don't have to stick around you know, you can leave whenever you want."

Yep. He had fucked this up.

"Uhh it's not that," Yoongi starts to bite at his thumb nail "Jimin, I'm terrible at this. People stress me the fuck out, I haven't been laid in four years, I don't like leaving my apartment, you are lovely, fantastic even and that's making me even more nervous."

Jimin played with the hoop in his ear while looking directly at Yoongi, he tilted his head to the side "How can I help you relax? I thought we clicked last night?"

They did

"I'm sorry I make you nervous, I can't help it that I'm so cute." Yoongi finally looked into Jimin's eyes and they burst into laughter.

"It's not your fault. Fuck it, I need another drink . . or five that will help." he rolled his eyes before waking back to the bar.

With a few more drinks in him Yoongi was relaxed, he could feel the whiskey warming up his body. The heat in his stomach though, he was sure that was because of the attractive man sitting in front of him. The discomfort had finally vanished and instead a mellowness had fallen over the two.

"I've always liked older men." Jimin purred, his delicate small fingers, adorned with multiple silver rings, brushing against the now half empty glass.

"Aiisshh I'm only two years older than you!" Yoongi huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, but you act like you're nearly 60.” Jimin let out a hearty laugh, his eyes turning into crescents, cheeks plump and slightly pink. He slapped the table causing their glasses to shake. Yoongi quickly grabbed his to prevent it from spilling.

"It's not that funny." he didn't want to admit it, but the blond's laugh was hypnotic, he could watch Jimin laugh for hours and never tire of it.

Jimin straightened up, fingers now tracing the rim of the glass "I bet you don't fuck like an old man though."

Yoongi gulped and looked directly into Jimin's brown eyes, gone was the playful light, it was now replaced with desperate firey lust. He knew what the outcome of this date could be, and yet he was still nervous. He could feel his heart starting to race, his breath becoming faster. "Aaahh shit" Yoongi thought to himself as his left hand started to twitch, the blond's smell - a mix of orange blossom and patchouli was becoming overwhelming, he needed to calm down, he'd cum within seconds if he didn't get his shit under control.

"Heh, well I guess you'll find out later huh?"

Jimin reached over and ran his soft fingers over Yoongi's hand, playing with the bracelets that sat around his wrist.

"Why don't I find out now?"

Yoongi's friends love roasting him for his personality change when drunk. All of a sudden the quiet reserved man becomes giggly and loud. Cracking terrible jokes and singing at the top of his lungs. Sober Yoongi would never dare dream of taking a stranger to the bathroom to jerk off. Drunk Yoongi though? Try to stop him.

"Mmm Jiminshi are you sure?”

Jimin giggled at this "You are SO cute" he continued to draw his fingers over Yoongis hands "Of course I'm sure, do you wanna go back to mine? Or we could go to yours if you're more comfortable with that..."

Without thinking Yoongi stood, grabbed the blonds arm and pulled him up. They walked towards the exit, but before descending the stairs they took a left and made their way into the restroom. Once inside Yoongi pushed Jimin against the door and started kissing at his neck. "Fuck! Jimin, there is no way in hell I can wait to get back to my place, I need to feel you now." Yoongi whispered between kisses.

Yoongi leaned down and kissed his exposed chest, thank fuck Jimin had left those top buttons open. They had been torturing Yoongi all night long, but now he was thankful for it. Jimin's skin was so soft and it faintly smelled like cherry blossom lotion but he wanted more. He was desperate for more. Jimin ran his hands through Yoongi's hair and grabbed hard. Small moans escaped his lips, which drew Yoongi even crazier. He undid the buttons on his shirt and stood back. Jimin had the body of a god. Perfectly sculptured, with beautiful brown nipples begging to be sucked on. Who was Yoongi to deny god his wish?

Jimin let out a squeak when Yoongi ran his tongue over his nipples, hungrily licking and sucking at them. His right hand found it's way to the bulge in Jimin's pants and he pressed his palm down onto it. Jimin was now starting to get louder which made Yoongi smirk, he lightly nipped on Jimin's nipple before standing up and leaning in to sloppily kiss Jimin on those perfect, perfect lips, the taste of spice and bitterness still lingering.

"Uuuhhh Hyung, please touch me."

"That's what I'm doing Jimin."

"No you asshole, I want to feel you properly, get my fucking dick out." Yoongi stopped and looked at Jimin, slightly taken back by the tone of his voice. But he just smiled back - a wicked smile.

Yoongi got onto his knees and began undoing the zip of Jimin's pants. He pulled them down to his ankles, he then drew his hands up Jimin's legs, enjoying how smooth they were. He palmed Jimin's cock through his underwear eliciting a moan from the man above him. Yoongi pressed his face into Jimin's clothed cock. He took a deep breath, Jimin smelled wicked, his arousal mixed with body lotion was rousing. He alternated between sucking and licking on the cock trapped behind Calvin Klein underwear. He repeated this action a few more times before finally removing the now very damp briefs.

Jimin wasn't the biggest cock Yoongi had ever seen, but he was thick and absolutely smooth. He stroked his long fingers over his chiseled abs, along Jimin's length and then down to his balls which he cupped in his hand, massaging back and forth. He let go and brought his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over his entire palm. It was so fucking dirty and Jimin shuddered at the sight. He reached back up and gripped Jimin's cock in his now saliva covered hand. He drew his hand up and down at a frantic pace. He was too worked up to go any slower, but Jimin didn't seem to mind by the noises he was making. Oh shit, he was being too loud now. They'd get caught and thrown out or even worse the cops called.

"Shit Jimin, you need to be quiet or someone will hear us.”

“Mmm Yoongi I don't think I can cutie, why do you think I said we should get out of here."

Yoongi huffed and slowed his hand down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jimin's briefs, so he picked them up, stood and shoved them in Jimin's mouth.

"That should shut you up.... Is that okay? I can take them out if you don't like it.”

Jimin shook his head and moaned around the underwear. His mouth was stretched open and drool already starting to pool at the corners. What a fucking beautiful thing to witness. Pleased with himself Yoongi got back on his knees and kissed the tip of Jimin's cock. His tongue played with the slit, circling it before he slowly kissed down each side of his shaft. He then licked the base to tip, never taking his eyes off Jimin's. They both looked so fucked already, pupils blown out, flushed cheeks and lips swollen from the rough kissing earlier.

He started pumping slowly, wanting to tease Jimin a little, the blond was impatient though and bucked his hips into Yoongi's fist, letting him know he wanted and desperately needed it faster. Yoongi let out a small chuckle and started to move his hand at a pace the gorgeous man would enjoy. Muffled moans of pleasure let Yoongi know he had found the magic speed. He continued like this for a few minutes before letting go and taking Jimin's cock in his mouth. Oh he tasted good - of course he did he was perfect in every way why would this be any different? Yoongi hollowed his cheeks as he bobbed up and down on Jimin's length, taking it deep before pulling up and letting go with a 'pop'.

He took hold of Jimin's cock and rubbed his lips all over the head, spreading precum all over his lips and chin. He felt like such a slut, but he was loving every moment of it. Yoongi closed his eyes and slowly buried Jimin's entire cock in his mouth until it hit the back of his throat. He moaned around the feeling, this was what he had needed. To feel stuffed by a pretty cock attached to a pretty man. Jimin was squirming above him, his panting and moans muffled by the briefs in his mouth, but there was no doubt he was in ecstasy just like the cock starved brunette. Yoongi felt petite hands fist into his hair and start pulling and pushing trying to take some control of the situation, Yoongi slowed down and allowed Jimin to start fucking into his mouth.

With each of Jimin's thrusts his grunts became louder as he was getting closer to his orgasm. Jimin wasn't the only one getting close, after having practically become a born again virgin, Yoongi's head was dizzy with arousal and he wasn't sure how much longer he would last, his grip on Jimin's thighs tightening, bound to leave light marks the next morning. He closed his eyes and could feel the heat from his stomach rise throughout his body, his muscles tensing as he felt his release. The wet patch in Yoongi's pants made him feel absolutely filthy. He came just from sucking someone's cock? Before he had too much time to start mulling over how much of a slut he is, Jimin spills his load inside Yoongi's hot mouth. He thrusts hard a few times causing the cum to spill out of Yoongi's mouth and dribble down his chin, landing on the floor.

Jimin hisses as he slowly removes himself from Yoongi's mouth, he leans down and Yoongi yanks the underwear out of his mouth before smashing his lips against the blonds. He doesn't care that his mouth is still full of Jimin's cum, he tastes so good he wants him to experience the intoxicating taste too. When their lips part Jimin stands to put his softening cock away. Yoongi stands with him and looks around the room, avoiding eye contact.

"Umm thanks for that, that was .. uhh really good."

Jimin's bewitching smile returns "Yeah, that was amazing cutie can't say I've ever had my underwear shoved into my mouth though, but there is a first time for everything. Come here and I'll treat you good too."

"Well um, no it's okay. Honestly. I may have cum already." he sheepishly replies, still avoiding any damn eye contact.

A small "oh" left his pouty lips "well I'm glad I could have been of assistance."

The two stood awkwardly for a while before Jimin held Yoongi's hand and walked him over to the sink. He made the older man sit on the bench while he cleaned up all the mess he had made. Yoongi's heart couldn't stop beating. There was no need for Jimin to be so nice after what they had just done, but here he was doing something Yoongi actually felt was more intimate than painting the walls of his throat with his cum.

"Ah there ya go, now you can go back into the real world without anyone suspecting a thing.”

They walked outside together in silence, Yoongi had never had a hook up before. Do you crack jokes? Profess your love? Or just act like what happened never did? His mind was a million miles away when soft fingers were suddenly stroking his cheek.

"Please message me anytime you want to see each other again, and I'll be the one doing all the dirty work okay?"

This made Yoongi blush "Yeah okay. Thank you Jimin, truly I had a great night."

And it was the truth, he had so much fun he could relive the moment in his head for the next four years. Amateur Bareback 3-Way #2 wouldn't be needed when the memory of small hands, captivating moans and cum drizzling down his chin was enough to get him hard again. It had been less than 20 minutes. God dammit!

#Bts smut #yoonmin smut #yoongi smut #Jimin smut #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #yoonmin #yoongi x jimin #yoongi #jimin #bts #bts imagines #suga #bts social au #bts social media au #bts fic #bts suga #armywriterssupport

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