#still taking prompts btw

[mydearestknight]

If you're still taking prompts, then a stressed out king getting fucked by his advisor, who knows everything about him, and knows exactly how to take him apart and make him relax.

King's head is full. Full with his duties, his people's expectations and his own worries. He loves his people, he is charitable and caring, and the people love him for that. But even king needs breaks every now and then, forgets to take them, however.

"A King as young as yourself shouldn't overwork himself so early into his career," his advisor mutters close to his ear, standing right behind him, and makes king jump a little. "See? You didn't even hear me coming," he adds and lets his hands wander over king's arms.

A sigh escapes king's lips, his tired eyes flutter closed as he relaxes against the touch. "It's been some time, since you came undone under my hands. How about you take a break?" The words are sweet and luring, but king shakes his head.

"I need to finish this first," king breathes as his advisor's hands travel from his arms over his chest and down to his trousers. King feels the grin against his neck, lips kissing his sensitive skin as one hand already makes its way inside his undergarments.

"Hm? Your body tells a completely different story, Your Royal Highness." Advisor's chuckle tickles against his skin, a moan escapes king's lips, as the other's fingers circle over his clit and wet hole. The hand travels further, a finger enters.

"If you don't want to leave your desk, I have to take you here." Words-promising and sweet as honey. Fingers- teasing and addicting. But advisor removes his fingers and pulls back the chair king is sitting on, grabbing him by his chin, a thumb entering between his lips.

"That's it. That is the look I want to see in your eyes. Don't stress yourself out even more. Let me take care of your thoughts for a while." King finds himself on the table, lying on his back, while advisor eats him out, holding his shaky thighs in place.

A finger enters, fucks him slowly and makes his head spin. His duties are forgotten right now and king grabs advisors collar to pull him up, his mouth wet and glistening. No words are needed, his eyes already beg to be fucked.

Because advisor knows exactly what he has to do. Knows every button to push, every word to say to make king melt in his hands. As he enters king's hole, both shudder and gasp in anticipation. Advisor stays still for a moment and looks at king, who feels himself relax.

"Just like that, my king." He rolls his hips for the first time and king's head falls back. "Let me empty your head," advisor moans close to his ear and starts moving, slow strokes at first that make king impatient, just like everytime they do this.

Advisor starts fucking him faster, hands steadying him on the table as king's head goes empty from his duties, his people and his responsibilities, fills itself with pleasure and lust instead. All he can feel is advisor, all he can hear is their moans and the sounds of their love-making.

[no-light-left-on]

Suggestion: Daud doesn't die and Billie spares Outsider, so he gets to meet the old man

it's very strange to actually look down on the Outsider now that he can't float

bonus

(don't worry, Billie doesn't let him)

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

New quinnflag ficlet coming your way hopefully this weekend if I can think of a damn ending!! Prompt was Rick going out of town and Harley missing him like crazy and not coping well at all. It's angsty, fluffy, and spicy as fuck, you're welcome!

[krispyphan]

I just thought of this but I’m pretty sure I also made a similar prompt on my old blog, but Danny as a payback for all the shit Vlad has done to him, makes it seem like Dani is their biological child and he’s a deadbeat.

This backfires spectacularly because Danny forgets that he’s not very forthcoming with information on ghosts to the JL so they believe he’s actually a 14 yr old, a mature one but a 14 yr old nonetheless.

Really it’s more of an inside joke that got out of hand, as Vlad started to be less of a fruitloop. After Vlad got help on his obsession (turns out having an unhealthy obsession is actually really unhealthy for a ghost) he started to mend what little relationship he had with Dani. And as her other biological parent, Vlad also started mending their relationship.

Ofc with Sam and Tucker they gave him the thought that since Danny took care of Dani while Vlad was being insane, he should be getting “child support for the years he was being a deadbeat”.

Danny lorded this over Vlad for years, a joke that never fails to make Vlad angry. Danny had some brain cells to realize that it would look real weird to outsiders but he always could just pass it off as ghost shit. JL were not convinced, and after replaying everything Danny has said about Vlad, had incriminated him even more in the eyes of the JL.

While Danny went to have a dinner with Vlad and Dani (as per their agreement, as Dani wants both of her family to sit down with her) (they both don’t really mind but each dinner usually ends before a fight can break out) he gets stopped by a JL member, asking him to follow them to a meeting room.

Danny’s met with an intervention, where the JL want him to understand healthy relationships and that he shouldn’t be with a man who’s hurt him before. Danny is absolutely horrified and at the same time laughing so hard he goes intangible.

[nyoomfruits]

"i think i deserve a kiss"

“i think I deserve a kiss”

People underestimate sometimes, Oscar thinks, how much of being an F1 driver is just waiting around. Sure, it’s hectic too, being dragged from interview to sponsor event to actual free practices, qualifying, the race. But there’s a lot of in between moments like these, standing in one of the endless winding hallways of the MTC, waiting for their meeting to start.

Lando is next to him, bouncing from one foot to the next. He’s even worse at the waiting thing than Oscar is, fidgety and impatient, and whenever left waiting too long he gets-

“Kiss,” Lando demands. He’s bounded over to Oscar and is leaning down slightly, practically shoving his forehead in Oscar’s face.

Annoying.

“No, Lando, come on. We’re in public,” Oscar complains, glancing around. The hallway is deserted. It’s nearing 6pm, most people have already left for the day. Oscar and Lando are close to leaving too, just have to get through this one last meeting.

Lando pouts, wiggles. “Kiss,” he repeats, a little more demanding, a little whinier.

“Oh for fuck’s-“ Oscar cuts off, presses a quick kiss to Lando’s forehead, who beams. “There, happy?”

“Hm,”  Lando seems to consider it. Oscar prepares himself for the worst. “I think I deserve another.”

“Deserve,” Oscar says, flatly, raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, for being like, the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”  Lando’s smiling now, that shit eating one he has that means he’s going to get what he wants no matter how Oscar plays his cards. Horribly enough, he’s right. Oscar’s rather weak for him, unfortunately.

“You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Oscar says, but dutifully presses another kiss Lando’s forehead, who hums happily and doesn’t press his luck for a third one, just rolls his head onto Oscar’s shoulder instead.

“Wish we could just go home,” he mutters into the fabric of Oscar’s hoodie, and Oscar smiles, reaches up a hand to tug Lando a little closer.

“Soon,” he says, and then presses another kiss to the top of Lando’s head.

Lando’s right, after all. He deserves all the kisses he can get.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

drabble request! feel free to tweak/change especially if the pairing isn't your cup of tea: logan/oscar and morning coffee?

thank you and have a great day today!

okay!! i didn't think i'd have much to say about this pairing but. it turns out i'm a liar.

(ignore the fact that oscar won f2 in covid...in bahrain... and i don't think logan was in the same championship that year. something something artistic liberties)

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

The carpet tickles Oscar's neck. He blinks his eyes open.

F2 celebrations were a blur. Logan dragged Oscar to some godawful nightclub, all bright lights and sweaty bodies and people pressing on him. Last night comes back in sparks. Jagerbombs, shoulder bumps, arms in the air like they just don’t care. Electro beat so loud it rattled his brain. 

They both ended up on the floor of Oscar’s hotel suite. Oscar’s not sure why that was, or what logic there was in that decision when they fumbled with the room key and tumbled in at the wee hours of the morning. 

Logan tosses a red team polo at Oscar’s face.

“Get up, dude.” 

Oscar makes a noise that sounds lot like ngggh.

“That was a total shitshow.” Logan says.

“Yeah. I know. Told you not to go, didn’t I?”

“C’mon man. Last day of F2 and you weren’t gonna celebrate?”

“I feel awful. This feels awful.” 

“But winning F2. Bet that doesn’t feel so bad.”

They both stare at the trophy, sitting sideways on a nearby sofa. Thankfully Oscar had the wits to deposit the silverware in his room before he went out to the party last night.

Oscar also thinks at some point that Logan’s arm ended up around his waist last night. Like really tight for some reason, but he can’t really remember. 

The trophy winks at them in the morning sunlight, as if in on a joke. 

Logan points at the trophy. “You should totally name it.”

“No.”

“Yeah you should.”

“My head hurts. What will it take to shut you up right now?”

Logan’s chest rumbles as he laughs. He’s spry, still, but Oscar knows from their training together that he’s getting stronger every month. There might be a day soon where Logan’s going to stand taller than him. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that. 

“McBreakfast, maybe.” Logan nods to himself as if he's just invented a great new concept. “A McMuffin with double hash browns. Yeah.”

“You’re so predictable.”

“I feel like you like that about me.”

“Humility is a good look, Sargeant. You should try it sometime.”

Logan barks a laugh, and stands up. He reaches an arm out to help Oscar up. Oscar still feels like someone’s dropped a ton of bricks on his head, but at least there’s someone here to help. Or commiserate. Whatever. Maybe they’re the same thing, sometimes.

“What is it that adults are supposed to do?” Logan says, adjusting his shirt. 

“Get a coffee,” he adds, in a deeper baritone.

“Disgusting stuff. Don't get why people like drinking it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You drink stuff like my kid cousin.”

“Don’t chocolate-shame me.”

“I would never. You loser.”

“Who’re you calling loser?!” Oscar exclaims. He darts at Logan, and ends up pulling the other driver in a headlock. Logan’s hair is warm and a bit sweaty under Oscar’s hands. Also Logan screeches like an eagle the whole time. They’re probably going to get a noise complaint, but whatever. Oscar will take his F2 Championship privileges, if only to bully his friend. 

"Take that back!" Oscar says.

“Nah!”

“Right now!”

"Fuck's sake, man! Okay, okay."

Oscar releases the other guy, and Logan stands up again. His cheeks are very red. 

"Like I said. Feral. And I'm from Florida."

Oscar rolls his eyes as they both go get ready. He has to suppress a grin as they brush their teeth side by side.

Later, he and Logan end up going to a nearby McDonalds. Logan ends up getting his shitty coffee. They order McMuffins and three hash browns to share, and Oscar spends a full minute lecturing Logan about the health benefits of Milo. 

Logan doesn’t look like he believes a word of what Oscar's saying. Yet he listens the whole time, and laughs in all the right places anyway. 

And tomorrow, Oscar has meetings with F1 teams. Proper ones, to talk about his future, where he might actually have a chance to race. Mark's the one arranging them, and Oscar's supposed to be the star player now.

It's your time, Mark had told him, eyes sharp but patient. 

But today: Oscar still has a day left in F2. And he’s going to spend it, cosy in a booth at an unremarkable McDonalds, getting brain freeze from a milkshake, shooting the shit. Laughing until he snorts.

With one of the few people in his small circle who knows what it's like to be young, hungry, and maybe a little bit stupid.

[feral-teeth]

[mechanicalriddle]

👔 for grim!

Well this ask came in Last YEAR but it stuck in the back of my mind, its from this ask meme:

wanted to give this the treatment it deserved... Grim in a goth wedding dress ^^

[mcworm]

Here's four of those atrocious color palette requests!

[decaflondonfog]

day 1/30 of 30 microfics in 30 days

all your coupled up friends who left parties early or said they couldn’t come to your get together said it so they could stay home and fuck at midnight (don’t ask me how i know kjhkjlk)

ANDREIL • NYE for @/lady__flash on twt

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

Trans girl Kazuichi x trans boy Gundham

and then Gundham had to get Kazuichi to pull over (I mean they weren't driving that fast and it was the middle of nowhere but you get the idea).

the car is a Datsun 510.

[bitter-hibiscus]

I'm thinking about Calliope Todd again. I need to draw more of her soon before I go insane

[willowcrowned]

Hi. Me again. I'm asking for more star wars cause I cant figure out what other fandoms your in.

If your ok with poly what about boba, fennec, and leia for number 5?

my ao3 is a good way to see what fandoms I’m for sure comfortable writing for, but anything I’ve blogged about goes

[prompt list]

5. one night stand and falling pregnant au

She kind of gets what Luke means, now, about Tatooine being impossible to escape from. Every time she thinks she's gotten away, it drags her back.

It should have been a one night stand. It was a one night stand—one last hurrah in the blood and sweat of the desert, spice cartels burnt and scattered across, Han on the other side of the galaxy shacking up with some old "buddy" of his. It had been dark and just this side of too cold, and she'd had her mouth halfway down Shand's dick when Fett had walked in and given her that look, black and hot, and it had been all over from there.

And now she's halfway through tearing the senate apart—you can't clean without making a mess first—and the stupid plastic stick is telling her she's two months along, and Han is outside making nice with some idiot diplomat like she asked him, probably saying something about the ring on her finger and how they're settling down, how they're stable, here for good.

The tile is cool against her feet, her mouth pressed into a bitter line as she not-so-idly wonders what exactly happens to senators pregnant with the baby of an outer-rim warlord. Or, she amends, the baby of his right hand.

Outside, Han laughs charmingly, and she bites her tongue until she can't feel it anymore. Then she wraps the test in toilet paper so thick no one will be able to tell what it is, tosses it in the trash shoot, and stands up.

When she looks in the mirror, her hair is perfect. She pastes on a smile and walks back out.

[x-atlas-x]

"Just five more minutes" with the Puzzle Boys (you know i'm predictable)

Thank you so much for the prompt, my friend!! :D Hope you enjoy this fun (no-) and cute (not at all-) little snippet! ^^

Being engulfed in Atem's embrace was one of the most comforting experiences for Yugi. He loved the feeling of his arms wrapped around him and how tight and secure he felt against his chest.

He nuzzled his neck and sighed softly. His heart skipped a beat when Atem squeezed him, his hand stroking his back through the fabric of his pajamas.

"You have to wake up," Atem mumbled into his hair, but his actions contradicted his words as he seemed to pull him closer.

"I don't want to," Yugi whined and hid his face in Atem's chest, ignoring the impending light disturbing the darkness around them. "It's so warm and cozy here with you..."

"I know, but you can't stay here forever," Atem chuckled and leaned back, guiding Yugi to lift his head. Their gazes met and Yugi could've sworn he was melting into the mattress from how sweetly Atem was looking at him. He stroked his cheek and smiled, "You have to get up. Work is calling your name."

It was only then that he registered the beeping radiating from his phone's alarm. He sighed and reached blindly for the nightstand, smacking it a couple times before realizing how much further away it sounded.

"It's not here," Atem gently reminded him.

"Oh... Did I leave it in the living room?" Yugi squinted at the bedroom door, then waved it off, collapsing back on Atem. "It's fine."

"No," Atem kissed his forehead and lightly pushed him away. "You have to get up."

"Five more minutes?" Yugi pleaded, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"You'll be late if you stay for that long," Atem whispered. "I'm sorry, but you know you have to go."

Yugi inhaled deeply, then captured Atem's lips in a slow, but passionate kiss. Once they parted, his heart ached and he stared at him longingly.

"Go," Atem insisted.

"Okay... Okay, I'm going..."

Yugi closed his eyes and relished Atem's company for one final moment.

When they opened, he was greeted with a cold bed and the dreary interior of his bedroom. He glared at the light peeking in through his blinds and then at his buzzing phone on the nightstand.

Resisting the urge to chuck it across the room, he picked it up and calmly turned off the alarm. He set it down beside him somewhere and nestled his head back into the pillow he'd been cuddling.

All I wanted was five more minutes with you, he thought, rapidly blinking away tears that were pricking at his eyes and blurring his vision. He sniffled and wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt.

He mustered the courage to drag himself out of bed and get dressed for his shift at work. His body was heavy as he put on his clothes, smoothing the wrinkles out of everything.

Why is five minutes too much to ask for?

He choked on a sob.

Why are you too much to ask for?

(Prompts)

[yersina]

If you have the time, there’s this no powers soulmate AU idea that I have. In a regular world, where everyone has a red string around their finger, that connects to their soulmate at first contact, Han Yoojin has a pink string. Anyway, I think it’d be funny if regular construction worker hyj got stuck together to CEO/stupidly rich Sung Hyunjae by the hot pink string forcing them to be around each other, and all the fights and funny things that happen because of it. Neither of them can catch a break, and I think it’d be hilarious.

(I headcanon Han Yoohyun as aromantic, so in this AU he doesn’t have a string, but idk how relevant it it would be if you decided to write it)

Yoojin doesn’t actually figure out what the strings mean until he’s out of high school, because for a long time there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to them. His own dark blue string connects him to Yoohyun, but not all of the siblings in his classes have the same string. Sometimes, he sees a golden thread connecting a classmate with their parents, but neither he nor Yoohyun have any tying them to their own. He sees red strings most commonly, which sometimes connect parents or married couples, but sometimes the strings lead away from the person’s spouse. Not a single person who boasts that they’re dating in his class has a red string that connects them to their significant other of the week.

Yoojin hasn’t seen anyone with a bright pink string like his, either.

Despite the ambiguity, though, he does work out a few rules:

Strings that float off into nothingness and disappear a foot or two away from someone’s body means that they haven’t met the person on the other side yet. The entirety of Yoohyun’s string stays visible no matter how far away Yoohyun goes, but even when his end of the pink string bobs and moves, it never seems to point anywhere specific.

The whole string materializes when the people on the two ends touch. It doesn’t have to be skin-to-skin contact—as far as Yoojin can tell, it’s more about the symbolism of the meeting than the actual touch.

The color of the string is related to the relationship. Yoojin hasn’t worked out all of the colors yet, but he knows the blue string connecting him and Yoohyun has to be for siblings. Gold seems to be parental and red is romantic, but there are other, rarer colors that Yoojin still has yet to puzzle through.

For a while, Yoojin worries about Yoohyun’s lack of strings. Yoojin is already at the low end with only two, and Yoohyun has even less than him. But Yoohyun never seems to be worried about it, even when Yoojin tells him about the strings, and Yoojin gradually stops asking. Maybe Yoohyun is happiest with his one string, and whatever being is tying the strings between people got it right for him.

He does wonder, sometimes, what the pink string means for him. He doesn’t trust the red strings, not really, not when one tied his parents together and didn’t leave room for a single golden thread between them and him or Yoohyun. But the pink… Maybe it’s something better.

-

Yoojin boards the bus that’ll take him home, squeezing in between the people already on board until he finds a space around the middle of the bus, standing next to a row of seats.

He’s prepared to spend the ride staring out of the window like he usually does, watching the blur of buildings and trees pass by outside, but this time, when he lifts his head, his eyes catch on the strings tied to his pinky finger. More importantly, his eyes trace the pink one, which no longer drifts off into space like it used to.

Instead, it’s attached to the man in front of him.

What.

Yoojin stares in disbelief at the businessman sitting in the seat in front of him, pale hair slicked back perfectly and dressed in a neat and obviously expensive suit, even to Yoojin’s inexperienced eye. A leather briefcase is propped up in his lap and Yoojin is pretty sure that the watch he spies on the man’s wrist costs more than Yoojin’s monthly rent.

Their shoes are touching.

Yoojin has never seen a person that he is more convinced doesn’t belong in his life. How is Yoojin connected to this man? The whole idea seems absurd.

For the first time, Yoojin doubts the accuracy of the strings.

“Can I help you?” Yoojin winces. Apparently his staring has caught the attention of the man.

“I—” His breath catches in his throat as he abruptly becomes overwhelmingly aware that this is his chance to get to know the person on the other end of his string. This person, who wears uncomfortably expensive clothes, looks proper and put together in a way that Yoojin will never be able to manage, and looks like he hasn’t done a second of menial tasks in his life. “No, sorry. Excuse me.”

He dips his head hastily in apology and spends the rest of the bus ride staring out of one of the windows to his right, refusing to take a single glance at the man. He thinks he might feel a gaze on his face during the ride, but the man never speaks up, and Yoojin steps off the bus at his stop, convinced that he’ll never see the man ever again.

-

“No, you don’t understand, he was wearing a suit,” Yoojin emphasizes. “Can you imagine me with someone wearing a suit?”

“Hyung.” Yoohyun’s exasperation is loud even over the phone. “I wear suits.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.” Yoojin tests the ripeness of a tomato carefully. Hm. He sets that one down and picks another one up. “I look at you and all I see is the kid who used to pick his nose and wipe it on my shirt.”

“Hyung!”

“It’s true! My clothes went through the wash at least twice as often as yours did because of it.” Yoojin puts the third tomato in his basket and moves on to the green onions.

“Hyung, that’s not true.”

“You can’t tell me it’s not true because you never did the laundry.” Yoojin manages to browse through the selection of green onions and make his pick without a single word from Yoohyun. “See, you know I’m right so you’re not saying anything.”

“No, I’m speechless from how wrong you are.”

“You just won’t admit it—” Yoojin’s attention snags on the way his pink string suddenly jumps in the air, pulling taut just in time for the businessman to walk through the sliding doors of the grocery store.

“Hyung?”

Yoojin turns his back to the door, heart pounding. “He’s here,” he hisses.

“Who’s there?”

“The guy!”

“What guy?”

Yoojin groans. “I’ll call you back.”

Yoohyun hums a note of confused agreement. “Talk to you later, hyung.”

Yoojin ends the call right as the businessman joins him near the produce. The businessman is still dressed too formally—he isn’t wearing a suit jacket anymore, but Yoojin doesn’t know anyone who would wear a dress shirt and slacks to poke through the green peppers available at the nearest grocery store.

Whether it’s out of innocent or morbid curiosity, Yoojin stays rooted in his spot, watching the man pick up a cucumber and turn it in the fluorescent lighting like it’s a scientific specimen. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” he can’t help but say when it looks like the man is about to put a bruised zucchini into his basket.

The man turns to him, eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

Yoojin, cursing himself all the while, reaches over and points at a scratch in the skin of the zucchini. “It’ll go bad more quickly if you choose one with scratches. Also, it’s better if you pick one with shinier skin.” Yoojin inspects the available zucchini quickly and picks one that he’d buy for himself. “See, this one is better.” He presents the zucchini to the man.

The businessman slowly puts the one in his hand back on the shelf and reaches out to take Yoojin’s. “Thank you,” he says. Yoojin feels the brush of the man’s fingers against his palm down to his bones.

“If you want to buy good cucumbers, you should choose the ones that are more firm,” he adds, not sure what else to say. He subtly shakes his hand out by his side, trying to rid himself of the lingering sensation of fingertips on his skin.

Thankfully, the smile growing on the man’s face pulls his attention away from his hand. It’s the kind of smile that people use when they’re trying to hide amusement, and Yoojin’s hackles automatically rise at the thought. “This fellow customer has been so helpful,” he says amicably, tucking the zucchini that Yoojin handed him into his basket. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help me with the rest of my groceries as well?”

Yoojin makes a face. “I have my own things to shop for.”

“Then we can accompany each other.”

“There’s no need—”

“Where do you suppose the aisle with noodles is?”

His pink string is, Yoojin finds, a complete asshole.

Unfortunately, Yoojin can’t figure out a proper excuse before the man begins herding him in the direction of the opposite side of the store, so he resigns himself to his fate. “You’re going in the wrong direction,” he says once they pass the noodle aisle.

The man hums with interest. “Am I?”

Yoojin revises his assessment. His pink string is actually insane.

The man ends up dragging him down the sauce aisle. Yoojin leaves him to stare blankly at the array of soy sauce while he grabs another container of gochujang and a bottle of rice syrup. Yoojin watches him stare at the shelves of bottles for a very amusing twenty seconds before reaching out and snagging the brand that he uses at home. “Here,” he says, pressing the bottle into the man’s hands. This time, it leaves less sparks. “Have you never cooked before?”

“Knowing how to cook and shopping for ingredients seem to be two different skills.”

Yoojin snorts before he can stop himself. “This ahjussi is good at talking around the topic. Whatever he means, he should say.”

The raised eyebrow is back. “And this customer isn’t very polite to his fellow customers.”

“The other customer was impolite first, so it seems both are at fault.”

The man rolls his shoulders in an aborted shrug, like it’s true but he can’t be bothered to acknowledge it. “What is this impolite customer’s name?” The interest in his expression feels genuine.

“If that’s what you want to know, then you should give your own.”

“I’m Sung Hyunjae,” the man says easily, though the way he looks expectantly at Yoojin afterwards makes Yoojin think that he should recognize the name.

“I’m Han Yoojin,” he says, despite the very Yoohyun-like voice inside him that says he shouldn’t give his name to strangers that he’s known for all of two minutes.

“Would Han Yoojin-ssi like to help me choose a bag of somyeon to buy as well?”

And Yoojin should say ‘no’ and continue with his own grocery shopping, but he feels the incorporeal weight of the string around his finger and finds himself saying, “Will Sung Hyunjae-ssi be able to choose without my assistance?” instead.

Sung Hyunjae smiles.

When they go to check out, Yoojin finds out that Sung Hyunjae already paid for his groceries when he goes to hand over his card. “That was unnecessary,” he protests once he’s caught up to Sung Hyunjae at the entrance.

Sung Hyunjae hardly even blinks. “What if I wanted to pay for Han Yoojin-ssi?”

“It’s still unnecessary.”

“Then see it as someone paying for their junior.”

Yoojin pauses. “Should I call you hyung, then?” he says, trying not to laugh. It feels unwieldy and informal in his mouth, and even without asking, he knows that Sung Hyunjae would agree.

“Let’s get closer first,” he says, as expected.

Yoojin chooses not to linger over the choice of words—when are they ever going to meet again?—and instead nods politely to Sung Hyunjae. “Thank you for your assistance today,” he says, even though he was the one to help Sung Hyunjae choose his items and having him pay for Yoojin’s groceries felt more like a favor to the other man than himself.

“It was my pleasure.”

Yoojin leaves Sung Hyunjae at his car and heads towards the bus stop, doing his best to convince himself not to look back as he walks away.

(He gives in eventually while he waits at the bus stop, watching the pink string bob and shift as Sung Hyunjae drives back to wherever he must live. It’s much more active than it ever had been before, and unfortunately just as attention-grabbing and annoying as the person it’s connected to.

Maybe that’s what the pink color stands for, Yoojin thinks wryly as he boards the bus. Annoyance.)

-

Yoojin really, really expects to never see Sung Hyunjae again. Seoul is a big city, and it looks like they run in completely different circles. Why would he ever meet the man again?

Unfortunately, Sung Hyungjae does not seem to have gotten this memo.

“Ah, Yoojin-gun,” Sung Hyunjae greets when he steps up to the counter. He’s wearing his full business suit again, and Yoojin has a brief flash of worry that his workplace is near this coffee shop. Will he have to see Sung Hyunjae all the time from now on?

Yoojin shoves this impending spiral to the side in favor of giving Sung Hyunjae a dry look. “If Sung Hyunjae-ssi will call me Yoojin-gun, then I will continue to call him ahjussi.”

Sung Hyunjae, the bastard, just smiles. “Would you prefer Yoojin-ah?”

Yoojin can’t help the shudder that runs down his spine, face twisting like he just took a bite of a lemon. Coupled with that expression… “Yoojin-gun is fine,” he says reluctantly. “What does ahjussi want to drink?”

Sung Hyunjae just orders a black coffee, which seems terribly in-character for him. “Does Sung Hyunjae-ssi not have a coffee maker to make coffee for himself at home?” Yoojin asks, handing Sung Hyunjae’s card back to him and beginning the incredibly arduous task of filling a travel cup with coffee that has already been brewed.

Sung Hyunjae follows him around the counter. “Either way, I’m here to see Yoojin-gun, of course.”

Yoojin frowns. Sung Hyunjae would’ve had no idea that Yoojin works here, if this is his first time visiting the coffee shop. Has Yoojin just not seen him?

He fits a lid over the cup and hands it over to Sung Hyunjae. “Have you been here before?” he asks curiously. It’s possible that he came in during a rush hour and Yoojin just didn’t have time to register who he was, though that seems unlikely.

Sung Hyunjae smiles and takes the coffee. “No. Thank you for the coffee, Yoojin-gun. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae’s retreating back. Surely he’s just imagining how foreboding that sounded.

-

“No.” Yoojin stops in his tracks and gapes.

Sung Hyungjae waves. “Hello, Yoojin-gun.”

“You—” Yoojin looks around wildly, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but it’s still just the walking path next to the Han River that he was strolling along before, and still just Sung Hyunjae sitting on a bench to the side of that path. “Are you stalking me?”

“Why would I stalk Yoojin-gun?”

“That’s the question I should ask my stalker.”

“I’ll wait here until you’ve contacted them.”

“Then I’ll ask again: why are you here, Sung Hyunjae-ssi?”

Sung Hyunjae just smiles. Yoojin wonders how he always manages to make the expression so that it perfectly gets on Yoojin’s nerves. “I’m just here to enjoy a walk along the river.” It’s a completely reasonable explanation, but somehow Yoojin doesn’t believe him. “It would be more enjoyable if I could join Yoojin-gun.”

Yoojin doesn’t even pause to think about it. “No.” He spins on his heel and heads back the way he came, never mind the fact that he really did come out here to take a walk.

Walks can happen any time. Avoiding Sung Hyunjae takes priority.

-

A week later, Yoojin spots Sung Hyunjae standing outside of a high-rise building, looking down at his phone.

Yoojin crosses to the other side of the road.

-

“No,” he whispers to himself, looking in through the window of the coffee shop he was prepared to step into, and resigns himself to going without caffeine for the morning.

-

“I cannot believe you.” Yoojin frowns at Sung Hyunjae.

They’re back on a bus.

He resolutely does not make conversation for the entire, twenty minute commute to the stop that he gets off at. He also resolutely does not look at Sung Hyunjae, who, based on what Yoojin can see out of the corner of his eye, spends that time smiling at Yoojin.

He does see a young woman sneaking peeks at the handsome businessman sitting a few seats down from her and wishes that he could live in her blissful ignorance.

-

“So you’ve never spoken?” Yoohyun frowns and puts a hand out for the bowl of cut potatoes that Yoojin passes to him for the pot of doenjang jjigae simmering on the stove.

“We spoke once,” Yoojin corrects. “Twice, if you count the coffee shop. Wait, three…?” But do any of those meetings really count as talking to Sung Hyunjae?

“And you know for certain that he’s the one who’s connected to you?”

Yoojin shakes his hand at Yoohyun even though he can’t see the string dangling from his pinky. “It’s hard to miss.” It’s actually rather eye-catching when Yoojin is standing next to Sung Hyunjae, since it contrasts so sharply with the man’s entire look.

Yoohyun shoves Yoojin’s hand out of his face with an exasperated look. “Fine, fine. I just thought I’d ask. Can you get the eggs from the fridge while I cut the mushrooms?”

Yoojin does as he asks, grabbing the container of gyeran jangjorim and bringing it over to the table where they’ll be eating. “Like I said, I see him around everywhere, but I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t know.”

“You don’t know anything about him, then?”

“He’s probably rich,” Yoojin says, wrinkling his nose. “He said that his name is Sung Hyunjae. He drinks his coffee black.”

Yoohyun stops in the middle of putting mushrooms in the pan to turn around and stare at him. “Sung Hyunjae?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yoojin impatiently gestures for him to turn back to the stove. “Yah, Yoohyun-ah, if you have something to say, just say it.”

Yoohyun slowly turns back around and gives the mushrooms a few half-hearted swipes. “Hyung, if you’re right, the Sung Hyunjae that I’m thinking of might be one of the richest men in Korea. Top one hundred, at least.”

That can’t be right. “He rides the bus,” Yoojin points out reasonably.

Yoohyun gives him a look. “Rich people can’t ride the bus?”

“Why would they?” Sung Hyunjae does seem like the type to have a chauffeur drive him around everywhere. It fits his arrogant, handsome chaebol look.

“Hyung, can you…?” Yoohyun gestures vaguely to the pan before raising his phone. “I’ll see if I can pull up a picture of him.”

Yoojin sets his hands on his hips in indignation. “You’re asking your brother, the person who raised you, so rudely?”

“That only worked on me the first two times you did it,” Yoohyun says, raising an eyebrow. “Eventually you have to run out of ways to guilt me into doing things for you.” Yoojin keeps staring. Yoohyun sighs. “Hyung, could you please make sure the mushrooms don’t burn while I look up this person to help you?”

“Sure, Yoohyun-ah.”

Yoohyun snorts and steps to the side so Yoojin can take over at the stove. “Whoa, he has a lot of overseas investments, apparently,” he hears Yoohyun mutter after a few moments. “Mostly in technology—oh, here we go.” He tilts the phone in Yoojin’s direction. “Is this him?”

Yoojin’s not sure what he was expecting when he looks over at Yoohyun’s phone, but it’s still not a professional picture of the same man who may or may not have been stalking him for the past month. “Huh. Yes, that’s him.” He returns to cooking the beoseot bokkeum, but for some reason, the only thought that runs through his head at that moment is that the Sung Hyunjae he saw once in the grocery store, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and looking confusedly at the shelves of soy sauce, looks much better than the one that smirks at him through the screen of Yoohyun’s phone.

Yoohyun elbows him out of the way of the stove so he can begin adding seasonings to the pan. “You said that you’ve never seen a thread in the color that you’re connected with before?”

“Pretty much.” He has seen the pink before once or twice, but it’s hard to tell what it might mean when it connects two strangers. He catches Yoohyun’s concerned look and shoves him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it so much, Yoohyun-ah. Let’s focus on dinner, okay?”

If his current track record with Sung Hyunjae is any indication, he’ll be forced to figure it out soon anyway.

-

When Yoojin next spots Sung Hyunjae at a crosswalk intersection, the most he can muster is a deep sigh of resignation. “I’ve seen Sung Hyunjae-ssi more often than my own brother recently,” Yoojin says, waving to him in greeting. It’s somehow reassuring to see Sung Hyunjae look equally startled to see him this time, rather than infuriatingly smug. Of course, his version of startled is a delicate raise of both eyebrows rather than just one, but Yoojin takes it as a victory.

“Yoojin-gun,” he greets. Unfortunately, Yoojin has no other option than to join him at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Yoojin-gun does seem like an older brother type.”

Yoojin eyes the man next to him and tries to imagine him with any siblings. Not any younger siblings, surely, but perhaps one that’s older? Though the thought of Sung Hyunjae calling anyone hyung or noona… “Sung Hyunjae-ssi is an only child,” he declares.

“Yoojin-gun seems very confident about this.”

Yoojin is, strangely. “Yes.”

“Hm,” Sung Hyunjae hums. “I have a sister who’s older by thirteen years.”

“Do you?”

“Certainly.”

Yoojin narrows his eyes at Sung Hyunjae’s guileless expression. “Sung Hyunjae-ssi doesn’t have any siblings,” he decides.

The light changes. “My sister will be so disappointed to hear this when I tell her,” Sung Hyunjae says mildly as they cross the street.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi shouldn’t lie to strangers.”

“Yoojin-gun is so cold for calling me a stranger when he said himself that he sees me more often than his brother.”

“Don’t make up strange meanings to my words, ahjussi. I can always just look up the real answer on Naver.” Once they reach the other side of the crosswalk, Yoojin takes two steps before he realizes that no one is following him. “Oh, are you headed somewhere else, then?”

Sung Hyunjae’s pause lasts for another second before a corner of his lips lifts. “The best place for me to be is by Yoojin-gun’s side.” It’s a statement, but there’s a question buried beneath it as well.

Yoojin throws his hands up in surrender. Perhaps if he and Sung Hyunjae get sick of each other, the universe will grow tired of pushing them together. “Fine. Fine! If you do anything suspicious, I will call the police,” he threatens. “I’m going to go eat dinner at that restaurant over there. Come on.”

The dinner, surprisingly, goes no worse than any of their other interactions. Sung Hyunjae, in his collared shirt and slacks, should look out of place amongst the worn tables and chairs of the family restaurant that Yoojin and Yoohyun have been going to since they were children, but instead he looks… comfortable. Softer.

Yoojin glances down at his string once during the dinner, throat crawling with some thick, unnamed emotion. It’s still there, swaying gently in the air between them.

Maybe he can give Sung Hyunjae a chance. Maybe there’s something more to their chance meetings, a reason why the string connects them.

When he looks up again, there’s a there’s a split second where he’s convinced that Sung Hyunjae’s eyes are unerringly trained on the base of Yoojin’s pinky where the string is tied, but between one blink and the next, he has his infuriating smile plastered back in his face and Yoojin uneasily brushes it off as his own mistake or a trick of the light.

Strange.

“Ahjussi,” he says once they’ve finished their food. “You’ll be paying, right?”

“I should get something in return for paying for Yoojin-gun so often, shouldn’t I?” Despite his words, though, Sung Hyunjae puts down his card without waiting for a promise.

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi seems like he has the money to spare.”

“Is Yoojin-gun so confident that he’s what I prefer to spend my money on?”

“I trust that Sung Hyunjae-ssi is polite enough to pay for the person in need in front of him instead of waiting to purchase another unnecessary accessory.”

“Yoojin-gun should be my next accessory, then.”

Yoojin makes a face. “What nonsense is this ahjussi saying?” Is he just an item to this rich person? Thankfully, one of the restaurant employees interrupts to return Sung Hyunjae’s card and that line of conversation is dropped.

Yoojin takes a deep breath once they step out of the restaurant, feeling like there might be something different, something changed in the air. The sun is just starting to set on the horizon, and the rays of golden light reflecting off of metal and glass are equal parts warming and blinding.

“I’ll see Yoojin-gun again, hm?” Sung Hyunjae hums, turned away from the direction that Yoojin will be going. He still doesn’t know anything about Sung Hyunjae, much less have his contact information, but he believes it. He’ll have time to unravel all of this man’s mysteries in the future.

They’ll meet again.

“See you, Hyunjae-ssi.”

[onbeinganangel]

content: draco/harry, second person pov, domestic fluff, established relationship

for @nv-md who's a darling and asked for The Empress, from my Tarot Card Drabbles series

[for easier reading:

You always know where to find him on a bad day. You don’t run anymore, impending danger is past behind you, the fear that he’ll leave is long gone. You step out the back door of the cottage, the perfume of the sweet peas tickling your nose, and you walk down the path, through the trees.

You spot him, as expected: trousers rolled up to mid-shin, eyes closed, feet plunged in the freezing water. You sit next to him. A small smile appears on his face.

“Bad day at work?”

His head lolls onto your shoulder. He hums.

“Better now.”]