#thank you for tagging me T.T

[leopardmuffinxo]

♡ OCs + love languages ♡ I was tagged by @lightwardens​ to take this quiz for some of my OCs & share the results! thank you, ophelia! ♡ tagging: @arklay, @stoupax, @catnip-tequila, @baldurians, @onewingedangels, @rivensbane, @dedevilish, @deggza, @pink-ri, @sunflowerwizard, @morvaris and anyone else who wants to take part! banner images made in this picrew.

Raven Ianthe [Baldur’s Gate 3]    a knife called grief  //  you have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? you can run but not without them. you want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything. you want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. you want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyway. because you know you’d do that for them.

Talon Ormr [Baldur’s Gate 3]    consumption of a heart unloved  //  here’s a dining table, here’s a set of plates. here’s your heart, red and bursting with love. you have tried to love people all your life, but no one seems to understand you. your own mother perhaps forgot to teach you how to protect yourself, maybe people whom you trusted chose to look the other way when all you wanted was a hand full of love. all you want is someone to take from you, all you want is someone to dig in your heart and eat it and kiss you afterwards - bloody and red. you want them to tell you that you are what they have been looking for, you want to be the one who ends their hunger.

Synn Wolfe [Skyrim]

   a story that ends in blood  //  the world has always been unkind, and when you have turned to yourself for comfort you have come face to face with an empty pit which seems to be laughing. you don’t care if it kills you but once you find someone whom you love and who loves you back, you will make sure nothing happens to them. they are yours. you will make a tear in this world and create a new place for you and your love if it comes to that. because it has always been about love, and it is how it always ends.

Iris Calliope [Baldur’s Gate 3] 

   an undoing influence  //  can someone tell you what to do? you have been carrying so much love within you for so long it is starting to turn into anger (why does it matter, all you see is red anyways) and you have been dragging this body through each day and every night you are split open on your bed and it is so so so lonely. if someone were to walk in while you were on your bed that way and they stitched you back in a new way, lining the seams with their love and kisses, you’d probably find this dreary world a little more bearable. you want someone to turn you over and over until you look in the mirror and see yourself looking back at yourself with a gentleness which has been lacking in you since forever.

[suddencolds]

Small Price to Pay | [1/1]

you know all those posts about making out with someone with a cold and the associated consequences? This is that in fic form, ~8.8k words. I'm embarrassing myself typing this, so here it is.

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves - you can read more of these two here! :)

Summary:

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest. Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

Yves has a birthday party to attend and a fake relationship to prove. Vincent is nothing if not adaptable. (ft. fake dating, an argument, contagion)

—

Here’s the problem:

Francesca throws a party.

It’s a birthday party, strictly speaking, but functionally it’s more of a college reunion—Francesca invites everyone from their year who rowed crew, which means that one: Yves will be surrounded by some of his best friends from college, and two: Erika will be there.

He thinks up an entire contingency plan—if Vincent can’t make it that weekend, for one reason or another, Yves will show up, hand Francesca his gift, spend the rest of the hour avoiding Erika and Brendon, and leave early, citing some excuse or other. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle talking to Erika—it’s just seeing her feels like reopening a wound. A part of him is scared that he’ll see her, and feel the loss intensely all over again—or, worse, he’ll get ideas about forgiving her, about letting her into his life again, about accepting her explanations.

And Brendon, too—seeing Erika means seeing Brendon, most likely, and Yves doesn’t want to justify himself to him any more than he already has. 

The point is: the less of the both of them that he has to deal with, the better.

When he asks Vincent a week before the event, though, Vincent’s response is immediate.

V: You can fill me in on the details later. I’ll be there.

It’s a little strange, he thinks, that Vincent always agrees so readily. Vincent isn’t a fan of parties—he’d been clear about that. He doesn’t seem interested in talking much about himself, either—he’s just the kind of person, Yves is realizing, who likes to keep his personal details close unless they offer some sort of utility.

Perhaps there’s something else that Vincent is getting out of this, then.

But when Yves asks, he’s met with the same cryptic answer:

“I don’t mind it,” Vincent says. “And you have something you want to prove to your ex. Ultimately, it’s a net positive.”

“While that’s technically true,” Yves says, “this seems like an unfair arrangement. I mean, you’re only doing this because I dragged you into it.”

“If I didn’t want to be dragged into it,” Vincent says, “I would say so.” as if it’s really that simple.

It can’t be that simple, Yves thinks—there must be more to his reasoning that he’s omitting—but he doesn’t press. Vincent is right. Vincent is the kind of person who knows precisely what he wants. If he really had a problem with this arrangement, he would’ve said so.

And, besides—a little selfishly, perhaps—Yves has started looking forward to their outings as of late.

—

Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about the party again until the Friday before it, when Vincent shows up at his desk.

“Do you have a moment?” he says.

“Yes,” Yves says, saving the spreadsheet he’s been working on and shutting his laptop. “What’s up?”

When he looks up, Vincent looks a little tired, though that’s not unusual—it’s been a long week, and busy season always means long hours and little sleep. 

“We can talk later if you’re busy,” Vincent says.

“I’m very free,” Yves says. He’s decisively not—and he’s sure that Vincent knows this, too, so whatever Vincent is approaching him with now must be important. 

“Regarding Francesca’s party tomorrow,” Vincent starts. He looks a little sheepish—as if he doesn’t quite want to be the deliverer of bad news. “I can still go. But I’m…”

“If something came up,” Yves says immediately, “you don’t have to come.” “It’s not that,” Vincent says.

“Or even if nothing’s come up,” Yves backtracks, “and you’re just not feeling it anymore? Also totally fine. Seriously. I can always just go by myself.”

Vincent seems to consider this. Yves is starting to get worried that something might actually be very wrong—something that Vincent is hesitant to even bring up—when Vincent takes a generous step backwards, raising his elbow to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hhih’nGKTsHuhh-!”

The sneeze sounds harsh, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve; it tears through him with little warning, loud enough to echo slightly in the confines of the office space.

That’s when it all clicks into place: the tiredness. The slight off-ness to his complexion, the tension to the way he’s holding himself, the fact that Yves hasn’t caught him in the break room at all over the past couple days. The fact that he’s currently standing so far away from Yves’s desk.

“You’re ill,” Yves says, comprehending.

“Yes,” Vincent says. His voice sounds a little off, too, now that Yves knows what to look for; it has that quality it often takes on after a long day of discussions with clients—not quite hoarse, but getting there. “I’m positive it’s just a cold. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry about it at all, seriously,” Yves says. He feels guilty, suddenly—here he is, asking Vincent to spend his already-limited free time at a party, when Vincent probably has a high volume of important clients—and a burgeoning head cold—to deal with. “If you want to take a rain check, you should. I’m sure this week has already been rough for you as it is.”

“When is the next time you’ll be going to an event where Erika’s going to be there?”

That question makes him pause. “I don’t know. In another month, or so, if I had to guess?”

“So this event is important,” Vincent says, sniffling. It’s the kind of light, liquid sniffle that implies that whatever he’s caught, he’s just at the start of it. “In that case, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Yves says. “That’s not what I—your health is more important than any event. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I feel fine,” Vincent says. “No headache, no fever. It’s just a slight cold. I will be fine tomorrow if I make it a point to sleep early.” he sniffles again, his expression growing hazy for a brief moment before he blinks, rubbing his nose on one knuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine with it.”

“I am completely fine with it,” Yves says, reaching for the box of tissues that’s perched on his desk. He holds it out. “I just feel bad about making you go if you’re sick.”

Vincent takes a handful of tissues out of the box, brings them up to cover his nose, just in time for—

“hh- hH’nGKT-! snf-! hH-Hhih… hh’hiHhh’iiZSCHHh-uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis, pushing the entire tissue box towards him. “Times two. Seriously. I think you could use the weekend off—you know, to catch up on sleep.”

“Assuming that things haven’t changed from the event details you forwarded me, the party will be in the evening,” Vincent says, taking the tissue box from him, a little hesitantly, and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in.”

Yves opens his mouth to protest.

Vincent says, “I’m fine. I’ll call a rain check if I wake up with a fever.” He turns on his heels. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow.” 

—

Vincent, as Yves is coming to realize, is very good at appearing presentable, even when he’s under the weather.

“You made it,” he says. This time, they’d driven here separately. Yves had thought, initially, that it’d be easier to just drive Vincent places, so that the only thing he’d had to account for was his actual presence—but Francesca lives between them. I don’t mind driving, Vincent had said. You’d be going out of your way to pick me up, but he’d coordinated a spot a couple blocks down to meet up, so that it would look like they’d come together.

It’s cold outside still—it’s the sort of indecisive weather that seems to periodically hint at spring: a cold front, then a few warm days when all the ice thaws, a few flowers lining the grass along the road where the snow’s melted, and then another snowstorm. It’s easy enough, then, to chalk up the slight redness of his cheeks, the redness at the tip of his nose, as another effect of the not-quite-spring weather.

Yves is carrying his present for Francesca under one arm—a hardcover book—a sequel to one she’d read last year and gushed to him about liking; a couple fridge magnets, which she likes to collect; film for the polaroid camera her sister got her last year; and a letter, all wrapped up in a brown paper parcel. 

It’s nice to have an excuse to see everyone again, especially some of the members from crew whom he’s not close enough to invite to parties personally, that he knows Francesca was closer to. 

“It was a pain to find parking,” Vincent says. He’s wearing a red scarf today, and a white overcoat with black buttons and a sharply cut collar. Personally, Yves thinks it’s unfair that someone can be down with an irritating head cold and still look so good.

“No kidding,” Yves says. “You would’ve thought there’d be more than one tiny parking lot for all those shops.”

Yves asks how he is (fine, Vincent says—perfectly capable of spending a few hours at a party. Yves says, I feel like you would say that even if you were like, dead on your feet with a high fever, to which Vincent laughs, but doesn’t explicitly deny.)

Yves supposes he isn’t one to talk—he’d showed up to a crew event, near the end of the season, with the flu, just because it had been their then-captain’s last big event, and he’d been planning to give him a farewell speech. The speech had gone fine—and so had the first few hours—but then all his symptoms had hit at once—fever chills, exhaustion, a pounding headache, the likes—and Francesca and Erika had practically had to drag him home.

But that had been an important event—a once in a lifetime thing—and he’d drafted that speech for two weeks. This is so much less high-stakes. 

“I prombise I’m fine,” Vincent tells him, lifting up the side of his scarf to muffle a cough into it. “It’s just all the - hHIh-! all the annoyidg symptoms. I dod’t - snf-! - feel any worse than I did yesterday.” “Any worse?” Yves says. “Does that mean you were already feeling pretty badly off yesterday?”

“I barely even feel udwell at all,” Vincent says. “It’s just— I keep havidg to— hHih-! hihH’IIITshHHh-uuH!”

He sniffles, raising a sleeve to his face to cover the next, resounding, 

“hHih’iITTSshh’Uhh! snf-!” He buries his face deeper into his sleeve, his shoulders trembling with another gasp. “Hhih…. HIih’nNGKT—SHhuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, laughing. “Okay. Point taken.”

Vincent lowers his arm slowly with a curt sniffle. “Are Erika and Francesca close?”

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I think they still keep in touch pretty frequently.” it’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t told Francesca—or anyone else in the friend group—about the specifics of their breakup.

It feels wrong, somehow, to paint her in a bad light, to give people reason to take sides, when it’s always been all of them together as a group. 5am practice was a hell of a bonding experience, she was part of all of that, too. He has no right to take that from her. 

“How about Brendon?”

“Brendon’s sort of an odd one out,” Yves says. “I don’t think most of us had met him until he started dating Erika during our senior year. He usually hangs out with a different crowd, so he’s only really around when Erika is.”

Perhaps that’s better, too—more merciful—that when Erika had left him for someone new, it hadn’t been one of the people he knew and deeply trusted. If Brendon had been there too, at all those 5am practices, at all those oddly timed meetings—if Yves had had that much time to look back on, to wonder when Erika’s feelings for Brendon had materialized, to watch her fall for him firsthand, to look back and know that he was losing her…

It’s better, this way, he thinks, that at least he can look back on his time rowing crew as he’d always wanted to—not like the way he feels when he looks at Erika: heartbroken, and a little betrayed.

“I guess I’m in that positiod now,” Vincent says.

“In the sense that you didn’t meet everyone through crew?”

“In the sedse that I’m an outsider.”

Yves considers this. “My friends really like you, though,” he says. “I don’t think they think of you that way.” It’s a short walk to Francesca’s doorstep. Vincent really does seem to be okay, Yves notes—aside from the frequent sniffling, and the sneezes he turns away to direct into his sleeve, he isn’t shivering under his coat, and he doesn’t look more tired than usual.

Despite everything, Yves finds himself feeling cautiously hopeful. Something about Vincent’s presence has that effect on him. Vincent is always so sure of himself, even in situations Yves thinks he can’t possibly be certain will go well.

It makes Yves want to have faith in this too. Yves will see Francesca and his friends from crew, and he won’t have to say anything to Erika and Brendon, his friends will like Vincent very much, and everything will be just fine.

“Wait,” Vincent says, right after Francesca’s let them in through the apartment buzzer. “We should look like we actually like each other.” He holds his hand out, expectant.

“Good point.” Yves takes it. Vincent’s hand is warm, and a little calloused—when Yves tugs his hand a little closer, Vincent’s fingers interlace nicely with his.

“For the record, I do like you,” he adds.

Vincent laughs. “You kdow what I meant.”

—

It’s almost a relief, seeing everyone again. Yves used to feel a little apprehensive about reunions—around the possibility for the people that he’d known and loved to have changed past recognition, to have internalized everything some way but to come back and see that everyone’s moved on in their own ways, grown a little more into themselves—and a little further from him—than he remembers them to be. 

But when he sees Francesca, she still greets him with the same hug — one arm looped around his shoulders, for a firm squeeze. He hands her her gift, and wishes her a happy birthday, and she laughs and says the only good part about getting old is having an excuse to have everyone back in her living room.

“And Vincent’s here too,” Francesca says, turning to Vincent, who—after looking caught off guard for a second—smiles back at her. “I’m so glad you were able to come!”

“It’s good to see you agaid,” Vincent says. “And happy birthday. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” she says, beaming. She’s wearing a cocktail party dress which slips elegantly over her still-bare shoulders. “I needed to pick something out for the occasion. I swear, these days, half my closet is just business formal attire. It’s depressing.”

“If that mbeans that the other half of your closet is filled out with idteresting clothes,” Vincent says, with a quiet sniffle, “you’re doing a lot better than I am.” 

Francesca laughs. “It’s just for my sanity,” she says. “Can’t let the clients dictate everything I wear.”

“It’s ndice that you’re celebrating your birthday, though,” Vincent says. He lifts a hand to rub his slightly-reddening nose with one knuckle. “My coworkers are always sayidg that they’re too old to want to ackdowledge it anymore.”

“It definitely feels that way sometimes,” Francesca says. “But it’s a good excuse to have everyone here, while we still can. Speaking of which—Yves is the worst at planning things for himself, which is ironic, because he’s always the one planning things for everyone else.”

“That is not true,” Yves says.

Francesca gives him a pointed look. “Last year, you were practically banking on having everyone forget your birthday.”

That is an exaggeration. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let that happen, even if I wanted it to,” Yves says.

“You’re damn right.”

“The ndext time you’re planning a birthday for him,” Vincent says, clearing his throat with a quiet cough, “I’ll pitch in.”

Francesca brightens, at this. “Finally another soldier on the right side of the war,” she says. “You can definitely be part of the secret planning council.”

“Thadk god,” Vincent says, playing along. “I was starting to thidk I was going to have to do it all alone.”

“It’s not a secret if I’m right here,” Yves says. Francesca ignores him in favor of having Vincent type his number into her phone.

—

Halfway through the evening, Vincent disappears into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, it’s with two drinks in hand—canned cocktails, Yves realizes, judging by the cans. He hands one over to Yves.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Yves says to him. “Even at happy hours.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Vincent says.

“Does this mean that I get to see you tipsy? I’m sure our coworkers will be jealous.” 

“If you’re expecting my personality to change,” Vincent says, “you will be disappointed.” he says it with such certainty that Yves pays closer attention to him after that. 

Vincent does hold his alcohol well, as it turns out, with the exception of the slight flush to his cheeks a few drinks later—though even then, Yves can’t be entirely sure it can’t be entirely attributed to his cold. He listens intently as Yves talks to Diane—who’s a couple years younger than Yves—about how Crew has been ever since Yves graduated (mostly the same; the new underclassmen are good at showing up to practices on time, but that’s partially because their captain this year is a little intimidating). He gives several of the crew members a candid summary of his relationship with Yves, when asked. He tells Marin how they first met and he tells Kenneth what it’s like keeping their relationship secret at work and he laughs—a little sheepishly—when Sasha says they make a cute couple. If lying so openly is difficult for him, it doesn’t show.

If there’s anything that’s off, it’s subtle. It takes some time for Yves to notice—

The next time Vincent sneezes, his breath hitches with a sharp, desperate, — “hHhiH—!” Then he turns away, craning his neck over his shoulder for an uncovered, “HIiiIKTshH-uh-!”

He blinks in the wake of it, as if a little dazed, before he seems to straighten, lifting a hand to wipe his nose on one knuckle. It’s not stifled, as it usually is, nor is it neatly pinched off into his fingers, which is unexpected.

It’s as if the sneeze has fully caught him off guard—as if all the systems he has in place to sneeze as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible are just slightly impaired by the alcohol. Not that it matters much—Francesca has put some music on, and it sits in the background now, a low thrum, all but the percussive elements muted by the chatter of conversation.

“Bless you,” Yves says, leaning over to grab a cocktail napkin from one of the neighboring tables. He hands it to Vincent, who blows his nose and emerges with a small cough. “How’s the cold?” 

“Fide,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “Ndo worse than before.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to drop the subject?”

“I’m sayidg it because I actually mean it. It’s a very tolerable cold.”

Yves laughs, and reaches for his drink. He’s about to take a sip when he feels Vincent’s fingers close around his wrist

 It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the warmth it leaves around his wrist stays, even when Vincent lets go.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, a little panicked. He withdraws his hand. “That’s mine.”

“What?”

“The cocktail.”

“Oh.” Yves looks down to the can in his hands. He supposes Vincent might be right—they’ve both had a few drinks, so he’d lost track awhile ago. A lot of the canned cocktails taste roughly the same to him, anyways. “Is it? I can get you another one if you want.”

“No,” Vincent says. “I drank from it.” As if that explains everything. And then—a little quieter, as if he’s embarrassed to say it: “I don’t wadt you to catch this.”

Truthfully, the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until Vincent mentioned it. It seems a little endearing that Vincent would be worried about it in the first place—Yves has certainly shared food and drinks with friends who were worse off. “I’m not worried about that,” he says. “It’s just a cold. Didn’t you say it was very tolerable?”

“It’s still…” Vincent trails off, averting his glance with a sniffle. “...an annoyance.” 

He looks like he’s about to say more when his expression goes distant, his eyebrows furrowing.

“HHih’IIIzSCH-uhh!”  It sounds so thoroughly unsatisfying, half-shielded by a hand raised a few moments too late. “hh-HIh-! Hh…” He pauses, his eyes watering, his breath still wavering, and—after a few seconds of nothing—sniffles; a forceful, liquid sniffle that practically emanates frustration. “hIiIIh’kSHhhhh! snf-!”

“Bless you!”

Vincent emerges, teary-eyed, still sniffling. “Case in point,” he says. 

—

He doesn’t see Erika when she gets there. It isn’t until she passes him in the living room, halfway in a conversation, that she makes her presence known to him.

“Hi Yves,” she says, and he looks up. Today she’s wearing a pink dress which cuts off at her knees—a strapless dress, save for a pink rose over her left shoulder which blooms into a sleeve. She is every inch as beautiful as she always is.

He smiles at her, cordial, tight-lipped. “You made it,” he says. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more, and he realizes—with a flash of panic—that he doesn’t know what more to say to her. He hasn’t kept up with her over the past few months. He knows that she’s working as a quantitative analyst, at a company she’d been hired at a couple months after they’d broken up, but he doesn’t know if she likes her work, if she likes her coworkers, if it’s been busy as of late. If she works long hours, if she’s taken up any new projects. “Glad you found time. I assume work’s been keeping you busy,” he says,  

“Are you kidding? It’s Francesca,” Erika says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And there it is—that decisiveness. That same resolve that, back then, made everything with her seem so easy. Erika and Francesca have always been close—through college, back when they met during crew, and even after, when all of them had been still settling into their jobs or going off to grad school or moving halfway across the country; when seeing each other no longer meant just a fifteen minute walk across campus. 

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I know.”

They don’t speak, after that. Yves thinks it’s probably for the best—he doesn’t have anything to say to Erika right now. Back then, he could talk to her about anything, even if it was pointless or insignificant or of no real importance, and she’d make the conversation fun. 

These days, he only tells her things on a strict need-to-know basis, and—given that the only times he sees her these days is at events like this—there’s not really all that much to talk about. 

It had been difficult, at first. He’d wanted to share everything with her, still, back when his work schedule had settled enough for him to take long walks downtown, to start to go to concerts and bars again; when he’d redecorated his apartment, when he’d gotten someone to mentor at work, when he’d gotten back into cooking. For some time after the breakup, it still felt instinctual to turn to her, to text her about something interesting that’d happened, to ask her to try out something new that he’d found. 

But he hadn’t. Something about feigning normalcy seemed worse, even then, than accepting that she was really gone.

Perhaps her avoidance of him tonight is merciful. It’s easier, when he’s not thinking about her, to slip into the familiarity of talking to everyone, to enjoy all of it just as himself. 

It’s only when he excuses himself to get another drink that he runs into Brendon.

Yves has always been civil with Brendon. 

Brendon is—well, to say that Brendon isn’t someone he considers a friend is a vast understatement. The less of Brendon Yves sees, the better. Yves avoids him when he can, but he is good at holding up small talk, when it’s necessary, and on most days, Brendon has enough good sense to not start a fight.

Today, it seems, is not one of those days.

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest.

Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I guess I’m surprised,” Brendon says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“Well, I’m happy to have exceeded your expectations,” Yves says. “Though it doesn’t sound like they were very high.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brendon says, waving a hand. “It’s just—new relationships can be fairly unreliable. Especially when you’re dating around.”

“Maybe in your experience, that’s the case,” Yves says. “But personally, I tend to date people I can see myself with long term.”

“That’s the thing,” Brendon says. “I’m surprised you can see yourself with him.”

Yves sets the drink he’s holding down and turns to face him properly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Brendon scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are very different people.”

“So people can only date their clones,” Yves says flatly. He’s already tired of this conversation. “My bad. I must’ve missed that rule somewhere in dating 101.”

“Obviously, I don’t mean it to that extent. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just mean that you can only be so different from someone before you’re incompatible. ”

“I agree,” Yves says. “And I don’t think we’re incompatible.”

“Are you sure?” Brendon crosses his arms. “This isn’t his scene, is it? Cocktail parties? I mean, he’s practically married to his work. Does he even like parties?”

Vincent doesn’t like parties—Brendon is right about that point. But hadn’t Vincent been the one who’d agreed to come here in the first place? To imply that he’s only here because Yves has dragged him along seems somewhat disingenuous.

Yves says, “If Vincent didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sure, but from what I’ve heard from Erika—” Yves doesn’t like this implication that Brendon and Erika talk about them behind their back, but he supposes it’s to be expected. “—he’s not exactly the type of person you’ve tended to go for in the past.”

That sounds awfully like an accusation.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

“I’m saying that it sort of looks like you just picked the most convenient rebound you could find,” Brendon says, quiet. “But usually people are honest with themselves when that’s the case.”

That startles a short, indignant laugh out of Yves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Do you really not think that’s the case? Wouldn’t you say you’d usually go for someone more personable?”

“Personable?” Yves repeats. “Personable? Don’t make me laugh. Do you know how many clients I’ve seen Vincent talk down to a pleasant resolution because he’s so good at negotiating? Do you know how many conferences I’ve been in where Vincent is the one people come to after to privately compliment, because he’s so good at knowing how to talk to people?” he thinks to Joel’s housewarming party—to how compellingly Vincent had lied for him, then; to how good he had been at conjuring up a sense of history between them, of warmth. “His ability to answer difficult questions on the spot, with virtually no preparation at all, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

He’s not sure why the accusation from Brendon makes him so upset, only that it does. Only that he wants to do nothing but tell Brendon just how wrong he is. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m settling for him, don’t patronize me,” he says. “Vincent is one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know. Do you seriously believe I’d be dissatisfied with someone who holds himself to such a high standard?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in months,” he says, resolute. “Because of him.”

Through the adrenaline, Yves realizes, faintly, that he hasn’t lied about any of it. He certainly could have—after all, Brendon would be none the wiser—but everything he’s said about Vincent is something he really, genuinely believes.

“Ah,” Brendon says, knowingly, as if he has it all figured out. “I got it wrong. This whole time I thought you were the one that felt lukewarm about him. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so sure he’s the one that you’re willing to overlook all of your obvious differences,” Brendon says. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether he feels the same way?”

“Presumably, he does,” Yves says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Brendon says, as if Yves should already know this from past experience, which—if Yves is being really honest—makes him want to punch him.

Instead, he takes in a deep breath, schools his expression into a smile. “Usually, people in relationships aren’t still looking for other options.”

“Yes,” Brendon says. “Unless they’re unhappy.”

“Yves!” 

When Yves turns to look, Vincent is standing in the doorway. How long has he been here? Just how much of the conversation has he overheard?

“Sorry for the wait,” Yves says sheepishly. “I was getting us drinks.” Evidently, he’s been away long enough for Vincent to come check up on him, so he’s already spent unreasonably long getting drinks, and now he doesn’t even have the drinks to show for it. “Or, I guess I got a little sidetracked, but I swear that drinks are on the w—”

Vincent leans in, unprompted, and kisses him. 

Yves’s brain grinds to a complete halt.

It’s only a moment later that Vincent pulls away, but the decisiveness with which he’s carried it out, the broad confidence on his face as he smiles, unwavering, is—

Fuck.

“Oh,” Yves all but stammers. His face is most certainly red right now, and he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Um. Did you need anything?”

“No,” Vincent says. There’s something telling to his expression, some sort of quiet acknowledgement. “Just wanted to see what was takidg you so long.”

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Vincent must have heard. Everything Brendon said—or at least, the last part of it; the implication that Vincent isn’t as invested in this relationship as Yves is; the implication that their attraction towards each other is somehow one-sided. Vincent is doing this to cover for him, because he wants to make it excruciatingly obvious that Brendon is wrong.

The fact that he would go to such lengths to make a point makes something settle in Yves’s chest.

“It’s actually good that you showed up,” he says, playing along. “I don’t know what kind of drink you want. I was just going to get you something generic.”

He heads over to the ice box on the other side of the kitchen, and Vincent follows.

They’re far enough that they’re separated from Brendon by the granite island—and, beyond that, the cushioned high stools lined up next to it, but not so far that Brendon can’t still see them. 

So he certainly can see, Yves thinks, this:

Yves leans in, reaching up a hand to cup Vincent’s jaw, and closes the distance between them.

It’s nothing like the kiss at the New Year’s party.

That one had been all nerves—brief, impulsive, all adrenaline. This kiss is much more involved—Yves presses in closer, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Vincent’s skin, so close that he can smell the faint, not unpleasant smell of laundry detergent on Vincent’s shirt collar. So close that he can feel the breath that Vincent exhales, warm on his cheek; can feel the softness of Vincent’s hair as he shifts. He feels Vincent’s hand settle on his chest, feels his fingers curl inwards to rest on the fabric of his shirt, and—

On the other side of the kitchen, Brendon is watching, and Vincent is here—here, present, in the flesh, looking as put together as always, looking like someone out of a goddamn magazine—so Yves kisses him like he’s used to kissing—greedily, as if he’s been wanting this for ages. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed someone like this. Back then, there was university—the people at parties who he’d met and kissed out of momentary attraction, or out of alcohol-induced courage—though of course back then, neither party had harbored any delusions about how impermanent that connection was, or how little it meant. And then there was Erika, who, for the longest time, he thought was going to be the last person he’d ever kiss like this.

For months after they’d broken up, he hadn’t looked for anything. It felt wrong to subject others—even strangers, to which he had no allegiance—to the messy remnants of his feelings, to attempt to get into something he knew could only be half-hearted, at best, when there was a person in his mind who lingered so sharply.

But Vincent crowds up every corner of his mind, as if to say, pay attention, and Yves finds that for once, he’s not thinking about Erika at all.

When he feels the small hitch in Vincent’s breath, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, then—abruptly, and with barely any warning—Vincent is wrenching away, craning his head over Yves’s shoulder to let out a sudden, uncovered—

“hh-hIIIH’hH-IIKTshHuh!”

Their proximity to each other means he feels the way Vincent’s body jerks forward under his hands, his chest tensing. For a moment after, the rigidness of his posture doesn’t dissipate, tension still strung through the line of his shoulders.

“Bless you,” Yves says, surprised.

Then Vincent curses under his breath, drawing away with a sniffle. “I’mb sorry,” he says, sounding really, honestly panicked—a reaction which Yves finds both disproportionate to the situation and a little endearing. “That was— sorry, I should’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yves says, with a laugh; “I honestly couldn’t care less.” Impulsively—and maybe to prove just how little it bothers him—he leans back in.

Vincent is less hesitant, this time around, when it seems to register to him that Yves really doesn’t mind. He’s a surprisingly good kisser—Yves probably isn’t the first person he’s kissed, and he probably won’t be the last, but the second Vincent’s mouth works around his, Yves feels himself nearly go weak in the knees.

Fuck. Yves can’t say he expected to spend this evening making out with his very attractive coworker-slash-fake-boyfriend, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining. Yves thinks he could do this for hours, given the chance. He kisses Vincent as if to say, thank you—for the New Year’s party, for going along with this, for lying on my behalf—and Vincent kisses him back as if he wants this just as much.

It registers to him, faintly—as Vincent pulls away with a sharp gasp before he pitches forward, smothering another abrupt, wrenching sneeze into the palm of his hand—that he’s probably dooming himself to Vincent’s cold ten times over. But it occurs to him, too, that if he were really dating Vincent—if, after the party, they’d head back to Vincent’s place together; if they were really close enough to share car rides and food and drinks on the regular, to see each other frequently both in the office and outside of it—he would’ve almost certainly caught this anyways.

Something about the intimacy of it, the false closeness it seems to imply, is a little intoxicating. 

When he finally pulls away, Vincent is breathing a little heavily, his glasses askew, his hair slightly unkempt from where Yves had—mid-kiss—run his fingers through it. Yves looks over his shoulder to see that Brendon has, at some point over the last few minutes, slipped off. Presumably, he’s gotten the point, then.

It’s a relief. Yves is glad to not have to talk with him for any longer than he has to. 

“God,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Where did you learn to kiss like that, anyways?”

Vincent smiles. “I’ve had some practice,” he says, which Yves thinks must be a massive understatement. “Do you think it was convincidg?”

“I don’t know what kinds of standards Brendon has,” Yves says, lowering his voice so that he’s certain no one outside of the kitchen will be able to hear. “But I’d definitely be convinced.”

“He seems strangely idvested in our relationship,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “I think he was just trying to make trouble. How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Just the tail end of it,” Vincent says. “I—”

His gaze goes distant, which is the only warning Yves gets before he’s turning away, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a forceful:

“hH-! hhH-hH’iiKTsSHH-uhh! Hh-! Hih… HIIh’IzsSCCHh’hhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent is quiet for a moment, his expression still hazy, the irritation evident on his features, before he’s ducking away again.

“hIiih’GKTTSHh-uhHh!”

The sneeze is loud enough to scrape against his throat. It leaves him coughing a little, his eyes watering.  

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis. He takes a small stack of napkins off of the kitchen counter and hands it over to Vincent, who eyes it for a moment. There’s a slight flush to his complexion—whether it’s from the alcohol, or from embarrassment, or from slight fever, Yves can’t tell.

“I hope you dod’t regret this in a few days,” Vincent says, carefully extricating one napkin from the stack to blow his nose softly into it. “You—” His breath hitches, sharply, and then he’s pitching forward into the handful of napkins with a muffled, “hiiHh’IZSSCHh-uhh!”

He emerges, sniffling, looking a little apologetic. “You’ll almost certaidly catch this.”

Yves laughs. “It’s fine. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I’m glad you stepped in.” He kneels down, at last, to procure two drinks from the long-neglected icebox. “A cold was a small price to pay for getting out of that conversation.”

He hands Vincent a drink. “Can I have a sip of yours? Now that I’ve doomed myself to it already, I suppose you don’t have to try so hard to keep me from catching it.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vincent says, but he lets Yves try some, nonetheless.

Brendon is suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening. Neither he nor Erika so much as look Yves’s way, which Yves thinks is better than another confrontation. Vincent looks happy—a little tired, a little tipsy, but happy. At some point into the evening he resorts to crossing his arms as a means to keep warm (“Is it too cold in here?” Francesca asks, passing him from where he’s sitting on the couch, to which Vincent shakes his head quickly, his face flushing red. “I’mb just slightly under the weather,” he says. “The temperature’s perfect.” to this, Francesca brings over a quilt from one of the closets and drapes it over his shoulders. “Your friends are very nice,” Vincent says, pinning the quilt in place with one hand, and Yves laughs).

At some point, Francesca brings out a cake (“earl gray with buttercream,” she says, “Erika and I made a smaller one as a test run last week, and it was a little too dense, so we’ll have to see how this one turned out.” which Yves thinks is very impressive—he’s certainly better than average at cooking, but that expertise does not transfer well to baking—truly, he’s not sure he’d be confident in his ability to pipe frosting in a straight line. When he tells Vincent this, Vincent laughs and says, “I’m sure people would forgive you as long as it tasted good,” to which Yves says, “I think you’re underestimating how bad I am at decorating.”) She’s piped small blue flowers around the periphery of it, and leaves that curl around the edges of the cake. Diane says, “this is way too pretty to eat,” and “are you sure you want us to destroy it,” while Kenneth—their year’s Crew captain—helps Francesca with setting up the candles around the periphery of the cake and lighting them one by one.

Francesca laughs when Erika tells a story about a series of errors pertaining to their last grocery store run and tears up when Marin gives a speech about how Francesca is the main reason she stayed in Crew. After that, everyone sings—for a brief moment, the clamor in the living room becomes strictly unified. Then she blows out all the candles in one go, and everyone claps.

All in all, it’s a good evening.

—

It’s really not a surprise when Yves wakes up a few days later with a sore throat.

It’s not a surprise, either, when his nose starts running shortly after, or when—a couple hours later—a harsh, wrenching sneeze catches him off guard at work.

It’s as if that first sneeze has opened the floodgates. After that, he finds himself muffling sneezes into his elbow, scrambling for tissues from the rapidly depleting stash—a travel sized tissue pack that he keeps in his briefcase, just in case. The persistent tickle that settles in his nose seems impossible to appease, no matter how many times he sneezes, or how diligently he tries to ignore it. Worse, the sneezes are forceful enough to leave his throat feeling tender and painful, and violent enough that he finds himself coughing a little after.

Vincent was right. The cold isn’t particularly miserable—aside from the sore throat, he’s a little tired, but he doesn’t feel strictly worse than usual. It is irritating, though, to deal with—and irritating, too, to be at the office as it settles in.

It’s probably not worth taking a sick day for. It’s more an annoyance than a tangible inconvenience. Besides, he has only a couple days left of work before it’s the weekend, when he can catch up on sleep.

He’s scheduled himself for a morning’s worth of back to back meetings—two meetings with clients, one with a coworker he’s been working with to go over her findings, another status update meeting to review the work they’ve all done over the past few weeks.

Yves is prone to losing his voice when he’s ill. It’s one of his most embarrassing tells—it’d certainly garnered more attention than he’d wanted in college whenever he was under the weather—but in a work setting where his participation in meetings is non-negotiable, with every meeting he takes, he can feel his voice get closer and closer to unusable.

His second meeting ends a few minutes early, which is a relief. But when he heads to the break room to make himself a cup of much-needed tea, he finds that the hot water machine is out of order.

Just his luck.

He pours himself a cup of cold water and looks through some of the storage cabinets for tissues, though he has no luck with that, either.

The office is always turned a notch too cool—air conditioned to keep everyone awake in the afternoons—but today, it feels brutally, unnecessarily cold. He really should’ve dressed warmer. Yves heads to the conference room his next meeting is booked in, speaks on the material he’s prepared, and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. His meeting before lunch runs over, too, which is not uncommon, but today it just feels like insult to injury.

All in all, he’s exhausted. He eats a quick lunch in the cafeteria, downs two glasses of water, and goes through an embarrassing number of cafeteria napkins.

“Coming down with something?” Stanley, one of his coworkers, asks him.

Yves smiles at him sheepishly. “I wish it wasd’t so obvious,” he says.

“It’s just the season for it, I think. Vincent was just sick last week.”

“Oh, was he?” Yves says, feigning ignorance. His cold is definitely, most certainly not related to Vincent’s. “I was just goidg to grab a bottle of hand saditizer to keep at my desk,” he says, with a small cough. “I thidk there’s somethidg going around.”

Thankfully, the afternoon is—for the most part—just occupied with work. Still, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on the financial statements in front of him, the slew of emails he has pulled up.

His nose is running fiercely, the trash can at the foot of his desk is close to overflowing, and the stack of napkins he’d taken from the cafeteria—certainly not an ideal solution, but it’s the best one he can come up with at the moment—is almost entirely gone.

He grabs one off the top of the stack—he’s only able to unfold it partially before he’s jerking forward with a wet, spraying, “hhEHh’iiiZZSCHh’EW!” 

Fuck. The napkins, while infinitely better than nothing, are not as soft as tissues would have been. Given the frequency with which he’s been using him, he’s almost positive that his nose is redder than usual.

The next sneeze nearly catches him off guard. He barely has time to lift the napkin up to his face again before his breath hitches again, sharply.

“Hhehh… HEHh—’IIDDSCHhiew! hEHH’iITSSHh’Yyew!” 

His nose is still running fiercely, and worse, the sneezes are loud enough to scrape against his throat. He thinks his voice is never going to recover if he keeps this up.

From behind him, he hears someone clear their throat.

Yves freezes. His first thought is that he’s probably being disruptive. His second thought is that even if he isn’t, whoever’s behind him must have been waiting to speak to him for some time—he’d just been too caught up with sneezing to realize, which is a little embarrassing.

His third thought is—whoever it is, he wants to face them looking at least marginally presentable. He’s almost certain that right now, he doesn’t.

He blows his nose into the napkins he’s holding, runs a hand through his hair, and pivots around in his office chair with a smile that is admittedly a little forced. “What’s up?”

He expects to see Cara, who he’s been working more with, or perhaps Laurent, who he’s been shadowing. But standing there, looking every inch as formal and as put together as he always does, is Vincent.

For a moment, Vincent just stares at him, as if he’s cataloging Yves’s appearance in silence.

Yves tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you ndeed anythidg?” 

In lieu of responding, Vincent steps past him to set a box of tissues down at the edge of his desk. 

“I figured you’d want this back,” Vincent says.

It’s the same tissue box he’d handed off to Vincent last week, he realizes, when Vincent was the one who had a use for it. Vincent has taken care to set it down at the same spot where it was initially: at the right edge, next to his monitor.

“Thadk you,” Yves says. “I’ll treasure it.”

“This, too,” Vincent says, setting a mug down in front of him. Whatever’s in there is hot enough to be steaming.

Yves muffles a cough into his hand. “What?”

“Tea,” Vincent says, as if that explains everything. “Chamomile, if it matters. I didn’t know if caffeine would keep you up.”

“Oh.” Yves stares at it. “You got the hot water machide workidg. It was broken this morning. Or maybe I’mb just really bad at using it.”

“Actually, no,” Vincent says. “I got this from the third floor.”

“You walked all the way up here from the third floor?” Yves says, a little surprised.  He’s about to say more, but then—in a progression that he should probably be used to by now—he finds himself succumbing, with little warning, to another sneeze, which he muffles into a perhaps-too-generous handful of tissues. At this rate, he might run out of them, even given Vincent’s generous contribution.

“It was just two flights of stairs,” Vincent says. 

“Still,” Yves says, lowering the tissues from his face so he can take a sip. The thought of Vincent precariously taking the tea up two flights of stairs, careful to not let it spill, just to get it to his desk is so endearing that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you.”

Vincent blinks at him, as if he wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I don’t think it will keep you from losing your voice,” he says, at last. “But it might help with your sore throat.” 

Yves doesn’t remember mentioning that. “How did you kdow I had a sore throat?”

“How do you think?” Vincent says. “I had the same cold a week ago.”

Even so, the idea that Vincent already probably knows, and knows intimately, how he’s feeling right now, even though Yves hasn’t said anything about it, feels a little incriminating. Yves is under no illusion that his current affliction is subtle, by any means, but at the very least he’d thought that the less visible parts of it—his sore throat, the growing exhaustion, the pressure he feels building at his temples—were things that no one else would have to think about.

“Was it this bad for you?” he says. “I’d feel terrible if I mbade you talk to all my friends if your throat was already— Hh- heHh-! hHEH-heHh’iSSSchh-Iiew!”

It’s a good thing, Yves thinks, hazily, that he’s still holding onto the tissues from earlier. His nose is running again, and the tissues feel traitorously soft as compared to the napkins he’s been using all day.

“No,” Vincent says, frowning. “I think you just wore your voice out at work.”

“That mbight be the case,” Yves says. “I had a lot of meetidgs this morning. Ndow it’s pretty much just heads-down work, thankfully.” He muffles a yawn into one hand. Vincent is probably here for a reason—but Vincent is usually very conscientious about the work he passes onto others, so whatever he needs Yves to do for him, Yves doesn’t expect it should take too long. “Did you ndeed me to look over somethidg?” “I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Vincent says, which is not the answer Yves expects.

Yves blinks at him. “How did you find out I was sick?”

“I heard from Cara.”

“Ah.” He probably owes Cara an apology—he’s sure that she’d probably prefer to work somewhere quiet, and his cold is certainly making that difficult. “Yeah, she would kdow. I’ve been like this all day—well, sidce this mording, I guess.”

“It came on quickly for me, too,” Vincent says. “Can I get you anything?”

“It’s just a cold,” Yves says with a laugh. “I’ll mbanage.” He means for it to be reassuring, but Vincent just frowns, looking off to the side.

He looks… strangely upset, Yves realizes.

“It’s ndot really all that bad,” Yves insists, backtracking. “And the weekend’s coming up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep when I get the chance.” Now is a really inopportune time to have to cough. He raises an elbow to his face to cough as quietly as he can, though the effort only seems to prolong the coughing fit—it leaves him slightly breathless, blinking away the tears that surface in his vision. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, quiet.

“For what?”

“For giving you my cold.”

“I dod’t think you can even take credit for that,” Yves says. “I was the one who kissed you.”

Vincent does smile, at that—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Even so.”

Yves wants to tell him that he would do it again, if he had the chance to. He wants to tell Vincent how easy it had felt to kiss him, how right.

How it felt to forget about Erika, and Brendon, and all of it—even if just for a moment—to feel so perfectly grounded in someone other than himself. To let himself experience the sort of closeness he’s been scared of seeking out, after the breakup, after Erika, in fear that no one would ever fit quite the same. To lean into the warmth of someone who still, even now, continues to be kind to him for reasons he can’t quite rationalize. 

How long has it been since he’s been able to place his trust into someone, blindly, in the way he trusts Vincent to keep up this act of theirs, to lie on his behalf? Vincent is nothing if not competent, but Yves hadn’t expected that competence to extend to this arrangement of theirs. How long has it been since Yves has been able to lean on someone the way he’s leaned on Vincent, to trust someone to meet him where he is?

“For the record, I dod’t regret it,” Yves says. He finds that he really means it.

[ravensmadreads]

your tags are the best ily *mwwah*

Screaming crying ily more YOU'RE THE BEST T_T <3

[inkats]

thinking about that time some guy asked me if i was a trap

[ellavatorz]

Kiss me Plenty || c.b. x reader

summary: you play the “I can’t stop kissing you,” prank on colby.

tags/cw: implied smut, kisses (lots of ‘em), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, established relationship, youtuber(s) relationship.

a/n: there isn’t much for me to say except that I have a very strong yearn for colby to be kissed 24/7. if that man isn’t being kissed at every second of the day like he deserves, then the world is a cruel joke of a place.

and a huge thank you to everyone who enjoyed my last work, you guys are so sweet T.T happy holidays!

- - -

You have the camera set up first thing in the morning. It’s hidden out of visible-sight and is focused on Colby’s usual spot; his desk, where he normally films intros to videos amongst other tasks in respect to his shared channel with Sam.

The plot of your video to be filmed today is explained to your audience. All while a grin is spread on your lips. “Today’s goal is to annoy the shit out of Colby by kissing the hell out of him. I don’t know how he’ll react considering he’s hyper-affectionate as it is… but its also normally something he does rather than me initiating it. So maybe he’ll suspect something right off the bat? Who knows!”

By the time Colby has migrated from your shared bed to his desk, you’re just outside the door, anxiously prepared for whatever may come of the situation. Without much of an extravagant entrance, you move toward where he is and stand behind him. His eyes are glued to the screen and you pretend to seem intrigued by whatever it is he’s looking at.

A yawn escapes his mouth as he reaches an arm behind himself, subconsciously searching for any part of you to grasp onto and reel in. “Good morning, baby.” He rasps, last night’s rest still grappling at his body.

“Morning,” you reply, allowing him to pull you closer. You take this as an advantage to wrap your arms around his shoulders from where you now stand beside him. “What are you working on today?”

Colby’s gaze is still caught on the screen when his own arm is snaked around your waist. His eyes flicker from one end to another, clearly focused on whatever he’s reading. “Just emails right now. I have a bit of review and editing tasks to get done on the apparel website too..”

“Ah, I see.” You sigh. Your eyes flash a mischievous glint toward the camera before you begin leaning into his space to plant a soft peck to his cheek. “Do you need anything? Water? Snacks?”

Still enraptured by work, he acknowledges your question half-heartedly. “No, love. Thank you though.”

You feign a frown at his response and begin swaying his chair left to right when the hold on your waist is replaced by the computer’s mouse. He scrolls through several pages, reading what he can manage to as you continue rocking his chair.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” You question innocently, though you both are aware that his work is capable of enveloping the entirety of his day. He shrugs, too focused to respond. You take this as an opportunity to leave a kiss on the crown of his head, moving behind his chair to loosely circle your arms around his neck. “I think I’m gonna finish my Christmas shopping while you’re still here.”

He hums and it’s evident that he isn’t regarding your presence to the full extent that it’s normally at. You huff and lean over his shoulder to litter butterfly-light kisses along the side of his neck. He unconsciously cranes his neck, providing you with more access to the skin.

“Shouldn’t you come and eat breakfast first? You haven’t eaten anything.” You ponder aloud, and this time, he shakes his head.

“I’m fine, babe.“ he mutters, eyes squinting in the analysis of his emails. Your tongue comes out to swipe at your lips, wetting them before leaning further into his space and kissing him straight on the mouth. At this, he cocks his head to the side, granting you access for more.

You continue to press into him, feeling accomplished when you realize that now he’s fully focused on you. The kiss is languid and feels good enough to praise, but before you can fully enjoy it, Colby is pulling away with a pitiful smile. You don’t even have to question him because he’s apologizing in an instant.

“I’m sorry, petal. I really have to get these things done. I promise as soon as I get this out of the way, I’m all yours.” He says and you can’t help but feel a tug at your heart. God, he really is the cutest. With the way his eyes glimmer at you, you’re confident with the idea that this man could un-alive your childhood pet and get away with it by just looking at you with those damned ocean eyes.

“Just a minute more?” shaking off the thought of ending the video early out of awe for your boyfriend, you continue your antics. You plead instead, batting your lashes tauntingly while returning to his side.

He blinks owlishly at you and ultimately accepts, pulling you into his lap by the hips and allowing you to straddle him comfortably. You grin, wasting no time and diving straight in for a passionate kiss. His hands snake around you to land on your ass, giving a gentle squeeze to which you groan into his lips for.

For a second, you’re convinced that this moment would last for an eternity with the pace that he’s taking. Theres not a doubt that he’d absolutely waste an entire day just to kiss you, and in this case you want this to be one of those days. His kiss is smooth, gentle, yet fierce and meaningful. Your hands move on their own accord; one pressing into the broad of his chest and the other entangling into his hair.

There’s a moan serenading your ears after a few rough tugs to the strands on his head. However, before you know it, he’s giving you one last playful tug to your lip and placing a good space between the two of you. While you’re grateful for this moment to breathe, you also fall clueless as to why the hell he stopped.. until, of course, you remember that you’re filming a video, and he’s working. Hello!

“Do you know how distracting you can be?” Colby chuckles, and you take a few seconds to take in his appearance; hair tussled, eyes dark and dilated, lips swollen with a few teeth indentations caused due to your own accord. You almost want to spend the rest of the video admiring your work, but conclude that the show must go on.

“What ever do you mean, coleslaw?” You quip, pushing against his hands from where they’ve been placed on your shoulders to distance you from him.

He immediately motions for you to get off of him, his hands already shoving at your chest. “Coleslaw? You’re done. Get off of me.”

You laugh and reluctantly remove yourself from his lap only to make an attempt at lifting him up with you. As if knowing exactly what you’re about to do, he drops his weight into his chair. You grunt, tugging on his arms with all your might. He doesn’t budge.

“Baby,” you whine, and add a childish stomp for emphasis. “Can’t you just take today off to spend time with me? Please?”

He falls limp at your words, tossing his head back against the chair’s headrest and huffs in thought. “We already hung out yesterday. The entire day! What do you want to do anyway?”

Pouting, you take advantage of his loose posture to throne his lap once more. Again, circling his neck with your arms and trying to pull him impossibly closer. Though, he does his best to keep a stoic expression and an emotional stiffness to prevent persuasion.

“I miss you,” the words seemingly fall on deaf ears as he remains unfazed, eyes wandering around the room; in other words, anywhere but you. “..just wanted to kiss you today.. but i guess you don’t want my kisses. guess I’ll just find someone else who does—“

His sigh mimics one of defeat. His hold on your tightens in protectiveness, as if afraid you may be taken from him. You begin to feel that bubble of mischief rising to your cheeks, tugging your lips into a smile. Yes! It’s working!

“One more kiss, and i seriously have to get back to work, okay?” He gambles, and suddenly your smile is fading into a frown. He directs his stare back to you, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. “What, isn’t that what you want? Take it or leave it, baby.”

You bare your teeth in grimace, eyes twinkling with competitiveness before you dive in. Planting your lips on his, you nip and lap at the opening he gives you. Without much hesitance, he’s reciprocating in eagerness. Your tongues dance in the heat of the moment, teeth clashing with force. It’s clear how much you two want each other. And it’s even more evident just how far you’re willing to go for it.

“God, what’s gotten into you?” He manages to slur through the daze you’ve entrapped him in. The intimacy in the kiss exceeds even deeper when you apply pressure against his crotch, gaining a desperate reaction in return. He whimpers against your lips, bringing you impossibly closer to his form as he ruts against you.

“just.. really.. want.. you.” Your voice tapers off into a moan with each breath you take in between. And that’s when you realize. Oh shit. he’s hard.

A probing feeling at your clothed entrance is all it takes for you to pull back and freeze, hands instantly darting for the camera from where it was hidden just a few minutes ago. You focus the rest of the footage toward you, regarding your boyfriend’s lustful daze as a sign to come clean. Placing one hand on his cheek while the other holds the camera, you give a breathy and worried giggle.

“Are you—“ you start, motioning toward the evident tent in his sweats. His eyes waver from your face for a mere second to assess the situation before returning to you. “Colby?”

“Is this is a prank?” He mumbles, cocking his head toward the camera in your hand. You nod, curtaining your smile by placing a palm over your mouth. “Oh,”

“Colby, It’s a prank. I didn’t expect it to go this far!” You admit, and suddenly the giddiness you had been shielding from escaping you throughout the video is released. You laugh in embarrassment. “Oh my gosh. Guys, if you saw anything…. No you didn’t. Haha! But seriously, my poor baby suffered today so if you enjoyed the video, be sure to like and subscribe. Until next time, bye!”

The moment the video comes to an end, Colby is cursing you up and down for the scheme you had hidden from him. However, his scolding shortly concludes with a soft, and admittedly disappointing, “—had me all excited..”

“Oh my poor baby,” you coo, both of you now free from an audience’s presence via camera. Holding his face in your hands, you apply pressure to his cheeks, forcing his lips to pucker when you go in for a gentle kiss. “‘M sorry. The fans really wanted to see what you’d do.”

“Well now they know, so can we please not do that again. you’re very irresistible and convincing you know that?”

You press a gentle peck to his cheek and huff. “Yeah I’ve heard it a few times from my boyfriend.”

“Wow. I feel bad for your boyfriend.” Colby jokes playfully.

“Do you? Hm. Guess I should be a little nicer to him.”

“Maybe.” He pouts his lips toward you, proceeding to lift you from where the two of you sit on his office chair. Your legs wrap around his middle as he travels toward your shared bed. “I think your boyfriend deserves it.”

“I think so too,” you smile. Continuing from where you had left off, you both spend the rest of the morning doing exactly as you begged for; spending the day together. And making out, of course. And maybe a little more than that.

[xiaosonlybeloved]

First Words~ Gojo Satoru

featuring:- Gojo Satoru, fem!reader, Megumi, Tsumiki, [d/n] is your daughter's name tags:- fluff, reader has a child with Gojo, Megumi and Tsumiki are still kids and live with them, reader is called mama a/n:- oh my god people writing this killed me how do yall write fluff T.T the next fic i write is gonna be hardcore angst as compensation dudhsufi, also my first time writing fluff and jjk hope u like it :)

wc:- 1.1k

masterlists

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but have you seen a white-haired man with a small kid anywhere?” You frantically asked the nearest shop employee. You had turned your back on your husband for just a few minutes, which had apparently been enough for him to disappear somewhere into the large supermarket, with your child. Thank the gods atleast Megumi and Tsumiki had the good sense to not follow him. Unfortunately, neither of them had caught Satoru disappearing. 

You tightly held Megumi’s hand to ensure that you two wouldn’t be separated, keeping your eyes peeled for the albino male. Tsumiki, being a little older than him, had decided to independently search for Satoru, both of you agreeing to return to the billing counter once you’d found him. “I swear, when I find him, he’s gonna have it from me.” You muttered under your breath as you hurried with Megumi through the endless rows in the supermarket. 

And voila, where do you finally find him? In one of the multiple rows of the sweets and deserts section, one hand carefully balancing your child and keeping her from grabbing at the chocolates, while he stocked the cart with packets of chocolates, in addition to the pile of donut packets and sweets and what not. You narrow your eyes as you leave Megumi’s hand and angrily stomp towards him, causing him to freeze as if he’s been caught red-handed -which he had been. He hadn’t even finished the humongous stock at home, and he was buying more! At this rate, he deserved to develop diabetes with his crazy sweet tooth.

Satoru nervously grins at you as you narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, darling, there you are-” “Cut the crap, Gojo Satoru. You had me searching for over 15 minutes, do you know that? You weren’t even answering your phone, the sheer audacity. We are outside right now, so I won’t make a scene, but you damn better be prepared when we get home.” You shift your attention from your husband to your daughter, whose eyes had lit up on seeing you and was grabbing at you with her chubby fingers, almost falling out of Satoru’s arms. You let out a sigh of relief as you take her into your arms, giving her a kiss on her forehead, which made her giggle and laugh as she started babbling, attempting to say ‘Mama’. It was always so adorable to see her say gibberish- she was starting to speak these days, much to your and Satoru’s elation. From beside you, Megumi gently held her hand, and she closed her fist tightly around his finger. You gently bend down a bit so that Megumi can squish [d/n]’s cheeks and she can grab his spiky hair with her other hand as both you and Satoru chuckled. 

“Gu.. Gu..Mi… Gumi!” Your daughter suddenly exclaims after many attempts, using the nickname you two had given Megumi. All three of you freeze, amidst [d/n]’s babbling of “Gumi! Gumi!” Satoru is the first one to break out laughing as he throws an arm around Megumi, saying with a grin, “Well, would ya look at that? Her first word isn’t Mama or Papa, its you! Man, I’m a bit jealous, but oh well.” Megumi looks stunned as she sticks out her tongue at him, something she recently learned from Satoru. But slowly, a soft smile spreads across his face as he hesitantly reaches his arms out, asking you if he could hold her. You readily give him his little sister as she starts laughing once again, grabbing two fistfuls of his hair. He doesn’t seem affected as he gently plays with her a bit.

Just then, Tsumiki comes running in. “I see you found him!” She exclaims between pants. “What did I miss?” Satoru happily tells her what happened as [d/n] again shifts her attention from Megumi to you, reaching out for you again. He quickly hands her over to you, satisfied, and she snuggles into your shoulder, mumbling her second word- Mama, as you grin and play with her hair affectionately. Satoru excitedly hurries behind you to see his adorable little daughter’s face, but all she does is frown at him for ‘disturbing her time with her mom’. She turns her face away, burying it into your neck, when Satoru tries to get a reaction out of her by poking and pinching her cheeks. “Cmon, sweets, just say my name once? Just once?” He tried to prod at her, and she glared at him, or well… tried to- she just looked adorable as ever with a baby scowl. Tsumiki giggled at his relentless attempts, finally pulling him away from his daughter with a scolding of “Stop annoying her!” Then she walks up to you for her turn of holding [d/n], welcomingly holding her arms out for her. [d/n] stares at her for a bit, before agreeing, as if deciding that she wasnt likely to annoy her. All four of you ignore Satoru’s gasp of utter betrayal. 

“My own family doesn’t stand by me anymore.” He wept dramatically in the middle of the supermarket as the four of you grin and play with [d/n], who finally says her third word- ‘Miki’. (Store employees and other people give you weird looks but ignore you.) You’re surprised at how quickly she’s learning- probably something she inherited from her dad. Ironically, her dad’s name is the only name she hasn’t spoken yet. 

She quietens down after a while, causing the three of you to look at her in puzzlement. “I guess she’s tired by now.” You hummed as she started reaching out of Tsumiki’s arms again, but towards her dad. He immediately grabs the opportunity, quickly taking [d/n] into his arms. She rests her head on his shoulder, as if she was about to fall asleep, and you all look at your little bundle of joy with a soft smile.

Just before she starts snoring, she mumbles another word, the last one before she falls asleep- ‘Papa’. A warm grin spreads across your husband’s face, as he first looks at his daughter, then at his family- all of whom are smiling happily at him too. 

Luckily for him, the scolding you were supposed to give him at home slipped your mind amongst all the excitement in the supermarket. After all, you do love him and the rest of your family with all your heart, so you suppose you can forgive his childish antics this once. (And many more times in the future too.)

requests are open, and darn it i have no idea how to write fluff aaa. reblogs, tags and comments are very much appreciated , thanks for reading :)

[wolfvmin]

glimpse of us: exile

pairing: husband!yoongi x female reader ; namjoon x reader genre: angst, divorce, arranged marriage (but not really), age gap kinda (5 years), unrequited love, pining (reader), fluff wc: 19.5k (my first full fic? :O) playlist: glimpse of us. warnings: read part one first. a lot of pov changes at the party scene, kinda unedited, angst, major 2nd lead syndrome vibes, idk how to tag warnings obviously, kissing, implied sex, lots of flashback scenes, bad writing bc i can't write. note: aaaaaa it's finally here. things didn't go as planned because i didn't expect to be really busy in the first month of junior year in uni T.T !! i'm really sorry to those who waited and thank you for giving me 500+ notes on the first part of glimpse of us. summary: he was the perfect husband and it's a perfect marriage... but it's time to let him go. PART 1 masterlist

“yoongi? are you listening to me?”

the voice that was just an echo on the back of his head grows louder, fishing him out of the abyss of thoughts he’s been having. he looks back at the woman who sits across from him with wide eyes, suddenly realizing he had been out of it again.

“yeah, sorry.” yoongi replies with an obvious lie and straightens up his back. his girlfriend sighs and sips her coffee while avoiding his gaze. he knows that she’s now pissed at him.

“are you really going to think about work while i’m here? we’ve been barely going out as it is and you do this?” yuna’s voice raises at him. he looks around the cafe, worried about the eyes that turned to them.

“can you turn your voice down?” he pleads in a whisper, leaning closer to the woman.

she scoffs at him, crossing her arms. “my voice is not the issue here.”

it was always like this. nothing seems to be going right with them anymore. if they can’t see each other because of their conflicting schedules, they’re either arguing or ignoring each other because of the argument. despite this, yoongi believes it’s just the 7-year itch and if they both try to get through it, they can overcome it.

“i know. i’m sorry.” he sighs and looks down at his drink. “what were you saying again?”

“i told you i met someone.”

it didn’t sink in at first. time stays still as his body goes frozen in his seat.

just a second ago, his mind was as if a desk of a mad scientist, thoughts scrambled as a million worries, ideas, and images run through his head. he was a man that never stopped running, always chasing a prize that was dangling in front of him. and he loved it. but he was too blind to see the truth. he had been doing it wrong all this time.

he didn’t know that six words had the power to boil down years of noise in his head into one word–a question.

“what?”

he sat there in misery as she explained. the words coming out from her mouth swirled in his head like a tornado, swiping every last plan he has in the future for the both of them. it is only now that he takes notice of how her hair is not kept as neatly as it usually is. he recalls how a different smell of shampoo had hit his nose when he hugged her in greeting earlier.

she tells him how she spent the night in another man’s bed but never doing the things expected of a person who’s going behind her partner’s back. she doesn’t do them. no, yuna is not a person to do that. but she tells him of how she yearned to. and that’s why she can’t bear the thought of being with him further.

because she realized that she doesn’t want him anymore.

how her voice trembled when she said goodbye, yoongi doesn’t even notice. the way she stood up from her seat, yoongi doesn’t even look at.

just like that, yoongi was left inside that cafe, sitting where he felt his whole world stop.

he was ashamed of himself.

it’s amazing how in one room, different kind of lives are being lived. some are laughing with their friends, others just enjoying their coffee on a nice and sunny day, a few typing away at their laptops in a buzzing cafe instead of a quiet library, the cafe staff just getting by and doing their job for the day. all of this happening while one man in his seat just felt his whole world shatter just by six words.

now he realizes that the prize he was chasing was tied to him over his head. like a fool, he was chasing something that if only he stops for a moment, he could easily reach it with both his hands. he could have taken it and held it close to him. maybe that way, the swift air from his running wouldn’t have taken it away from him. but it did. and it’s all because of him.

from that moment on, he swore he wouldn’t let such a thing happen again.

but it does.

a usual monday for yoongi goes like this: first, he eats the breakfast you cook. second, he drives to work. third, he texts you when he arrives. four, he slaves himself to work the whole day and a few hours of the night. fifth, he texts you when he’s about to go home. sixth, he drives home from work at a late hour. lastly, he either finds you asleep or waiting for him while having a midnight snack. 

the monday goes as it does for him at first. so, expectedly, it would continue as it is for the rest of the night. obviously, things doesn’t usually go as it does.

the first unusual thing he finds is how the lights are turned off when he enters the apartment. it doesn’t matter if you’re asleep or watching a movie in the living room, you always leave the dim light by the entrance turned on.

“y/n?”

the second unusual thing that happens is when he shouts your name, no one answers. from that moment, he realizes that you were out of the house. 

the third unusual thing is why didn’t you tell him? were you spending the night at your parents house? out with a friend? or perhaps at work? you always text him if you’re going to be out of the house. so why didn’t you tonight?

worry fills his system at the thought of you being out and him having no idea where. he knows you can handle yourself well but you not telling him where you’ve gone doesn’t feel right to him. 

his hand finds the light switch in the dark like it’s second nature. and just like that, the apartment comes to life with bright lights and a clean atmosphere. 

he doesn’t find the place unusual. everything was just like he left it. it was only you that was missing from the picture. 

but a few steps in, he finds the last thing he would find unusual for the night. 

the box that he usually sees underneath your closet rack is now sitting on top of the coffee table in the living room and beside it were two envelopes. one in legal size and another in letter. 

he throws his leathered sling bag on the couch and picks up the letter. for some reason, there was a pounding in his heart that he can’t explain. perhaps, it was his body telling him that something unpleasant was about to happen. his furrowed brows and blazing eyes scan through the words in the letter. the words sorry and end were the only things that made sense to him. he couldn’t read the letter fully as he could feel his chest tighten second by second. 

this isn’t happening. this isn’t happening. this isn’t happening. 

his eyes shift to the bigger envelope on the table. the trembling hands of his abandon the sheet of paper in his hands only to grasp the envelope and roughly see the content inside of it. 

he felt his knees weaken at the words he finds on the document that he falls in a slump on the couch, staring blankly at the paper and taking in the weight of your signature on it.

it takes him a few minutes to get back to reality. and just like before, all his thoughts was silenced with one word.

why? 

he picks up the letter that fell to the floor, reading it calmly this time. 

his eyes move slowly and carefully as if he’s afraid of the words he’s going to read. this time, the words doesn’t come like a tornado. this time, it comes like tsunami. before he knew it, he’s already underwater and being pushed in all directions by the water. 

i’m sorry. 

i didn’t think i could tell you this in person. i thought about it carefully, yoongi. but i don’t think i can go on with this. i’ve known for a while even before you’ve said it that night–that it’s not me you truly see at first, i thought it was okay. i don’t mind if the love you give is borrowed. i’d rather be loved like this than not being loved at all by you. i’d take whatever love you can give. then, i realize how fucked up it is. in the process of loving you, i’d forgotten how to love myself. it’s cheesy, i know. but what can i do when the man who i love only loves me because he finds her in me? is there a space for the real me in your heart, yoongi? because if we’re honest, if it’s down to me and her, who would you choose? that night, when you told me i am just like her that’s why you can’t lose me, i just knew it had to stop. i don’t want to be the person you settle for just because you can’t have her. 

i’m sorry, yoongi. i know that by doing this, i’m hurting you. but it has to end before any more people get hurt. 

i’ll let you go so you can find her again. 

we can talk about this further when you’re ready. 

y/n.

the whiskey rolled on his tongue, the bitter taste on his buds lingering as he swallowed the strong drink. not even letting his tongue get to its aftertaste, he takes another swig of the highly alcoholic drink.

“you need to slow down.”

his best friend reminds him as he sits beside him on the couch—the couch you specifically chose. everything in this house, you chose. every corner of the place, he sees you. every little thing reminded him of you.

he groans and limply hold the glass by his knee. he hung his head back and rests his forearm on his forehead. seokjin watches and sighs at the misery of his best friend.

“i think i need someone to tell me how to live life.” yoongi blurts out.

“why would you think that?” seokjin asks with a snort before taking a sip of his drink. his face scrunches after taking in the taste of the whiskey, realizing it was way too strong for his liking. he takes another sip anyway. that’s just how seokjin is.

“i think i’ve been doing it wrong so far.” the man answers with a mutter.

seokjin gazes at his best friend and then to the divorce papers on the table. he recalls the text he received from his friend’s wife in the afternoon.

hi jin. if u’re free tonight can u check on yoongi after his shift? i think he’ll need u.

the day the jin dreads has come. knowing yoongi the best, he wished that it didn’t happen like this. he felt bad for his friend but worse for you. you don’t deserve this. the fact that you still went out of your way to make sure your husband was alright when you were divorcing him, he doesn’t think it will be easy for yoongi to find someone like you again.

“when do you plan to talk to her?” seokjin asks in relation to the last line in the letter.

yoongi removes his arm from his face and looks at seokjin. he sighs and slumps more on the couch, body sliding down lower until his chin rests on his chest.

“i don’t know.”

“you went through with it.”

jungkook doesn’t greet you when he enters your office. it only took looking at your tired face, the bags under your eyes, and the way you teared up the moment you see him step foot in the room with documents in his hands. he had no idea you were going to do it. he knew that you had everything ready after the hawaii trip but you never told him you were going to do it already.

“i did it.” the corner of your lips turned upward in a small, sad smile.

“huh.” he reacts, looking down on his feet. your brow furrows at the sudden drop of his mood, curious as to why his sulkiness doesn’t only indicate pity.

your friend drags his feet to get near you and drops himself on his favorite chair across you. “has he signed it?” he asks, dropping the papers on your table.

“i left the papers and a letter at home yesterday. he hasn’t made contact since then.” you answer, getting the papers he brought you. he takes one glace at it and was reminded why he was there in the first place.

“need you to sign these to finalize the deal with the kim enterprise.” he says as you examine the papers. “i arranged a meeting for you with them by your secretary. it’s on friday.”

you nod and grabbed the pen at the side of your desk. the metallic casing of the caran d’ache sign pen yoongi gifted to you is cold on your skin as you held it. your thumb caresses the engraved name on the expensive gold plated casing, feeling the comfort of the familiar rough texture of it. your name looks good with his, such a shame you have to give it back to him.

you shake your head and put it inside the drawer under your desk so you won’t see or use it again. this time, you grab a different pen, a normal one that you liked using for signing before your marriage.

you finally sign the papers and hand it over to your friend who was still looking down on his shoes. there was a slight pout on his face, so you wonder what was on his mind.

“okay, what’s bothering you?” you sigh.

he bites his lip before looking at you for a second then avoiding your stare. “it’s nothing.” he says before standing up.

you grab his arm before he can get away, standing up in the process. “get back here right now.”

his jaw clenches. “i just—i feel kind of responsible.” he answers, still not looking at you.

his words takes you aback, loosening your grip on him.

“what?” you let him go to stutter the word out of your mouth.

“you started to doubt him after the hawaii trip. after what i said.”

now you realize what was on his mind and understand why. you don’t indulge jungkook much on your relationship. despite him being your best friend, you didn’t feel like telling anyone your doubts on the marriage, not even yourself.

you only told him after the hawaii trip about everything. he listened attentively but you noticed there was something bothering him a bit since then.

jungkook liked yoongi. he treated him like an older brother. but you were his best friend and yoongi had his mistakes. still, he couldn’t help but things happened differently.

he knows that with this marriage dissolving, he might lose yoongi as a friend. but most importantly, he was scared that you will lose the light in your eyes. he was glad you’re going to be free of him and could not hurt you further than he was doing but he wonders if there was a slight chance that you would be happy for a lifetime just living in your bubble of a marriage that maybe wouldn’t have popped if he hadn’t shown you how to. he thinks this all happened because of him.

“kookie, it was doomed from the start and never your fault.” you sigh, before continuing. “it didn’t start with you. or even with me. it started with yoongi. but i’m the one ending it for all of us. the two of us deserve better than pretending everything’s okay.”

you really wanted yoongi to be the one to reach out first. two weeks has passed and there still was no sign of him wanting to communicate with you. if he wanted to cut you off so bad, why hasn’t he signed the papers?

so here you are now, in front of your apartment. the two of you have to settle with an agreement before your father’s birthday gala on saturday and you can’t do that if he’s still not willing to talk to you.

you punched in the numbers on the keypad lock. it was the combination of the years you were born. just another reminder how far apart you were. although five years isn’t really a huge age difference, it was another factor that doesn’t make you her.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous that the passkey would be changed. but as the lock in front of you dinged green and let you in, a sense of relief comes to you.

you know that yoongi isn’t here and still at work. with that knowledge, you allow yourself to check the place. it was just like you left it, clean and quiet. there isn’t much food left in the fridge so you figure that he’s been eating out. at least, that’s what you wish. you hope his secretary, kim taehyung, is making sure he eats well.

you look over your wrist watch. there’s still more than an hour before yoongi comes home. with the time you have, you can cook a few side dishes he can eat with take out. without thinking more about it, you get to work.

wearing your apron, you hum to yourself while preparing the ingredients, finding yourself easily lost in how much the place and activity felt like second skin to you.

there are two coping mechanisms when you’re anxious for what’s in store in the future. first, is you think about it every minute of the day and let it destroy you. second, you completely ignore it until it happens. you were obviously doing the latter this time.

you haven’t thought about how you’re going to talk about the divorce to your parents. so far, the only people who knows about it from your side is jungkook, your secretary, and maria. you don’t know who yoongi has told yet but you’re sure seokjin knows. that’s four people. four people outside your relationship that knows what’s in store.

the moment more people know, it’s irreversible and real.

you wonder how your parents will react. their only daughter, divorced at a young age with no children. they won’t be happy but you’re sure they’ll understand.

just as you were putting the cooked dishes inside their tupperware, you hear the door open. you hold your breath and freeze. suddenly scared of his reaction to your unannounced return.

this is the first time you’ve seen him in two weeks yet you don’t know how to act. instead, you watch as yoongi drags his body inside, eyes on his feet and head hung low like a zombie. your heart breaks at how tired he looks.

“yoongi.”

his whole body tenses up and freezes for a moment before finally looking up to look at you. it seems as if his eyes couldn’t believe what he was seeing. you, in your apron, cooking as if nothing happened.

“y–y/n.” he stutters as he straightens his posture, countenance brightening. “wha–what are you doing here?” he fixes his tie while walking over to you.

the loud clasps of you closing air-tight containers filled the room before you answer his question. “dad’s birthday is on saturday.” you start as you stack the containers inside the fridge. “if you’re not ready to talk about it, we should come to an agreement for the birthday gala.”

you had your back turned to him so you can’t see his face as he replied but you notice the way his voice drops in disappointment. “oh. the gala.”

you don’t understand. what was he expecting? for you to take back your word on the divorce? you saw how his face brightened when he saw you in the kitchen. you hate how he is so obviously disappointed when he realized you were only here to talk about the gala. you hate how he hasn’t contacted you in two weeks. it’s so yoongi of him to give you space when he feels, or rather assumes, you need it. you hate how he doesn’t understand that the space was for him–for him to decide whether to correct his wrongs or to put an end to it. you hate how he hasn’t fought for you. you hate how much you wish he would ask you to take him back. you hate that because of him–because of her, you can’t stay. but above it all, you hate yourself.

you hate that even if you’ve decided to put an end to it, you can’t help but feel regret.

the gala arrives faster than you hope it would.

when you and yoongi had the conversation in the penthouse, you both agreed to go to the gala together like nothing happened. with that, he decided to forego the driver for tonight, personally fetching you from your apartment.

it was weird.

the agreement was you will act like there wasn’t to be a divorce in public, not when you were alone. yet when he arrives at your door, he holds a beautiful bouquet of a variety of flowers as if you were still dating. he opens the door to you with a charming smile and made jokes in the car as he hummed to the music on the radio like he was having fun.

his slim-fit single-breasted armani suit in midnight blue suits him like it’s second skin. he wears with it a black shirt with a silver-striped midnight blue necktie. it was nothing new to you. formal wear was something he wore often. but tonight, you had to stop yourself from drooling at how good your future ex-husband looked.

and how good he looked next to you.

complementing his midnight blue outfit, you wore an evening dress in the same color. it was nothing grand but it was classy. a tight-fit, spaghetti-strapped silk dress that hugged your curves, modest in front but backless to your lower back. on your neck and ears is a simple set of diamond necklace and earrings your father has gifted you on one of your birthdays.

everyone greeted you with big smiles as you strode into room with his hand on your waist. you were the l/n’s only daughter, after all. and beside you was the famous min.

the night went by easily. the two of you faked your smiles here and there. the two of you weren’t just born into your position in your companies, you both knew how to act and earned them. just like that, it was easy to pretend that you were both very in love.

well, there wasn’t much pretending on your part before.

after you had made your greetings to your parents and yoongi’s and when all of the guests are mostly seated and has left you alone, yoongi and you sat side by side on one circular table. your father was about to make his birthday speech.

“y/n. yoongi.”

kim seokjin greets you with a sigh of relief as he sat down beside yoongi. “thank god the hags has left you alone. i was bored in the corner watching it all end.” he sits beside yoongi and you gave him a smile.

you’ve always liked seokjin. he was a good friend not only to yoongi but also to you. he might not be the ceo type like his brother namjoon but he has his own charms. not finding his passion in business, he turned to modeling and acting instead and gave the position to his younger brother. you trust that he will take care of yoongi when you can no longer do it for him.

“tell me about it.” your head whips to your best friend that now sits beside you.

there is a sense of relief that flashes to you when the two people you both trust are now beside you. it’s as if they were your safe zone. jungkook had always been your person and seokjin was yoongi’s. they are the first person to know everything about you two, even if there are no words said.

you can’t help but wonder what they think. do they think you are making the right decision?

“don’t look so down or people are going to notice.” jungkook whispers in your ear through a smile.

you glare at him and was about to reply with a comeback when the lights dimmed, indicating the program was about to start. your father walks to the platform gracefully. ever the sophisticated man, everyone’s head turned to him as he moved. he clears his throat before speaking.

“good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

whatever words that come out of his mouth were a blur to you after the greeting. it was the same every year, anyway.

instead, your mind drifts to the person beside you. next year, at the same gala, he would not be sitting next to you like this. it’s funny how a seat symbolizes something so important to you.

being married, it was always a given. you save each other a seat because you belong beside him. knowing that the spot next to you won’t be his anymore, it breaks your heart because it was always his to own even if the day that he won’t be sitting there comes.

it’s such a shame your spot next to him is borrowed. as much as you want to, you can’t have the seat beside him anymore.

yoongi tenses beside you. you are so beautiful with your hair fixed like that. he can’t take his eyes off of you. he wants to memorize every detail of you so he can take it with him everywhere.

he figured that he can’t let you stay at an unfair relationship. he knew you were right. it has to end.

you loved him more than he deserved. he shouldn’t have loved you because of her. he should have loved you because you were you.

with his time left with you, he would at least try to make things right.

his hand twitches on his side as he stared at yours that lay prettily on your lap. the silver band around your ring finger glistens in reflection to the light of the room. he remembers vividly when he bought it.

the diamond engagement ring that sits next to it was the very same ring he planned on buying for her.

his bullshit plans.

his plans for her, he fulfilled them with you like a fool.

so adamant on doing the right things as if you were her, he didn’t realize he was doing the wrong things for you. it didn’t make him a better man or a better lover. it made him hurt you instead.

“i’d like to give thanks to mr. kim namjoon, who is our partner in a new deal arranged by my one and only beautiful daughter. a round of applause for these two amazing young people, everyone.”

your father mentioning you pushes out his thoughts as you give a thankful smile to everyone now looking at you. his gaze drifts over to who you were looking at.

namjoon, his friend’s brother. the cunningly smart ceo of the kim enterprise. yoongi had always admired his leadership skills. besides admiration, there might even be a slight envy of namjoon being a natural leader. he was rivals with him in business school. the guy was awfully talented and being seokjin’s closest friend, he knows that one of the reason seokjin gave up his spot for the ceo position is because he knows that his younger brother was far more capable than him. well, that and he just despises business classes.

yoongi doesn’t miss the way namjoon gives you his dimpled smile and a small nod of appreciation from his seat. he can’t help but feel a slight burn in his chest. seokjin never kept it secret that namjoon has a crush on you even before the two of you got together. he knows that it wasn’t the disrespectful kind. namjoon never crossed his line or sought after you. in fact, yoongi thought him to be too respectful, too nice, and too perfect. it made him insecure.

before, he was confident in your love because you chose him out of all the men at your feet. you gave him your love. now, he wasn’t sure you made the right choice.

gathering all the confidence he could have from his seat, he reaches for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. you don’t act surprised nor look at him but he vaguely feels you freeze in his hold.

he squeezes your hand lightly and all your tense muscles break loose. just like that, he feels your hand grip his softly. as if you were telling him it’s okay.

this one action was telling him that you still love him—you still find your home in him. it breaks him to know that you love him so much more than he ever did. it breaks him to know that if he asks, there is a great possibility that you will take him back. and god does he want to.

he doesn’t think he could take seeing you with another man but that would be selfish of him.

sooner or later, he has to let you go. for your sake.

you had your meal normally. the dessert does not taste as sweet with the silence between the two of you. seokjin and jungkook does all the talking, bickering like two siblings like they always do.

min yoongi was hard to read. how could he just hold your hand like that? maybe you were reading too much into it. this can’t be like this any further. you have to know what’s on his mind. he has to talk to you soon about it.

a shadowing presence towers behind you, urging you to look behind and see where kim namjoon stands. he’s on his feet, standing while holding a champagne glass on one hand and gives you a cute polite smile. he had finally approached you tonight. “mrs. min.” he greets.

you stand up from your seat in respect and greet him with a smile that rivals his. “namjoon, i told you to call me y/n.”

namjoon was older than you but not older than yoongi. although the three of you were in the same circle of people even before your parents introduced you to yoongi, namjoon was someone who just stood out to you since you were kids. you purposely sought him out for this deal because with him in it, it’s a sure success.

his eyes shift to the man that was still sitting on your table. “mr. min.” he gives a small bow in his direction. only then yoongi looks up and nods. “mr. kim.” he doesn’t smile back. even if it’s not like him to hand out smiles at every chance he can, you sense that there is something odd with the way he looks at namjoon.

“well, i’m not really here to talk about work. i just wanted to greet my new partner and her husband.” namjoon says, scratching the back of his head.

“but i am.” your father appears at your side, placing a hand on your back and namjoon’s, bringing you closer with him.

“go and promote the project with namjoon.” he whispers directly at you. you roll your eyes and namjoon chuckles and shakes his head. when he sees your reaction, he lightly pinches your side. “go!” he urges with a whisper.

“but i’m here with yoongi.” you protest while namjoon watches the adorable father-daughter interaction.

“yoongi wouldn’t mind.” he answers before walking in the middle of you and namjoon and to yoongi who directed his attention to speaking with seokjin and jungkook. he lays a hand on his shoulder and leans in.

“son, do you mind me taking y/n for a while? i know you lovebirds can’t be separated but think it’s for the company.” your father asks with shit-eating grin. the word ‘separated’ almost made you laugh at the bitter thought. you saw yoongi’s smug smirk at when he said it too. if your father only knew.

“of course, father.” yoongi answers while looking straight into your eyes.

you and namjoon were quickly whisked away to meet the guests. if you didn’t know what the invitations of the party says, you would guess it’s a party for you and namjoon.

from time to time, you would steal a glance at your husband who was still sitting with your friends. he was in conversation with them but is in deep thought.

“you’re going to burn holes into my brother’s head.” seokjin teases with a smirk. yoongi takes his eyes off you laughing at something your dad’s friend was saying and glares at seokjin instead.

as if it wasn’t enough, jungkook agrees. “yeah hyung, tone it down it’s kind of scary.”

“shut up, you two.” he growls and crosses his arms.

jungkook gives him a cheeky grin and slides into your seat. judging by the look on his face, yoongi already knows the younger man has an agenda. “what happened?”

yoongi narrows his eyes. “what do you mean what happened?”

“you two went together so i assume you’ve talked, right?” jungkook asks with a tilted head.

seokjin nods, resting his head on his fist while leaning on the table. “yeah, yeah. you’re right. i’ve been curious too, jungkook. what happened, yoongi?”

yoongi glares at his friend again and looks ahead of him. you were still talking to investors with namjoon. “tsk. we haven’t talked about it.”

“what the fuck do you mean you haven’t talked about it?” seokjin whispers angrily, brows furrowed as he leaned closer to yoongi’s face.

yoongi avoids the gaze of his friends. “i still don’t know what to say.”

jungkook dramatically slaps a hand to his forehead. “it’s not rocket science, hyung! say ‘i’m sorry. i don’t want yuna. i want you. i’ll be better.’” he says while doing his impression of how yoongi talks.

“okay, first of all,” yoongi puts a finger up in front of jungkook’s face. ”i don’t talk like that.” yoongi shifts his body to the other direction and asks seokjin, offended. “do i talk like that?” seokjin only shrugs.

he turns back to jungkook again. “and it’s not that easy.” he says with a sigh.

“he’s right.” seokjin agrees. yoongi and jungkook turn to look at him, wondering who he agrees with. the receiver of the stares continues his words. “yoongi’s right. it’s not easy.”

seokjin purses his lips, gaze hardening on yoongi. it’s not like seokjin to become serious like this, he’s almost angry. “it’s not easy to decide whether he really wants y/n to stay because he wants her… or he’s just afraid to be alone again.”

yoongi freezes on his seat, stunned at his best friend’s words. he hears the drag of seokjin’s stare as he stands up. from his peripheral vision, he sees seokjin fix his suit before talking.

“whatever it is, be sure it doesn’t hurt you or y/n anymore.” he says softly and walks away, leaving the two men seated pondering to themselves.

the ride back to your apartment was quiet until he parked in front of it. it was all over. you had said good night to him and told him he did a good job tonight. all that was left to do for you was to step out of the car. you’ve detached your seatbelt and had your hand on the handle when yoongi grabs your arm, stopping you mid-way of your attempt to escape him.

“can’t i fix this?”

and there it is.

he said those four words that he always wanted to say to you. he asks the question like you had the answer when he knows all too well that the answer lies with him. but this wasn’t him literally literally asking you if he can fix this, this was him asking you if you’re willing to give him a chance.

you slowly turn to him. there were no emotions in your eyes. no sign of anything. he had never seen you like this.

“can you?”

he swallows and releases your arm, not answering the question you ask back to him. how can he when he doesn’t know the answer? he had never known the answer. he didn’t when seokjin asked him that question when they were drinking. he didn’t when he realized that he sees a glimpse of her through you from the very beginning. he didn’t when you left him the divorce papers and the letter. he didn’t when seokjin dropped that bomb on him earlier at the party. he doesn’t know even now, where you had your whole self open in front of him, waiting for his answer.

wait.

everybody had to fucking wait for him. what was so great about a man like him? maybe he deserves to be alone. maybe you were better off without him.

no. fuck.

this isn’t about him. this is about you.

his priority is you.

he doesn’t want to lose you but you shouldn’t wait around until he knows why. he’s a mess right now.

you hum in satisfaction at his silence and inhaled with closed eyes. you exhale loudly and yoongi realizes you were holding back tears.

“i’m just–” you pause, your voice trembling. you shake your head and open your eyes to stare straight at him with pinched brows and pleading eyes. “i’m not so sure about myself when i’m with you anymore, yoongi.”

“you built our relationship on her, don’t you realize?”

the tears in his eyes well up before he even knows it. he watches as your face contort into a sob. you were breaking down in front of him like this. he made you feel like this. the woman he married. the woman he loves at night and wakes up to everyday. his best friend. his girlfriend. his wife. the woman he loves.

the woman who taught him to love again.

his mother couldn’t stand him moping around anymore. “it’s been two years”, she said. “just one date”, she pleads.

that’s how yoongi finds himself attending a dinner at a hotel one evening. he was running a bit late from work so he barely made an effort to look nice, not that he was making an effort for the past two years. he hasn’t cut his hair for months and he just threw on a loose black suit jacket and pants that he had at the trunk of his car. he was even wearing jordans, for fuck’s sake. he may be a teeny tiny bit out of place. he’s surely going to get a scolding from his mother at the prime age of 29.

the valet takes his keys in front of the entrance. it’s a good thing his family is a regular here. he doesn’t have to worry much about how he looks from the staff. the guests however, are a different story.

the looks he received were not much to think about. he was spared a glance but everyone just went on their way. okay, maybe he exagerrated with how he saw his outfit. yeah. fuck that, he was almost late.

he strides through the lobby, determined to get there before the woman he was about to meet but he doubts you’ll be late. he has heard of you. the soon-to-be ceo of the company that owns these hotels.

he can feel holes burning through his head, sensing that someone was staring at him. great. he’s being judged now like he expected. could this day get worse?

he shakes his head and steps in the elevator, turning to see the view of the lobby. he finds that a woman was staring at him. unlike him, she was dressed as if she own the place, clad in a simple black dress that reaches the floor with expensive jewelry all around her neck and wrists. she doesn’t even break eye contact with him as the elevator closes.

are people so shamelessly judgemental these days? he asks to himself.

“yoongi! you’re here just in time.” yoongi’s father greets just as he enters the private dining room. he bows at the four people seated. he can actually feel his mother’s stare from head-to-toe and hear her internal screams from where he was bowing.

your parents greet him with wide smiles. the staff slides the heavy chair from the table and lets him sit. he thanks him before he walks away to get a bottle of wine that your father ordered.

“my daughter texted me she’s by the lobby already. she’ll be here any second now.” your mother informs yoongi and his parents.

as if on cue, the door swings open to reveal the last person the party has been waiting for.

there you stand. the same person who was staring at him in the lobby. he sees your eyes widen for a moment when your eyes lay on him but you quickly recovered with a smirk you sent his way. a second after, you greet everyone with a smile.

you charmed your way through the dinner. you were smart, cunning, beautiful, and kind. you told him and his parents of your ambitions and wants for the company. even if you were at an age of dreaming, yoongi had no doubt you will be able to achieve them with the way you carry yourself.

you had so much light in your eyes. it reminded him of when he used to be like you. it reminded him of a time when he used to dream with her.

he walks you to the lobby after the dinner as yours and his parents insisted. your driver was already waiting outside. you stopped just by the exit.

“sorry for staring here in the lobby earlier.” you say with a genuine smile and walked again. yoongi was a bit shocked you would even bring it up. were you disappointed that he was the one you were meeting?

“it’s just that i smelled you when you passed by and you smell so good.” you explain as he follows you out of the doors. his eyes widened at your words. you weren’t staring because of his underwhelming style?

“it wasn’t because of what i wore?” he blinks, dumbfounded.

“what’s wrong with your clothes?” you look him up and down, examining. “you look hot.”

he was taken aback at your straightforwardness. “i’m a bit underdressed, aren’t i? few people were staring too.” he lightly argues, tilting his head as he fixes his jacket. the car door was already opened to you by your driver and was just waiting for you to come in.

“they were staring because you’re handsome, dude.” did you just call him dude? you huff before muttering. “you know for an old guy, you’re really mean to yourself.” dude, old guy, mean. he’s astonished at your choice of words.

“anyway, i gotta bounce. see you on our first date!” you jump in the back seat of the car as you said it. the driver shuts the door in front of him.

“i haven’t agreed?” he mumbles to himself a little too loud and sees you roll down your window.

“you will!” you give him a cheeky smile and place a hand over the rolled down glass window that was still slightly peeking out. “you haven’t told me what perfume you wear!” you giggle and finally roll up your tinted windows.

the car drives away and he’s left standing outside of the hotel, still dumbfounded at your character. he feels a bubbling feeling in his chest and he smiles. what was he so worried about today anyway? with that thought, he laughs to himself, not caring about the stares of passerbys.

that very next day, he texts his mother to arrange a first date with you. not because you called him handsome, or old man, or mean.

he agreed because for the first time in two years, you made him genuinely laugh.

his left hand gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white. the stare you gave him, your tired eyes begging him to say something.

“i don’t want to lose you. that’s all i know.” yoongi admits.

you press your lips together in a downward smile and shake your head, sniffing before talking.

“that’s not enough, yoongi. i’m sorry.” the words leave your mouth steady, as if you put the last of your energy in it. then, you exit the car, leaving him all alone in the cold-conditioned vehicle.

at the age of 27, yoongi lost who he believed to be the love of his life. at the age of 29, he meets you. at the age of 31, he marries you. and at the age of 33, he lost you.

maybe in another universe, he was capable of loving you. in that universe, he would be cuddling you in bed, naked for each other to melt into. in that universe, he makes you genuinely happy with him. in that universe, he is completely and undeniably in love with you.

but in this universe, he sits across yuna in a restaurant. she arranged a private room for them, coincidentally in one of your hotels.

“you’re divorced?” yuna asks as she sips on her tea.

here she is in front of him, the woman he loved all his life. from high school to college and to that very last day on that cafe. she was his first everything. his first kiss, first love, and first heartbreak. what they had was a love burning of passion. eventually, the passion led him astray.

yuna used to be someone who cheered for him and he used to be someone who supported her.

“you won!” yuna jumps up and down with yoongi, their hands clasps together in glee. “we won!” yoongi screams back. the cheers of the people around them blended with their own screams in the gym.

he laughs wholeheartedly and wraps his arms around her, sweaty body pressing against hers. time seemed to stop for yoongi, he could feel his chest burning as he looked at her, eyes screaming with happiness that sources from something else than winning his basketball game.

“i think i love you.” yoongi blurts out.

yuna freezes in his hold, wide eyes staring at him in disbelief. he watches as a wide smile paints her face with unexplained happiness. she nods repeatedly and squeals.

“i think i love you too!”

it was then that the realization dawns on him. he’s in love with his best friend. since then and there, he vowed that wherever she goes, he will follow her as long as she wanted him too. and if she doesn’t, he will still support her from afar.

“yeah, yeah four months ago.” yoongi answers her. yuna nods and finishes chewing the slice of sashimi in her mouth.

“hmm, that’s not really long ago. how do you feel about that?” yuna asks, not even looking at him at all. 

it’s funny. he used to think about this all the time–seeing her again. now she’s in front of him but he is nothing but a stranger to her. there were no bitter feelings in her. it’s like yoongi was nothing but a thing in the past that she has forgotten. meanwhile, yoongi is wrecked. 

“i don’t know.” he used to answer with those three words a lot lately.

“i’m not going to beat around the bush. you know i hate doing that.” yuna uses a napkin to wipe her mouth. she had the same face, mannerisms, and voice yet yoongi can’t figure out the itching feeling at the back of his brain. 

he hears yuna put her chopsticks down on the table. he readies himself to what she was going to say, chewing his food slowly as he anticipates what comes next. 

“do you want to try again?” 

he fantasized about this a lot of times–less when he met you but it was definitely there. it was the kind of fantasy that a person don’t tell anyone, the kind that one doesn’t allow oneself to feed into. but sometimes, when that person’s guard is down, it creeps in like a thief in the night, showing him his deepest desires.

“what?” yoongi freezes and looks up at her. 

her. time is kind on yuna. she grew into a woman that she always wanted to be. she achieved her dreams and never stopped for anyone. silently, yoongi is proud of her still.

i’ll let you go so you can find her again. your words in the letter creeps into his head. now, her is asking him back. he should feel ecstatic. it was all so confusing that it’s making him all angry. all that pain he caused you and he has the right to feel disappointment?

“we’re both single. we both changed. we weren’t perfect, yoongi. we were kids. we outgrew each other before but we can try again now.” yuna explains further, as if proposing a business deal. funny. wasn’t she a doctor?

but she was right. they outgrew each other. yoongi focused on his work and gave in to the pressure of being his father’s heir. slowly, the support that he promised her faded away. he became restless and anxious. all yuna wanted was to love him like they promised.

“why do you believe in me?” yuna asked as she lays on yoongi’s lap on the couch. multiple medical books laying around them. 

the memory was still fresh in their minds. yoongi had gone over his ways and helped her study, creating flashcards and powerpoint presentations for her reporting in class. 

yoongi caresses her hair, making her melt in his comfort. “because you give me strength.” he pauses, contemplating if his next words. “and i want more for you.”

although wealthy, yuna’s social status wasn’t in the same level as yoongi’s. her parents were doctors but her father died even before she met yoongi.  it’s her dream to be as good as her parents in the field of medicine. on the other hand, yoongi, heir to his father’s businesses, is just aiming to do well to please his father. 

is business his dream? no. he doesn’t think he has one. business has been planted on his mind since birth but yuna, he can see that she’s a dreamer. in this day and age, dreamers are rare. he wants to protect that of her. she didn’t ask him to but it’s his way of showing her he loves her.

“i love you.” she replies. “i always will. i mean it.” 

“i always will too.” 

“no. really! even if we break up, i think you will always have a place in my heart.” and yoongi smiles, loving the thought because he knows that his heart will do the same. 

“and i will always come back to you.” he says seriously, making yuna giggle in his hold.

“that’s cheesy.”

“whatever. i’m not kidding. so you can go ahead and fly how high you want. i’ll always wait for you.” 

in sales, there are commutative contracts, meaning the two parties participating give and receive equivalent values. but there is an exception which is aleatory contracts, which are basically sales of chance or hope. think of it like a purchase for a lottery ticket. you put money in without expecting anything in return but a tiny chance of hope. 

that was what yoongi was doing wrong. he’s been seeing his relationships like a commutative contract when it’s far from it. he thinks that true love should be give or take but it doesn’t have to be. sometimes, you just love unconditionally without expecting anything in return but a glimmer of hope. 

you loved him like that. like a fool, he thought he was giving you enough back. 

“what?” yuna urges when yoongi takes longer than usual to reply. “do you still love her?”

your face immediately flies to his mind. how were you doing? it’s been four months since the divorce was finalized. there hasn’t been contact with you since then. such a scandal shook everyone you knew. there wasn’t a clear reason how you explained the split. ‘our plans for the future don’t meet anymore so we have to go our separate ways’, is what the two of you agreed to say others. both of your parents weren’t exactly angry but they didn’t hide their disappointment. 

in those four months, yoongi buried himself in his work. he heard you’ve been doing the same. taehyung, his assistant, is in your friend group so he catches up through him. your project collaboration seemed to be doing well, he’s been hearing a lot about it lately. 

in the four years of his relationship with you, he did love you. he cared for you more than anyone else. you supported him in all his endeavors. you helped him pick himself back up. 

yuna was great. seven years of relationship wasn’t something you can just throw away. he still loves her and regrets the mistakes he made. if asked, he would still say that he will stop the world for her. people often say that usually, we don’t end up with the person we would stop the world for. he didn’t want that before. it had to be her. but now he understands.

it took four months of being separated from you and yuna in front of him for him to finally know the answer.

stopping the world for a person is impossible. you want a person that moves through the world with you and holds you through it. he wants to keep it spinning for you. 

“she made my world turn.” yoongi answered.

seated on the stool in front of the bar wasn’t something you expected to be this busy night. it all started when you forced information out of your friend, taehyung.

“there’s something you’re not telling me.” you eye taehyung as he sits besides you on your couch. 

taehyung, jimin, and jungkook came over in your house to hang for the night. they’ve been doing that a lot more than usual for the past four months. no one was saying anything but all of you were sure what was the reason for that. now, jimin and jungkook is passed out on the floor on the mattress for some reason while watching the movie.

his eyes widened and the popcorn he was catch in his mouth stops mid air and falls on his lap. he gives you a nervous smile and tilts his head. “your interior is kind of… ugly?” he blurts out, making your jaw drop and slapping his arm. 

“the fuck? you know what i’m talking about!” and he does. it’s probably not very healthy in your journey of moving on but you still ask taehyung about yoongi. when you were married, if there was someone else who knows about yoongi’s whereabouts, it was taehyung. he was your friend first before he was hired by yoongi. meaning, he was your ally. he told you of his schedules when you ask and helped you plan out dates with matching your schedules. 

taehyung doesn’t tell you much more than he should now that you’re not together but he still tells you when he thinks you need to hear it. there’s only one thing you ask of him to tell you even if it crosses boundaries. 

you have a great feeling that that’s about to happen tonight as taehyung has been avoiding your gaze since he came in. 

“he did it.” you concluded. 

taehyung drops his guard and nodded warily. you huff and look back at the television. 

he met with yuna.

unfortunately, namjoon was dragged in your misery. coming from your dinner meeting, just as you were about to leave, you bit the bullet and asked namjoon if he wanted to join you for some drinks. 

it was bound to happen. he’s no longer yours. still, you can’t help but be hurt. were they together now? does he hold her like he used to and give him his adorable gummy smile while they cuddle in bed? 

“another glass of this, please.” you say to the bartender. 

namjoon looks at you disapprovingly as he takes a sip on his cocktail, the same one he asked since you both arrived here. 

“why are you not drinking? you don’t even drive.” you ask him, a little bit buzzed. you’ve grown closer to the man due to your meetings that you can now call him a friend. 

namjoon’s cheeks raise, an amused smile forming on his face. he doesn’t answer your question and just shrugs. you gather you’re entertaining to him when you drink.

“why is it that you don’t drive? you have everything but a driver’s license.” you thank the bartender as he hands you your new glass of coke and rum. 

namjoon chuckles. “you don’t know this but i’m actually really clumsy.” 

“no way. you? you’re like really responsible and amazing and cool.” you slurred your words out like a kid, pouting and laying your head on the bar. 

namjoon grabs your shoulder, gently guiding you to sit up. “don’t lean your head. you’ll get drunk faster.” he advises. when you take his advice, he continues. “and you don’t know this because i put up a really good facade but i’m actually really clumsy.” he sighs to himself, tapping the bar with his long fingers. 

“what do you do when you’re outside and want to be truly alone then?” you ask, holding on to your glass. you don’t look at him when you ask this because the question was not solely for him. you ask the question for yourself.

“i bike.” he answers. you chuckle, amused. you picture a namjoon on his suit riding a bike because that’s the only namjoon you know. 

“i can hardly imagine kim namjoon, the famous ceo of kim enterprises, to be riding a bike.” you didn’t mean it in a bad way. namjoon has always been a humble elite, no matter how ironic that sounds. 

“i do it a lot actually. every morning.” 

“really?”

“really.”

“why do you like it?” you were like a kid asking these questions.

“i see a lot when i bike. people, trees, i can the feel the air hitting my face, the exhaustion from the exercise, it’s therapeutic.” he says it so genuinely. he really enjoys riding bikes. 

“sounds to me like you’re persuading me to bike too.” you tease for it really is tempting when it comes out from his mouth. this is probably why he gets so many investors.

“you can come with me.” he blurted out, making you look at him.

“i can?” 

he gives you that damned dimpled smile. “yeah. how about saturday morning?” 

you don’t think you have any important business on saturday morning and if you do, you’ll just have your secretary push it. you were too curious on what makes namjoon… namjoon to care. and again, you were a little bit buzzed.

“i’d like that.” you answer with a smile. 

you were tipsy but you’re not completely out of it to not realize why namjoon was doing this. from your miserable drinking to acting like a fool in front of him, you know he noticed your gloomy era. this was him trying to console you as a new friend and you appreciate that he doesn’t ask questions. 

drunk decisions are seldom good ideas. luck may be on your side this morning. the thing is, you never knew how therapeutic this was. but god, were you tired.

“do you not workout?” namjoon jeered when the both of you stop paddling for a while. he watched you pant excessively while glaring at him. 

“this is not the time to mock my physical unfitness.” you say through your pants. namjoon hands you his water tumbler because your dumbass forgot to bring one. before you grab it, he takes off the lid for you. you quickly mutter a thanks before drinking. 

“i just thought you were with that ass.” 

you almost spit out your drink, blush spreading your whole face more than the one caused by your exhaustion. did namjoon just admit he stares at your ass? 

before you even get the chance to reply, namjoon speeds off, leaving you to scream his name in protest. 

despite the expected exhaustion, you were glad you came with namjoon to his morning routine. you never realized this part of the city was so beautiful. you were someone who was driven everywhere since you were a kid and all the biking you had done past your teenage years are on the stationary bike at the gym you rarely go to. you never realized a change of transportation brings a different view of the city.

you don’t easily catch up with namjoon. it took him to slow down with his pedalling for you to be inline with him. when you were back to his side, slowly pedalling this time, he started to randomly give you the names and facts of the trees and plants you passed by. you found it adorable how much he knew about botany. it made sense how he goes out of his way more than other businessmen when it comes to the environment. although it’s a reality that capitalism and environmental care can hardly co-exist, you can see from his work that namjoon tries hard. 

“i’m not very good at things people are normally good at. when i feel that things are getting too tight, looking at art keeps me grounded. sometimes all you really need is a moment of pause or to step back and see the bigger picture.” 

you ask him more of his hobbies, learning more about namjoon was an unexpected delight. he is so different from his reputation. he’s actually pretty child-like and now you see why seokjin loves to take care of him even if people believe namjoon takes care of seokjin more. he tries cooking but he fails more than he succeeds. he often breaks a myriad of things. he’s scared of driving. it seemed to him that destruction follows him everywhere he goes and anything he does. except business. it’s the thing he’s good at. that, and growing his bonsais. 

besides biking and taking in nature, he’s an art appreciator of any form. 

“you get invitations to every museum in the country?” 

“yep. if you want to go to a specific one, i can get them for you.” he suggests. 

he has lead you to the riverside, stopping by to feel the air by the water. he leans on the railings as he drinks water. 

“hm. biking and now museums?” you tease, hinting something. you weren’t ignorant to what seokjin says about his brother. still, you never thought it to be serious before but now you were testing the waters. it’s not healthy to lead him on when you aren’t ready for another relationship.

he shakes his head. “i know what seokjin blabs about. but really, i’m just trying to be a friend.” he confesses. “for now.” he adds.

you take his answer as it is and not press further. you and your companion’s silence grows heavy for a while, not in an awkward way but rather a comforting one. the scenery in front of you pulls you in, as if to not worry about anything. 

it’s funny. you were always going on trips with yoongi, pulling him everywhere so you can create memories. your destinations were breathtakingly beautiful and known worldwide. you took pictures here and there but you don’t think you looked as much as you did now. why is it a river, one you see in your city everyday, is making you feel more than the wonders of the world?

it’s because in front of those landmarks, ocean, tourist spots, you see him in the front lines. loving yoongi is a privilege you will forever be thankful for. and if you were asked, you will do it all over again. 

“do you know why yoongi and i didn’t work out?”

the raised brows on his face meant he didn’t expect the question. he purses his lips and shakes his head. “i only know what you’ve said to the others.” 

“there really wasn’t much reason.” you tell him. “he actually was a pretty great husband, more than most of us can ask for.” 

you began telling him the story and he listens attentively all throughout, nodding from time to time. whether it’s because of his comforting presence or the beautiful scenery, you don’t know why you spilled everything to him. regardless, you don’t think it’s something you will regret. 

when you were done, he speaks. “it seemed he really loves you.”

what? “do you think i’m stupid for letting him go?” 

“no, i meant from the outside. from my sight, it seemed he really loves you.” 

“why do you think that?”

he takes a few second to answer, deep in thought. “i don’t know. call it intuition.” namjoon answers with a shrug. 

you roll your eyes. “and who made your intuition reliable?” 

“all of kim enterprise’ success.” he answers smugly. 

you huff. “show off.” 

“ha. i’m kidding. no ceo is great due to intuition alone.” 

“yeah, shut up.” 

you don’t know what namjoon was truly thinking, or perhaps, it’s truly intuition. your mind brings you back to when yoongi handed to you the signed papers.

the atmosphere in your previous home grows heavy and quiet as he puts down the papers previously in his hand. your eyes glower at the pieces of paper.

“so… this is it, huh.” you chuckle bitterly as you stare at his signature. 

you were seated across from each other at the dining table in your penthouse. yoongi in his lounge wear while you went straight from work. 

he doesn’t answer, forearms rested on the table. his slouched form made him look smaller in your eyes. 

“i have one question.” you confessed, one that was lingering in your mind for a long time. 

you don’t wait for his affirmation and continue. “how many things…” you inhaled. “how many things do you think about before you get to me?” he looks up at you, now looking into your eyes. “all those times you looked at me and saw her, do you even get to me?” 

“because for me, i find ways to see you anywhere–the real you.” you continue. you don’t cry but you wanted to. but your body doesn’t allow you to cry. it’s as if there was something about baring yourself in front of someone isn’t something sad or worth crying for. it’s powerful. 

“i won’t do it for long, though. i promise you.” you say and you mean it.

the two of you sat there in the dark, sitting with nothing to hear but the beat of your hearts. it all boils down to this. the two of you not moving, feeling each other out. there was no certain next move for either of you. two years of relationship and two years of marriage, abruptly cut. this is the last time you sit together as husband and wife. 

“i’ll do the same.” he finally speaks. “i promise.”

your hand slowly creeps into his and holds it. his other hand goes over yours. the kiss of his touch pulls you in but you let yourself go. 

you are letting him go. 

more than a past lover, yuna was his best friend. he was spending most his days with her, learning what changed and what stayed with each other. today, he was having lunch with her at the hospital she transferred to from the states. 

“she sounds wonderful.” yuna was genuine with her words as he told her about you. 

“yeah. i was never lonely when i was with her.” yoongi agreed. yuna gives him a smile. 

“how about you? were you lonely?” yoongi asked her. 

“it’s hard not to be when we’re at this age and single.” yuna cracked a joke. 

yoongi shakes his head, finding her words true. “you’ll find someone soon.” 

“i have to now because you heartlessly rejected me.” yuna lightly stabs the fish on her plate. 

yoongi chuckles but gives her a look. “i know. i know. i’m kidding.” she saves herself.

yoongi was glad yuna was back. he does love her a lot. it took them six years to finally say what they want to each other. they both had their faults and all are forgiven.

yoongi’s regret is that he couldn’t support her but in reality, they were supposed to grow apart to grow. it would never have worked out even if they did try. and even if they could try again, it was not the same. 

they didn’t love each other anymore.

yoongi was in love with the thought of her and the thought of the boy he used to be. yuna was someone he supported with all of him. he did good. and he wanted to do better for you. that’s why he tried his best to please you. but it was exhausting him and he didn’t even know it. 

his fault is that he got blindsided and forgot himself. internally and even if he wouldn’t admit it, he blamed you for it. so his mind started going back to how it all started which is yuna. he started comparing her to you and started seeing her in you. but he was too much of a coward to be alone to acknowledge it. it was all an endless cycle and he’s the problem. 

“i know it’s been 8 months since the divorce, you know you can try again with her, right?” 

the obvious answer was yes, he can approach you again. you can start again, he can go on his knees and beg you to take him back. but the first  question is, will you accept him? and the next, should he? what if he just brings chaos to your life again? he doesn’t really want to bother you anymore.

“hey, hoseok!” 

yuna calls someone behind yoongi. he turns his head to find a doctor who waves back at her. in his hands is a tray of food just like the one in front of him on the table. 

“hey yuna. hey good looking stranger.” the man radiates good and happy energy as he approached the two of you. this is the first time he has seen a doctor this happy. yuna opens a chair for him beside her asking him to take a seat. he accepts the offer and sits down.

“hoseok, meet yoongi. yoongi, meet hoseok. i have a feeling that you two will get along.” 

yoongi gives him a respectful smile and nod as he chews his food, not so cheery with meeting new people. “you can call me hobi.” 

“wait, wait, wait.” hoseok rests his elbows on the table and leans in. “are you like, that ceo yoongii?”

yuna’s smile widens. “hold up, you know him?” 

“hell yeah, i’m friends with kim namjoon. he’s a ceo too. do you know him?” 

oh.

him.

he’s been hearing a lot about you two. it really is a small world, isn’t it?

“i’m familiar with him, yes.” yoongi answers. 

hoseok nods. “yeah, we’ve been friends since i was busk dancing by the river during my pre-med days. we haven’t hung out in a while much since i got a bit busy with shifts but i think i saw you once or twice in the business section of the news.” 

“that’s nice. hey, you’re kind of famous.” yuna adds in. 

“namjoon’s a great guy and an even better ceo.” yoongi agrees. 

“yeah, if you want we can all hang together. it’ll be a boys night out.” hoseok suggests. 

yuna huffs, stabbing her fish once again. that poor dead fish, yoongi thinks. “y’all met two minutes ago and you’re already planning things without me?” 

hoseok laughs, loud. “oh you’re right. it’s fine, you can come too. namjoon will probably want to bring his girlfriend anyway.” 

it’s like yoongi’s hearing got better than usual as his ears were all in when he heard hoseok’s last sentence. “girlfriend?” he couldn’t possible mean…

“yeah, he’s been dating this girl y/n who he worked with. he’s been bringing her to his morning bike rides which is like a big deal because he never does that. and if he’s not busy with work, he’s like bringing her to museums for the past four months and stuff. that’s also one of the reasons we haven’t had time to see each other. but he promised we would hang soon.” 

yoongi and yuna froze as soon as they heard your name. yoongi couldn’t even take in the next words hoseok rambled on after your name. hoseok kept talking and talking and all he can think about is you in namjoon’s arms.

he felt his heart go up his throat. 

his chest physically hurt. 

time froze for him. he doesn’t even notice yuna pinching hoseok and whispering something to him. hoseok’s eyes widened as he says sorry repeatedly.

he was bound to find out this way because since you both signed those papers, he was just another has-been person in your life; an outsider, if you will. if there was someone who he wanted for you, it would be namjoon. namjoon is the perfect guy for you. it was expected but it still hurt.

yoongi’s chair screeches against the floor as he stands up, his eyes gloomy and head down. 

“it was nice meeting you, hoseok. but i think i have somewhere to be now.” he says and hoseok nods, saying sorry again. 

“yuna.” he acknowledges her too as a form of goodbye.

“yeah, drive safe. i’ll text you later.” he nods at her and walks away, making his way home. a home without you. 

“jungkook, jimin, what are you doing here?” 

your best friend’s round twinkling eyes meets your tired ones as you entered your apartment. you shouldn’t have trusted him with your lock’s passcode. jimin is just focused on playing.

“jin and jimin wanted to try the new ps5 game and your tv is so much better than mine.” jungkook explains as he turns his eyes back to the screen in front of him.

“that’s dumb. you’re both rich and seokjin literally has a game room at home.” you replied with a straight face as you kick your shoes off. 

“or maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing because he says you don’t hang out with your best friend anymore.” jin appears in your view with a water bottle in hand, giving you a teasing smirk as jungkook pouts.

“he’s jealous of namjoon.” jimin whispers in an obnoxiously loud way, purposely letting the younger man playing in front of the television to hear.

jungkook doesn’t deny or acknowledge what he heard and just huffs in annoyance. although you and jungkook were the same age, he often acts like a stubborn younger brother. 

“why don’t you hang out with us next time, then?” you suggest, stepping in your living room and tossing your hand bag next to jungkook on the couch. 

jungkook’s eyes widens but still doesn’t stray from the game. “i can do that?”

“why not?” jimin speaks for you when he sees your confused face.

jungkook finally looks at you standing then at seokjin who was now sitting next to him, now amused at the reaction on your faces. he leans back, his back meeting the couch rest. 

“w-well, i kind of thought– nevermind.” 

“you thought what?” you press on, raising a brow.

“that they were like, y’know…” jungkook scratches the back of his head. 

it takes him a while to continue so seokjin does it for him. “dates.”

it was your eyes’ time to widen at the assumption, arms dropping in defense. “w-what? they were not dates!”

“i told you so.” jimin teases. jungkook glares at him. “to be fair, joonie told me they were not dates and i told him that too.”

“i’ve just been in a divorce. how would that make me look? how would that make namjoon and i look?” you groan before turning to head to your room.

you left your two friends arguing about their game in the living room while you freshen up. in the shower, you thought about yoongi. it’s been eight months. when is it okay for a divorcee to move on to another relationship? is there a definite time of moving on that would be deemed respectable to your previous one? have you moved on? will you move on enough to be open to date? 

has yoongi moved on?

has he ever loved you enough to be someone he had to get over to?

you like to think that you were someone important in his life but you really wanted to be someone who made a dent on his like she used to. maybe that way, there would be a constant reminder of you in his life even now that you were gone. 

is that bad? to wish you hurt him like she did?

knocks on your bedroom door snaps you out of your thoughts. you shout, letting the person know they can come in while you do your skincare routine. 

“yo.” jungkook steps in, throwing up a random gang sign. 

“what do you want now?” you feigned annoyance as he throws himself on your bed. his back rests on your headboard.

“i can’t check on my best friend now?” he crosses his arms and pouts. 

you scoff and ignore the rhetorical question. “how’s taehyung?”

“my other best friend is completely fine, thank you.” he answers, childlike sass lacing his voice. 

“i don’t think anyone associated with you is ever completely fine.” you raise your brows.

your best friend huffs, offended and now sitting to face you at the side of the bed. “you just want to know how your ex-husband’s doing. you can just ask me without asking taehyung. he’s my friend too.”

you tap your face one last time as you finish the last step of your routine, letting the product air dry as you face jungkook. “fine. how is he then?” 

you hadn’t prepared yourself for the answer.

“i heard he’s seeing someone.” jungkook responded, eyes now heavy with seriousness. 

you gulped, shoulder slumping and you don’t respond to your best friend. 

he’s seeing someone? was it yuna? did they finally found each other’s arms? did he give her his gummy smile as he kissed her, telling her he had only truly loved her? did he sweep her off her feet with how long he have waited for her? 

“i’m sorry. are you okay?” your best friend’s face written with worry as he asked you. 

“is it yuna?” if it’s her, it’s okay. at least, you know he’ll truly be happy if it’s her.

“i don’t know. i only asked him if he’s doing better when i saw him at the bar one time. he said yes because he’s seeing someone now.” you nod. 

jungkook bits his lip as he sees your stunned state but continues. “i didn’t want to tell you but… you seem happy with namjoon. so if you think can move on now… i think it’s okay.”

is it? can you really go forward with your life? do you even want to?

“get up!”

yoongi was awaken by a thud on his stomach. when his eyes fluttered open, he finds yuna holding one of his pillow, threatening to hit him again with it. 

“fuck. what are you doing here at this hour?” he complains when he looks at the time. five in the morning isn’t exactly an ideal time for a guest in his home. 

“shut up. get ready. we’re leaving in ten minutes.” 

he doesn’t know what happened after those words. yuna basically dragged his corpse to do a morning routine and when that was done, he found himself sitting on the passenger’s seat of yuna’s car. 

“where the fuck are we even going?” he says with close eyes. 

yuna doesn’t answer and drove quietly. yoongi was too sleepy to press further or complain. instead, he let himself drift back to sleep as the cold temperature of the vehicle and the comforting scene of the morning lulled him back to it.. 

when yuna shakes him awake, he finds himself in a familiar place.

“why are we here?” 

it was his and yuna’s university. yoongi hasn’t been here in a while. he admires the buildings that have aged well, if not hasn’t changed at all.  “i was invited to a talk here later.” 

“and?”

“i just thought you’d like to see it again.” yuna shrugged.

yuna led him to the field where they sat on one of the bleachers. there was not much people except for a few that were on their morning jog. how could there be? he doubts there’s a class at 6am. 

the cold morning air fights against his thick maroon sweater that he threw on this morning. yuna and him sits in silence, letting the nostalgic view fill their thoughts instead of words. 

“remember when we were kids?” yuna breaks the silence after a while “we had so many dreams.” 

“i didn’t have much, really.” he scoffs. 

“don’t say that.” yuna complains softly.

“what? it’s true.”

“no. i mean it. you’ve always downplayed your dreams. you had dreams.” yuna says seriously. 

yoongi doesn’t answer. did he have dreams for himself? all he wanted was to become what his parents expected from him. yuna, however, had dreams for herself. she was determined to be a doctor even when all the odds were against her. that was the dream. he wanted to fulfill that for her.

some nights were like this. 

“i don’t think I can do this.” yuna is breaking down on the bed with yoongi trying to calm down his girlfriend and roommate on his chest. she really is a smart girl but sometimes, it all just pents up inside and she couldn’t help but burst. 

this is when Yoongi would come to her rescue. yoongi chuckles as he wipes her tears away. he doesn’t say anything at first and lets her cry in his arms. he lets the comfort of his warmth do the job of calming her. 

yoongi loved the thought of being in service to the ones he loves. especially her. he loves how he is her anchor and how she immediately runs to him whenever she sees him. it’s like they were each other’s person. 

“if you can’t do it anymore, then don’t.” yoongi suggests, looking down at her teared up swollen eyes that’s looking at him.

“what? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you. i think.” yoongi suggests some more. 

yuna pouts. “okay, rich kid. I don’t accept hand overs.” 

he snorts. “they wouldn’t be handovers if you’re my wife.” 

yuna freezes in his hold. “wife?” If her cheeks were red from crying or blushing, yoongi wasn’t sure but he do hope it’s the latter.

yoongi raises a brow. “yes, wife.” 

he could see her hold back her smiles and bites her lips instead. “hm.”

“what you smiling for?” Yoongi teases.

“nothing. that’s oddly comforting but I think I’ll go back to studying now.” yuna giggles before jumping off the bed. she wasn’t wearing anything but his shirt and panties and from his spot in the bed, he could see her ass very well. 

“is this you rejecting my suggestion?” yoongi smirks and places his arm beside his head, raising his line of view. 

“It’s very very tempting, mr. min. I’ll tell you that.” she turns to him from her seat and continues. “make that suggestion a proposal at the right time and i’ll get back to you.” 

“my dream was you.” he blurted out. 

neither of them were looking at each other but their presence screams louder than any sight could ever behold. they were completely open to each other. 

“and that destroyed you.” 

“it didn’t. you did. when you left.” 

it must’ve been the wind. or the exhaustion. or the way the university still feels the same as it did years ago. there was no bitterness, no pain, no longing, just the plain, old, truth.

“seven years. you just threw it away like that. why?” 

no voice was raising. if someone was to look at them, they would think they’re just having a casual morning conversation, not baring themselves to each other. 

“because you never had the guts to do it.” 

yoongi couldn’t answer. 

“you never had the guts to say you were tired. you just gave and gave and gave. you were chipping away and you didn’t even notice. instead, you got angry at yourself. you got exhausted. and i know you blamed me but you never showed it to me. maybe you didn’t even realize it yourself that you blamed me. you just sealed it all away so you could be there for me.”

“and even when i broke up with you, you never fought for me to stay. because you were disappointed in yourself even when i told you over and over that it was not your fault. you didn’t have the guts and you still don’t have it now.” 

yoongi grips the edge of the bleachers. “why are you saying this?” 

“i’m saying i’m sorry.” 

“for what?”

“i’m sorry i didn’t built you up like i should’ve. i’m sorry because i expected more from you. i was angry because i thought that you loved me less because you didn’t give me as much time as you did… but you shouldn’t have to choose me over yourself.” she takes his hand beside her and puts it in her grasp. 

“you came!” 

yoongi appears with a bouquet of flowers at the backstage of the auditorium. yuna had just presented her research that was chosen by the professors and doctors. 

it really was a surprise because yoongi was already busy with his master’s degree and learning the business with his father. the last time yuna had something as big as this, yoongi had missed it. he never forgave himself as yuna was more than disappointed with that happening.

and that’s why when yoongi checks his phone that night, he could see the number of miscalls from his friends and father. he ignores them and goes back to sleeping beside his lover.

not knowing that she was looking at his screen the whole time and realizing she isn’t good for him anymore.

she peppered kisses on the back of his hand. “it was never your fault and i’m okay now. i’ve reached my dreams and you had too. even if you say your dreams wasn’t a sob story like mine, they were still dreams… and i am so so proud of you.” 

“you look so handsome!” yoongi’s mom squeals as she takes a picture of yoongi on his graduation gown. 

yoongi gives her a peace sign, but his eyes search around for only one person. 

“she should be coming soon, son. didn’t you tell me she had to be at the hospital today? and we still have dinner.” 

they didn’t understand. he wanted her here at his moment of success–a milestone and she wasn’t here. 

yoongi watches as she caresses his hand. “i’m sorry for hurting you and i want you to know that i release you from that promise. i’m here now. you don’t have to wait for me anymore. it’s my turn to support you.” 

“all the pain we’ve caused each other, all these years… i’ve thought of you and loved you. they weren’t for nothing because even when you weren’t there for me anymore, your support is what i carried on. you made me who i am, yoongi. i will always be thankful for that and i will always love you just like i promised.” 

“what do you want me to do?” yoongi looks up at the sky, preventing the tears wetting his eyes from falling.

“i think you know what you want to do.” yuna smiles. 

still looking up, yoongi cages his lower lip with his teeth, nodding in reply.

yoongi is rarely nervous. 

but here he stands in front of a closed door, palms sweating. he hoped the paper in his right hand isn’t affected by it.

he hears a ding inside and the lock of the door click, indicating that it’s gone unlocked. he braces himself for the person coming out.

it’s now or never. 

you open the door to the person that’s been on your mind for days, for weeks, for months. 

yoongi was in front of you, paper bag in hand. 

he was wearing his casual clothes, a plain pullover and sweat pants. he gave you his cheeky smile. “hi.”

you couldn’t believe you eyes and you take a minute to finally realize the situation you were in. you shake your head to bring yourself back. “h-hi! w-what are you doing here?” 

yoongi was still standing there awkwardly and raised the paper bag in his right hand. “i brought you cheesecake. can i come in?” 

“yes. i suppose you can.” you answer, unsure what was his agenda with his visit. you move out of the doorway, letting him inside your home. 

this wasn’t your home and he had never been here before. still, he heads to the kitchen and gets all the needed utensils for the cake. he places them on your dining table, servicing you like he used to when he cooked for you.

you watched as he moved in your home as if a divorce never happened. yoongi was just like this, you think. he was just genuinely caring. one of his love languages had always been acts of service. 

“eat. this one’s your favorite.” he had cut up a slice for you already. 

he didn’t even prepare one for himself. 

“what about you?” you ask. 

“i won’t take long.” he continues. “i think.” 

you sit down in front of the plate with the slice, taking a fork and a small piece of the cake. you know he wouldn’t let you talk if you haven’t eaten what he prepared. when you chewed the sweet piece of dessert in your mouth, you couldn’t deny you hated it. you loved it and he could see that, you were sure with the smile he was giving.

“why are you here again?” you finally ask. 

“i just have one question.” he answers taking a sit beside you at the head of the table. you take in how much he has changed over the months. his hair was longer now it was needing pins to hook on his hair, and it was so so fluffy. 

you take a piece in your mouth again, nodding. “yeah, sure.” 

you weren’t really expecting the next words to come out of his mouth.

“are you happy dating namjoon?” 

you were glad cheesecake isn’t a very chokeable kind of food because if it was, you would be fighting for your life right now. instead, you froze and look at him with wide eyes. 

you don’t answer quick.

are you dating namjoon?

no, right?

there wasn’t a label established like that. but it’s obvious that something’s going on between the two of you. 

and you like namjoon. he was sweet, insightful, and loveable. he was a good friend and would be an even better boyfriend. 

“i…” you trail off your words, never having to said the words out loud before. you never thought it would be in front of your ex-husband, either. 

“i like him.” you finally say.

you could literally see yoongi’s shoulder slump and his face fall. but he still smiles. he gives you a pained one and does the thing where he scratches the back of his with his pointer finger. “heh. i guess i’m a little late now, aren’t i?”

“w-what are you talking about?” you ask, genuinely confused if you’re getting the right idea.

“i’m saying i’ve gone a little late at winning you back.” his head lowers, not meeting your eyes.

your brows furrow. “aren’t you seeing someone? yuna?”

it was his turn to be confused. “no? yuna and i are just friends now.” 

“but jungkook said you said you were seeing someone? at the bar?” you point out.

“oh. that was my therapist. i’m seeing a therapist.” he explained and your mouth forms an ‘o’. what the fuck jungkook, you think. 

“okay, wow. misunderstandings. okay. sorry. jungkook was being dumb.” you chuckled and drink from your glass of water. 

“does that change things?” yoongi speaks up. he gulps before continuing. “me not dating anyone?” 

his eyes bore into yours as he awaits the answer. you think about it carefully.

does it change things? he is available now and he wanted you back. clearly, things have been going well for him. he was just friends with yuna and has been seeing a therapist. he was doing better. 

but is that enough for you to risk getting hurt again? is him saying he wants you back enough for you to accept him again? well, he does say i love you to your face everyday while thinking of someone else entirely before. 

does taking the risk involve waiting for him? you can’t just wait for him again like before–wait for him to see you, to look at you, to love you. 

he was doing better but he isn’t better enough for you to take him back. 

frankly, you don’t think you could get hurt anymore. you don’t want to put yourself in that position anymore. if you do, you feel like you’ll lose yourself in hoping. you can’t just wait for him forever.

you can’t help but be scared to fall back to him again. what he is over you is the love you have for him but what you have over yourself is the decision you make.

even if he offers himself to you in bare, you had that choice for yourself. 

“no.” you answer firmly. “i still like joon.”

you thought namjoon only gets invited to museum’s inside the country. turns out, the man was an art connoisseur from around the world.

jungkook and jimin was dragged along with you to paris. your best friend acted like he didn’t want to be here but proved himself otherwise when his eyes sparkle at everything he sees in the city. he does have a hidden love for art and painting. jimin, on the other hand, is loved by the locals here, which is very rare for paris. one artist was so mesmerized by him that you think he’s practically his muse now. you won’t be surprised if you see your friend’s face in one of these museums in the future. 

you only ever attend museums because they are one of the disguised ways for business people to socialize and mask it as some art appreciating good time. rich people who don’t give a flying fuck about these paintings only use them to flex and flaunt their wealth.

but here, namjoon talks to you in every painting, sometimes just staring at them with you. it’s really amazing how he knows so much about these artists and their art. 

how does he store all those information? you literally didn’t even need the guide.

“this one’s famous for his dotting.” he points to the one in front of you. jungkook reacts about how sick the drawing is or something like that and you just agree. whatever your companions were saying, you just tune it out.

it wasn’t that you don’t care about the paintings or something like that. it’s just that your feet were killing you. you weren’t informed that this museum is literally so freaking huge. you had been walking this madness for two hours and you should’ve worn your white sneakers instead. 

and just like all times, namjoon notices. he always does. 

“hey, you okay?” joon asks as he looks down at your unresting feet as you shift on one foot to another repeatedly. “does your feet hurt?” 

“no, i’m fine. let’s finish the tour.” you lie through your teeth.

namjoon sighs and looks over at jungkook. “can you guys wait here?” jungkook agrees and namjoon leaves in a hurry. no doubt about to do something about your feet. 

“why did you wear heels, anyway?” jungkook asks, a little bit judging. jimin smacks the back of his head. “because this was their date!” 

jungkook’s hand flies to the area on his head. “if this was a date, why are we here?”

“because you asked to come with to the museum like a dumbass.” jimin rolled his eyes. 

jungkook raises a brow. “well if this was a date, why did namjoon insist we come with? and pay for our flight and hotel and stuff?” 

it was jimin’s turn to be doubtful, and he looks over to you who was just listening to the conversation. the two wait for you for confirmation.

“don’t look at me. i don’t know why he asked too.” you shrug. 

it was true. namjoon did ask you to a date trip in paris. he literally labeled it a date so you were a bit confused when he told you to bring some friends. 

the three of you stand in silence after, quietly admiring the artworks in the room. 

a few minutes later, namjoon comes back with paper bags in hand. he guided you to sit at one of the stoned backless benches in the middle of the room. jimin and jungkook continues the tour on their own.

he brings out a box of sneakers, beige ones that complement your nude outfit. he also brings out bandages for your feet. he starts to kneel down in front of you and you scramble to pull him up. 

“no, no. i can do it myself.” you argue, making namjoon stop mid-air. 

he chuckles and that damned dimpled smile comes out. “can you just let me do this for you?” he raises his brows and you sigh. 

“fine.” you back down and he proceeds kneel down. 

he began putting bandages on the areas you needed. he asks you if you needed more and you shake your head.

“well, would you look at that? it’s a perfect fit.” namjoon says when your foot slips in the sneakers. you smile, looking down at the beautiful man in front of you. he slips the other one in and does the shoelaces. 

when he was done, he pats your foot and stands up. “why don’t you take a walk and see, cinderella?”

you giggle. you giggle like a school girl and stand up. the sneakers were far more comfortable than your heels as you walk. “they’re perfect, thank you.”

namjoon nods. “anything for you, babe.”

the rest of the trip flows easily. jimin and jungkook chose to be away from the two of you after the museum and namjoon brings you to a restaurant for dinner. two days later, you were heading back to korea.

namjoon sits beside you in first class and you were having a glass of champagne.

“thank you.” you start, fingers playing with your glass. “for this date trip, really.”

namjoon bites his lower lip and nods. “thank you too.”

��i just have one question, though.” you tilt your head to the side and purse your lips.

“yeah, what is it?” namjoon replies.

“why bring jimin and jungkook if this was a date?” you look over by the middle section of first class where jungkook and jimin were probably fast asleep. you wouldn’t know because there were privacy dividers. but you were definitely sure because of how hard they partied last night and how wrecked they’ve come back to the hotel.

“well, a little birdy told me something about you and flights.” namjoon explains and you were at a loss for words. how did he know about your fear of flying? was it seokjin?

“remember what i said?” namjoon speaks again, and you furrow your brows at the sudden question.

“what exactly?”

“when you told me why you and yoongi got a divorce.” you freeze. that was months ago. why was he bringing it up now?

“oh. that.” he was talking about how he thinks yoongi still loves you.

“i told you it was just intuition because i didn’t have proof.”

you take a sip of your drink and set it down again. “okay… then why are you bringing it up now?”

“because i have one now.” he fishes something from the inside of his jacket and you follow his hands with your eyes.

he hands you a white envelope. you warily accept it and observe it with your keen eyes. “what’s this?” it doesn’t look special but whatever it is, it had a relation to yoongi.

“it’s a letter. i want you to read it when we land home.” namjoon states the obvious.

“i had a really fun time, y/n. thank you.” he gives you his dimpled smile again. this time, there was no denying the hint of sadness in them.

whatever that was, it sounded like a goodbye.

namjoon suddenly changes the topic, whisking you away from the loud thoughts. you quickly hide the envelope in your pocket. you had a feeling that you want to give namjoon all your attention right now.

the flight back consisted of sleeping, talking, eating, and laughing with namjoon.

you both undeniably had a great time and you wouldn’t exchange the experience with anyone.

“so, this is it.” namjoon says as the both of you stand in front of the airport, staring at the streets where it is raining.

“thank you, joon. paris was a dream with you.” you say genuinely.

he gives you a genuine smile this time, nodding once in acknowledgement.

“but it would’ve been perfect if we kissed.” you blurt out.

namjoon grins and shakes his head. he steps closer and places a hand on your face. your lips met and they move softly against each other. his lips were soft, but a little bit on the rough side. the smell of his faint perfume, the cold skin from the airconditioned airport, the curve of his dimple in your hands, and the tingling feeling in your chest, it was all giving a different kind of warmth from the kisses you had in your life time.

he releases you not long after, looking at you longingly.

he steps back again, widening the space between the two of you back to how it was before. “that was perfect.” he says and chuckles. you nod, “yeah. it was.”

“well, i’ll see you around, y/n.”

“you will.”

now that was, for sure, a goodbye.

back home, the paper on your hand suddenly feels heavy and you were anxious to see what’s inside. but curiosity overpowers the anxiety and you open the envelope to see the letter containing it. 

the folded paper you bring out had a ‘for your eyes only, kim’, written on the corner. your eyes widen. the writing was too familiar for you not to know who this letter is from. 

mr. kim namjoon,

before i start with anything, first, i want to say congratulations on the relationship. well, i’m not happy for you but it’d be rude to say that. second, i’m sorry if my writing turns sloppy. i pondered doing this in email but it didn’t felt heartfelt enough. now that i think about it, i think the last letter i’ve written like this was to my parents after being forced in high school in one of those stupid english homeworks. so again, sorry if it’s bad. maybe i should’ve written y/n one of these letters, i guess that’s just another mistake i have to regret. but enough about me, this letter is about her. 

i know that we’re not the best of pals, and i swear that i’m not doing this for you. i’m doing this for her. i may not be in the position to be this demanding but all i want for her now is to be in good and better hands. i need you to be that person now that you have her. 

the first time i saw her wearing our ring, it was the turning point of my life. after that, she was every day of my life. and i took it for granted. i didn’t hold her the way she needed to be held. i didn’t look her like i should. 

so now that you’re about to be her everyday—her person. i only ask you to hear these things that may be helpful. i may not be a good lover but i was an okay husband. i didn’t love her right but i still knew her and took care of her for four years. 

she likes iced coffee in the morning from a very specific shop but if you make one for her, it’ll be her favorite because it’s you. she used to like it with lots of milk but strong caffeine. on nights she stays up for work, she prefers warm tea. lots of it. have it ready in a pot beside her. she loves midnight cookies too. the chewy ones. 

when she has her period, buy her chocolates. not the fruity ones. she prefers the dark chocolates but won’t say no to milky ones. she doesn’t like white chocolates. nuts are okay too. no raisins. she hates raisins whenever and wherever you put it. 

she loves spicy food but it will make her sneeze a lot after. she’s a bit allergic to shellfish, especially shrimps but she will still eat them because she’s stubborn. please always have medicine in stock. 

she likes shopping for new dresses when there’s an occasion but loves it if you come with her and help her choose. you have to react really well. but you don’t really have to try because she’ll look good even with a garbage bag anyway. she’s very meticulous about clothes too. one faulty sewing and she’ll see that.

she doesn’t like people who chew loudly or talk with their mouths full. i don’t think anyone does anyway.

she watches the same movies over and over again but she will cry over it as hard as she did last time. she doesn’t like when people talk too much on movie night but that doesn’t mean you don’t react at the scenes. if it was a horror movie and she seemed a bit freaked out at the end, leave a dim light open when you sleep. let her hung to you when you sleep too. 

when she has to fly out of the country for work, if you can’t go with her, make sure jungkook is there. she won’t admit it but she still gets scared when flying alone even if her secretary’s with her. it has to be someone she trusts.

she loves when you smell good. so choose your perfume well. 

remind her of her keys or wallet because she keeps forgetting them. when you ask her to buy something, you have to tell her at least three times. don’t just say it like “oh hey can you buy me this when you go out?”, she won’t remember it. 

she shits a lot. her metabolism is amazing, really. 

she makes a face when you say she’s beautiful. sometimes, she even glares. but still, tell her she’s beautiful. because she will. she thinks and says you’re more beautiful than anyone else. 

she loves more than anyone and she deserves to be loved more. even if you look through her eyes and see someone else, she will still love you endlessly. she loves so pure like an amateur magician, even if everyone else can see the trap door, she continues her show with a smile. 

when she loves you, her plans don’t matter as much. because when she loves you, you are her plan. so you have to remind her to make plans for herself too. don’t make her drop everything for you.

when she loves you, even if you don’t give her what she gives you, she will still love you. even if she searches all the corners of the earth just so she can find a bench that fits the two of you perfectly, she will. she would make jokes that make you laugh when you’re down. she would stay up all night learning a recipe if you say you want that dish.

these are just some of the things you have to keep in mind. but really, it doesn’t matter. because when she loves, she gives it her all. it’s not hard to fall in love with her. there’s no doubt about it. 

i used to think that loving should be passionate and overflowing. now i realize that love shouldn’t be burning, it should be just warm. the kind of warmth that a thick blanket gives you in winter. the warmth that a newly baked chocolate chip cookie offers you when you get home tired. the kind that gives you comfort, never hurting you. so, i ask you to give her more than what she gives. love her like she’s home. 

it may be too late for me but not for her. she deserves to be loved more than yesterday, but less than tomorrow. please continue to love her. more than i do. more than anyone else. 

min yoongi.

the thing is, the heart doesn’t have a specific size. it isn’t only filled with one person. yoongi has been receiving all your love and he began filling it with you. after yuna’s and his closure at the university, yoongi knew what he had to do. 

the drive back to his house after yuna’s talk in the university was fast. he called up taehyung as soon as he got home.

“i need you to get me kim namjoon’s address.” he orders before taehyung could even greet him. 

“hello to you too, sir. his personal address, sir? that’s kind of unethical.” taehyung teased. he ignores his secretary although he had a point. 

“i don’t give a fuck, tae. get to work.” with that, he ends the call. he admits it was a little bit rude but whatever. he needs his address. 

after preparing everything, yoongi sees taehyung had texted him the address an hour ago. he grabs a coat from his closet and heads off. 

he was greeted by maids when he arrived and ruined the doorbell button with his unending pressing. they allowed him through the gate but didn’t let him through the doors of the house. he was asked to wait by the small garden in front of the house

the exterior of namjoon’s home was very modern and green, trees and plants surrounding it. you probably loved the different kinds of plants here. the flowers too. yoongi never cared about these things. 

yoongi is rarely nervous. 

but here he stands in front of a closed door, palms sweating. he hoped the paper in his right hand isn’t affected by it.

the letter. 

he hears a ding inside and the lock of the door click, indicating that it’s gone unlocked. he braces himself for the person coming out.

it’s now or never. 

yoongi was shaken awake by the sound of his doorbell being rang multiple times and there was unending banging on his door. he realizes that he his friends has a knack of being waking him in the middle of the night when the country is in deep sleep.

god, who and what is it now? he thinks to himself. 

yoongi pushes himself off the bed and heads to his door. barely even having his eyes open, he peeks at who was at the door on his security camera. 

he was pretty sure he was dreaming right now with what he’s seeing.

he was pretty sure because that couldn’t be you, drenched in what seemed to be rain. your hair was sticking to your face and you look you had been somewhere before this. 

he scrambles to open the door, now seeing you in the flesh. your brows were furrowed together and your cheeks were puffed. your face wasn’t just wet from rain, you had been crying. 

before he could even ask what you were doing here or even just speak, you throw something in his direction which he caught and clutched to his chest. he looks down and sees a familiar paper in his hand. 

“w-what–”

“what’s this?” her voice was laced with venom, beautiful but incredibly pissed. 

yoongi sighed. “you weren’t supposed to see this.” 

you shake your head, stepping inside and slamming the door behind you. “no, but i did! so you tell me why!”  

“tell you what?” 

“why namjoon?”  

“what do you mean–”

“you told this to namjoon but not me? you pour your heart out to him but not me?” you were no longer yelling. instead, your voice was at the verge of breaking. 

you push him by his chest repeatedly when he doesn’t answer. “what is it? tell me!”

he stops your hands with his, caging your wrists in his grasp. “stop! i’m not sure what you want me to say.” 

you tug your wrists from him and stare at him with fire in your eyes. “i’m asking you to tell me why you couldn’t tell me you wanted me and why. i’m asking you why you push yourself around.” 

“i’m giving you what you said you want. you like namjoon and he deserved you more than me.” yoongi never raises his voice but you could definitely sense the boiling anger in his words. 

you shook your head as the tears in your eyes were too heavy for you to speak immediately. “but what do you want?” 

“you already know the answer to that.” he spat, raising his brows.

“no! i don’t! because all you gave me are a few words. i need you to tell me you want me, you love me, and why you do. you said all that shit to namjoon but not me! can’t you see? i need you to tell me that. how would i know if you don’t tell me? i need to be sure you love me before i take the risk of loving you again!” 

you were out of breath after you screamed out your agony. yoongi could only stare at you with equally burning eyes.

and he pulled you in.

he pushes his lips to yours and held you close like you’d fade away if he lets go. his hand was at the back of your head, holding it firmly but not enough to hurt you. when you kiss back, it was like he could breathe again. like he was being chased by wolves and finally got away. like his world has finally turned at a normal pace because now you were here. 

when he pulls away, you both stand there still holding each other with your cheeks flushed red. “i love you. it’s always been you.” 

then he takes your mouth again, hands now wondering your body like he was sculpting it. 

he pulls away, catching his breath while speaking. “i’m sorry. for everything.” then he presses his lips on your again. you could only focus on how he was here, kissing you like he never had before, like he was communicating with how he invaded all your senses. 

he pulls away again, now foreheads touching each other. “please…” he says with closed eyes. “please love me again. make me yours. i’m all yours.” he kissed you again, making your heart skip a but as you gasped with a throaty sound against his lips. 

he kisses you like he will never have enough, tongue exploring yours and everywhere. his hand moved around your body like it has a mind of its own. 

before you knew it, he had led you to his bedroom and on his bed. he hovered over you as you both make out passionately. 

then he stopped, pulling away to stare at your face beneath him. he smiled. then his tears started dropping on your face. 

“why?” you mutter, placing a hand on his face, attempting to wipe any tears that fall as he fulls on breaks down above you.

“i love you so much.” he cries then buries his head on your neck. “please don’t leave again.” 

your heart broke at yoongi’s plead. you were about to comfort him but you remembered what just happened. you laugh. you throw your head back and laugh. “stop crying, yoongs.” 

he lifts his head and stares at you in the eyes like he was offended that you took delight in his misery.

“did you realize we just had our first fight?” and you give him a grin.

he looked a bit confused then he gets it, pulling you in a kiss again. 

and the two of you lay there, making love until the morning.

© wolfvmin. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. thank you.

𓆩♡𓆪 want to be tagged to all my works or a specific one? 𓆩♡𓆪  : ̗̀➛ fill up this form here: taglist request form.

[tinysimmer]

Do you want to join my club?🧐

Ok this is my first cc recolor (I don't know much about creating cc but I did what I could) The’re inspired by these posters  I was planning to do this just for myself but many of you really liked the edit (thank you very much for the support ��🧡🧡) 

Download: Club posters (you need Discover university, sorry T.T) + (plus) Ridiculously (club) basic tees 

I hope you like it!!!!😖🥰 Feel free to tag me if you use them and plz don’t reupload or claim as your own. Sul Sul!

Photos without reshade below

[fried-manto]

[delopsia]

last line tag game 🌷

RULES: Share the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words you want. Thank you to @lewmagoo, @sorchathered, @callsignspark, and @attapullman for all tagging me 💐I wasn't planning on sharing any more snippets, but y'all have convinced me 💃

Plucked right out of "Every Storm Runs Out of Rain"

"Hey!"  Bleary, your eyes peel open. Really hope they're not talking to you.  "I have your sidekick!" Sherrif Joy's voice cuts across the night air like a knife. Swift and straight to the point. Turning your head might be the thing that puts you on the ground, vision spinning like your eyes have gone loose in your skull. Funny. You can almost deceive yourself into thinking that's Rhett she's towing along.

Maybe because it is him. Boots dragging against the sidewalk, shoulders so loose that they sway in the wind, eyes hardly open, simply led along by the hand Joy has on his bicep. You've got just enough time to paw at your mouth with your sleeve before she's close enough to notice that something may be off. "I know he's not your responsibility," the glint in her eye suggests she's getting more amusement out of this than she should be. Probably because this wouldn't be the first, second, or third time that she's sought you out. "But he wouldn't shut his mouth when he saw you." Rhett's grin is too bright for his flushed face. "Hi." 

Tagging: @auroralightsthesky @petcr3 I'm sorry if y'all have already been pinged for this 💐 I tried to check t.t this list used to be longer, but two of y'all tagged me in the making of it.

[skubean]

just wanted to let you know your post does shows up in the tags, congrats on the blog opening!!🎉🎉 also. since you specifically mentioned Bettel, how about some headcanons of what he would like to do for a first date?👀

thank you anon, much love!! and i'm glad i'm showing up T.T <3 also, thank you for the request!!! aaaaa i'm so happy and this is a really good idea :o hope you liked it and lmk what you think!

first date with gavis bettel! with gender neutral reader (hcs)

warnings: gender neutral reader, fluff with some crack, slight cursing, probably just two people being silly, mentions of reader having long/hair that can be tied.

bettel strikes me as the type of guy who would act all cool but is secretly panicking on the inside when he hears you agreeing to go on a date with him. *you don't tell him but you could practically see the gears in his head turning*

he's been secretly pining for you for weeks and finally mustered up the courage to ask you out.

he's either 1) planned everything + back up plans in case plan a goes astray, or 2) decides to stick with one idea and lets fate decide what happens afterwards.

i lied, he's definitely #2.

overheard you telling your friends that you haven't been to a theme park for years, so he decides "theme park date it is!" *booked tickets as soon as he got home*

when the day finally came, bettel would have his hair done (slickback probably, like the valentine art holy shit) and would personally come and pick you up, because he's a gentleman like that.

silly but he definitely is the type that would be so cautious while driving that everytime you pass a speed bump, he would mutter small sorry(s) and try to go as slow as he could, so that you wouldn't be surprised by the sudden bump.

oh, he would also not tell you where your date would be until you saw the huge ass ferris wheel and literally flashed the brightest smile he had ever seen. (he tisker-ed)

(more under the cut!)

i imagine bettel to be really gentle with you at first because he doesn't wanna come off as rude or like pushy but gradually gets more used to being around you that his silly banters and stupid jokes come out naturally, just the way you've always liked.

some rides were fun and not too scary for the both of you, so you both got a little competitive to see who could handle the most rides.

obviously, it doesn't end well when the both of you go on a drop tower ride (reference) and the moment it plunges from a height, the both of you scream at the top of your lungs (i think bettel might've passed out midway but we'll act like it didn't happen).

roller coaster rides are both fun and scary for you that you unconsciously ended up gripping his hands as the ride starts swaying around. his heart started beating faster but his protective instinct also went crazy and decided that he would act all cool and not scream on the rides (he still did).

if you're not a fan of high rides, he'd bring you to go on rides that were less chaotic and more chilling, like the teacups or try vr!

you both had so much fun that you didn't notice the sky getting darker, signaling that it was nearing night. you could feel your heart panging at the thought of the fun day ending already.

"here, come on. i wanted to show you this", bettel would say as he puts your hand in his and brings you to the big ferris wheel the both of you saw by the entrance.

he's the type to go in first, so that he could hold your hand when you get in and have you seated in front of him.

once you both reached the top, bettel points towards the outside and you could see the whole entire park all in display. you were practically glowing in front of him and bettel swears he fell more in love with you.

while you were so focused on the view, you hear bettel clear his throat before he shifts himself so he's sitting next to you and is pushing your hair aside so as to tie it (because he noticed how you kept pushing it since you were sweating earlier).

you both pretty much sit in silence for the whole ride until you clapped your hands. "ah okay! i can't take this anymore!", you said and looked at bettel as you tell him you've liked him for so long and that you could literally pass out right now from happiness (all while your face burns from embarrassment)

bettel laughs and touches his forehead to yours before whispering, "damn, i was gonna be the first to say it but you beat me to it. can i....can i kiss you?". you nod as he leans in closer.

he's sweet, soft and tastes like apples. the both of you a blushing mess when the worker opens the door, signaling that it's time to get out.

long story short, he's glad he decided to bring you to the theme park because he saw so many sides of you he's never seen, not to mention how soft your lips were to him that he just, could not stop thinking abt them.

the date might have been cliché, but bettel made sure not to end the date without officially asking if he could be yours. not if you could be his, but for him to be yours.

once you got back home, you finally noticed how terrible he tied your hair, with it leaning to one side more, and just strands of hair everywhere. but you appreciate the effort.

"you're silly. thank you for the horrible hairstyle <3" bettel is probably kicking the sheets, giggling at your text rn.

a/n: okay phew! sorry, this ended up being slightly longer than i expected skskkssk i decided to write a theme park based first date bcs i imagine bettel to be someone who prefers fun dates like this compared to like dinner dates idk SHAHHSAKSH anyways, sorry for any errors and hope you liked this ! <3 beanz.

[justheretoship]

Tag game~

Thank you so much @blueballsracing for the tag 💙

˖⁺‧ last song: SPECIALZ by King Gnu

˖⁺‧ favourite colour: blue 💙

˖⁺‧ last movie: Sasaki and Miyano: Graduation (I rarely watch movies tbh)

˖⁺‧ last tv show: if we count anime, "My new boss is goofy", if not then Loki

˖⁺‧ sweet / spicy / savory: sweet (chocolate!!)

˖⁺‧ relationship status: single

˖⁺‧ last thing i googled: “This is my favorite book in all of the world, and I have never read it." (For context, I was reading a fanfic, a character started a book with this quote and I got curious).

˖⁺‧ current obsessions: ...how dare you make me choose just one. I'll go with Boku no Hero Academia and fanfics, I can't pick one sorry T.T

Tagging (no pressure whatsoever though and ignore this if you've done it already) @jussst-lurking @dreamingamongthestars @track-terror-apologist and whoever reads this and wants to do it, consider yourselves tagged~

[get-lazered]

*waving nervously* hi!!🥰🥰💗💗 hope you're doing well! Can I request more cartoonish filter but for these screenshots?? Thank you!!! :3>

Him sooo pretty in your cartoon filter I keep showing them all to everyone T.T if it's too much or you don't want to, it's ok🥰💗 thank you for tagging me in previous posts! I loved them all!💗💕💗

Free to use, however you want

I'm always down to do this, especially for Homie. It's a premium feature in picsart, so I like getting my money's worth.

Sometimes, faces don't crossover into the filter well depending on the facial expression, so if some look silly or off, that's why.

Had fun time doing this. Hope you like em! 🥹

[bubblepopsims]

RANDOM WIP LINE

Share a random line of text from your current WIP or a line or two of dialogue from one of your characters. Do not give any explanation or context, and see what your followers think. Then, tag a few friends to keep the randomness going.

I was tagged by the incredible @theosconfessions ( I adore you so much T.T)

And always I too do not listen and go over board so..

Josiah: “hey sis, do you have an answer for me yet?”

Ruby: “*huffs and puffs* can’t you.. aggh see I am busy right now?”

Josiah: “yeah but it’s in a couple of weeks and I need to let them know if I am bringing a plus one.”

Ruby: “Josiah…. I don’t…. I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s been over 6 years since I last saw them.. and well as you can see I am still dealing.”

Josiah: “I get that. But it’s time and you know this. You miss them cant you just admit that.”

Ruby: “no. I cant.”

Josiah: “you are hopeless.”

Ruby: “and you are a pain in my ass….”

Josiah: “so is that a yes?”

Ruby: “will it make you leave?”

Josiah: “yes.”

Ruby: “…….fine.”

I Tag mmmm @plumbewb and @fl0pera and @kieraplaysthesims

You don’t have to do it OBVIOUSLY but you know I’m curious and honestly it doesn’t have to be story just even a post of a quote your working on 🩷🩷🩷

Thank you for the taggy I do love these

[stnaf-vn]

Im coming clean on this one, but im the same anon who submit the pre-kidnapping drabble before. Now my brain is currently working because of the #heeheehee tag earlier, so i came up with the continuation after the pre kidnapping scene: <this is after Friend bonks MC in the head and MC blackening out>

~

You're on the altar with your husband to be. You know you made the right decision marrying your bestfriend. You gaze at him with happy tears in your eyes while he embraced you lovingly.

"Who would have thought that after everything that happened, you would still choose me? You really want me that bad 'Sweetheart?", with a lovesick grin plastered on his face, you feel a chill run down on your spine when your gaze landed on the blood stained baseball bat he is carrying.

"You look beautiful on your wedding dress 'love. Whose blood you are wearing today?"

- You woke up in a cold sweat, your heart frantically beating against your chest. Its just a dream, no, a fucking nightmare. You start to calm yourself down when you realize that you're in an unfamiliar room and cuffed to a chair. Where are you? Where is Friend? What if he's hurt? You need to find him. But first, you need to get out here. Your eyes wander around the room; it has only one door, one way out. You are just starting to come up with a plan when the door slowly swings open, revealing the one person you need right now.

"Friend? Is that you?"

"You're finally awake! I was starting to get worried!" His kind smile and relaxed manner confused you greatly.

You sighed in relief, "You're fine, thank God. Can you help me with this cuffs? We need to get out of here"

He started laughing. God! You hate the way he mocks you with his laugh.

"Sweetheart, nobody will hurt you here" he whispered at you while gently caressing your face. 

Wait, is he the one who .. No! No! He would never do that to you. He loves you, right?

Your eyes immediately start to well up with tears as soon as realization hits. He is the reason you are here. He's keeping you here with him. No It can't be. It's all a dream, just like last time. You just need to wake up. You need to wake up. 

"Shh, it's okay sweetheart, we were meant to be together," he smiled, "now we will be together for life."

~

Okay, you can tell me to stop now XD cos im starting to stare at my google docs if I need to write again or not T.T

by all means continue

[siriuslystarbucks]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks to @mycupofrum for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

915, but only 426 of those are for HP >.<

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

2,340,018

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter is the big one! Marvel is second (but idk how much longer that'll be true for since I don't like any of the recent stuff), and there's a bunch of little ones that I have WIP's for but don't finish much of

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

My top 5 aren't HP, so here are the top 5 that are for Harry Potter :D

It's Always Been You- James/Sirius, 2k Teen

Mister Potter, I Presume?- James/Sirius, 900 Gen (this is the first fic I wrote for the imagines blog!)

Moving Seats- James/Sirius, 2.4k Teen

In Hospital- James Potter/Harry Potter, 3k Explicit (this used to be my highest kudos fic for years lol)

Five People, Two Relationships- James/Sirius, 3.6k Teen

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! ...most of the time. Every so often, I'll leave a note on a fic specifying that I'm not going to write anything else for it but someone will leave a comment asking for more-- I don't always feel like responding to those :/

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

They're both James/Sirius: either I Know You which is canon-compliant, or Should Have Been Me where Sirius was the secret-keeper, got killed, and James is the one to find his body :(

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh geez I write so much fluff I'm not sure I can narrow that down. Throw a dart and you can hit a fic with a happy ending

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I do sometimes, but I delete those comments when I get them, so I tend to forget about them until it's brought up in conversation lol

9. Do you write smut?

Yes

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yes-- though I didn't used to

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, and I hope it stays that way

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, and it makes me grin every time

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, and I'm not sure it's for me-- so stressful to try and keep up so the other author isn't waiting on me

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

James/Sirius!!! I love them! They made me into a fanfic writer!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Can't Help Falling In Love-- it's an unpublished, modern soulmate AU for James and Sirius. It's not an instant happy relationship once they figure out they're soulmates, which is why it's so hard for me

16. What are your writing strengths?

Fluff!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Angst T.T i do my best but it's haaaard

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I only know one language, so it's a stylistic choice that I am not a fan of :/

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter! Like I said earlier, wanting more James/Sirius made me a fanfic writer :D

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Oh geez. Probably The Old Best Mate because who doesn't love a fic where someone comes back to life?

This was so much fun! All the names that immediately come to mind for who to tag have already been tagged, so this is just an open tag for anyone who wants to do it. Have fun! :D