#what is this random shit stuck to the bathroom counter and faucet and why will it not come off no matter what i do

[nightfayre]

a donation drabble request for the ever kind and supportive Ayobami @tps31! thank you SO MUCH for your donation and support!! you’ll never know how much it means to me <3

prompt: tianshan quarantine fluff, aka “why the hell am I stuck in a house with you all day every day?”

(a/n: this is just a random thought but I honestly don’t think I’ve written a fic about the boys still in middle school like, ever, so thank you so much for this prompt! it was so refreshing to write them as the flustered, airheaded, and teasing boys they are!) <3

tianshan, 3600 words, rated T

*   *   *

Guan Shan hates this. 

The laundry basket next to his. The pair of shoes at the front door. The extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and the second phone charger plugged in next to his bed. There’s a gray duffel bag taking up the corner of his bedroom and a black jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. None of it takes up too much space, carefully put into their respective places and never crossing the boundary, but—

Guan Shan hates it.

And, what’s worse: he never asked for this. He was stupid enough to mention He Tian’s name at the dinner table one night; a passing comment he hadn’t really thought about. But then his mother had paused with a spoonful of miso soup at her lips, pensive.

“He Tian,” she’d echoed, as if the name felt foreign but sweet on her tongue. “Isn’t that the one who lives near the center of the city? The one who lives alone? The tall and polite and handsome one of your friends?”

“Uh,” Guan Shan had said, smirking with distaste. “Yeah. Sure. That one.”

“Poor thing. Alone throughout all of this mess.” She sighed. “Why does he not live with his family?”

And Guan Shan had thought about it for a moment, sifting through his mind like pressing rewind on a VHS. “I don’t know,” he’d admitted, reaching for the soy sauce. “Never asked.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, you should invite him over, then.”

Guan Shan choked. 

Oblivious, his mother had continued: “Have him stay a few nights. No one should be left alone throughout this entire period. Who knows how long this will last, what with how many cases that have been reported. He’ll go stir crazy by himself, poor soul.”

“He’s already stir crazy,” Guan Shan said, eyes watering from a dislodged grain of rice. “I don’t want him here, ma. I’ll literally do anythin’ else. Seriously.”

She’d given him a disappointed look. “Ah-Shan, I thought I raised you to have a little more compassion than that.”

“Trust me, a person like him doesn’t need compassion.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” she reprimanded. She tapped her chopsticks against her bowl, succinct. “After we finish dinner, you should reach out to him and invite him to spend the week with us.”

“A week?”

“Well, now that school is postponed and I’m working from home, wouldn’t it be nice to have company for a bit?”

“Ma, please—“

“You will text him, Ah-Shan. No excuses. The world needs kindness right now, and we will do whatever we can to contribute to it.”

And that, unfortunately, was that. 

That night, Guan Shan deleted the message immediately after he sent it, as if that would erase it out of his memory, too. But it was hard to forget the string of skeptical yet blaringly enthusiastic string of response texts that followed the invite, and even harder to forget the sight of He Tian at their front door half an hour later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and smile bright as he greeted Guan Shan’s mother with practiced sweetness and feigned gratitude. 

Guan Shan hated it. 

But as his mother shot him a warning look, Guan Shan couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t just ignore him like he did, sometimes, at school.

And now, five days in, there’s a knock at the bathroom door. 

“Little Mo, are you naked?”

Running a towel over his hair, Guan Shan scowls at his reflection in the mirror, still foggy from the steam. “Fuck off, chickenshit.”

“I’m kidding.” He can hear the smile in He Tian’s voice. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Then you can wait.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, sweetheart. Are your showers usually this long?”

“That’s an average fuckin’ time for showers!”

A hum, muffled by the closed door. “Really? Mine only take ten, and that’s generous considering the precious amount of time I spend washing my—”

The thunk of the lotion bottle against the door rattles its hinges. “Fuck off!” 

He waits until he hears He Tian’s footsteps recede. Guan Shan hates that he knows He Tian is walking away with that smug-as-all-hell smile, satisfied. 

He dresses quickly after that, doing his best to ignore the citrus-scented face wash by the faucet and the contact lens case by the hand soap. The first time he’d seen all of He Tian’s things laid out like this on his bathroom counter was something like a revelation. It was like some things clicked into place, unbidden. Now it makes sense why Guan Shan sometimes thinks he catches a whiff of lemonade every time He Tian gets too close, and why He Tian looks like he’s scowling whenever he reads but, really, it’s just because he’s blind as a fucking bat and has to squint to see fine print. 

If nothing else, Guan Shan suspects at least something valuable might come out of all this time he’s forced to spend together with He Tian — (read: blackmail) — but then again, He Tian hasn’t commented on the old, stained state of Guan Shan’s pillow like Guan Shan thought he would because he’s used it since he was four and can’t really sleep well if he’s not using that specific pillow. And he also hasn’t said anything about the way Guan Shan jumps, sometimes, when the toaster springs up his toast in the mornings because he never fucking sees it coming and it — sometimes — causes him to drop his jam knife.

A stalemate, Guan Shan supposes as he pulls his shirt over his head. Except, deep down, he knows that He Tian probably isn’t even aware that such a concept exists. After all, what would He Tian be if not someone to fight ‘til a broken victor is left standing? 

By the time Guan Shan walks out into the living room, it’s ten o’clock. His mother, having finished washing the dishes because Guan Shan made dinner, is nowhere in sight, likely huddled up in her bedroom with a book like she always does before bed. That leaves He Tian alone on the couch, casually flipping through TV stations in a t-shirt and sweats, and he doesn’t see Guan Shan at first when the latter turns the corner. 

“Bathroom’s open, dipshit,” Guan Shan mutters. He Tian looks up as Guan Shan approaches, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“About time.” He Tian tosses Guan Shan the remote, and he barely catches it before it smacks against his chest. Standing, He Tian smiles and says, “Find something good to watch by the time I get back, okay?”

“I don’t work at your beck and call,” Guan Shan seethes. But despite his retorts, his fingers find the remote buttons as He Tian saunters back to the bathroom, hands in pockets and steps quiet against the creaky floors. 

For a while, there really is nothing interesting on any of the channels. Guan Shan flies past a romcom, an old horror film, a few cartoons, the dreaded news. Nothing catches his attention — and he feels exhaustion coming on quick. He thinks, maybe, of just going to bed. But behind the apartment’s thin walls, he can hear the water running from the faucet. Despite himself, he frowns. 

It’s odd, really. He never thought he could get used to the image of He Tian’s broad frame hunched over his sink in the mornings, or the way He Tian can reach the bowls at the top of the cupboards without going on his toes, or the sight of He Tian’s nape pressed against the twin-sized air mattress on the floor of Guan Shan’s bedroom. He never thought anyone could make his mother laugh as much as he can, or finish puzzles as fast as he can, and he certainly never thought that his mother would spill Guan Shan’s childhood stories to someone she’d only met... once? Twice? He doesn’t keep track. He never had to before. 

Nevertheless, it’s not nearly enough time to warrant such trust. Such comfort. 

Guan Shan hates it. 

But in the midst of his lamenting, the faucet shuts off. A few moments later He Tian returns. And when he plops back onto the couch — too close — he smells of mint and vanilla-scented chapstick. 

Too aware of his presence and the way his knee almost touches Guan Shan’s, Guan Shan takes a long second to snap back to reality when He Tian asks, “What’s this?”

Guan Shan blinks. On the TV, there’s some kind of documentary playing. A narrator drones over the images of a complex space aircraft, and the camera pans out to show footage of the stars it swims in. As the screen switches to an interview of someone very important-looking in a suit, Guan Shan scowls.

“I don’t know. Nothin’s on.”

He Tian stretches his arms above his head, long and lithe. “Well,” he says, drawn with a sigh, “if you’re trying to put me to sleep, it might actually work.”

“Fuck off, I don’t control the damn stations,” Guan Shan bites. “And you shouldn’t be tired to begin with. You did jack shit today, just like every other day.”

He Tian looks at him, the corners of his eyes softened with drowsiness in a way that Guan Shan has become used to seeing. 

“That’s not true,” He Tian says. “I went with you to pick up supplies so your mom can sew masks. And we went to get the mail downstairs. And I helped you go grocery shopping—“

“You fuckin’ stood there with the cart and didn’t help at all—“

“—and I chopped the onions and peppers for dinner. That’s a lot. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a normal person’s life,” Guan Shan says, exasperated. “Honestly, what the hell did you do all your life until quarantine?”

He Tian seems to take a moment to genuinely think about his answer. “Homework,” he offers, brows a bit pulled. “Basketball. School, obviously. I usually go to the convenience store for dinner, but sometimes I’ll get takeout. And I don’t get mail, but my groceries get delivered to me, so.”

And then he looks at Guan Shan, almost as if expecting some kind of praising reaction — but Guan Shan can only stare. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Guan Shan says after a long moment. “That’s ridiculous and fuckin’ miserable. You live like a robot, and a broken one at that.”

Silence. Then He Tian sits up a little straighter, as if a puppetmaster had pulled on his strings.

“I mean, I used to take piano lessons,” he says, frowning as he rubs at his neck. “And Cheng took me to shooting ranges. And…” A pause. “Camping. Yeah, we went camping some weekends. Went to rivers and fished together all day. I caught a few sometimes.”

Guan Shan blinks. “What, are you tryin’ to prove somethin’ to me right now?”

And He Tian shrugs. “Maybe.”

The answer takes Guan Shan by surprise. But He Tian’s face is neutral — expression always so put together — and Guan Shan wonders if maybe He Tian is lying to him. Building up some kind of persona again just to tear it down later. Because, surely, with that much fucking money and privilege, the guy doesn’t just sit there in that empty apartment all day and twiddle his thumbs. Surely, with his reputation, he has a regular posse of socialites always seeking him out and inviting him to some kind of get-together or event. Surely, considering all that he is, He Tian doesn’t waste his time looking for, or teasing, or protecting, or calling up—

“Guan Shan?” He Tian says, mouth a little twisted. “You still awake?”

The low rambling of the space documentary suddenly seems louder. Guan Shan swallows, once, then forces himself to look away. 

“You make no fuckin’ sense to me,” Guan Shan mutters. Then: “When are you leavin’?”

���Ouch,” He Tian remarks in an empty but unsurprised tone, shifting back on the couch. After a moment, he shrugs and responds, “Depends. Your text said a week but your mom says forever.”

A scowl. “She didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

He Tian smiles. “No, she didn’t. But she did say as long as I wanted — which, really, isn’t that much different from forever.”

Guan Shan swallows; feels inexplicable heat crawl up his neck like a spider, and he clenches his jaw against it. 

“You should go live with your own family,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m sure they’ve got all the time in the world to shower you with attention.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees He Tian smirk. 

“If I didn’t want to live with them at the best of times, what makes you think I would want to live with them at the worst of times?”

Guan Shan considers that. “This… isn’t the worst of times.”

“There’s a pandemic with no cure killing hundreds of people every day,” He Tian says, bland. “School is practically cancelled. People aren’t going to work. You invited me over to your home, unprompted. Even I know, with all things considered, that these are pretty bad times.”

Guan Shan can’t argue that. Instead he stares at the television, watching an astronomer point out weird symbols on some kind of map. It takes a lot of concentration to focus on nothing. After all, if he shifts his gaze any more to the right, he’ll see He Tian. If he lets his eyes slide down any further, he’ll see the way He Tian’s knee is still too close to his own. Both are dangerous territories for dangerous thoughts, and he doesn’t want anything to do with either. 

After a moment of silence, Guan Shan says, “You know, you should get friends. Real friends, and not your fuckin’ fangirl group.”

He Tian raises a brow. “I have you and Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi.”

“That’s not—” And then Guan Shan stops, frowning, because he’s not actually sure what their ragtag mess of a group isn’t. Instead, he swallows and pathetically hides behind: “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe, it’s exactly what He Tian thought what he’d say. Guan Shan isn’t sure; he’s never fuckin’ sure when it comes to him. But it doesn’t stop him from tensing up when He Tian turns to face him, fully. Wholly. It leaves no escape, and Guan Shan realizes with a sour kind of reluctance that he has no choice but to look back.

“No?” He Tian asks, meeting his gaze. “Then, what are you to me?”

The way the television’s screen lights up He Tian’s face — it’s like looking at a painting, alone in the museum, at the dusk of day. Blue hues shine through his hair, dim, and his eyes are only bright enough to reflect the silhouette of Guan Shan sitting in front of him. It’s eerie, how the both of them are so undefined in this moment. Maybe, in a way, that’s easier. 

Guan Shan’s voice feels thick when he says, “I’m not answerin’ that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t— need to.”

“Why?” And then: “Overthinking it?”

Guan Shan flares. “What? What the fuck does that— No, I just— I don’t need to answer fuckin’ anything, asshole. I… I owe you jack shit.”

Silence responds to him. He Tian watches him; studies him. Guan Shan feels like a specimen under his gaze, split apart layer by layer under the microscope. He feels like, somewhere, something in him is splintering. And He Tian is watching it happen. 

“I don’t have a fuckin’ answer,” Guan Shan admits, sudden, like a sinner in a confession booth, heavy and quiet and raspy. “Okay? I told you, you don’t make any goddamn sense to me. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my ma.”

He Tian soaks that in, almost as thoroughly as he takes in the sight of Guan Shan’s flushed scowl. 

“You didn’t want me here?” he says, teasing.

“No, dipshit. Every time you’ve been here hasn’t been because I asked you to be.”

He Tian smirks. “Ouch,” he says again, except this time it’s said in a way that pricks Guan Shan like a rose thorn.

Guan Shan pushes down the heavy feeling in his throat. “I don’t know what you were expectin’,” he says, truthfully. 

And then He Tian looks away, rolling his head. There’s a kind of empty look in his eyes that Guan Shan thinks he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s the same look he’s seen in He Cheng’s eyes in the few rare times they’d crossed paths.

“I wasn’t expecting a pandemic,” He Tian says. His voice sounds loud in the small room. “I wasn’t expecting school break to get extended. I wasn’t expecting all the restaurants to close, and for all the store’s shelves to be wiped clean.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But I guess, for some reason, I was expecting a text from you after weeks of nothing.”

It hits Guan Shan, hard and heavy, like a ring-laden fist against his cheek. The last time he’d seen He Tian before all of this mess was a month ago — more — and at the time, none of them had known that this is how it would turn out. How could they? It’d only taken a week for things to turn south, and Guan Shan was too busy worrying of how he and his mom were going to file for unemployment to think of the way his phone had been silent for longer than he’s been used to. 

He wants to pull it out right now; check his recent messages. It would be with a sort of disbelief when he would find the timestamp on He Tian’s contact, he already knows. But the shock wouldn’t come from his own lack of outreach. No, his perplexity would stem from He Tian, the same person who couldn’t go a single weekend without a conversation about nothing over Facetime back when things were normal. The same person who, apparently, hadn’t messaged him once until Guan Shan texted him that dreadful night five days ago. 

Had he been— testing Guan Shan?

“I didn’t reach out to anybody else,” Guan Shan hears himself saying. The words taste bitter as they leave his mouth. What is he doing? What does he have to justify? “I... It was weird, those first few days of the lockdown order, and my ma and I— we had a lot goin’ on. It wasn’t— I mean, I haven’t talked to Zheng Xi or Jian Yi this whole time either. I just... don’t have time. Or, I did, but it wasn’t urgent. I— yeah, I barely use my phone anymore, anyway. I’m always at home now so I just... don’t need it.”

He stops, his tongue feeling thick. He Tian isn’t looking at him, but he knows he’s listening. Somehow, the thought makes it even worse. 

“What,” He Tian suddenly says, and there’s a curl to his mouth that he can’t seem to help, “are you trying to prove something to me right now?”

“I—“ Guan Shan flares, teeth clenched and ears hot. “Fuck you. No, I’m not, asshole. I’m actually rescuin’ your damn pride, but apparently you’ve got too fuckin’ much.”

“Hey, hey,” He Tian says, wrapping his fingers around Guan Shan’s wrist when he makes to get up. “Come on. Don’t make me finish this documentary by myself.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’m tired. Let go.”

“Then we can sleep on the couch,” He Tian replies — and then almost as if it were an afterthought: “again.”

Guan Shan warms at the implication of it. “Why the fuck would I do that when my room is around the corner?” he hisses. 

He Tian tugs his arm. “Because I’ll follow you anyway since I’ve only got two days left with you and I’m not letting today end like this.” He smiles. “We’re not sleeping yet. I’m selfish.”

“I could’ve fuckin’ told you that,” Guan Shan mutters, dry. But he relaxes, settling back on the couch, and eventually He Tian lets him go. The skin he had touched feels electric in his absence.

“Let’s make popcorn and ride this out,” He Tian says, settling against a throw pillow. His eyes, no longer empty, are content as they drift back to the screen.

Hand in chin, Guan Shan smirks. “We both brushed our teeth already. I’m not doin’ it again.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He Tian gestures to the TV. “Popcorn and something more interesting than this.”

“If you think this is so damn boring, then why are you still here?”

“When else will I find an opportunity to spend time with you like this after I leave?”

Guan Shan doesn’t respond. After a moment, He Tian huffs. 

“That’s when you’re supposed to invite me back over in the future, little Mo,” he says, amused. Guan Shan shoots him a warning look as the documentary goes to a commercial break. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “And don’t try to convince my ma, either.”

He Tian hums, shifting, and Guan Shan suppresses a flinch when his knee presses up against his. Warm. “I hadn’t even thought about that. That might be the agenda for tomorrow, now.”

“I’m sick of you,” Guan Shan growls. And He Tian laughs, like it’s the funniest thing ever, how easily he can get under Guan Shan’s skin and force him to worry about nothing and get him to stay with him to watch shitty television all within the span of twenty minutes. How Guan Shan has managed to survive more than three days is an incredible feat. How he’s unable to chase away the thought of inviting He Tian over for dinner after he leaves, sometimes, is an inexplicable one. 

And when the documentary comes back on with a cheap intro jingle and the streaming quality of a disposable camera, Guan Shan feels He Tian’s foot hook against his and tries to convince himself, over and over:

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

*  *  *

thank you for reading! likes/reblogs would be greatly appreciated, as this fic is dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement. if you would like a fic/drabble written for you (and you want to support the BLM cause!), please see this post!

have an incredible week! <3

#19 days #tianshan #:))) #please reblog! it would mean the world!

[hear-me-growl]

Ambrosia | Ksj | Chapter V

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ Aᴏ3 || Dɪᴏɴʏsᴜs ·ᴘᴜʙ· ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀᴘᴏsᴛ || ↻ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut, humor, fluff | s2l > ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: millionaire!Seokjin x bartender!, nyotaimori model!Reader > ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mature [+18]; strong language and explicit sex > ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.9k

sᴇʀɪᴇs ɪɴᴅᴇx ||  ⟵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪᴠ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪ ⟶

💙 ᴀ/ɴ: holy shit, this one’s is a big boy. This chapter has been a nightmare. I’ve been stuck on it for weeks. I had it planned and all, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. The tone was getting way too angsty, so I rewrote the whole thing multiple times. 😩 Hopefully you guys like the end result!

Next chapter will be the final one, I think? Depends on how carried away I get 😅 Is anyone else excited for these two idiots? Let me know!

“My head is killing me.”

“Lightweight.”

A streak of sunlight filtering through the curtains reminded you both that life went on outside your smelly apartment. You opened the window to let in some fresh air, which makes your friend shriek and hide under the blanket. Last night’s scraps —half eaten chips and pulp-less lemon wedges— came to life under the light. The leftover still life accentuated the taste of alcohol on your mouth and you walked to the kitchen in need of something to wash it off.

Best friend bonding nights ended up inevitably in hungover mornings. That is, using the term “morning” loosely. It was a routine you both had perfected. First you sneaked shots at work and went to your apartment after closing. Then you did even more shots, talking and laughing over whatever sappy movie you were pretending to watch. Last but not least, you both fell asleep on the couch Tetris-style.

At the sound of you waking up, your cat-shaped demon strutted proudly towards you. She tangled between your legs, making you trip to avoid stepping on her and hitting something in the process. With a curse, you rubbed your sore knee while trying to remember where you set her food last time. She was a genius glutton, so you had to change the hiding spot constantly. Otherwise she would get to it, no matter how high or locked it was. Impatient, the feline followed you around. Shortie joined her high pitched meows, complaining about the noise. As you exited the bathroom with her precious pebbles, the feline purred happily. You kept the light on for your best friend, who hurried inside to purge any leftover mistakes from her stomach.

The flush went on while you poured some juice for her. Wiping her chin, she joined you in the kitchen with a grimace. 

“I’m too small to drink that much. Never again.”

“You always say that and never keep your word.”

“Don’t expect it to be any different this time,” she downed the glass desperate to wash off the taste.

“At least you’re consistent,” you quipped.

Sitting on the counter, you pushed a plate towards her before chomping on your breakfast. While you hummed a song you couldn’t remember, Shortie eyed the butter as it melted on golden bread for a minute. An annoyed groan brought you back from your thoughts.

“Ughhh… I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke last night all over again.”

“Are you dissing my breakfast-making skills?” You turned to her, quirking a brow. Her eyes widened, and she shook her arms, making a fuss.

“No, no! It looks amazing, really, but my stomach is—”

“Chill,” you interrupted her with a satisfied grin. “I’m just messing with you.”

“I hate you,” she glared while you picked up her plate. No way you’d let it go to waste. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the new toaster.”

The incredulous look you gave her, as if she hit her head somewhere, made Shortie giggle. She could tell you appreciated her gift. Bribe. There was a blurry line between those terms.

“Not enjoying, loving. Bitch, have you seen it? It’s yellow and says ‘I loaf you’. I loaf you. This is the peak of my existence,” you raved between mouthfuls.

“Well, at least you got something out of dating a millionaire...”

“Don’t start with your Seokjin crusade,” you warned with a groan. What nice way to ruin breakfast. 

“What? I didn’t say anything yet?” 

Feigned innocence always looked good on her, all doe-eyed and pouty, brows sloping at the end. She took advantage of it whenever she could, but hungover you wasn’t having it.

“I mean it,” you hopped off the counter, rounding her to wash the dishes. “It’s too early for that shit.”

“It's past 12.”

“Exactly,” you grunted.

Just a few seconds passed, silence only disrupted by your scrubbing. Your friend nibbled her lip as she did when she mulled over something.

“Well, it’s not like those old ones you are used to, but I’m happy you like the thing,” she chirped, standing next to the toaster. “You should listen to me more often. I mean, look at it! Beautiful, elegant, funny and it definitely knows how to toast your bread.” 

Her hand slid across the shiny surface distractedly, but still scanned your reactions from the corner of her eye.

“Very subtle.”

Ever since she met Seokjin at the bar, he seemed fixed on the idea of you dating him. She managed to shift the conversation towards him one way or another. A skill as impressive as it was irritating.

“He came by the other day. Again. I forgot to tell you.”

“Thanks for the report, soldier, but you don’t need to notify me every time he shows up. I don’t care.”

“The best sex you’ve ever had crosses Seoul, sits alone and orders a single drink just for a chance of seeing you. It’s my moral obligation to let you know.”

“He might like the place,” you shrugged. 

Shortie closed the faucet to get your full attention. No need to take a look at her to know exactly the frown she wore —the one that made you feel like a child being scolded. In a weak attempt to avoid it, you left the kitchen. She followed you closely, not giving you a chance to escape.

“He likes you.”

“I’m flattered.” Unfazed, you slumped on the couch.

“We talked for a bit, you know? Poor guy wanted to know why are you avoiding him,” she continued as she sat beside you. 

“Poor guy? Not your finest word choice,” you snickered, triggering an exasperated eye roll.

“I don’t get you. You say you don’t give a damn, but you hide under the counter whenever he shows up. You won’t respond to his texts, but you read them all. You say he’s just another random hookup, but then admit it felt different —good different.”

“When did I say that?”

“Last night,” she chuckled implishly, reaching for an empty bottle on the floor and shaking it teasingly. “You always spill your guts with tequila.”

She kept her gaze fixed on you. Shifting a bit, you scratched your neck to relieve the uncomfortable itch of the conversation. Why did she have to press you on the matter? If he was so damn perfect, she should marry him. You’d even hold her up for the kiss to spare him the back pains.

“Your point is?”

“Stop being so stubborn and give him a chance. Not just for him, for you too. I know you don’t need it, but you deserve someone who takes good care of you. He’s into you and you’re into him, so what’s the problem?”

“I’m not—” 

“Nope, can’t fool me,” she grinned. “I see the way you look at your phone. Sorry to break it out to you, but he’s got you hooked.”

“Ok, now I know you’re still drunk. He’s the opposite of my type.”

“Your type is crap. Plus we both know that’s not the reason why you push him away.” She took a breath after rolling your eyes and occupied yourself with a loose thread on the blanket. “It’s been three years since your ex, I think you should give Jin a try.”

“Hey! We agreed not to talk about The Maggot.” 

A well-deserved nickname for that wormy bastard. Just a few months with him, you’d reached the lowest point in your life. He feasted on the lack of self-love you’d accumulated through the years and wrecked all the progress you’d made since leaving home. He seemed to grow bigger the more wounded and hurt you were, so he made sure you felt like shit. Thus: The Maggot.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she stuck her tongue out when your face puckered. “Give him a chance, not everyone is like that jerk.” 

“Since your weird obsession with Seokjin is clogging those cute ears, I’ll say it again: I don’t want a relationship. It always ends up being a mess, I end up a mess and I’m tired of it. I’d rather have fun, no strings attached,” you shrugged.

“Look, babe,” the sudden tenderness in her voice formed a knot that you forced down your throat. “I know better than anyone that you’ve been hurt before. I get it, it’s scary. There’s nothing wrong with hookups, if that is what makes you happy. Just don’t let all the assholes before Jin scare you out of love. It doesn’t suit you, you’ve always been the fierce one.”

The both of you stayed like that for a while. Shortie rubbed circles on your back, waiting patiently for you to sort things out on your own. She wanted to hug you, but you knew she wouldn't push you anymore and you appreciated her understanding. With a heavy sigh, you turned to her.

“Let’s just take another nap, I have work tonight.”

“Ok,” she complied with a bright smile that made you forget the mess in your head before pointing to the couch. “But, please, not on this spine-wrecker.”

Late. Again.

The red bulb shined mockingly, brighter as seconds passed. The erratic drum of your fingers on the wheel only unnerved you further, but they had a mind of their own. Tonight’s event was big and you’ve spent extra time pampering yourself to look your best. No one wants sushi on hairy legs. However, your cat decided that it was as good a day as any to battle the living room lamp, which hit the glass coffee table when defeated. To top your exasperation, she had the audacity to look upset at your scolding. Insolent punk.

You arrived at the location, a tall mirror reflecting Seoul back at you and checked the address once more. Top floor, naturally. What was with businesspeople and heights? Must be nice constantly looking at the world from above. You checked yourself in the lift’s mirror, to put any hair that got wild with the rush back in place. Tapping your foot, you glared at the numbers passing by on the screen. For a spaceship-like elevator, it was pretty damn slow. Just your luck, Tanaka was in the kitchen tonight. Whenever you worked with him, you found a new level of stress you didn’t know you could reach. Being the best sushi chef at the catering, he could make anyone lose their job just by saying the word. To add to your luck, he hated your guts. You became his least favourite model since that one time you might have showed up a bit tipsy. However you absolutely did not fall asleep as he claimed, just rested your sight —two minutes maximum. Guests didn’t even notice. Next thing you knew, he was yelling something about his art being disrespected by a westerner, berserk mode on. So he definitely wouldn’t take well you being late. You sighed heavily, hoping that at least the froth coming from his mouth didn’t spray in your direction.

Ding

Shit. Tanaka had to be furious, he never texted. Hell, he barely even talked to you. Reluctantly, you unlocked your phone, mentally prepared for a scolding. You breathed once you saw the screen —Kim freaking Seokjin and his timing. Numbers increased in slow motion as you considered answering. You really should ignore him, but there were fifteen floors left. Enough time for you to try to get through his thick skull that you wouldn’t go out with him again.

Doors opened suddenly and you jumped a bit. Moment of truth. Anyone else would’ve been scared of the pair of sharp eyes that greeted you —disintegrating every single cell in your body— but you were no coward. After an uncomfortable apology, you took off your clothes and laid on the table so he could begin his artistry. 

You found out that Tanaka was even scarier when he gave the silent treatment. As you felt him and his kitchen helpers place food and decorations on your skin, you simply stared at the ceiling. Soon enough your head filled with a bit of everything: shopping list, your dad’s iconic moustache, the lightbulb that needed changing… Eventually, your mind gravitated to Seokjin. It was a common occurrence these days, much to your distaste. Not only did he show up at the bar or texted randomly, he had to pop into your head too. He just made way through your mind, pushing aside everything else. As if you didn’t have anything better to think about. Even his abstract self could be an arrogant jerk.

Was it cruel to let him believe that you were out with someone else? Perhaps, but that was your last resort to keep him at bay. Most likely looking for round two, he’d been persistent —obnoxiously persistent. To be honest, you couldn’t blame him. On a scale of one to ten, your night together made the scale its bitch. After almost a month, you still found yourself spacing out thinking about it. A little guilty pleasure that you’d never admit out loud.

Of course you could always give in. You’d call, ask about his day and go somewhere nice just to end up in his bed again. You could’ve stayed that morning with him instead of running away. But you knew those deals already. Love always came with fine print. Jealous outbursts even when they were the cheater or nasty comments about the things you were proud of. Maybe they enjoyed making you feel small and worthless just so they could look better next to you, like The Maggot. Or perhaps they just wanted to fuck the dumb, foreign girl because “she’s a freak in bed”. The list went on. No one knew better —you’d been through all of them. Dangerous men, all wrapped with charming personalities and big smiles to distract from the trail of broken hearts behind them. Given how your face lit up whenever your screen did, Seokjin was one to be especially careful around. His unread texts meant trouble. 

Blocking his number would’ve been the smartest solution. Quick, like ripping off a bandaid. Still, there was a part of you that wanted to wait and see if he’d grow tired of chasing after you and go find an easier target. Not if, when. So far, he’d lasted longer than you expected.

A heavy sigh was your queue to sneak a glance at the chef, currently wrinkling his nose at work in front of him. He checked his watch before turning to his ever-tense kitchen helpers.

“Guests are arriving soon, so this will have to do. I can’t do miracles. We’re 15 minutes short on presentation time thanks to someone’s incompetence and we don’t have nearly enough greenery to cover all the imperfections.” The not-so-subtle side eye at you didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m not proud of tonight’s piece, team. We’ll have to compensate for it with an impeccable service.”

Hearing disappointment in their superior’s voice instantly glued eyes to the floor. You winced, knowing it was your fault.

“Well? Don’t just stand there, idiots! Move, move!” He ordered, making them all jump and scatter like scared mice.

With that, he turned around and zeroed in on you. Upper lip raised, the chef got closer until he was towering you. His imposing demeanor had you squaring up as much as you could without the food on you falling. Tanaka’s favourite activity was intimidating others. Enough dealing with bullies taught you that is best not to show them fear.

“I know I’m asking a monkey to do magic, but try not to ruin my night further or I’ll personally make sure that you never work again,” he spat before walking away.

Silent treatment was definitely better. That man’s tongue was sharp as his knives. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding and let your muscles relax. It was going to be a long night.

“Everything looks spectacular, Mr. Choi. Wouldn’t expect less from a man like you.”

An hour in and no incidents so far. Tanaka had relaxed a bit. Not around you, of course. Whenever he came to check, you could feel his eyes slicing you up like hamachi. However, the other cooks and the service left the kitchen far less horrified.

Two men chatted by the table you laid on. Head filled with nothing you kept your eyes on the intricate ceiling with a blank expression. Usually you didn’t pay much attention to the conversations around you —too much business talk. However they sometimes served as distraction for the ache of laying still for hours.

Tonight’s host, Mr. Choi, an older man with a neat haircut and small hands, turned his head to you. “I chose the model specifically for you. I thought you’d feel more at home with a bit of western flavor to your food, Mr. Harper.”

“Everything is perfect, I’m grateful for your hospitality.” He took a piece of sashimi, his gaze lingering on you. “Is this a Korean tradition?”

“Japanese. I find nyotaimori an exquisite showcase of artistry, although it is an unusual practice. Forbidden in some countries, even.” The older man got closer to the other, as they inspected you.

“I envy you, Mr. Choi. Your eye for beauty is as sharp as the one for business.”

“It is, indeed,” he chuckled. “My old friend Mr. Kim told me you and I would get along. His son has a gift for reading people and he speaks highly of your company. I think you’ve met him already?”

“Yes, I have. I’ll admit I was discouraged when Mr. Kim sent his son to talk business instead of doing it himself. Five minutes with the boy, and I realised my mistake. He’s a bit younger than me, but he has experience and confidence way above his age.”

“Just like his father, that old devil. Look, there he is. Perfect timing, as always,” he turned with a beaming smile and gestured for someone to join the conversation. “Come here, son! We were talking about you just now.”

With an odd feeling in your gut, you bit the inside of your cheek. Not him. There’s a Kim every two Koreans, please, not him. From the corner of your eye, you catched a glimpse of the man approaching before averting your gaze.

The universe hated you.

“Only good things, I hope,” Seokjin bowed and the other two chuckled. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Mr. Harper here was telling how happy he is to do business with you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“I thought you wouldn’t come, son. I know you’re not a fan of these parties.”

“I couldn’t miss yours, Mr. Choi. Anyone in business knows: if you want to make the right connections, here’s the place.”

“Ah, always working. I’ll warn you, Mr. Harper, Seokjin here is a professional even after leaving the office. Since you two are close in age, I’m trusting you to make him loosen up a little,” he patted Seokjin’s broad back. “Come on, son. Get something to eat.”

There was a pause and the background noise quieted for a moment. Eyes fixed anywhere but him, you didn’t see his reaction once he realised you there. Would he wear the smirk he gave you when he saw you the first time in this exact position? Or would he arch his brow slightly like he did when something picked his interest but didn’t want it to show? Surprised at your own knowledge of Seokjin’s expressions, you didn’t realise him approaching until his voice rang much closer than before.

“With pleasure.”

His silhouette blocked the ceiling light, that shined like a halo around him. The eclipse-like effect would cover his reaction even if you dared to look. You felt your cheeks heat up and your toes curled nervously. He made no further comment, but you did notice his slow movements as he chose something with chopsticks. Despite your breath quickening, you didn’t take your eyes off the ceiling. 

The conversation with his peers flowed casually, all business deals and market values, though you couldn’t focus on it anymore. Not with his efforts to draw your attention back to him. Standing near your table, Seokjin picked up something from your body every now and then. Whenever you felt his presence closer, something stirred deep inside you. A mixture of arousal and mortification. What if he told them about your night together? They’d probably lose their appetite, knowing their sushi platter made a mess on someone’s sheets. If you still had a job by the end of the night, you’d lose it. Though you doubted he’d even admit he’d fucked you, it would ruin his image in front of his partners. How many men like him admitted all the secretaries and maids and other nobodies they got frisky with? In his world, big names didn’t look good next to small ones. At the same time, the memory of his mouth on your skin and the dark ink of his lovebites on your neck the day after messed with your ability to think straight.

Eventually, he excused himself and greeted someone else, brushing your ankle when he walked past. You tensed immediately. Looking in his direction for the first time, you caught the faint outline of a smirk as sauntered away. The greater the distance he put between you, the easier it was to relax. Shortly after, you realised he wouldn’t allow it.

Time passed lazily, minutes turning into decades built up the stress of the night. First the incident with the chef, to whom you’d surely have to suck up to later in hopes he forgave your lack of punctuality. And then Seokjin and his cruel way of keeping you on edge. Without a phone screen or the bar counter as barrier, ignoring him proved to be tougher than you’d thought. All throughout the night you heard his voice, sometimes closer than others but never enough for you to figure out exactly where it came from. He wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about him, that he could approach and tease you whenever he pleased. At some point you grew tired of the tension. 

Body perfectly still, you scanned the room until your eyes met. He kept talking to the expensive suit in front of him, but his gaze was undeniably locked on you. Mischief and playfulness poured out of his dark orbs and a little bit of something else. Maybe annoyance, maybe lust. It was usually hard to decipher his expressions, but even harder when he masked them for the other attendees. He seemed a different man, giving plastic smiles for his plastic friends —the tiny creases around his eyes nowhere to be seen. You missed them.

The little exchanges and glances grew bolder since that moment. For anyone else in the room, Seokjin behaved as the heir of one of the biggest companies in Korea should. For you, however, he’d lick his lips while devouring your body from afar or wink at you whenever he caught you staring back. To your surprise, no one seemed to take notice. 

No matter how hard you tried, avoiding his gaze proved to be pointless. Like a magnet, your eyes were drawn to his before you could register it. It only spurred him to be more daring and it kept you on edge, afraid of him doing something that could cost you a paycheck.

At the end of the night, the clink of glasses and the frivolous chatter thinned and tangled with the slur of goodbyes and the buzz of waiters cleaning up. Only a small group was left. They smoked big cigars and discussed politics, faces red with alcohol, while you discreetly stretched your neck and counted the minutes. Just when you thought the night was almost over, your body tensed once more when you heard a familiar voice. 

“I don’t think ‘mouthwatering’ does you justice, sweet cheeks.”

His words ringed too loud for your liking and your eyes bounced around the room. The smokers were too immersed in their secret competition for the biggest, rarest cigar and the workers seemed too eager to go home to pay attention. Seokjin sensed your apprehension and placed a hand next to your head, resting his weight on it so he would look straight down at you. You took a sharp breath when his thumb caressed your temple and you jerked away on instinct, the contact scolding your skin. His eyes briefly shot up to check if anyone had noticed the sudden movement, but landed immediately back on you.

“I like your dress, by the way,” he added. “It matches your imaginary date.” 

An ugly scowl settled on your face, but he chose to ignore it. Tilting his head, he trailed down your form as you warned him with a huff. When his gaze met yours again, it narrowed dangerously. Even if his face was serene, his eyes weren’t. All the colors around you stirred in his black pools, a mysterious kaleidoscope you had never seen on them before. Your tongue itched from the unspoken expletives as you glared up at him. Without a sound, you gracefully mouthed a “fuck off.”

“Don’t look at me like that, the sushi is going to turn sour,” he grinned. “Can’t resist getting naked for me, hm? Next time I’d appreciate a warning if you are gonna show up like this. Do you know how difficult it is to do business with you teasing me?”

Your brows shot up at his words. Only if you could tell him to get his egocentric ass out of his mouth.

“It’s cruel to take advantage of my weaknesses, sweet cheeks,” he tutted. “Not fair play.”

“I am working,” you reminded quietly through a clenched jaw, voice low and gritty with irritation.

“It hasn’t stopped you from ogling me like you want me to fuck you senseless in front of everyone.”

Once again, his carefree tone felt dangerous. Although the remaining guests' cackles overpowered his words, for you they still boomed too loud. So much, that your traitorous body rumbled at his suggestion despite the fear of being discovered. 

He caught the subtle way your teeth trapped your bottom lip before it tightened in a line. Not even your frown could hide your pupils expanding and he smiled wolfishly. You’d tried so hard to keep him at a distance, to act cold around him. The weeks after he woke to the lingering bittersweetness of your perfume he’d been wondering why. Right there and then, he got his answer. 

“You’re gonna get me fired. Leave.”

“Then tell me why are you avoiding me,” he asked, although he didn't need to.

“Get a pen, there’s a whole list of reasons,” your quiet retort made him chuckle darkly.

“Will you read them to me after work? If you’re good, you’ll get a spank for each one,” he winked. If anyone looked in your direction, you would be in trouble. He was too close and the flowers on you laid off their designated spots.

“Just lea— ”

The rasp of a throat clearing tore the air and your body became stone. Seokjin straightened his back calmly, not even bothered by the interruption, but your head whipped to the noise at lightning speed. You felt the petals on you fall on the table, followed by a piece of sushi.

“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Kim. But the nyotaimori exhibition is over. If you wish to eat something else, our buffet is still open.”

Tanaka snapped his fingers and two waiters picked your table and brought you into the kitchen. You didn’t miss the throbbing vein on his forehead when he bowed for the millionaire.

The pleasant bell of the elevator mimicked the end of a boxing match after a knock out. Utterly defeated, your feet dragged on the beautiful carpet that led you out of the building. 

Your head was pounding with the echoes of the chef’s harsh scolding. A few of your coworkers chatted by the entrance, but quieted down when they spotted you. No need to be a genius to know the nasty things they whispered as you walked past them. They’ve witnessed the scene just moments ago. Tanaka yelled and yelled while you just stood there, drenched in all his anger. Pathetic excuse of a model. That’s what he called you. From his point of view, you broke your obligations and tried to get a millionaire’s attention. Someone who, as he kindly reminded, would never mix with the likes of you for more than a fun night. His hurtful comments didn’t end there, but that part stuck with you the most. 

Cold hit your face as you exited the building, freezing any lingering thought and you breathed out to fill your lungs with that same peace. Once outside, where the usually frency of Seoul slept, you could store the night in the drawer of moments that you’d rather forget. 

“Hello, sweet cheeks.”

Any prospect of serenity on the quiet night air crashed with just three words. Him, always him. Whenever you allowed yourself to relax, he always appeared. Like a fly on a hot summer evening, sticking to your skin and buzzing until it drew you crazy. You walked past the spot where he leaned against the wall with a huff.

“How about I take you on an actual date tonight? I sneaked a bottle of wine.”

Nothing. Maybe it was childish to ignore him, but you didn’t have the energy to deal with him, not tonight, so you kept walking.

“Should I take that as a yes?”

The more he talked, the faster your irritation started to boil. Without sparing him a glance, you kept your pace. Seokjin jogged a bit to keep up and frowned himself as he noticed your scowl deepening. 

“Baby, it’s hard to maintain a conversation if you don’t help me out a bit.”

The burning tick of your brow marked the countdown before the explosion, you knew that. It bothered you how his long legs could easily match your quick pace. You fished the car keys out of your pocket, taking a turn to cross the street.

“You are angry with me,” he stated.

A scoff escaped your throat, as you smiled dryly. 

“To be angry I’d have to give two shits about you, which I don’t.”

“Ouch,” he grimaced at your clipped tone and let you put some distance between the two, considering your words. Aware that he walked on thin ice, he caught up once again with a smirk. At least he got you talking.

“You sure about that? You seem pretty angry to me.”

Exasperated, you stopped abruptly, fire burning in your eyes. It took him by surprise how serious your expression became. Maybe he’d overstepped in his attempts to lift up your mood, maybe he’d really fucked up.

“What the hell are you doing here, Seokjin?”

“Just wanted to check if everything is fine with your boss,” he was cautious, approaching you as if he wanted to pet a lion.

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” you snapped with an accusatory finger to his chest. “I almost got fired.”

“I’m sorry, sweet cheeks, I shouldn’t have messed around while you were working. I didn’t consider the consequences.”

“Of course you didn’t. Losing your job is not something that ever scares you, hm? The little prince has his life sorted out already. Must be nice.” 

Voice loaded with sourness, you held his gaze. Apart from his lips tightening in a thin line, Seokjin kept his usual unreadable self. He didn’t even have the decency to look intimidated by your anger. Blood pulsed in your temples like migraine. God, he was so infuriating. 

“By the way, don’t you ever call anyone to clean up my shit again. I don’t need it. I can deal with my own problems.”

When Tanaka had been done yelling and calling you names, he contacted the higher ups. Neither of you expected the woman on the other side of the line brushing the chef’s complaints off so easily —the guest had cleared up the situation already. She hung up with a grin in her voice after praising your ability to “befriend” such a powerful man, and you were left dumbfounded. Since that  job covered most of your bills, it was a relief to keep it. That aside, you were fuming. One phone call, that’s all it took for him to make the problem disappear. Was life really so easy for him? Was he so dense to think his last name would solve anything? He surely didn’t give a shit about putting you in that situation in the first place, or your coworkers thinking of you as a slut. Above everything else, it pissed you off that he thought you needed to be saved, like it was his charity act of the month. 

“My behaviour tonight was unacceptable and you shouldn’t be the one to pay for it. Now I see I overstepped, so I apologise for that too,” he said after a pause. His eyes softened and you noticed his shoulders drooping slightly. “It’s just—  You do things to me, sweet cheeks, you don’t even realise. I can’t think straight around you. Not that that’s an excuse, but it’s the truth. I really am sorry, I didn’t want to cause you trouble.”

“Oh, thanks! That fixes everything. Glad that you got that out of your chest, wouldn’t want to make you feel guilty about it,” you sneered.  

Seokjin followed like a watchdog as you resumed your walk, taking big steps in a futile attempt to leave the man behind. Not only him, but the inconvenient flutter in your stomach too. Mulling over his words, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You do things to me, sweet cheeks. So casual about it, he could’ve been chatting about the weather with a neighbour.

“Let me take you home, at least, to make sure you are safe,” he offered, taking your wrist to stop you.

“No,” you jerked away, his touch blistering your skin. “Don’t take me home, don’t call me, don’t text me.”

“I can’t help it. I like you, sweet cheeks. A lot. One night is not enough, I want more than that.”

You felt it, the skip in your heartbeat. Deep within you, it faltered. Scared, wounded, hopeful. Occasional sex was your usual go-to for a good reason. That’s why you only got involved with the “not-the-boyfriend-type” kind of men, to avoid those kinds of messy, unnecessary feelings. You didn’t need anyone to take away your individuality or change your life —you liked freedom. However, your issues with love ran deeper than that. 

Admittedly, you were scared of letting anyone in. You’d been hurt and mocked many times, leashed and scolded enough to be reduced to a shell devoid of any worth. But you learned, hit after hit, and grew protective thorns everytime it happened. Yet, the sly bastard had managed to sneak behind your defenses. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get a hold of yourself.

“Well, it is for me. I’m sorry, but I don’t do the whole boyfriend thing anymore.”

“Tell me you don't like me back.” “Have I not been clear enough? I think I’ve showed you many times that I’m not interested.”

“You kissed me,” he countered, stopping you in your tracks. “The morning you left.”

You faced him after a deep breath, exhausted from his insistence. “That’s playing dirty. You were supposed to be sleeping.” 

“Why did you? If you wanted a one time thing, you would’ve just left. But you kissed me goodbye,” he pressed. “Not to be nice or polite or because you thought you had to —I wouldn’t have noticed anyway. And yet, you decided to kiss me. Why?”

“Goddamn, rich boy. It was just  a kiss, don’t read too much into it.”

“Fine,” he said, his tone stern with a hint of a snarl. “If you won’t, I’ll say it for you. You felt something that night and you feel it still, I can tell.”

“Let me get one thing straight: just because we fucked doesn’t mean you know me. Stop trying to decide what I do or do not feel. You can’t just magically appear in people's lives and expect to be the center of their existence. It’s so goddamn irritating, you are everywhere. If I’m at Dionysus, I get tense whenever that fucking door opens in case it’s you. Everytime I look at my phone there’s a stupid text, or worse, there’s nothing it messes my head up. Even my best friend won’t shut up about you! It’s like a horror movie, I swear. Just leave me alone, I don’t want whatever this shit is. It’s driving me insane.”

“This,” you gestured between the two after a heavy sigh, “was a one time thing, fun, nice sex. End of story.”

“Just nice?” Devilish smile already blooming, he stalked closer. “After all the screaming I was  expecting good, at least. I’ll work harder next time, I’m aiming for A+.”

The moment he was close enough for you to have to crane your neck up, your burning gaze mixed with his. His cologne hit your senses and you remembered how it stuck to your tongue when you kissed his body, sweat and lust making the scent borderline intoxicating. It fuelled your resolve to turn him down before his voice trapped you under his spell —saccharine and enticing, like a siren.

“There’s no next time, so go try to get someone else fired,” you tried to cover the lack of steadiness in your words with a dismissive gesture. 

“Oh, there will be, don’t you worry,” he chuckled before holding your glare with firm determination. “That pretty mouth might say one thing, but your body tells me otherwise. I know you can’t resist me, just like I can’t resist you. At some point you’re going to admit it and let me kiss you and fuck you how you want me to.”

He didn’t lean forward to level your eyes, didn’t let his hand wander on your body —he didn’t need to. Standing there, centimetres away from you, Seokjin knew he had a bigger effect on you than you anticipated. However, your pride took over. The right to decide your feelings wasn’t his and you were determined to show him.

“I wouldn’t bet on it if I were you.”

“Why not? I love winning.”

His cheshire grin set something ablaze in your gut. Unsure if it was irritation or something else, you took a step back. He looked stunning, his sharp suit accentuating those wide shoulders and dark locks neatly brushed back. But what really took you breath away was the glint in his eyes. Dangerous and playful at the same time, in complete dissonance with his impassive pose. 

“Good night, Mr. Kim.”

This time, only his eyes followed as the streets of Seoul swallowed the sweet enigma that was you.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @aretha170

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ, ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ © hear-me-growl, August 2020

#bts fic #bts smut #bts humor #bts fluff #s2l #e2l #jin #hearmegrowl #mystories #dionysuspub #fic:ambrosia #bts #bts fanfiction #jin fanfiction #jin fic #jin fluff #jin smut #seokjin #jin x reader #seokjin x reader

[aviationfiction]

XXXVI

Dante St. James

You are the light in my life. You are my direction. You are an essential part of my purpose. Love has never felt so blissful until you. You bring me joy. You give me joy. As this year comes to a close, I simply want to thank you for everything that you are as a man and as my life partner. I love you Dante Elliott St. James, through and through.

My eyes slowly panned over Autumn’s written words to me yet again, as they remained tacked onto the master bathroom’s mirror. The pristine cursive writing ran across a gold trimmed white card with a bottle of champagne on its right corner end; a signifier of the final day of the year.

The running water briefly captured my attention and I finally wet the toothpaste covered bristles. With every stroke of the brush over my teeth, I took in her message, basking in every line and the love expressed for me. I could picture her white nail polish coated toes digging into the leather of the guest bedroom’s chair as she giddily curled up in it, covered in the mauve grey fleece blanket that she adores so much. In her time frames of being one with herself, that’s her area to read, write, sketch, and most of all, breathe. Lately I’ve been feeling a separation anxiety when she goes off to be on her own and I find myself quietly inching into the room and laying across the bed simply to be within her presence. I make sure not to speak, since I’m already invading her space, but eventually whatever she’s working on is discarded and I become her focus.

Though we haven’t touched based on it as much as I would like, I know she’s been focused on finishing up the applications she has left for the schools she’s chosen to apply to in order to complete the remaining requirements for her bachelors and possibly even her masters degrees. While it’s no secret, it’s not something she’s been eager to discuss and most of all, my help is out of the question. She warned me that she’d never forgive me if I made any phone calls to either speed up the process or to pull favors. I was also denied the opportunity to write a stellar recommendation about the work ethic she’s put forth since becoming my corporate flight attendant. No matter how many times I assured her that my words would have been all in due respect and fairness to how much she impressed me professionally from the moment we met, I was shut down with a kiss and a no thank you. I have no choice other than to respect the manner in which she’s going about this. I’m assured in her choosing to speak to me about it or reveal her choice once she’s comfortable with doing so, but it doesn’t cease my curiosity.

After one final rinse, I turned off the faucet and exited the bathroom. I didn’t bother with making the bed, because Autumn put emphasis on the fact that we’re going into the new year with everything either cleaned or anew. There’s a bag with a couple of hundred dollars worth of brand new Donna Karen bedding sitting in the closet that she purchased at some point this month. I’m sure she’ll get it all onto the bed before we’re off to tonight’s festivities.

I put a K-Cup into the Keurig for you, just turn it on. It’s the Yogi honey and lavender tea. You need to decompress a bit, so have a cup of it. I made you apple steel-cut oatmeal so that you don’t have to eat cereal. It’s in the pot on the bottom shelf in the fridge. Just add a bit of almond milk and reheat it. I love you. Enjoy, suga.

Yet again, I stared at the newly found note and read it over a couple of times while imaging her voice saying it all. Sometimes I wonder how did I get so lucky. Actually it’s not even luck; Autumn’s a blessing beyond all other blessings I’ve ever received. She is by far the greatest one. Although it warms me to hear and read how much she loves me, even if she didn’t say it, I would know. Her actions speak so much louder than her beautiful words. Through them, I’ve learned so much about myself that I’ve never realized or understood quite before. She’s taught me the meaning of giving and accepting love in it’s purest form. She gifts me with it unconditionally and I do the same for her. She’s it for me. I’ll never love another woman in my lifetime as much as I love her.

“Tea, though?” I mumbled my thought out loud as I pressed the start button. I was looking forward to having some coffee. My next task was to get the oatmeal on. Thankfully, she pre-made it instead of leaving me to put the ingredients together. All I know how to do is open up a couple of instant packets, pour some water into a bowl, and pop it all into the microwave. Her stove top way of making it is obviously a million times better than my lazy and pathetic attempts.

“Shit.” Just as I finished placing servings into the glass bowl until it was filled to the brim, the doorbell interrupted my process and worsened the already loud growling of my stomach. I couldn’t resist the urge to lag for just a few seconds as I blew onto a spoonful of it until it was cool enough. As the bell run again, I stuck the spoon into my mouth and sighed in bliss at the flavoring.

“I’m coming.”

Whoever it was couldn’t hear me from the kitchen but I said it to convince myself to make the trek to the door. Along the walk, my eyes panned over all of the Christmas decorations my woman and I are going to have to remove after Three Kings Day. She went overboard. My Charlie Brown Christmas tree as Mike calls it, is a fairly simple clean up process. I just toss that shit into the closet and keep it moving. Autumn’s process? We’ll be taking all of this down for days. I’m convinced.

“Who is it?”

“Your mother.”

The sound of my Nike slippers clacking against the floor ceased as her light and airy voice sounded out beyond the door. Though I haven’t sipped the tea yet, not even me guzzling down the entire mug of it will diminish the building tension radiating through my frame. The muscles constricting within my back ached with every step that I took to draw me closer to the last person I wanted to see so early in the morning. The top of my forehead hit the coolness of the door in attempt to process what will become of whatever this random visit is or may be about. She’s never shown up here announced. The motherly title she processes by law due to our blood relationship boosts her undeserved confidence in thinking that she has the right to drop in on me at any given time. I had every intention to make this final day of what has been a mixture between a beautiful and stressful year as fulfilling as possible and yet a damper has already arisen like an unseen roadblock.

“Dante, please open the door.”

Why? I cannot possibly think of anything she may want from me today and what is there to say? I have no interest in hearing anything about neither my father or sibling.

Regret tormented me as I slowly turned the locks and pulled the door open so we’d be face to face. The brisk weather reddened her pale face and yet it meshed in quite well with the rosy blush covering her cheeks. The diamond tennis necklace I gifted to her three years ago for her birthday peaked out beyond the oversized midnight black chinchilla fur coat covering her frame. In her hand? An Hermes bag made of some type of reptile. She oozed white wealth simply by standing there and despite it all being given to her at the hands of a black man, most will believe she garnered it all through generational wealth from a long line within her family.

“Good morning son.”

“Hi.” As I stepped aside to grant her entry into the apartment, I thought I made it further back enough to be out of her reach and yet it still didn’t send a loud enough message to refrain her lips meshing into my cheek. As if she hadn’t seen me in quite some time, both of her hands slowly ran down my exposed arms while she admired the sight before her in an awe that I’ll never believe is genuine.

“You’re grown up to become such a handsome man. There are days when I either see your father or your grandfather within you, but for some reason, today I see bits of me.” Bullshit. We only share a complexion and if you get close enough, most will notice that I’m a shade or two darker. We look nothing alike.

“What brings you by?” Once I closed the door, I returned to the kitchen with her hot on my trail. I didn’t forget about the oatmeal waiting for me.

“My dreams.”

“Hm.” I stuffed another spoonful of it into my mouth. Maybe if I sit here purposefully eating like a slob, she’ll catch the hint and make the trip back to Scarsdale.

“Lately, I’ve been dreaming about you son. I couldn’t sleep last night because you were the only thing on my mind. Something told me to get up to come and see about you, so here I am. Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine. Maybe you should sit down with a shrink and figure out why that’s happening to you.” That may be the worse if not the worst excuse she’s ever given me when I question why she comes here. Surprisingly, she’s empty handed. There is no cheesecake or random leftovers that she filled into plastic storage bowls to bring over to me.

“I don’t think I need a shrink. I need my son.”

“Matthew doesn’t live that far from you. Go and see about him.”

“Dante.” Her clamorous sigh was followed with the rolling of her honey jade eyes and her lower half pressed against the counter top as she did her best to soothe the blow.

“What are you expecting from me? You want me jump for joy, open up my arms, and happily welcome you into them? You want to move on as if the past doesn’t exist? For whatever reason, you live in a world where you believe that people are supposed to appease your desires no matter what kind of cards you’ve dealt their way. It might work with everyone else, but it’s not going be that way with me.” I’ve yet to get an apology. Her pride stands in the way of that. Opportunity by the way of Richard’s finances was never satisfying enough for me back then and it damn sure isn’t now.

“What is it that you want from me, Dante? Why do I need to do to get through to you? I love you more than anything and everyday I wake up with an unbearable pain because I have a son in the world, who I birthed, that has a strong disdain for me. You treat me as if I’m not welcome into your home. You don’t come and visit me. Since you’ve gotten into a relationship, you’ve stopped coming to Sunday dinner.”

“Don’t you dare put her into this. She has nothing to do with it.”

“I’m not putting Autumn into anything.”

“Don’t even allude to her.” And just like that, my appetite vanished. The faint ringing radiating around the rim of the bowl, as I dropped the spoon against it, was far more delightful to my ears than all she was saying to me.

“I just want to know what you want.”

“Nothing.”

“Dante, please.”

“What is there to want? I’m beyond it. The yearning isn’t mutual. I’ve gotten so used to not having a relationship with you that I don’t feel the effects of whatever it is that it’s supposed to mean. I’m sure somewhere within me there’s some damage from your actions that I haven’t fully confronted yet, but I’m well enough to carry on with my life in the best manner that I can and I’ve been appreciated for it by those who matter. I’m fine. If anything, you need to get right with yourself. Worrying about me isn’t what’s keeping you up at night. It’s your guilt.”

At this point, I figured she would have been past it. I used to believe people living certain lifestyles typically didn’t wallow in the sorrows of their wrongdoings. Richard doesn’t have the time to be absorbed with guilt because he’s far too busy trying to keep his name in good standing. As for his wife, maybe it’s the lack of an occupation that causes her mind to idly think of me and what went wrong with our relationship.

I know more than most, that money isn’t everything. It may sound cliché when it’s said out loud, especially when you think about the less fortunate, but having endless money in your bank accounts or in equity doesn’t keep your emotions in check. If your shit isn’t together, it serves as nothing more than a painkiller that the conscious will eventually become immune to. By then, you’ll be desperately seeking out other toxic measures to numb your thoughts; hard narcotics, women, or crime ridden highs that will either land you behind bars or dead somewhere by the way of your own doing or somebody else.

“I am your mother. Do you realize that you’ll only have one of me in this world? I don’t want to go to my grave with the pain of never having mended my relationship with my son. You have this horrible mentality when it comes to me and I’m sick of it, Dante. You’re behaving like a stubborn toddler instead of the upstanding, grown man, that I know you to be. How do you walk around hating your own mother?”

“I don’t hate you.” I’ve never hated her. Hate takes far too much effort. It festers.

“Then what is it? You barely want me to touch you. You fell in love and I wasn’t able to talk to you about it. I don’t even know what you love about her. You made the decision that you want to marry this woman and I’ve only had two five minute conversations with her. You proposed and we weren’t invited. I’ve always dreamt of the day that you would come to me and ask for advice about an engagement while gushing nonstop about the woman who you love and both your father and I were shut out.”

“Do you hear how you sound? Your entitlement would be insulting if I cared. I don’t owe you that. I don’t have to explain to you why I love her or why I want to marry her. I don’t have to explain it to your husband either. If I’m not in your faces, I don’t understand why you’d ever assume that I’d have Autumn around you. Think before you say things. Make sense of it yourself. You’re standing here complaining about your lack of a relationship with me and yet you figured that you’d have one with my fiancee?” She wasn’t too fond if my chuckling but I couldn’t refrain from doing so even if I tried. She didn’t think that part through.

“I’m not standing here as an entitled person. I’m standing here as a mother. I know I’m not entitled to you sharing your love life with me, but I would have liked to have supported you.”

“You want to know what I love about her?”

“Now you want to share that with me? Go ahead. What is it?”

“She’s the embodiment of everything that a woman is supposed to be; intelligent, tenacious, and independent. She’s a go getter while also being nurturing and completely in tune with what it means to be a partner to the man she loves. I love that I already know that when she births our children, she will be everything you aren’t.”

Silence filled the space between us. What was once a pleading stare turned into an insulted glare as she attempted to figure out what to say in response to what may have been harsh, but a truth nonetheless. Though she comes from two solid parents who have raised all of their children together and under a foundation that they created before they started having them, Autumn’s character is a clear sign of who she will be as a mother. Whether we have one or an entire sports team worth of offspring running around our home, I know that each and every single one of them will be smothered with her love and devotion to the well being of their livelihood.

Our staring match ceased as our eyes panned in the direction of the door. What started off as keys jingling turned into the topic of our last few minutes of conversation appearing from behind the door. From head to toe, she was covered in cool toned grey Nike lounge gear; fitted sweatpants, a matching sweatshirt, and one of her all time favorite pair of sneakers; the OG neon Air Max 95s that I bought her for Christmas. The bun she had in her hair when we went to sleep is gone and her hair is now in curls that are pinned up with silver clips. Despite such a lax appearance, she’s just as stunning as she’d be if she were standing there dripping in designer garb for an outing. Every moment my eyes land on her is yet another moment when she takes my breath away.

“Good morning.” I know her awkward smile when I see it. Without having to say anything, she already knows she’s stepped in on what is certainly a tense moment. It may be the look on my mother’s face that says it all more so than mine.

“Good morning sweetheart. It’s so good to see you.” I’ll bite my tongue. I’m far more fearful of my love’s scolding than of the woman who birthed me.

“You as well Mrs. St. James. How have you been?” With her coat halfway hanging off of her frame, she embraced the domineering matriarch with a tight grip and genuinely smiled. Her kindness is something that I know that I’ll have to protect her from for all of my days. She can be a bit too nice.

“I’ve been well. How was your holiday?”

“It was amazing. We had such a good time. How was yours?”


“It was okay.” As if I were the reasoning for her Christmas being below average, both of their eyes panned in my direction. I know I’ve promised Autumn that I would try, but it’s difficult. I want to step up to the challenge for her, but that’s the biggest problem. She doesn’t want it to be for her, it has to be for me, which then causes me to put it at the bottom of the pile of problems that I have to handle.

“Have you two started planning an engagement party yet? Any wedding details?”

“No, not just yet. Stacey is starting to look into some things for an engagement party because she can’t help herself, but as far for the wedding, I have some ideas but nothing is set in stone. We’re taking our time with it.” I already know our biggest argument is going to be the guest list. She can tell me that she wants elephants standing out front and a firework display from the Hudson River and I’d simply shrug and tell her that she can have it all, but Elizabeth, Richard, and Matthew being within our presence on that day is currently at the lowest probability of happening. I’d rather not stand at the alter and have their deceitful glares draining the energy out of me.

“Weddings are certainly a process. I wished I had of taken longer to plan mine. Maybe it would have been less stressful.” Matthew’s mother’s body hadn’t even begun to decompose and she was already in and out of bridal boutiques trying on embroidered white gowns to falsify her innocence. I’ll never be able to comprehend how she was able to live with herself after the stress both she and her husband caused that woman. Despite our endless differences, that is the one area in which my older brother will always have my commiseration.

“That’s so true. Baby, did you find your breakfast?”

“Yeah. I’m actually still eating it.”

“Did you want anything else?”

“No. I’m okay with that. It tastes amazing, honestly.”

“Thank you. I’m going to go and start on dinner. I’m making smothered chicken, black eyed peas, collard greens, and corn bread. As I told you, the black eyed peas and collard greens are a New Year’s Eve tradition in the black community.” My chuckle was identical to the one that instantly slipped out when she first informed me of that so called tradition. I’ve never heard of it. Though I’m biracial, as they call it, I’m as black as it gets. I can’t suddenly pull out my half white card when a cop decides to be an asshole. Maybe I’ve never heard of it because we never really ate traditional black dishes in the house was I was coming up. Richard often described them as signs of the struggle, but I think it was his way of masking the fact that his wife couldn’t prepare them even if she had someone’s southern grandmother standing alongside her and giving out precise directions.

“Ah, so you’re the one who has been keeping him well fed and healthy. He no longer needs his mother’s cooking.” See? She sets herself up. She walks right into it. I’ll suppress my response for the sake of keeping Autumn from shooting daggers at me.

“I try my best. Is there anything that I can get for you before I’m off to the kitchen Mrs. St. James? Maybe something to drink or some sort of a snack?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’m just going to continue with speaking to Dante. It’s so great to see you, though. I hope we’re able to get together soon.” Keep hoping, lady.

“I hope so. It’s been great to see you too. I love your necklace, by the way. It’s stunning.”

“It was a gift from my beautiful son. Three years ago, I believe.”

“Nice job baby.” Her playful wink earned a smirk from me.

“Have a Happy New Year Autumn.”

“Thank you. You as well, Mrs. St. James.”

Like a lost puppy, I yearned to follow behind her so that I wouldn’t have to face my mother anymore, but my feet remained planted where they were in anticipation for any other complaint that she may have for or about me.

“Have you spoken to your brother?”

“No.” And I’m thankful for it. Matthew calling my phone never comes with great news. It’s either one of two things: he’s gotten himself into some shit that he needs me to bail him out of or he’s blown off work and needs me to step in and bail him out of that as well. We don’t have brotherly conversations. We’ve never sat at a Giants or Knicks game together. We don’t hit the gym and playfully challenge one another to push and pull ups. We don’t meet for beers at a favorited local bar. We just don’t do family oriented shit no matter how much our parents suggest that we should. He’s too deep under Richard’s wing to be able to comprehend me and the resentment he berates me with rather than my mother has reached a point of me no longer being able to bite my tongue. So, keeping my distance is what’s best.

“Camille called and said that she hasn’t seen him in a couple of days. Your father hasn’t sent him anywhere to conduct any business, so now I’m slightly worried.”

“For what? This isn’t new behavior for him. He’s probably laying up with someone that he has no business laying up with. He does that. While he may be in it, but he’s never had much respect for the institution of marriage.”

“Dante.”

“There’s no need for me to sugar coat anything when it comes to him. You’ve coddled him enough. I don’t know where he is though. I’m not looking for him either, so don’t ask me to. He’ll pop up when he feels like it. If he doesn’t, trace his expense report. He uses the company credit card as if it’s his personal one.”

“I really wish you two would get it together.”

“You need anything else? I have a busy day ahead of me and I need to make a couple of moves.” I’m sure her quest to find Matthew is the real reason why she popped up over here in the first place, but it is what it is.

“No. I don’t. What are you plans for tonight?”


“I plan to be with my loved ones.” The scoff that spilled from her lips was loud. She shook her head from side to side while clutching the handle of her bag even tighter than she was before.

“One day you’ll get it son. I just hope I’m not in a coffin before you do.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll go. I’ll give your father your love. Be safe tonight and have a Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.”

I didn’t see her out. The sound of the door closing behind her slowly eased the tension tormenting my neck all way down into the depths of my lower back. The scent coming from the kitchen further aided in that. To abide by  Autumn’s solo kitchen rules, I finished off my oatmeal in the living room and began to ready myself for a quick inventory and set up check in at the club. It’s the final party of the year and we need it to be executed to as much perfection as possible.

“I think after we section off that back corner towards the right, he and his entire encourage should be accommodated.”

We pulled off what I thought would be the impossible. Competing against Las Vegas for celebrity attendance or performances in a nightclub tends to be somewhat of a nightmare. The pay out and turn out is typically bigger in that area and ultimately, the weather and the look plays it’s part just as much. Who wouldn’t want to be or say they were in Las Vegas bringing in the New Year? An idea to bring Drake here happened a couple of months back after a quick run in with his manager and closest adviser Future the Prince. I’ve known him for a few years now after a few conversations out in L.A. from time to time and I tried my luck. Omnia and Marquee had already reached out to him, so I didn’t think I stood a chance until I received a callback two days later with an eager confirmation that he’d do the hosting and performance. Fred’s usually our booking guy, but I have to give myself a pat on the back for that one.

“Yeah, that should be fine. I think we’re all set. That shipment of Patron came in around seven this morning. That was the last thing on the checklist. Cameras are all set. Tripled the security. The restaurant is closed for the day so we don’t have to focus on any of that. We’re set. Anything else that may come up will be miniscule.” I finished off the glass of cranberry juice resting in front of me and placed the frosted glass back down on the golden bar top. Mike’s quick glance over the paperwork in front of him ended with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“You spoke to Fred?”

“Yeah, all is set in L.A. His flight should be landing within the next two hours or so. I didn’t think he was going to make it back out here in time, but he pulled it off.” Snoop is our Los Angeles location’s host. It’s the perfect amount of nostalgia and he’ll be highly appreciated and enjoyed as a native. He flew out there just after Christmas to handle the logistics for all to take place. Initially, we thought he and Erica were going to stay out there, but he’s coming back to celebrate with all of us.

“What you wearing tonight?”

“I’m getting icy with some fly shit from Saint Laurent. You?”

“Tom Ford.”

“Boring nigga.”

“Nah, it’s not a traditional tux. Autumn switched out the black jacket for this silver one that she fell in love with and claimed to be the perfect match to her dress.” Everything about is out of my element but once I tried it on, I could understand her vision and I just went with the flow. It was one of those “happy wife, happy life” moments that will eventually be one of many as the years go by.

“Ah, so wifey is stepping your game up tonight. What is she wearing?”

“All I know is it’s vintage. It’s Gaultier or something like that.”

“Exclusive vintage shit? Man, I can’t wait to see the price tag on y’all wedding.”

“August nineteenth.”

“That’s your wedding day?” His eyes widened at the revelation.

“Yeah. You’re the first and only person I’ve told.”

“Wow man. I’m happy for yall. That just means I have to get started on planning that bachelor weekend somewhere in the world. Lately I’ve been thinking maybe Abu Dhabi, but I feel like we’d get arrested out there for some shit. Amsterdam might be the move.”

“My mother came by looking for Matthew today.” I didn’t mean to switch the subject, but it’s where my thoughts transitioned to.

“Looking for him as in what? Like she just figured he was with you or looking for him as in he’s been missing in action for a couple of days?”

“The latter.”

“You think he’s laying up? He’s notorious for that shit.”

“I don’t know. Usually when he’s doing that, he still answers Camille with lies about his whereabouts. This time around, she hasn’t spoken to him because if she did, my mother would have never asked me about him.”

“I’ll call some people and you do the same.”

“Yeah.” If it hadn’t been late afternoon, I would have taken a shot of tequila, but I’m driving.

Any other day, if you ask me, I’d quickly inform you if it isn’t Mike or Fredrick, then I am not my brother’s keeper. He certainly isn’t mine either. Though Matthew is the oldest in terms of years, I’ve always been forced to mentally be the oldest between the two of us. It was the only way we were able to function without killing one another while I was in the house. I had to understand his plight and the reasonings for his erratic behavior. Even though on the surface I don’t want to be concerned about anything involving him, deep down, I know that’s still my brother and somewhere within me, I may be the only one who somewhat cares about him for all of the right reasons. Does he deserve it? No. Do I still owe him plenty more ass whoopings for disrespecting my woman? Absolutely. Ultimately, I have a heart and it’s not pitch-black and cold.

“As a matter of fact, don’t make any calls. I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t make any calls. Keep that paper trail as clean as possible.”

“The feds.”

“Yeah.”

“Still just Richard or both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Mike, I don’t want A&M. I don’t want that shit.”

“I know. I hear you.” In one swig, he finished off the remainder of his beer. We stood to our feet seconds later.

“I’ll see you back here tonight. I’ll text you when we’re on our way.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and the west coast shit is handled. It all checks out. Paper work is where it’s supposed to be.”

“Thank you.  I owe you everything man.”

“You don’t owe me shit. Just keep it pushing. We gon’ figure this shit out one way or another.”

“Bet.”

I left out of the club before he did. His compulsion to double check the street views for the external cameras caused him to shuffle back into the office.

Despite his urge for me not to do so, I made one phone call; Camille. I care about her in the same manner that I would my own flesh and blood. I’ll never forget when he brought her home to meet us. It was like a lion bringing home its prey. I instantly pitied her because I knew she was already in love with him and wasn’t aware of what she fell in love with. We’ve had a number conversations of the years and through her agony and tears, she continued to keep hope alive that she could be the help that Matthew needs in order to stabilize his life. Aside from her yearning to bare his children, she’s become less of his wife and more of a roommate who he has an unfair dependency on.

She never really leaves him. There have been a number of occurrences when she’ll head to Savannah, Georgia to be with her parents once she begins to feel overwhelmed and I believe she also uses her brother’s vacation home in Cape Cod, Massachusetts as a haven for a peace of mind. Once, she escaped to my apartment. In an effort to keep the drama from escalating, I allowed her to stay and I drove over to Mike’s house and spent the weekend there. The last thing I needed was Matthew accusing me of screwing around with his wife. Me aside, I don’t even want to imagine the mental torture that he’d put her through.

I expected tears; she tends to sob over him whenever they’re going through something that may be unbearable to her, but this time around, she was eerily quiet. Her tone was a signifier of the tears, but the sighs were filled with defeat. Exhaustion spoke for her. The last time she seen him was five days ago. He came home and maneuvered around the house without a word spoken to her. He didn’t touch the dinner she made nor did he respond to the commentary about his late night appearance. He reeked of alcohol, which isn’t new if he’s having one of his wild partying weeks or weekends, but he didn’t take a shower to wash off whatever activities he’d been doing prior to arriving home. He simply changed his clothes and left. The majority of her phone calls and text messages have gone unanswered.

She didn’t ask me to seek him out directly, but I know the undertone of her worry held the plea. It’s odd because she has no peace with him and yet she doesn’t have any without him either. They’re synced in the most toxic and unjust manner and despite my belief in how much she deserves more, I cannot tell her how to love and look after her husband. As our phone call came to an end, all I could do is reassure her of my support and some sort of an effort to figure out his whereabouts.

I just can’t focus on that tonight. Tomorrow’s another day.

At the very ending of each year, I always make sure to take the time to reflect on what I’ve done and who I’ve become as a man over the course of the twelve month period. I’ve had verdicts of needing to have done more or a lack of growth personally, but I can stand tonight in pride at what this year has been for me both personally and professionally. I wouldn’t call it an awakening, because I’ve always known that I needed to take a journey of self preservation for the sake of my own joy, but it was all a matter of when. Love served as that push. In meeting and loving Autumn, she helped me realize how much I needed to love myself so much more. The awareness in how much I matter heightened and the willingness to truly walk in my purpose set a precedence. I no longer yearn for the shadows for the sake of masking myself from those the one who birthed me and my purpose to my father’s power and influence. My ambitions increased; influencing myself and my best friends to expand on our dreams. I’ve stood inside of my Malibu home with the woman who intends to start a life with me there. I’ve laughed more than I’ve scowled. I’ve smiled more than I ever have before.

I almost wish that I could hit the reset button and relive some of it again, with my knowledge of what happens next. It would be amazing to catch a tear stained Autumn in my arms again and reassure her that I’m going to make sure she never sheds a tear over another man. Vegas. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind experiencing all of that again. That first kiss still leaves chills trickling through my skin whenever I reflect back on it. She’s given me ones far better since then, but it’s something about that moment that marked the transition of what we would be to one another and it served as the permission for me to love her without boundary.

I’m looking forward to what’s next, though. I’m ready to shed what is left of the dead weight and soar with the people who matter. I’m ready to take flight.

“There. You look perfect now, suga.” Autumn’s hands drew away from my black velvet bow tie and fell along her sides. Breathtaking isn’t a great enough word to define how stunning she looks. Old Hollywood glam was her inspiration for tonight and she superseded it beyond compare. She claimed that New Year’s Eve calls for sequins and her vintage Jean Paul Gaultier frame hugging gown is exactly that with its silvery coloring that reflects and fades into gold as you pan your eyes down to its bottom. All of the curls in her hair are pulled to her left side, showcasing her face in all of its glory. Diamonds dazzled from her ears, arm, and of course her ring finger.

I am assured in the reality that I have never seen a woman more stunning than she is in all of the years I’ve been living. Her beauty is unparalleled; a timelessness that should be painted and preserved for the world to see when we’re no longer around.

“Thank you. You look amazing. Wow.”

“You think so? This is better than the black dress?” Her spin was only reassurance that it is better.

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you.”

“I almost want to stay home now.”

“Oh, please. We’re going. After I finished up dinner and then took my time putting all of this together? Yeah, we’re hanging out tonight. Now, when we get home, you can peel this off and do as you please with me…in any manner you want.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

“We’ll let's go so that we can hurry up and come back home as soon as that ball drops.”

“I’m ready. Just let me grab my coat and clutch.”

The full length white Gorski mink coat was the perfect accessory of completion. Issac gifted the nearly twenty thousand dollar piece to her for Christmas. I knew she’d wear it tonight. I don’t think there’s any other holiday where a mink coat looks best other than tonight. Opulence is certainly oozing from her aura.

“You gave Marv the night off?” I faintly sighed in bliss at the feeling of the heat after having dashed out of the building and into the crisp air. Remnants of yesterday’s light snow have already frozen over on the ground.

“Yeah, he should be home with his family tonight. I always give him holidays off, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“Sweet man.”

“Marv or me?”

“The both of you.”

“Did you speak to your family?”

“Yeah, I spoke with everyone while you were gone. I’ll head to see them sometime tomorrow to give them hugs and kisses. They sent you their love, by the way.”

“If Lauren weren’t pregnant, I would have told she and your brother to join us.” Autumn’s scoff was expected.

“They wouldn’t have come. She doesn’t go to nightclubs.”

“When are you going to lighten up on her?”

“I have lightened up on her. I barely say anything to her these days. We’re always in good spirits whenever we’re around one another.”

“Yeah, because you’re usually silent. I really do think she wants some kind of a friendship with you, but she doesn’t know about to go about it because you avoid her.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“We just don’t relate. It happens, love.” Her emerald eyes rolled in retaliation.

“You should just try; in the same manner that you want me to try with my mother.”

“Don’t be silly. Lauren is not my mother. She didn’t birth me. Mrs. St. James, carried and birthed you. The dynamics are in no way, shape, or form, the same.”

“You should still try.”

“Try what? Tea parties and crumpets with her?”

“Why does it have to be that? You like Italian food. Why not have lunch at L’ Artusi or Carbone? What about a spa day or something?”

“We’ll see. She prefers to hang out with my mother, though.”

“Well, make it a day for all three of you.”

“I don’t know about all of that.”

I don’t know how we quickly went from "we’ll see” to the response she just gave me, but I’m not going to press it any further tonight. I’ve noticed that an unspoken tension has risen from Autumn’s end ever since Lauren’s pregnancy announcement and she’s not necessarily masking it, like she would if it were anyone else. I can sense the sarcasm in her tone during her responses to commentary and most of all, the manner in which she purposefully busies herself so that they don’t have to be in the same room together for longer than what she deems to be necessary. I’m not pushing for them to be the best of friends, but in being around for the holidays, I had moments where I internally cringed at the dismissiveness and I’m sure I wasn’t alone. Autumn’s better than that. Whatever ill feelings she’s harboring should be spoken on and resolved.

“You know how tonight goes right?”

“Work and play. I know. I never get upset about that.”

“Okay.”

The holiday traffic turned a fifteen minute right into a thirty minute one. The paparazzi out front were unavoidable. Tonight’s celebrity presence was to be expected and so did the press that would come with it. The blinding flashes that flickered over our frames as soon as we exited the SUV were their fault, but the narratives spoken about us tomorrow should be blamed on Richard. Despite the slight bit of interest we garnered through blind items and bored people online attempting to put the pieces together since the Page Six story, no one dug deep enough to invade our privacy until the night of the gala. He ruined that.

Packed to capacity, the ambiance felt like that of an end of the year celebration. As if we set a theme, bodies were covered in shades of gold, white, and black with an occasional spotting of red amongst the women. With Autumn rushing off to greet Stacey and Erica, I was able to scan my eyes over every perimeter while running down my mental checklist for the specifics Mike and I discussed earlier. We’re less than an hour and a half away from drunkenly being covered in confetti and emotionally reveling in the love we have for one another as the year comes to a close. That needs to be as peaceful as possible.

“Here brother, have a drink. Happy New Year’s Eve.” Fredrick’s arm draped over my neck as he passed me a glass filled with Hennessy straight. In an oblige to his request, I gulped down half of it.

“Happy New Year’s Eve brother. Glad you could make it back.”

“You know his suave ass had to get back to New York, even though I think he’s starting to become an L.A. nigga now.”  

I didn’t even notice Mike approaching the other side of me. There’s something about this moment that caused a smile to creep up on my face. Maybe it’s the designer attire we’re covered in and the clear manhood exuding from it. Oh, and add in the fact that we’re standing in something we created together. We talked about this when we were still trying to work towards a solid direction for our individual lives and now look at us.

“Had too. We’ve done far too much this year for me to bring it in anywhere else other than with my brothers.”

“It’s been a great year.” I put some emphasis on great. Our eyes weren’t on the crowd, but instead glancing over at the most important women who are along side us tonight; Autumn, Erica, and Stacey. I didn’t expect Stacey to be here at all, but then again, knowing her, it makes sense. Surprisingly, her husband is just a few inches away from her. Maybe he's gotten comfortable with our connection now that he knows there's a woman in my life.

“It’s been a phenomenal year. I’m proud of you man.” Mike added with a pat to my back.

“I’m proud of us.”

“It only gets better next year.” Fred’s optimism came with the raising of his glass.

“God willing, brothers. Let's keep it pushing.” Our glasses touched for a toast and in unison, we threw back the remaining contents in our glasses.

Autumn maneuvered between the bar and the dance floor, owning the building with her intoxicating aura. The silver of her gown illuminated under the lighting as a permanent smile remained on her face. She wasn’t dancing with anyone in particular which made it all the more interesting for her audience. She was perfectly lost into her own world as she often is and no one invaded for the sake of her joy and my patience. I served as her personality security, panning my eyes back and forth from her presence to that of everyone filled into the room. Eyes met me just as much; some genuine in expression and others eerie. Maybe it’s my state of mind warping me to view it that way, but it’s been what I’ve been feeling for weeks. It’s what’s been keeping me up at night; the feeling of being watched.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, Stace, I'm good.”

“Well, get out there and dance with your wifey. Go make these guys in here mad as hell.”

“You’re crazy.” Her tipsiness raised the pitch of her tone even higher than it usually is. Everything that comes out of her mouth is hilarious right about now, whether she intends for it to be or not.

“Go ahead. We’re damn near the countdown.”

She turned to the bar to grab two glasses of champagne from her own personal tray and placed one in each of my hands. With a soft nudge, she pushed me into the direction of Autumn and my feet picked up the pace. Beanie Man had her hips going crazy.

“For you, my lady.” My whisper into her ear halted her dancing and she slowly turned to face me. God, how can anyone be so stunning?

“Oh, now you’ve decided to join me? I thought I was going to have to pull Drake down here for a dub.”

“I see you want me in the New York Daily News tomorrow because of a brawl huh?”

“I don’t. Y’all are too light skinned for all of that.” Her joke came with my side eye. She’s becoming another Mike with that.

“You’re not drunk enough.” As I passed her the glass of champagne, she shrugged with a small smile.

“I am drunk; off of life and you. I don’t need this to do it for me, but then again, the night is still young. I’ve had enough tequila for a buzz. These heels are too high for me to be stumbling, and besides, I want to be nice and alert for that orgasm that you’re going to give me later. Actually, two.” My eyes nearly bulged out of my face.

“Yeah, you’re buzzed. Make it three though.”

Her incomparable frame meshed into mine. Our lips met for a kiss.

“Three? Oh, you’ve just excited me Mr. St. James.”

“Save the excitement for when you’re sitting on my face.” Her palm squeezed the back of my neck as I whispered in her ear. Just the thought of that has me on the edge. I’m fucking with myself just as much as I’m fucking with her.

It suddenly felt like a basement party in Brooklyn as the dance floor became even more flooded than it already was. Our two person huddle was invaded by our group of friends who came to be in the midst of the excitement as the time winded down.

Drake lead the countdown, further enticing the crowd’s excitement. My arms remained wrapped around the one who became mine this year and would now be mine for all of the years to come. I glanced over at those who I’ve known for more than a decade in appreciation for us bringing in yet another year together with good health and solidarity among one another.

Tears burned the brims of my eyes as Guy Lombardo’s rendition “Auld Lang Syne” filled my ears.

“Happy New Year, my love. I love you.” Autumn’s crimson red coated lips pressed into mine, physically expressing what she’d just told me. Our tight embrace felt more secure than ever.

Confetti spilled from the ceiling, further cementing the moment.

“I love you more.” And that I do.

“I love y’all asses man. Real shit.” Mike never fails to get emotional on this day. It’s no different now. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and his personality. The group hug that used to be us three and then eventually us and Stacey, now included Autumn and Erica.

“We need shots of Don Julio. Shots, people.”

I thought I wasn’t going to drink too much tonight, but that all went out of the window as soon as the very beginning of the year hit. The first round of shots turned into another and then another. We had our days of getting shit faced in college but I usually did my best to be the more sensible one of us three. I refused to let anyone catch me slipping and I had their backs just as much. I never minded being the designated driver, but I don’t have to worry about that tonight. I soaked in the moment, sharing in laughter and dance moves that will probably look horrible if I look back on it from the surveillance cameras tomorrow. We’d all lost our sense of cool. The heels and jackets came off, hair reached the point of being sweated out, and beads of sweat trickled into the cervices of our skin, despite the cool air blowing from the vents. I can’t wait to see all of the pictures.

“I’m going to get more Don. Be back.”

Another round won’t hurt.

I’m damn near ready to take this whole entire suit off. Even with our five a.m. closing time creeping up on us, it feels like the night is still young.

“Yo, Marco. Seven shots.”

“Got you boss man.”

“Boss man. How does it feel to be called that?”

I know that voice well; the other half of the heart of A&M. Rick is our co-founder no matter how much Richard will boldly stand tall and negate that. They were business partners before I was even a possibility and they hit the ground running together to build the empire that one man suddenly believes he built up on his own. I’ve always respected him as a man and even like an extended family member. We shared enough conversations filled with advice to last me a lifetime. It still feels like a sin that he’s gone.

“Rick? What you doing on this side of town old man?” Our embrace was tight. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“The wife and I always celebrate at this little spot around the corner from here. It’s own by my brother.”

“Oh yeah. Franco’s.” He, Johnathan, and myself have been there for beers a few times.

“That’s right.”

“So how have you been man? What brings you by?” When people reach that age, I doubt they’re eager or even daring enough to enter an atmosphere with blaring music and people who are two and sometimes three times young than they are. He’s only stepped in here once before and we weren’t open for business that day, so he didn’t have to deal with any of this.

“I’m coming to you, because I’ve always viewed you as a nephew of mine. I knew tonight I could get to you in a place that no one would possibly think I’d be. You have to get out of there. The time is now, Dante. There’s a lot of shit that’s going to go right and a lot of shit that’s going to go wrong. Protect yourself. Richard is for Richard. I have a lot of wrongs that I have to right at some point and so does that man. I once loved him like a brother, but he’s a shell of himself. Walk away.”

“A place no one would possibly think you’d be? You’re hiding from something?”

“Everyone should be. It’s getting dangerous.”

“Rick, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, your guy Mike reached out to me for some documentation and he has it. It’s the best that I can do for you. Get out of there. Alright? Promise me, man.”

“Can we meet up and discuss this another time?” Now is not the time and I need more background than some documentation that I may not even understand without additional context.

“I’ll reach out. Just promise me.”

“I was already going too, anyway.”

“Good. Do it immediately.”

“I am. After All Star Weekend, I’m making my formal announcement.”

“We’ll talk. Look out for yourself first and keep your nose out of anything else. Let them crumble.”

“Crumble?”

“Crumble. Have a Happy New Year.” His large pale white hand met my shoulder and he gave me an assuring nod of his head.

“You too, Rick.”

“Be safe.”

“You too.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or I don’t.”

As he trekked toward the exit, I took a look over at the tray filled with shots awaiting me. A quick urge to down all of them turned into my stomach churning in a warning for me to not have anything else. A wave of warmth washed over me as my breathing shallowed. My heart viciously hammered against the cavity of my chest, worsening in unison with the tightness in my throat. Both of my elbows pressed into the bar top, as my head fell into my hands. The thoughts of his words accelerated inside of my head, revving up the hurricane happening within my thoughts. Sounds that were once near, suddenly felt far away.

Yet alone, I try and make sense of it all.

The silence inside of the SUV was worthless as a soother to my racing thoughts. Autumn’s aching feet were laying across my lap, while my fingers kneaded into the balls of her heels to give her relief. Her jovial banter about the night’s festivities went into one ear and right out of the other. I could barely hear her though her tone was as normal as it usually is. The tri-state area had finally gone to sleep and yet the air still felt as celebratory as it was just hours ago when its residents and visitors hit the town. Exhaustion controlled me; slugging my movements and yet failing to do the same thing to my thoughts. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I don’t think I’ve rested well in over a week; maybe two.

“Baby, maybe just one. I’m so tired.”

“Huh?” I knew she said something, but the message wasn’t clear.

“I said maybe one. You know, what we were talking about earlier?” Her tipsy wink came with her sitting up in the seat and she glanced out of the window with a frown.

“Why are we in Alpine? I thought we were going home.” The all too familiar street instantly made her whip her head around in my direction. Her eyes held more than just that one question and yet I have no answer to give her.

“You’re going to stay here today. I’ll come back and get you tonight. I need to run and do a few things.”

“What? It’s six thirty in the morning and you haven’t slept. You’re still in a tux for Christ’s sake. What do you need to do right now?”

“I just have to handle something.”

“Handle what?” Her lips flattened with her tone. Her posture dared me to lie to her. I won’t.

“Autumn, I’m not going to get into all of that right now.”

“You’ve been acting so weird lately. You’re not sleeping. You’re barely eating. I question it and you blow it off as nothing and yet you move around like a thief in the night. What is it? First you tell me that I cannot show up to your job and now this? You better tell me something right now, because I’m going to start assuming.”

“Assuming what? Don’t do the insecure shit, because I’ve never given you a reason to feel like that.”

“What do you think this shit is?”

“It’s not that. Believe me when I tell you that everything I do is for us.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Autumn, I am not Andreas. Please don’t compare me to that man.”

“Then stop acting like him.”

And just like that, I forced myself into a silence as we sat in the driveway of her parent’s home. Her final statement caught me off guard and I didn’t want or need to retaliate. I’ve pulled that card before and she hates it. I won’t go tit for tat.

“I love you okay?”

“Then come inside. We made a promise to each other. It’s been days since you’ve touched me.” Internally, I winced. The driver heard every word of this back and forth, including that part.

“Late on, okay? I promise. As a matter of fact, let's go to London this week. Just me and you. Not for work, just for time with one another. You love when we’re in London.”

“You promised me before we left home.”

“I didn’t promise you anything. You promised me.”

Disappointment flushed into her pleading expression.

“You go. I won’t hold you. Have a good day.”

“Autumn.”

“No. Don’t.”

She exited the SUV with her heels in one hand and her purse in the other. She didn’t bother to look back as I awaited her entry into the house. Even as I rolled the window down and called for her; it went ignored.

“Autumn, I love you.”

She stood at the door, silently staring at me. Her mouth moved to speak and yet the silence remained. Within seconds, I was left on the other side of the door without her.

I needed to hear it from her.

I needed it more than anything else.

#j. cole fanfic #j. cole fanfiction #j cole fanfiction #j cole fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #rihanna fanfic #rihanna fanfiction

[thehomierobbstark]

Let’s Talk About Sex: Intermission

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: Erik’s a little upset after last chapter’s events…

A/N: So these intermissions are gonna be little breaks in between the main storyline. Basically they’re the random ideas I get that aren’t big enough for a full chapter.

For this one, I don’t think I’ve ever written this type of story before so I’m not super sure if I did it right. Let me know if you have any feedback! Also this story starts off in the past, then catches up to itself in the present. I’m not sure if the transition worked or if it was clear, but if you have feedback on that it would also be super appreciated.

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

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

“Ok, now hold it in … 1…2…3… ok now let it out.”

You exhale, tasting the remnants of the Albuterol on your tongue as you drum your fingers against the counter, taking in a couple more practice breaths. You’re glad you have something to stay focused on to keep you from rolling your eyes in the most annoyed way. He just wants to help, Y/N.

“I swear Erik… I’m fine… baby can we please just-”

“No talking.”

“Baby I’m just-”

“Hush, Y/N.” He gives your words back to you, and you hush, eyes drifting up to the ceiling in a subtle, lazy eye roll.

“You not slick, I saw that.” You want to mock him so bad, but you don’t want to push it, knowing how on edge he already was from the whole situation.

*10 Minutes Earlier*

“I can’t find it!!” You hear drawers being pulled open and contents shuffling around noisily before hearing it slam and another one open.

You pad into the hallway, trying to cautiously peek around the corner into the now trashed bathroom. You see stuff thrown everywhere, hair brushes and picks scattered all over the counter and jars of various products littering the floor. You find Erik under the cabinet, pulling out even more items, making a complete mess.

“Baby, what are you doing?” You ask him, trying to step through the increasingly cluttered space.

“I’m looking for your medicine! Come on now, baby!” You hear the panic start to rise in his voice, and you hold your hands up in defense.

“Ok, ok, dumb question, my bad.” You try to alleviate his nerves with some light humor. “But hun…I just wanna ask one thing,”

“What? Wassup baby?” You hear the echo of his voice from inside the enclosed cabinet, still hearing him move stuff around. You chew on your bottom lip, hoping he’ll take the moment to laugh at himself and relax a little bit.

“Why would the medicine be under the sink, babe?”

The shuffling stops and he pulls himself out of the cramped space, head popping up. “Oh,”.

You laugh, shaking your head at him as you reach over to pop open the sink cabinet.

“Dumbass,…” you mutter, grabbing the inhaler off the second shelf before closing it and turning around, leaning on the counter.

“Uhh… you know you cleaning this shit up by yourself, right?” You point with the inhaler around the bathroom, and Erik just looks at you, the most unamused expression plastered there.

He looks so done with you, and if you didn’t still have phlegm clogging up your chest, you’d be doubled over in laughter right now. You didn’t mean to be laughing at your sweet, caring man, but you just couldn’t help it. Here he was, completely flipping out over something you’ve been dealing with since you were born, and it was the most entertaining thing to you. He was so spoiled, having lived with functioning lungs his whole life. What a baby.

“Look E, if that bitch death really want me, she gon have to come a lot harder than a couple coughing spells and some rogue spit.” You say, trying to acknowledge the issue and move it along.

“Ok Y/N, you talking that shit, but you was deadass bout to choke just now.”

“Actually now that I think about it, why are we talking about the past? Can’t we just move on?” you suggest fakely, starting to backtrack and change the subject now.  You were willing to move past this and write it off as an embarrassingly funny story until he started hitting you with the facts, and you realized he was being far more serious than you thought.

“Uh huh, sitting there talking all that mess with ya broke ass lungs.  Why you still wheezing, huh?”

He starts shoving stuff back into the cabinet, closing it before moving you aside to scoop all the stray items on the counter into a drawer before lifting you on it to sit. You make a face at the cold counter against your naked warm skin, but you don’t say anything. You don’t even give him an answer, not trusting yourself to do so without your voice cracking and you bursting into tears. (Ok, maybe you were being a little dramatic, but I mean, you and your broke ass lungs had feelings too, dammit!)

He takes the inhaler from you, standing between your still soaked thighs and he places it in front of your lips.

“Open.”

And thats how you found yourself, presently.

You comply, sighing as you do it. Checking with his eyes watching yours, he waits until you exhale fully, then gives you a pump of the medicine at the same time you inhale. He repeats the count again, and you drag it out, giving the medicine some extra time to clean out your airway before finally breathing out through your nose. You’re so glad you didn’t keep the accompanying attachment for the inhaler at his place too, otherwise he’d really have you fucked up. You already felt dumb for having him sit here and give you your medicine like you weren’t capable of doing it on your own.

“Okay Dr. Webber, you done now?” You swing your legs over the edge, feeling like a child in the nurses office waiting to be let back onto the playground.

“Don’t be calling me that old nigga,” he mumbles, reaching around you to grab one of the wash clothes hanging over the shower and flipping on the warm tap.

You watch him quietly as he runs the wash cloth under the water, rinsing it out and then repeating the action. When he gets the washcloth to an even warm temperature, he stops the sink to allow a small pool to collect before turning off the faucet and ringing the excess water from the cloth.

He helps clean you off, wiping away your sticky fluids from between your legs before rinsing out the rag in the sink, ringing it out and lifting your leg to start again.

If felt nice to be taken care of and fussed over, and you sit back and let him do his thing, knowing that he was busying himself because there was something on his mind he wasn’t ready to say yet. You wanted him to know that you were here and you were ready to listen, but you didn’t want to rush him, so you start off gently.

“E,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look him in the eyes. He acknowledges you with a glance up to you, finishing up wiping you off and dumping the wet rag in the sink and letting the water out. He braces himself over it, heaving a big sigh, head hanging down.

“Erik…” you try again, whispering, softly grabbing at his pinky with your index and holding it. You feel him squeeze you back.

You lean forward to let your head fall on his shoulder, eyes closed, fingers still locked, content with being with him like this. You just needed him to know that you were here, and you were staying, and that even if it took him hours to say what he felt you would still be here patiently waiting.

It takes a little while, but he finally pulls his face from the warm spot on your neck, pressing kisses onto your cheek and over your eyes until he reaches your forehead. He wraps you in both of his arms in a huge bear hug and hold you against him, resting his head on top of yours.

“You scared the shit out of me baby,” his voice is heavy, and you can hear the terror behind it as he takes in a shaky breath. You clutch him tighter, your heart skipping.

“And the worst part, was that you didn’t even seem to care.”

You pull back, your own breath starting to hitch as you look at his face, seeing the hurt there. Your heart ached. You would have never tried brushing it off so quickly had you known how much your asthma attack actually affected him.

“No,” You grab his face in your hands, wanting so much to take his pain away, “Baby no! I care! Of course I care! I love you Erik, you know that…”

“I know you do. But I’m talking about you, baby. You didn’t seem to care about yourself… and I didn’t know what to do. I just felt so stuck and helpless and then you sounded so bad…”

You didn’t want to interrupt him, wanting him to say everything he was feeling to help him verbalize it, but you also didn’t want him to start spiraling down a rabbit hole worrying himself with ‘what ifs’.

“Hey, hey,” You stroke his face, bringing it to yours and holding him there. “It’s okay, I hear you baby, I’m with you. Just breathe with me, okay?”

You caress his cheek as you slow down your breath by example, letting him sync up with you until you were both taking deep, steady breaths.

“I never meant to scare you, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You hear your own voice start to become choked up too, and even though you don’t want to, you let it come, tears streaming down your face.

You were upset to know that something you treated so casually made him feel this way, and you were upset with yourself for not taking how he felt into consideration when you reacted the way you did.

“I need to know that you’re in this with me, Y/N. I need to know that you care about yourself as much as I do. Cuz when you told me not to call the cops, I was so afraid of what could’ve happened…. and for a second I really thought I was gonna end up alone again…”

You heart all but shatters in a million pieces at the last part, knowing how hard it was for him to refer to the things from his past. Even though it hurt to hear, you were glad he was being honest to help you put things in perspective.

You didn’t realize how many offhanded, crappy jokes you were always making about yourself until you really thought about it. Degrading, dismissive, and crude jokes aimed at yourself had become an almost standard part of your personality, and you were always writing yourself off as part of a humorous anecdote.  It was a defense mechanism you’d picked up a long time ago in an effort to try and hurt your own feelings first before someone else had the chance to, and without you even noticing it had become the standard way you chose to speak to yourself.

It was no wonder Erik was upset; all he ever hears is you talk down to yourself. You take a moment to flip the scenario, trying to identify how you would feel if you were in Erik’s shoes, and you sniffle some more.

It would hurt your soul to hear Erik talk about himself so horribly and not take his health seriously, and you don’t need to hear anything else from Erik to understand where he’s coming from.

“I’m in this with you, Stevens. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You mumble into his lips, both of you looking into each others eyes.  He looks between yours for a few moments before he finally relaxes, belief from your words calming him.

He finally presses his lips into yours, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You mutter one last time, breaking the kiss.

“Y/N,”

“Yes?”

“I forgive you,”

“Okay,”

“But I’m still upset with you. So let me just kiss you, aiight?”

You smile, definitely understanding that statement.

“Aiight.”

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

Warnings: Angst, Slight fluff, SoftBoi Erik,

Angst won out because it was the only other option people picked other than both 😂😂😂 #frthoyallsomeniggasforthatXD #isaidoneORtheother #bothwasn’tanoptionsis #howyouchooseanoptionthatain’tanoptionSIS

#ahhh if this ended super weird im sorry!!! #no tags right now its 1am and im super tired #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger x reader #black panther #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction #bp #l.t.a.s. #TheHomieFics

[demytasse]

Shizaya #1 and #16, please!

1: How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

Both Shizuo and Izaya alternate giving each other a hard time in regards to their sleeping habits (and you know, everything). Normalized relationships have a soft spot in my heart so the following drabble reflects that a bit.

The dog days of Summer were upon Shinjuku, thus every street, avenue, and crosswalk was assaulted with unbearable heat that rose from the irritable crowds right on up the outer walls of the apartment buildings. Individual flats conducted the inclimate conditions and simultaneously baked an entire city to perfection, though no one was particularly fond of it. Shizuo was especially not fond of it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the heat, he could both tolerate and appreciate it as there were advantages to the weather regardless of the price that it took to obtain them. The only thing Shizuo really gained was the more revealing wardrobe of his partner, and the payment went straight to Izaya by allowing a crack of the window at night. Though it was an insignificant amount it made a difference for both parties, each on the opposite pole of the negative and positive scale.

What Izaya gained was the nightly indulgence of the city’s symphony. Every performance was a unique composition and filled him with comfort he couldn’t get from anywhere else. From the undercurrent buzz, to the exhausted clack of heels, the distant hush of interspersed automobiles, and racket of night dwellers it all served a purpose in what Izaya considered the perfect lullaby.

As most found the clamour a disturbance, it was an odd soundtrack for Izaya to prefer, but as always he was unlike the populace and enjoyed the noise. In his past it served as a quell for his loneliness, but even with company in his present Izaya found it to be a die-hard habit.Therefore, the air conditioner stuck to its schedule of an automated shut down just as Shizuo habitually shoved the window ajar before he hit the mattress with a groan as intolerable heat rolled in.

The stripped down, nearly bare blond prevented his limbs from touching his body in a feeble attempt to keep his internal temperature from rising out of control. Much to his displeasure that continued to rise, Izaya was much too clothed in a borrowed, oversized white button up and long black shorts. He scowled as the informant ended his absent minded pace around the room, toothbrush in mouth, to cross from wood paneling to tiled flooring.

    “Izaayaa,” an agitated drawl rumbled along with a car motor, “if your pullin’ a late nighter, why the hell do I need to deal with this shit?”

From the bathroom, Izaya’s hum requested patience as he spit out his used toothpaste; a rush of water from the faucet ran the remains down the drain. Seconds after, the brunet walked back into the room with a towel wiping at his mouth.

   “If you want me sleeping at all you’ll do this favour for me, Shizu-chan.”    “Tch.”

   “What was that? I didn’t hear you properly.”

   “Fuck off, already,” he exposed his back to the open room. Izaya rolled his eyes in vain. He lightened his step and seemingly teleported to his partner’s side in order to slide his chilled fingers over gleaming skin. On a more temperate night the touch would have been met with a rebuttal, but given the circumstances it was Izaya who found the lack of amusement from his stunt. Perturbed, he initiated another tactic with a pull against the beast’s resistant frame to lay him flat against the mattress; Shizuo’s muscles let up their hold fairly quick.

   “Don’t give me that look,” Izaya jabbed his finger at the crease between Shizuo’s eyes. “We make compromises for each other so suck it up, hm?” A thrusted backhand knocked Izaya’s finger off of his forehead.    “Hardly.”

Shizuo countered Izaya’s playful attitude with his own disgruntled and watched as the light expression devolved into something comparable.

   “If that’s your opinion, I suppose I can’t do anything about it,” he shrugged his newly tense shoulders. “The window stays open.” A flicked spin turned Izaya away before he replaced his prior cadence with heavy heels against the floor. He discarded his towel behind him in perfect arc that made it a heap on top of Shizuo’s face.

The balled up fabric was rallied with increased force and smacked its target before it unfurled at his feet. Izaya revealed his grimace, a mirror of narrowed eyes met when he turned his head, an accentuated scoff already in play.

   “And you call me a brat.”

   “Yeah? Jus’ go work already, louse,” he barked.    “Kindly expedite your hibernation, beast. Don’t let Summer hold you back from your slumbering months!”

   “Fuckin’ exhaust yourself to death!”

Izaya completed his storm from the room and continued to his workspace, tend to the door and lights were neglected. A minute later a series of thumps and a heavy slam shook the upper level of the apartment.

Summer brought the best out in each other, rather the best of their follies.

When the brunt of Winter settled in, the same sleeping conditions were expected to be met, though instead of killing the air conditioner, a heater remained active and desperately worked against the cool breeze that blew around the window’s edge.

It was the first night of a cold front with many to follow and Izaya was layered in thick cotton attire. His comforter was excessively plush, decked in sheets of an unnecessarily high thread-count, and pulled taught. Shizuo worked at the tucked cover to loosen its hold before he found comfort on his side, in a particular position that made his back a barrier while a solo leg stuck out from underneath to air itself.

An incessant tap played a beat upon Shizuo’s shoulder blades.

   “Go to sleep, Izaya.” He drew himself inward to bolster his wall.

   “Honestly, Shizu-chan, did you withhold any further heat complaints just to initiate revenge six months later?”

A rough flip of his form had Shizuo face his bed partner.    “Why, Izaya,” he rolled his vowels, “I thought we had a compromise.”His laugh originated from deep within his chest as his canines exposed in a playfully wild grin.

A glimmer of sentiment shined in the other’s eyes above his lazy smile, accentuated by the tears that formed as Izaya yawned.

   “Oh~ so this isn’t revenge then, it’s just your end of the deal.”

   “Yeah, you got a problem with that, flea?”

Izaya shook his head with a chuckle.    “Just share your heat already,” he lifted Shizuo’s arm and curled into his chest with a wiggle to obtain the best spot.

Shizuo wished he had more will to torture the brat, but the inspiration just wasn’t there. He decided it was more advantageous to pull Izaya tight against him rather than stick to his expired plan.

   “Night,” he planted a kiss against his husband’s temple before closing his eyes to rest, but added a jab against the crook of Izaya’s knee for good measure.

   Izaya squeezed at the hand that rest in his own while he drove his heel into the shin directly behind it, “Goodnight, Shizu-chan.”

16: Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat?

I’m too lazy to put a creative spin on my opinion right now, haha. So have random dialogue from Izaya, Shizuo, Shinra, and Celty (in that order) on the matter instead. Don’t judge me, dialogue is easier for me to write on occasion. >>;;;;

“I wouldn’t compare Shizu-chan to an open book. It’s more that he’s an action film without much to provide in the way of deep thought, it’s literally no talk and all action. There’s no space for secrets when he follows a solo track from moment to moment.”

“Ha! ‘Course he has secrets. It’s better that he does or else I wouldn’t be able to tolerate him.”

“Naturally, Orihara-kun lies. That’s what allows others to see him as ‘charming’ or else they would see him as what Shizuo-kun would describe him as: a shitbag, haha. In truth, when he honestly represents his personality is when I consider him at the peak of his charm.

Oh! This was supposed to be lying as it pertains to his relationship! Well, the only way he lies in that regard is that he doesn’t reveal just how much he cares for Shizuo-kun. I’d actually say that Orihara-kun’s love runs deeper which is a reverse of who people would think between the two.

Though it can’t hold a light to how deep my love for Celty runs. Much like the uncharted depths of the ocean would be an unfair competition against the fragile human body, the near unmeasurable leagues of my love would crush anyone who attempted to rival me. The only thing comparable is how much Celty loves me, isn’t that romantic?”

…back to Orihara-kun. He certainly cheats on Shizuo-kun. Do you really think he gave up on that undying love for humankind? He’s way too stubborn to admit that he was wrong with that claim, even though everyone can see past the validity of it. Since he follows that mentality, technically speaking he actively cheats on his spouse. Orihara-kun really is terrible isn’t he?”

“Eh?? Shizuo lying or cheating? I don’t even know how that’s a question! I do think he should have directed his love elsewhere, but I won’t judge his decision. He’s the sweetest man that I know.

…p-please don’t tell Shinra that. I wouldn’t hear the end of it. His will can be terrifying at times.”

I wrote too much for these. ^^;;;

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