#His habit of rolling on the keyboard in the morning to wake me up is countered by a text document

[lilimonarch]

Doctor Hanahaki - If you stay. [4]

Doctor Hanahaki

Chapter 4

WC: 5485

After a rough night, Akaashi comes down with a bad flu and he makes a simple mistake with his impaired feverish logic. Though he does realize he has more people looking out for him than he realizes.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47404093/chapters/126061117

~

“You look like shit.”

Akaashi looked up from his computer to see Sugawara with a deadpan expression. Hello? Rude. He thought to himself before fixing his glasses. “Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. They were about to open the clinic and the two of them got here early, Nurse Shimizu was just about to arrive.

Sugawara had his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “See, all doctors have eyebags but not like those. I said it, and I’ll say it again. You, Dr. Akaashi, look like utter shit.” Nurse Tanaka Shimizu walked in the hall to see her two doctor coworkers bickering, Akaashi with a scowl. “Kiyoko! Doesn’t Akaashi look like utter shit?” Sugawara grinned.

“It’s 7 in the morning, this much profanity at 7 in the morning?” Akaashi shook his head, laying his head on the keyboard. Sure, he woke up this morning with a bit of a headache… if one could even count waking up at 2 in the morning as today. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You’re on my side, aren’t you?”

The one lady of reason looked between the two boys, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “I’m sorry, Akaashi. Sugawara is right, you look quite exhausted and deathly pale. Even paler than Sugawara,” she commented plainly, getting a small scold from Dr. Sugawara. “In all seriousness, are you feeling alright?”

They were doctors who lacked self-care, but as it was their job to enforce care on others, they had picked the habit of knowing how to do so on their coworkers. This worried Akaashi, for he knew his two friends would notice he was off before he did (and they were right a good 60% of the time). Despite this, Akaashi had a feeling he was right this time, he just had not slept very well.

He simply nodded, doing his best to ignore his coworkers doting as he reached for some ibuprofen to ease the headache. “I just did not sleep too well last night. Thanks for your concern, at least someone is kind to me,” Akaashi smiled, Sugawara shaking his head. “Alright, we open in less than two hours. The receptionists and other nurses should be here soon.”

“Only the Thursday before valentine’s day,” Sugawara happily mentioned, Shimizu also smiling a bit. Right, they are both married. Akaashi had to remind himself he was indeed the odd one out, happily single. Most people his age were married and here he was not, but that was fine! Everyone moved at their own pace, or in Akaashi’s case, he didn’t… that’s also fine. “We got this. Ready team? Break!”

Akaashi swore it was just a headache, just fatigue, he was just fine. Going through patients one after the other, he was surprised his only Hanahaki patient scheduled for today was Bokuto. There was a quick break as he took another pill, seeing Sugawara come out of his pediatrics room, covered in flowers sticking to his white coat. “Hanahaki?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow, sipping some water to swallow the pill down.

“Akaashi, you lucked out. All my patients are Hanahaki today! Every. Single. One.” If Akaashi did not know better, he would think Sugawara was getting annoyed by the Hanahaki valentine’s day rush. Though, if he thought about it more logically, the rush came after valentine’s day, giving those lovesick patients a chance for their broken hearts to flower. Sugawara took off the coat full of blood-soaked flower petals before replacing it with a new one, physically taking a few seconds to force the kind smile his patients loved him for. “You almost done with yours?”

“I’m a bit behind but Nurse Tanaka is giving me a few minutes before she sends for me,” Akaashi mumbled, massaging the pulsing temples on the side of his head.

“Behind, as per usual,” Sugawara grinned, frowning a bit at Akaashi’s state. “Are you sure you are feeling alright?” It wasn’t his typical joking frown, but one of genuine concern which Akaashi appreciated, but he did not need.

“Yes, Suga. It’s just a killer headache,” Akaashi smiled a bit, Shimizu waving to him from down the hall before handing him a clipboard of the data she took. “Good luck with that patient.” Akaashi had to get away, perhaps it was more than just a night of little sleep.

It was the anxieties of all the rumors spreading around. A new variant of Hanahaki which would surely take the world by storm one day, a patient he did not know how to help, and a troubling dream which seemed too real to be just a dream. False information about a surgery which saved his life, and an inevitable rush he was not sure he could be prepared for. “Hey… oh!” Akaashi was startled as he saw Bokuto in the room, a sheepish smile on his face. Looking down at the clipboard, the papers did indeed say Bokuto Koutarou. “Sorry, I thought I was behind. If you’re here, I’m on time for once.”

“No worries,” Bokuto smiled, sitting on the medical bench while he coughed a few petals into a bucket beside him. A cough he just couldn't shake, though that was essentially Hanahaki in itself. “So… there are the test results, but I couldn’t understand most of their fancy wording.” Right, the lab results. Akaashi had looked them over in detail, he just did not expect Bokuto to be here so quickly. Had the time passed him by this rapidly? Akaashi felt his breath hitch in his throat as he blanked out. “Dr. Akaashi?”

“Oh, of course. Let’s look them over, shall we?” Akaashi smiled a bit, pulling out two copies of the lab results, one for him to keep. Hanahajou, a new disease. Akaashi was not one to sugar-coat the direness of the situation, though Bokuto seemed to be the kind of person who could swallow such truths. Possible symptoms discussed, a prognosis Akaashi could not confirm nor deny.

He did not want to say death, not just yet. The idea was very much present in Akaashi’s mind as was the unnerving pull he felt from when they first met, tugging at his heartstrings. “Right, are you sure this person will never love you?” Getting their feelings resolved would make this much easier, though Akaashi did watch as Bokuto shook his head. “And there is no scenario in which you get over him?”

“Wait, I have a question,” Bokuto’s eyes lit up a bit, a playful smirk growing. “So, if Hanahaki is caused by unrequited love, can’t you just… make me stop feeling love?” It almost seemed that Bokuto was avoiding the question, but Akaashi was not going to push forward. Love was complicated, after all.

Well, Akaashi wouldn’t know but love is complicated.

“That is what the surgery does, but we can’t use the current version of the surgery on your type of Hanahaki.”

“No, like…” Bokuto thought about it for a bit. “What if I got completely knocked out, can’t feel love if I’m unconscious!” Bokuto smiled, Akaashi returning the facial expression at Bokuto’s attempts at alternate cures.

Despite his attempts, it would be pointless. “Your subconscious would still feel love, and I am not having you get knocked out,” he let out a small chuckle, Bokuto’s face brightening before he coughed a few flower petals, these stained with the crimson liquid Akaashi knew far too well. “There is no way of medically giving you amnesia without risking your life, so that is also not an option, just to save you from asking. Even if there was, your subconscious would remember, and we are back at square one.” The idea terrified him, though there weren’t many cases of it. Hanahaki in amnesia patients, a disease they can’t cure if they can’t even remember who gave it to them.

“Basically, you are telling me I either get over this person or I die,” Bokuto’s face fell flat, but there was no resentment in his voice. “You sound a certain way when you try to avoid a topic, Dr. Akaashi.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “Or… maybe you’ll live with Hanahajou the rest of your long life. Chronic Hanahaki is also a thing, but to be honest, I am doubting there’s a slow and chronic Hanahajou.” Akaashi could not understand, did his voice change when he tried to avoid a topic? Perhaps he raised his voice, or his face looked different. Did he lower his pitch, or did he heighten it? How could Bokuto tell he was trying to avoid it?

“Okay, so you are telling me I either get over this person or I die.”

“…Possibly, unless he returns the feelings,” Akaashi expected tears, distress even, but not much of a negative reaction came from Bokuto. He was silent at first but seemed to brush it off. “I don’t know how long it will take and we are discovering new information about Hanahajou every day, but I’ll do everything I can to help you, Bokuto.”

“I know, you always do.” Bokuto brought his hand out to shake Akaashi’s, who expected. The touch reminded him of something, a feeling from long ago which he could not remember. “I have one more question.”

“Yes, Bokuto?”

Bokuto seemed a bit nervous, and it was a contrast from the confidence Akaashi had picked up on as part of his character. “Do you… want to go grab coffee later?” I’m free when you finish work if you aren’t busy. I’ll be honest, it looks like you need it,” Bokuto let out a small chuckle before letting out a coughing fit full of bloodied cherry blossoms into the sink of the room. It took a few seconds as Bokuto pulled away to recover, picking up the petals and throwing them in the trash before washing his hands. “There’s a quiet place I know from a friend of a friend. Onigiri and coffee, it’s an interesting combo to some but I like it.”

Akaashi could feel his face lighting up at the mention of onigiri. Was it professional to be going to have onigiri and coffee with a patient of his? No, absolutely not. Yet, it was also rude to reject a kind offer from someone, especially since he just told Bokuto he was very likely to die from this disease. “Um, sure. Is six alright?”

“Six is just fine.”

Six rolled around and Akaashi drove up to the location Bokuto had messaged him, a sign reading Onigiri Miya at the top. Despite Akaashi’s love for onigiri, he had never been to the place. Typically, he had gone to other restaurants or even made his own. The day had dragged, going on much slower than usual, and Akaashi had started to predict his headache would be developing into something worse.

I’m already inside, just tell the man at the front you’re with me and he’ll tell you where I’m at! A message from Bokuto, Akaashi smiling a bit and just going along with it. Heading to the front desk, a man with ashen gray hair and a solemn expression sweeping behind the desk.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya, I’m Miya Osamu. How can I help you today?” Osamu looked up from his focus on sweeping, Akaashi looking around and seeing how decent the restraint did. It was humble yet packed at the same time without being overfilled. An equilibrium between homey and successful, Akaashi wondered if one could be both.

Akaashi read the text to ease his social anxiety before making his statement heard. “I’m here with Bokuto Koutarou, he told me to tell you I was with him, and you would tell me where to go.” Akaashi looked around at the decorations, one sticking out above the rest. A decent sized poster with a man looking strikingly similar to the restaurant worker, just with hair dyed yellow rather than gray. The man posed with a volleyball in one hand, Astumu Miya in big letters on the side. “You know him?” Akaashi asked about the poster.

Osamu’s face faltered a bit when he said his name, before nodding in response to Akaashi’s question. “We’re twins, couldn’t you tell?” Osamu winked; his gaze snarky; Akaashi rolled his eyes. “He played for the same team Bokuto did a while back. He’s now an assistant coach for some high school powerhouse.” So that is how Bokuto knew of this place, how they may have been friends. “Right, you’re with Bokuto. Follow me,” Osamu gave a small smile and led Akaashi to a seemingly innocent door, which led up to some stairs. Akaashi followed and soon found himself on a small balcony breathing the cool air of the city, much quieter than inside the place. There, in front of him, sat Bokuto with a pot of coffee and treats.

“Hey! Akaashi! You made it!” Bokuto smiled and waved the doctor over, pouring him a cup of coffee. If Akaashi knew better, he would call this a secretive date. Yet, Akaashi does not know better, sees the nice gesture, and sits down to immediately start drinking the coffee. A doctor’s best friend: caffeine. It was almost as if Bokuto knew exactly what he needed as Akaashi poured the first cup. “Long day, huh?”

“Yeah, per usual,” Akaashi let a sly smile grow on his face as he finished the first cup, relaxing as the warmth of the coffee heated up his chilling body, melting his heart along with it. A kind gesture, Akaashi eyelids dropping as he drank the coffee, opening them to see Bokuto’s gaze dead on him before his eyes darted away. Akaashi raised an eyebrow, but a small pang in his heart caught his attention for a split second. “What?” Akaashi laughed, setting the cup down. “Never see a doctor enjoying the drink of the gods?”

That made Bokuto smile in return, the taller male letting out a laugh only interrupted by the coughs Akaashi had known for most his life. “No, I’ve seen it plenty before,” Bokuto grinned, taking a sip from his own cup. It made Akaashi realize he was… on his third cup of the day? Bokuto only drank one, and maybe the disease slowly eating away at his respiratory abilities affected it, but Akaashi knew drinking this much was unhealthy. Was he that tired?

His thoughts were interrupted by another laugh from Bokuto, a laugh which brought peace to his mind. “You remind me of someone, that’s all. It’s… nice.”

Akaashi hesitantly puts the cup down, though he does not feel judged by Bokuto in the slightest. If anything, there is a comforting aura around the former volleyball player. Bokuto and his large honey-colored eyes, his constant positive outlook to life, Akaashi could grow to like that about him. The way their conversation seemed to continue effortlessly, only interrupted by the sudden chills bracing Akaashi’s body or Bokuto’s Hanahajou coughs.

“What’s your favorite color?” Bokuto asked, holding up one of the pieces of onigiri to his mouth and softly biting into it. There was a certain nostalgic feeling, the look of nostalgia in Bokuto’s eyes.

Akaashi wondered if the person he reminded Bokuto of was the man who gave him Hanahaki, but only for a second.

“Gray,” a quick and empty response. If Akaashi was honest, he hadn’t truly put much thought into his favorite color. That seemed to be such a narrow-minded decision, to have a passionate opinion on… a color. Most of his stuff was white, black, or gray. A lot of his furniture was on the monochromatic level, so Akaashi figured his favorite color could be gray. “Yours?”

“Purple,” again, Bokuto answered almost immediately, though he seemed much happier with his response. “Yeah, it’s cool and calming, with some flair. Purple has personality, so that’s why I like purple.” Ah, it appeared Bokuto had a reasoning much better than simply being the color of most furniture.

They continued to talk, though it appeared as time went on, Bokuto dominated more and more of the conversation with each passing minute. Again, Akaashi did not mind; he was content to listen. Favorite colors, to favorite sports, until Bokuto started ranting about his volleyball days. Akaashi liked that conversation in particular.

“Are you alright? Dr. ‘Kaashi? You’re shivering.”

“Am I?” Akaashi suddenly became self-conscious of himself and the way he held himself, the way he was huddled in on himself, his skin seemingly much more pale than usual. Even he could recognize it. “I suppose it’s a bit colder than usual.” He wasn’t even given much of a moment to respond before Bokuto was taking off his hoodie, handing it to Akaashi.

“You’d think a doctor would be more dressed for the weather. Put it on, you’ll catch something if you get too cold.”

“It’s scientifically proven being out in the cold doesn’t make you sick,” Akaashi rolled his eyes, his hands feeling the fabric against his skin. A soft comforting cotton against his hands far too dry to be considered normal (that’ll be the hand sanitizer). He wouldn’t say Bokuto was right, so he put the hoodie on.

“Yeah, but hypothermia is a very real thing,” Bokuto declared, almost looking as if he was proud of himself. “You do look tired, long day. Maybe go get some sleep, I know how you doctors don’t get enough of that.”

Akaashi chuckled a bit, feeling quite humored. “After that amount of coffee? I wish.”

“So… I’ll see you soon, Dr. Akaashi?” Bokuto raised an eyebrow, burying his hands into his pants pockets. Akaashi felt partially guilty about taking Bokuto’s hoodie, but the other did offer. The only thing worse than taking an offering is rejecting his said offering.

A sudden pang was felt in his chest, his own chest feeling a quick tighten and the need to cough. Akaashi almost panicked, but he felt no petals in his throat. There were no harsh coughs he saw from all his Hanahaki patients, just one cough. The air was dry, he simply needed to clear his throat. “I’m not on the clock right now,” he let out a small smile. “Just Akaashi is quite alright.”

Bokuto simply smiled. “Right, I’ll see you around.”

A part of Akaashi hoped he would not have to see Bokuto again.

He immediately went to his car, feeling the drive home start to drag out much longer. He kept the hoodie on, waddling within its warmth and comfort. Akaashi knew his mind was much foggier than usual, though it appeared he wasn’t getting lost in his thoughts, he was simply aching. Aching all over, physically and mentally. Humans were social animals; perhaps all the isolation other than work was catching up to him.

He sat on his couch and soon enough, Akaashi fell asleep into a fitful slumber.

~

The first thing Akaashi had noticed when he woke up was how much he regretted doing so in the first place. His mind was swimming, drowning in one of the worst headaches of his life. He could hardly keep himself upright as he sat up and while his face felt heated and flushed, the rest of his body was shivering beyond control. While his throat was only slightly scratchy the day before, he woke up with a burning soreness in his throat and all around, a not good feeling.

Even worse, he was too delusional to even assess how this may affect him at work.

Faintly, he could see Nariko begging him to sit down, to let the dizziness subside and just call in sick, but that wasn’t correct. Akaashi Keiji didn’t get sick, not since he was in a hospital and for the wrong reason. It was just- his mind was making sense since he found himself in his car, dressed and ready for work despite the cat’s concerns. His nose was plugged, and any logic left in his brain knew he was clearly congested and in no shape for work, yet here Akaashi was, slowly but surely driving to the clinic. The drive felt inconsistent as his vision became filled with spots until he hardly managed to park in the parking lot, hardly self-conscious of his idiocy.

It didn’t make sense, it didn’t make sense, it didn’t make-

A sharp cough ran through his body as he stumbled trying to reach for the door handle, his hand dropping as his body fell against the door. Any logic he may have had was nonexistent as he blinked a few times, tears pouring from his eyes. Moments like these reminded him where the coldness of his heart had led him, alone in his car, feverishly delirious. Akaashi should have stayed home, but he didn’t and now he needed help before he passed out in his car.

Help.

Sugawara was always there for him; the doctor would surely already be at the clinic and would know where to find him. Weakly, Akaashi reached for his phone with shaky hands as he felt his conscious slipping away from him. Sugawara Koushi, he went to type the doctor’s personal name into the contact search, knowing that in his fevered state, it would easier to find it.

Kou…shi.

He tapped the call icon and let it ring, thankful for the immediate answer. Akaashi could faintly hear the words of wondering what the purpose of such an early call was, his brain filling in the blanks. “Help, I’m in the clinic parking lot,” another panicked cough rocked his entire being as he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to shake away the tears which felt frigid against his obviously burning skin. “I’m going to pass out… please hurry-” his breath hitched as he opened his eyes, only for his surroundings to go white before darkness took over him.

Akaashi opened his eyes once, feeling himself in the strong arms of his rescuer but even a moment as comforting as this was drowned out by a feverish guilt and a burning in lungs which traumatized him. It wasn’t Hanahaki, that much was obvious as his touch-starved mind led him to nestle closer into his chest while being carried and ignoring the words from Sugawara that he could not hear, but the idea of being so ill, so weak, traumatized him.

Akaashi opened his eyes again, and the first thing he took note of was the soft black blanket he was covered by. There were letters on it, but Akaashi didn’t care to open up the blanket which kept him so comfortable and so warm just to read what they said. The second thing he noticed was where he slept. It was not his bed, or his couch, or anywhere near a place that was familiar. This was not Sugawara’s home either, as a slight panic rose in his throat. The third thing he noticed? He felt better. Not perfect, far from normal even. Actually, he hardly felt better at all. However, he was not on the verge of collapse anymore and while his throat burned and his voice was royally shot, he could take in his surroundings and hope he was not kidnapped.

The fourth thing he noticed was the hacking coughs which most likely woke him up going off in the distance, coughs which did not belong to him. Slowly, Akaashi sat up and looked at the house, seeing a tall built figure in the distance coughing petals into the sink. The man had his spiked hair with dark streaks as a pit formed in Akaashi’s stomach. Holy shit, I was kidnapped.

It was now clear that Akaashi was not in Sugawara’s house. This had to be some fever dream, a figment of his imagination. It’s true, he must be dying and Akaashi being in a house he does not have any memory of while seeing Bokuto must a be a twisted hallucination from his fever being so high. Maybe Bokuto drugged his coffee, and now he’s been kidnapped never to see the light of day. No, that couldn’t be it. Bokuto was so kind, he wouldn’t hurt Akaashi. Right?

“You’re awake, about time.” Akaashi looked up to see Bokuto with a cup of tea, him kneeling down and handing Akaashi the cup. “You had me worried, ‘Kaashi. You had a fever way too close to be needing the hospital when I found you.”

“What?” The only word Akaashi could say before a sudden cough burned his throat, the fit quickly clearing up when Bokuto rubbed soft circles on his back. Akaashi eyed the tea and drank a bit, melting into the taste. His eyes widened as he reached into his pocket and thankfully still having his phone (meaning he wasn’t kidnapped!) and looking into his recent call history. There it was, Bokuto Koutarou as his latest call, right when he passed out. That wasn’t right, he swore he called Sugawara. He even typed his first name; Koushi.

Oh.

Sugawara Koushi and Bokuto Koutarou.

Koushi and Koutarou.

His brain started shutting down before he finished typing the whole name, Akaashi recalls. Kou and Kou. His face burned a bright red in embarrassment as he realized he had called the wrong person, how Bokuto always seemed to find a way to see him as more than just a doctor. “I’m so sorry,” Akaashi whispered as loud as he could, the only way to make his voice heard. “I meant to call someone else- god that’s bad,” he shook his head, the words slowly dying into the air.

“Don’t worry about it, Akaashi,” Bokuto laid a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, a bittersweet smile on his face, Akaashi could swear. “Don’t talk too much, your voice sounds awful. Let me take your temperature again, alright?” Before Akaashi could even protest, Bokuto was digging into the kitchen cupboards looking for the thermometer. Again? Akaashi thought to himself, trying to clear his head. When did Bokuto take it the first time? Am I that out of it? The feeling was odd for Akaashi, oddly domestic. He was the doctor, he was always the one taking care of others because of work, never personally. However, Bokuto was taking care of him personally, with his heart and all.

Akaashi’s heart melted at the kind gesture. If he wasn’t so out of it, he would take notice of the tears forming in his eyes threatening to pour. Bokuto came back with a forehead scanning thermometer in hand, kneeling down, holding it near Akaashi’s forehead. “Are you okay, Dr. Akaashi?” Bokuto sighed, using his free hand to wipe the tears which Akaashi had just realized existed. “Alright, 38.9. At least it’s lower!” Bokuto shrugged as slight horror set in Akaashi’s heart.

“38.9? That’s… really bad,” Akaashi whispered. 102 degrees Fahrenheit type of bad, and he doesn’t want to imagine what it was before. It was a habit he built when he first returned from the United States to Japan. One of his quirks, he always associated any form of metric temperature as its unit counterpart. Even after he could safely say he spent the most of his medical life in Japan, he would always remember the units the rest of the world clowned on the United States for.

Look at Akaashi, he’s getting lost in his thoughts again.

“It was over 39 when I first got you, I didn’t know if I had to take you to the hospital or not,” Bokuto admitted, a bit shy. “I didn’t, but it lowered pretty soon so I guess that’s good!”

“You’re silly,” Akaashi found himself comfortable, smiling at Bokuto’s antics. For once, he accepted Bokuto’s help, welcomed it even. He did not treat the pulling feeling of longing as a sensation from hell, but he embraced it as he pulled the blanket close to him. The softness of the fabric soothed his pain as he breathed in the smell of home. “It’s soft.”

Perhaps it was the fever talking, but this place felt more like home than his apartment in the corner of the sky had felt in a very long time.

Bokuto grinned and sat on the arm of the couch, Akaashi leaning against his leg. “That right there, exclusive MSBY Jackals merch. The blankets and hoodies were always my favorite, and they sold well. Too bad the blankets got discontinued,” Akaashi watched as Bokuto moved his arm, almost aiming to hold Akaashi, before hesitating and laying his arm to the side. “So, um… if you’re more aware, I could drive you back to your apartment and-”

“No!” Akaashi almost shouted before he burst into another flurry of coughs, Bokuto patting his back. Stings of life electrified Akaashi’s entire core, his brain starting to fog up again. Oh my God, what am I doing? Akaashi cleared his throat, looking up to gaze at Bokuto’s face flushed red. “Can… I stay? Just until the fever is closer to 38?” As long as it’s closer to 101.

That was Akaashi’s logic. He should stay because he can’t be left alone with such a high fever. All within a moment, Bokuto nodded eagerly. “Yeah, of course. Say, what if I made you something? Soup? Sick people eat soup, don’t they?”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at the sentence. “You can cook?” He means it as kindly as he can, but he didn’t take Bokuto as someone able to coup. Granted, most people didn’t take a doctor such as himself as someone who could cook anything above a bowl of ramen, yet here they were.

“Of course, I can! However, you are the doctor, Akaashi. Sick people need soup, don’t they?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi could swear the look in Bokuto’s eyes was familiar.

Akaashi paused, laying down on the couch again. He was sick, he admitted it. Bokuto, his patient, was taking care of him. The latter would take much more getting use to before it set in. “I guess so,” his brain was too foggy as Akaashi could physically feel his emotional walls starting to fall. “…Could I just- be a patient today?” No doctor responsibilities, no looming stress from Hanahaki or Hanahajou, just rest. It appeared Akaashi needed it much more than he realized.

“Yeah, of course.”

For once, Akaashi was grateful that the timeline of his life seemed to land in his favor, him having the weekend to rest without missing too much work and to hopefully be recovered enough to head back in on Monday, especially since he knows fully well the clinic needs him with their Hanahaki rush. He had spent most of Saturday asleep, ordering food in, and keeping the hoodie Bokuto had given him the day prior.

It felt like home.

It was Sunday now, and his fever had finally broken, only leaving him with a few coughs and fatigue, even though he’s been doing nothing but sleeping. Valentine’s day, not that Akaashi celebrated it. He did a wish a happy valentine’s day to his coworkers, surely enjoying the fact that the day landed on a weekend so they could spend the day with their lovers. Akaashi eyed the door to his apartment, closed. Nariko was sitting with him, mewing softly as her owner stroked her fur.

He faintly remembers Bokuto’s address, no- he clearly remembers the address. He remembers it because he thought he got kidnapped, that’s why he remembered Bokuto’s address. No other reason, he was just worried about his own safety. Akaashi supposed a gift of gratitude was in order. At least with it being Valentine’s Day, Akaashi could take advantage of the sales for personal deliveries. He wasn’t too sure what was causing him to be so compassionate, it just felt right.

Maybe because he had taken a liking to Bokuto. The former volleyball player seemed nice, caring, and considerate. It was only right to return the favor.

~

“Delivery for Bokuto Koutarou?”

Bokuto was sitting in his house, watching television, and occasionally pausing it to get rid of the flowers he happened to cough up. Valentine’s day seemed to increase the longing feeling he tried so hard to get rid of, but to no avail. He wasn’t expecting a delivery; he typically waited until after Valentine’s Day to get chocolates anyways. “Er, yes. That’s me.”

“A delivery from Mr. Akaashi Keiji. I’ll leave it here,” a medium-sized gift box, wrapped in purple with a white ribbon. A delivery from Akaashi? Before Bokuto could even question the validity of the package, the delivery man was leaving his doorstep. Bokuto cleared his throat, bringing the box inside and opening it slowly. Inside was a smaller box of chocolates and a small green plant. With both of the two gifts, a small note Bokuto knew fully well as Akaashi’s handwriting.

I did my best to avoid flowers. Here is a plant and the chocolates you said you liked for your troubles. Thank you for taking care of me. From, Akaashi.

It would be a lie to say Bokuto did not cry.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #doctor hanahaki #bokuaka #sickfic #hanahaki #akaashi keiji #haikyuu akaashi #Lili's Fanfictions #ao3 fanfic #bokuto koutarou

[nastyatticman]

Winslow Leach x gender neutral! Reader

18+ ONLY, Minors DNI

Contains - suggestive content, fluff

Premise - Winslow spent a long time working on his music one night. His lover makes sure he takes a break. Set in a Winslow Leach & Y/N as starving artists AU.

“What brought this about, hm?”

He acted annoyed, but still held onto you, letting out a little groan as you ground up against him.

“You should go to bed,” you said, kissing up his neck. “With me.”

He laughed, breathy as you licked that part of his neck you knew was ticklish.

“Well you’re not being terribly convincing, my heart,” he retorted, his hand resting on your back. “Why would I go to bed with you when I can have you here?”

“You know what I mean.”

Your hands wandered down to his pajama pants, resting on the drawstring.

He nodded his consent.

You untied the drawstring, almost going to pull his pants open out of habit, but stopped. You looked up to his face again.

He was looking over your shoulder at his sheet music, squinting, until you met his eye again. Winslow smiled nervously.

“Should I stop?”

“No! I was just…”

“Winslow darling, when’s the last time you looked away from your work?”

“When you climbed onto my lap,” he said. “Tease.”

You sighed. “At least give your eyes a break. Focus on a point 20 feet away for 20 seconds.”

He huffed. “Our whole apartment isn’t even that big…”

You kissed his cheek. “Outside, then.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, but still looked out the window.

You followed his eyes, and looked at the street light nearby as he counted under his breath.

When he got to nineteen Mississippi seconds, he stole a kiss.

You got him back.

“Can I go back to my work now? Just one more line.”

“”Fine,” you said. “But as soon as you’re done you’re going to bed with me.”

He smiled.

You hugged him closer as he worked, listening to his soft breaths as he scribbled notes on his paper and played the keyboard to test.

It took longer than you thought. He made an effort to be quiet, and you almost dozed off, only stopping when your balance was thrown off and you nearly fell out of his lap, which shocked you awake. Winslow held you tighter.

“Don’t worry.”

You nuzzled against his neck.

A few more minutes went by. You almost dozed off again. This time, you were jolted awake by your own body.

Winslow made a noise in surprise and cursed under his breath.

“Sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“It’s not you, I know you tend to twitch when you fall asleep, just… I was so close. Totally lost my train of thought.”

“Think you’ll get it back after you sleep?”

He sighed. “I might. I don’t think I can work under these conditions.”

“What?” 

“With you on my lap like this, you’re distracting me.”

“If I’m so distracting, why don’t you send me away?”

You worried you sensed some actual irritation in his voice. He was probably just tired…

“I know you’ll let me alone if I really need it. But I wouldn’t put all this in front of you,” he said. “This is my life’s work, but you… you’re my life.”

You buried your head in his neck again, face burning.

“It’s true,” he teased. “I love waking up next to you in the morning even when both of us need to go to work. I love kissing you when you’re all sleepy and incoherent, you say the funniest things like that.”

“You’re funny when you’re sleepy too,” you said.

He yawned. “I bet I’m really funny right now. To bed?”

You nodded, letting him carry you to your room.

#nasty attic originals #winslow leach x reader #phantom of the paradise #winslow leach #sorry for the x reader in main tag but I figure the people who want this could find it easier #nsft

[daddyjackfrost]

i wanted a kenma fic so i wrote one.

hehe

prompt 4: “Go home.” 

kenma x f!reader (hurt/comfort) (soft kinda)

You took off your shoes, quietly making your way up the stairs. You had texted Kenma almost four times over the last two hours, telling him you were coming over. 

It was Wednesday, which meant that it was supposed to be Kenma’s day off, though when you received a notification from his twitch, you knew that he was streaming. 

You climbed the stairs, a small smile on your face. You were holding a paper bag from your and Kenma’s favourite bakery. You hadn’t seen Kenma in a few days, and all you wanted to do was lay in his arms as you ate some apple pie, even though you didn’t love it like he did. 

You knocked on Kenma’s door twice, and when you didn’t hear anything besides his quiet mumbles to the screen, you spoke. 

“’Zume? I’m coming in.” 

You pushed the door open and your eyes fell on Kenma’s hunched figure, his fingers pressing keys rapidly. You knew that Kenma hadn’t realized you were here, so you just quietly laughed and put the pie down on his side table.

You stretched your arms and let out a small groan, this caught Kenma’s attention. 

Quickly, Kenma turned his head to find you standing in the middle of his room, your eyes met his confused ones, and you smiled at him.

You heard voices on the other side of Kenma’s screen and your eyes zeroed in on the chat that began to flood. 

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him.

Kenma just turned around, his hands going back to his keyboard. Your smile tugged down but you didn’t let his lack of reaction get to you. When Kenma was streaming or playing, everything else was below it. 

Sometimes even you. 

You plopped down on his bed, your phone in your hands. Now that Kenma knew you were here, maybe he’d end his stream early. You almost laughed, yeah right. 

You scrolled through your phone for almost an hour when your body began to ache. You weren’t in the most comfortable position, and you wanted to cuddle your boyfriend.

Quietly, you got up off the bed and lightly tapped Kenma’s shoulder.

“What y/n?”

You paused, retracting your hand. You rubbed your arm as you stood behind Kenma. “Oh, uh, I just wanted to sit on your lap.”

Kenma muted his mic and turned his chair to look up at you. You stared down at him, your eyes meeting his golden ones. His hair was up in a bun and he looked absolutely breathtaking. 

“Why are you here, y/n? I didn’t say you could come over.” 

You licked your lips, your eyes slightly widening. “I texted you, but you didn’t respond.”

Kenma scoffed. “Well obviously I didn’t answer you for a reason.” 

You frowned and tilted your head to the side, put off because of Kenma’s sudden harsh behaviour. Kenma had never denied you like this before. In fact, he always encouraged you to sit on his lap while he gamed. He claimed that there was nothing better than having his favourite person with him as he did his favourite activity.

Before you could say anything, Kenma rolled his eyes and turned his chair back around. “Go home, y/n. I don’t want you here right now.” 

You slightly nodded, taking a few steps back. You didn’t say anything as you grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs and out of his house. 

It hurt, having Kenma tell you to go home. You hadn’t seen him in a few days because you were busy with your studies and Kenma was busy with his gaming. He hadn’t really texted you and you made the first move. Except now, you wondered if you should have just stayed home and let him come to you.

You shrugged off the negative thoughts and made your way home. You would just avoid Kenma for a few days until he came to his senses. You knew that before you, gaming was everything to him, but even with you in his life, you couldn’t help but think that you were still second to his computer and devices. 

So much for shrugging off negative thoughts.

You opened your front door and trudged past your mother’s slightly concerned face. You made your way upstairs and immediately fell onto your bed, just wanting to sleep. 

Kenma finished his stream about two hours after you had left. He hadn’t even realized that you had gone home, so when he said goodbye to his viewers and stretched, turning his chair around, he was surprised to see his room empty. 

His cat-like eyes scanned the room for you, and he frowned when he realized he was alone. Kenma’s eyes narrowed at the brown paper bag on his table and he walked over, his lips parting at the smell of his favorite pie hitting him square in the chest. 

Kenma opened the bag to see a small apple pie boxed in pink, with two forks sitting on top. Kenma’s brows furrowed. Where were you?

Kenma grabbed his phone, turning on his ringer and taking it off Do Not Disturb. He had a bad habit of making himself unreachable when he gamed. 

Kenma’s eyes scanned the messages you had sent earlier in the day and a small bubble of guilt popped in his stomach. The words he had said to you came back to him like a wave crashing a cliffside, and his thumb hovered over the Call button. God, he felt like an ass. 

After a few small hesitant moments, Kenma pressed it, hoping to call you and apologize. After a few rings, Kenma heard your voicemail and he let out a small sigh. He ended the call and typed out a message instead. 

‘Sorry, y/n. Let’s meet at your locker tomorrow.’ 

You stared at the message with wide eyes. You didn’t want to see Kenma right now, especially since it was only after you left and he told you to go that he realized he was being an ass. 

You didn’t respond and threw your phone on the bed.

You would just deal with it later. You laid in bed and closed your eyes.

Waking up, you got ready as fast as you could. You wanted to be in class before Kenma even got to school. A part of you wondered if you were being petty. Were you? You shook your head, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

When you made your way to class, people smiled at you, some waving. You could only manage small smiles. You were part of the Student Council, and you had arranged a dance last month. The students had all loved you for it.

You quickly opened your locker, wanting to grab your books and then be in class, but of course, luck was not on your side.

Your locker door closed suddenly and you jumped. Your eyes met Kuroo’s dark ones, and the third-year smiled at you.

“Hello, y/n. How are you this fine morning?”

You smiled at him, hoping the ever observing captain couldn’t see through you. “I’m okay, Kuroo. How are you?”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed at you and you gulped. His eyes fell on your forced smile and his smirk fell from his lips. “Hey, y/n. You okay?”

You quickly nodded and pried your locker door open again, grabbing your books. “Yup, I’m fine. Just a bad night, I suppose.”

You quickly turned around and walked away from the confused captain.

Kenma found Kuroo at your locker, looking a bit lost. 

“What are you doing here?”

Kuroo looked up at Kenma, his eyes taking in Kenma’s pursed lips. A bad night, huh?

Kuroo straightened himself and then pointed to where you had gone. “They went that way.”

With a small nod, Kenma walked towards your classroom. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on you in the back. Your head was down and you were typing away at your phone.

Kenma pulled out his phone and texted you.

‘Can you come outside?’

Your eyes scanned the message and you looked up, meeting Kenma’s eyes. You silently cursed yourself and nodded, getting up.

You slowly walked outside, standing in front of Kenma.

Kenma’s hand were in his pockets, he unconsciously rocked back and forth. Once you stood in front of him, Kenma looked at you.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have told you to go home yesterday.”

You smiled and nodded at him. “It’s okay, Kenma.”

Kenma frowned. Now he knew that it was not okay. Not when you couldn’t make eye contact with him for more than three seconds. Still, Kenma nodded, hoping that over the week, he could make it up to you.

He couldn’t. Kenma couldn’t make it up to you because you avoided him. And you did a good job at it as well.

No matter how many times Kenma tired, he could not seem to catch you. You would answer his texts as curtly as possible, and make excuses whenever he asked to see you. It’s not that you wanted to be petty, you just couldn’t help it. Kenma had been neglecting you for some time and now all of a sudden he wanted your attention? Now that you weren’t there? It made you upset.

It was four days after he had told you to go home where he finally got to you. Kenma had been watching you like a predator all day. He needed to find you in a secluded area so he could confront you, and lunch was the perfect time.

Kenma leaned against the wall beside the women’s washroom. As soon as you exited the washroom, a firm hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a chest.

You struggled against Kenma’s hold, trying to push him away.

“Stop struggling, y/n.”

And you did. You dropped your hands and stood limp as Kenma hugged you. He tightened his hold around your waist and dropped his forehead on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. I am. I feel terrible. I know i’ve been neglecting you for gaming, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

You nodded softly, bringing your own arms around his thin waist.

“I don’t want to be second to gaming, Kozume. When you told me to go home it hurt, and I didn’t like it.”

Kenma nodded, pressing a small kiss to your exposed neck. “m’sorry, babe. I’ll be better.”

You tightened your hold on your boyfriend with a smile on your face.

“I know.”

yuh babyyyyyy

this was soft

taglist: @h-grangerstudies @ackerpotato @snoozless @elektrosonix @howcanyoubreathewithnozaire

OH LOOK AT THIS—

pls hes so cute i just wanna kiss him

daddyjackfrost © 2021 | all content belongs to me, do not modify

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma hcs #kenma imagine #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma #hq prompts

[griavian]

the 36 questions that lead to love

x <- read on ao3

dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.

“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.

“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.

“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.

“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.

“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.

“Fine.”

Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.

“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”

George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know! The queen?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”

George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”

George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.

“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”

“Tom Brady.”

“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.

“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”

George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”

“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”

“You’re already famous.”

“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.

“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.

“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”

“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”

“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.

“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”

“Hm. Me too.”

George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.

The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.

“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”

George tries not to read in between the lines.

“Heart failure. For both of us.”

“You know how I’ll die?”

“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.

“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.

“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.

“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.

“Who said I loved you?”

“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.

“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.

“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.

“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”

“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.

They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.

“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.

“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.

“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”

George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.

“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.

“I definitely know your’s.”

“Do tell, George.”

“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”

“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”

George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”

“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”

George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.

He just can’t express it with words.

“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”

Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.

The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.

“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.

George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.

“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”

“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”

George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”

“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.

Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.

“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”

George cocks an eyebrow.

“Finish what?”

“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.

“Go for it.”

They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).

The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.

“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”

Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.

“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”

“Try what?”

“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.

“Um. Take the lead.”

It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.

“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.

“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.

George simply melts.

The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.

“We… are cuddling?”

“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.

“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”

“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”

“You can’t just steal my answer.”

“Just do your third one.”

“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”

Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Very vague.”

“Next question, Dream.”

“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”

Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”

George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.

“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”

“Even Patches?”

A laugh.

“Yes. Even Patches.”

“Next question.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”

“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Does it get you going, George?”

“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”

“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”

George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Clay,” George whispers.

“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.

“Clay.”

George can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You’re gonna kill me, George.”

George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.

George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.

“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.

“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.

An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.

The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.

They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.

They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.

George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.

“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”

“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”

George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Isn’t it a little obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”

“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.

Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”

George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”

“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”

“You wound me, George. You wound me.”

George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

#idk how to tag this but um anyways u should read this #I SPEEDRAN THIS SHIT IN 3-4 HOURS #dnf fic #dreamnotfound #dnf #dreamnotfound fic #dnf fic rec #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound

[cagestark]

A Hole In the Head//8

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

-

About this: 4.5k. Smoking. Alcohol. Mention of wounds, healed (burns specifically). Masturbation. Threatening as foreplay. Typical winterspider stuff. Daddy kink.

-

Hours later finds Peter still staring upwards, only the ceiling blocks his view of the stars. Most nights he crawls into bed naked (or ends up that way thanks to his lover). It’s more comfortable that way, his sensitive skin against the high thread count sheets. But Peter doesn’t hold much hope that he’ll sleep at all tonight, so instead he dons one of Tony’s dress shirts pulled from the laundry basket, pressing his nose to smell the fading cologne whenever his heart starts racing. 

The bed is far too big for one man. Far too empty. 

Peter picks up his phone and opens a message to Bucky. Come lay with me. Even though it’s two in the morning, Bucky’s response is almost instant, a bullheaded, No, that Peter can almost hear in the man’s rasping, no-nonsense voice. 

No fucking, Peter promises. He sends the message, but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard, fluttering anxiously before he decides that nothing ventured will mean nothing gained. I can’t sleep, he admits. Help distract me?

In a few moments, the bedroom door opens a fraction and Bucky’s figure is there. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, hair mussed like maybe he was laying in bed the next room over just like Peter. The sight of him makes Peter’s heart flit upwards to his throat. He’s much more aware of his own outfit: nothing but one of Tony’s shirts and the softest boxer-briefs. 

“No fucking,” Bucky mutters. 

Peter crosses his heart. 

The snort Bucky gives shows just how much he thinks of Peter’s promise. The armchair is still beside the bed where Bucky left it earlier. Peter had thought about pushing it back to the spot in the corner, but a part of him likes the new spot for it. It was a fond reminder of the man who had just sat it in hours before and who was there again now. Maybe it was time to redecorate—call it fengshui. 

Peter settles in amongst the blankets and sheets still smelling of Tony’s scent. With his lover miles away, this is the most contentment he can find. Against his will, he feels the sting of exhaustion at the back of his eyes, the tender ache relieved only for a moment when he blinks. 

“Can you believe I don’t know anything about you,” Peter says, resting one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder—the one without the terrible scarring. “Not much to know.” 

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Peter says with no small amount of awe in his voice. The way Bucky’s shoulders tense at the title isn’t lost on him, but by then the words are already tripping their way out of his mouth. “You must have plenty of stories you could tell—” 

“They aren’t bedtime stories.” 

Peter winces. Maybe Bucky has a point. “Then just tell me about Bucky Barnes. What’s your middle name?” 

The man’s mouth twitches, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Peter feel like the butt of a joke. All at once, the expression is neutral again as Bucky says: “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh man,” Peter says with vicious glee. “It must be awful, then.” 

“Terrible,” Bucky agrees. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Pick one.” 

“Pick one for me.” 

Peter sighs. “That’s not how favorites work.” 

Bucky stares at him, solemn. “It’s not how I work, kid. I’m not that kind of man.” 

“Your favorite color is blue, now,” Peter says. “I’ve decided.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer. 

“You said you lived in Russia. Were you born there?” 

“No.” 

When the man doesn’t elaborate, Peter presses. “Where were you born?” 

“The west.” 

“I’m sorry, the west? That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks. “I’m wanted internationally. Telling you anything about me could get me killed one day, or—” 

“Or?”

“Or it could get you killed,” he says, expression dark. “I have powerful enemies.” 

“Powerful allies, too,” Peter points out. “Not that I can imagine anyone ever getting one over on you.” 

“It’s happened before.” Bucky’s hand comes up to trace at his shoulder along the mottled scars that circle the shoulder joint. With the attention drawn to it, Peter allows himself to look. The skin is heavily textured, shiny pink in some lights and a dark purple in others. Fresh, he thinks. Maybe a few years old. During Tony’s employment, he thinks. “I’m human, kid.”

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks. 

Another one-armed shrug. 

“Is the person who did that—are they dead now?” A slow, mirthless smile stretches across Bucky’s face; an answer in itself. Peter finds himself mirroring it. “Good.”

Without a further thought, Peter throws the blankets off of his bare legs. Bucky’s eyes flicker over them: pale and soft with dark, sparse hair, gaze lingering on Peter’s glossy clear-polished toes. When Peter crawls towards that side of the bed, Bucky’s chin ducks down like he’s preparing for a physical attack, though the way his eyes shimmer like molten mercury makes Peter think it wouldn’t be altogether unwelcome. 

Peter opens the bedside drawer on Tony’s side of the bed. Tony’s personal handgun is gone, which makes it easy to rifle through the condoms and lube to find the half-empty tube of cream the older man had received from the dermatologist. 

“Come here,” Peter says, patting the bed. 

“Why?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowed at the tube in Peter’s hands. “No fucking.” 

“No fucking!” Peter says. It takes all the mental fortitude he has not to roll his eyes. Who could have imagined that an international assassin would be such a prude? “Tony—he’s got a scar too. They gave him this cream that he was supposed to rub on it three times a day to help the scar tissue break down and lighten, but he’s too fucking busy for that.” 

“And I’m not?”

“You’re with me two-thirds of the day,” Peter says, opening the tube. He squeezes out a generous amount of pale colored cream onto his fingers. “And I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

When Bucky makes no move to come to the bed, Peter lets his legs dangle over the edge, reaching out to where the man sits at the bedside, but before his fingers can come close to Bucky’s shoulder, the man flinches backwards, catching Peter’s wrist in a fierce grip. 

“Don’t,” Bucky rasps. “You don’t have to touch it.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Peter scoffs. The grip around Peter’s wrist tightens to the point of pain before going slack again, Bucky’s thumb pressed against his pulse point which must be hammering. “When will you learn that there’s not a person in the world who could make me do something I didn’t want to do?” 

After a long moment, Bucky lets go. 

Gentle, Peter lets his fingers trace over the ring of scars. It lacks the clear edges of Tony’s stab wound; if Peter had to guess (which he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to think at all about what gave Bucky those scars, about how badly it must have hurt, about how long it must have taken him to heal), he would say that the scars look like burns. 

The scars don’t have the same texture as the surrounding skin, no softness, no stretch. Peter rubs the cream in with the utmost care, working hard not to cause any pain. He coaxes Bucky’s arm to shift so that he can reach the scars that extend towards his armpit and then stands, t-shirt touching his thighs to walk around the other side of the man and make sure every inch of tissue receives the same attention. 

“I hate this.” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, jerking him from where he’d become lost in his own thoughts and in the pleasant monotony. His hand freezes, but Bucky goes on: “I hate the way I am around you.”

“Nobody said you had to be such a hardass,” Peter says. He reaches out and gathers Bucky’s hair where it’s falling onto his shoulder and getting stuck in the cream. When his fingers brush the back of the man’s neck as he brushes the hair to the other side of his head, Bucky shivers. 

“That’s how I’m supposed to be,” Bucky rasps. “I hate how you make me so—” 

Bucky cuts himself off and Peter waits one endless moment before he prods the other man. “So?” 

“Weak.” 

Peter isn’t sure what to say. There’s a queasiness in his stomach. He remembers when things started to get serious with Tony, when his older lover had explained that affection was weakness. There’s a reason why cold men make it so far. When you fall in love with something, it becomes a part of you, an extension of you. Suddenly, you’re taking up more space in the world, Tony had said. The man had turned his hand into a makeshift gun, pressing the barrel of his pointer finger to his temple. Bigger targets are always easier to hit, sweet thing. 

He’d lifted a hand, shifting it between Tony’s finger and his head. Then, it had frightened Peter. Tony was right; love could be a liability. But after Beck, Peter knew that for people like them, that wasn’t true. Love could make him colder, braver, bolder. Strong. 

When he opens his mouth to tell Bucky that, he notices that the man’s head has slackened, body loose in the chair. One glance at his face shows that he has fallen asleep. 

-

Peter falls asleep himself, somehow. When he wakes he can see the dim signs of impending morning through the window, but the chair beside the bed is empty. He stretches, groaning with satisfaction before reaching for his phone on the nightstand to make sure that he hasn’t missed his morning Facetime with Tony. 

He has a handful of unread messages from the man, which is more than he fell asleep with hours ago. Smile stretching his face, Peter opens with one hand while the other reaches down to palm his morning wood (more out of habit than anything else). When he sees the wall of text sent, eyes skimming it quickly, he squeezes his erection tightly and hisses through his teeth. 

Fuck kid, Tony begins. I just finished that footage and I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. I’d kill to have been a fly on the wall, to hear whatever filth he was spewing in your ear. How did his cock feel pressed against you, honey? Looks like it felt good with the way you rutted against him like an animal. You looked like an absolute slut pinned underneath him and so desperate for whatever scraps he’d toss you. When I’m home, I want to see you suck him off and show him your gratitude properly, is that understood? 

If there’s any doubt how I feel about this, see the enclosed.

Next Tony sent a video. The thumbnail tells Peter everything: just a still of Tony’s shirtless torso. He clicks on it frantically and makes it full screen, mashing the button to turn up the volume. For being in his forties, Tony looks incredible. He’d worked hard with the physical therapists hired to come to the mansion after Beck, and it shows in the flat lines of his abs. Dark hair is smattered across his chest and then against below his belly-button. The scar at the center of his chest is dark with shadows from the dim lighting. 

Tony fiddles with the placement of the phone until it is propped up on what appears to be the desk of his hotel room. A glass rests just barely in view, drained. Tony sits back in his chair, the movement flexing the muscles in his core. Peter can only see him from nose to knee, but it’s more than enough. His dress pants are open, cock tenting his boxer-briefs obscenely. But he doesn’t touch it; instead, he takes a package of cigarettes from where they rest offscreen on the desk and expertly taps one free. Just the sight of his capable hands has Peter’s throat bobbing, the hand on his cock squeezing to the point of pain just to pace himself. 

Tony lights the cigarette with the lighter Peter bought him at the mall, and Peter swears he can feel the flame. 

“There’s no smoking in this room,” Tony says after the flame catches. “But with a sinful little thing like you at home, a fee is the least of my worries. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in over a decade, pumpkin. You see what you’re doing to me?” 

Holding the cigarette in his lips, Tony reaches down to work his cock free. The sight of it evokes a physical response, Peter’s mouth salivating, his throat tightening. Leisurely, Tony fists it while his other hand comes up to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rushing from his nose. 

“You can show this to him, if you feel so inclined. If you really think he’s interested.” The handsome, full mouth twists into a smirk. “You know I’m not shy. And if he’s going to have you, he’s going to have to get used to me, too. The things I’m going to have him do to you,” Tony sighs wistfully, shaking his head to clear the illusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. I’m going to take you apart, sweet thing, and he’s going to be the tool that does it for me.”

Peter can imagine. Beneath the sheets, he shimmies his underwear off and runs his fingers over his cock. All at once he remembers that he isn’t allowed to touch himself and his expression sours. On screen, Tony taps ash onto the desk. Peter hopes he has to pay a big fine. Huge, he thinks sulkily. 

But if Peter is anything, he is resourceful. Rolling into his stomach (kicking when his legs get all twisted up in the sheets), he presses a pillow down between his legs and groans at the pressure on his aching cock. It’s juvenile, but it will work, and if Tony didn’t want him to exploit loopholes in his orders, then he shouldn’t have left the loopholes in the first place. He turns his head until his cheek is pressed into the pillow, holding the phone inches from his face. 

Tony’s stamina and cool head always impress Peter. Surely it is something that comes from twenty more years of experience, but Tony always strokes his cock like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring the feeling of himself in his hand and cumming is secondary. His knees are spread wide, the perfect place for Peter to kneel between. 

Behind him, the door opens. 

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his side to take in Bucky’s figure where he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowed at Peter’s suspicious figure on the bed. Peter lets his back arch, emphasizing the obscene curve of his ass where he continues to rut against the pillow, leaking precum. 

“Jesus, kid, it isn’t even eight AM. What the fuck has you so worked up?” 

Peter grins. Holding up the phone, he says, “A gift. From Tony.” 

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches as if he is clenching his teeth. The otherwise unimpressed look stays on his face until Peter adds: “He says it’s for you, too.” 

A normal person might react with interest, pleasure. Bucky looks as if he’s only been pushed a fraction closer to a murderous rampage. He stalks closer to the bed, boots silent against the floor. How a man with so much mass is so quiet, Peter will never know. “The fuck do you mean it’s for me?”

When he gets close enough, his eyes flit to the phone and there’s no hiding the widening of his gaze. His whole expression shudders as it struggles to return to a more neutral position, but it’s difficult when those pale eyes are glued to Tony’s tan hand where it leisurely jerks the impressive cock between his legs. Has Bucky always been this expressive, Peter wonders, or is Peter just getting better at reading the few expressions he has?

It was one thing to hear Tony’s sinful mouth yesterday on the phone, but it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the image of it, the overt sexuality of the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his head tilts back on screen as he draws closer to his orgasm. All this and Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off of Bucky’s face. On screen, Tony mutters, fuck kid, take it, and Bucky’s pupils dilate, and Peter is lost, the phone lax in his hand as he presses his face into the pillow until its hard to breathe, hips jerking through his orgasm.

He comes to in time to lift his head and watch Tony cum, all the muscles in his abdomen thrown into sharp definition as his hips jerk upwards into the tight circle of his fist, cum pale where it lands on his tan skin and the dark fabric of his dress pants. The groan he gives is music to Peter’s ears, one hand coming up to take the cigarette from his mouth so that he can pant properly. 

“Look what you fucking do to me,” Tony sighs smoke curling from his mouth. “And nobody here to clean me up. What a tragedy. Shakespearean proportions. Next time I cum, I’m doing it down your throat, sweet thing. Be good for Bucky. I love you.” 

He stands onscreen, tucking his softening cock back into his dress pants (though he leaves them undone as he reaches out and turns off the video). Peter dares to give Bucky a glance and finds him glaring at the phone. He waits to see what the other man might do, but eventually the phone screen goes dark and still Bucky stares, now at his own reflection. 

He drops the phone onto the bed with a quiet thud, fingers flexing and smoothing at his jeans as if he’s trying to wipe away a filthy touch. When he speaks again, it’s with a mixture of hostility and resignation that makes Peter shiver: “He knows.” 

“If you mean how obsessed you are with him, then he doesn’t. But to be fair,” says Peter, edging towards the far side of the bed just in case he decides to run for it. “You’re a little obvious.” 

“Obvious?” The word comes from Bucky’s mouth sounding like a curse. He shifts on instinct until he is between Peter and the one exit. Fucking assassins. “I’ve worked for him for eight years and he never caught on. Three weeks with you and now I’m fucked. What did you tell him?” 

“All I said was that I thought you had a hard-on for him!” Peter says. He pulls the blankets up, cocooning himself in soft cotton. A slip of dark fabric appears - his boxers, score! - so he works to tug them on instead. “He seemed shocked, but in a good way. Look, I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I feel like this is a very natural progression given where we were heading. I don’t get why you’re freaking out.” 

“You don’t understand,” Bucky mutters. He breaks from standing between Peter and the door and chooses to sit in the chair Peter is beginning to think of as his. Slumped over, he looks like the picture of dejection. He mutters something under his breath but it doesn’t sound like English. 

With all the care of a man approaching a feral animal, Peter carefully slips off the bed (tugs up his boxers the rest of the way, even if there is cooling cum clinging to his well-trimmed pubes) and pads to the chair Bucky occupies. The carpet is soft and not uncomfortable to kneel on. When he tilts his head to rest it on Bucky’s jean-clad knee, the man flinches. After a long, still moment, he lets a hand come down to pat condescendingly at Peter’s head. 

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “I don’t understand. Then tell me.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. He tugs on a lock of Peter’s hair until Peter turns, resting his chin on the man’s thigh to look up into his tired, uncertain face. “You want to know more about me? Tony is all that’s worth mentioning. This thing with you,” he begins. “It’s big. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this - thing - I’ve had for Tony? It’s been so long. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s formative. It made me.” 

“I still don’t get it.” 

“I’m still talking, aren’t I? Do I sound finished?” 

“Start from the beginning.” 

“You’re a bossy little shit,” Bucky mutters, flicking Peter between the eyes. “There’s going to be none of that when we’re fucking, you know that right?” 

Peter grins. “We’ll see. Quit stalling.” 

“About eight years ago, I reached the end of my rope. Lost my mind, a little. I convinced myself that I was being followed, that the people I worked for had put a hit out on me, and I ended up isolating myself in a tiny cabin - somewhere, don’t give me that fucking look, kid, be lucky I’m telling you this much. I was there for twenty days. Starving to death. Spiraling...then one day out of the fucking blue, Natasha called me.”

“Nat?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised. “You two knew each other?” 

Bucky nods and doesn’t deign to explain their relationship any further. “She called me to say she’d been stateside for three years, working for a man she couldn’t even name over the phone. She promised that if I ever wanted a change of scenery, I could catch a plane and there would be a job waiting for me.

“I thought it was a plot. Maybe she was in on it with the others, maybe they were just trying to lure me out. Maybe there was no job, maybe as soon as I stepped foot outside, they’d have my location confirmed and they’d send someone to kill me. The no food, no water just made me more paranoid. In the end, I told myself that even if it all was a plot - if I died trying to get out - it wouldn’t matter. Who’d fucking care if I died? Not anyone I worked for. Not Natasha. Not some boss in New York City. Least of all me. 

“So I caught a plane to New York, drank water out of the faucet in a bathroom at JFK International and met up with Nat. She took me to Le Cinq in downtown Manhattan, that fancy French place. Fuck, I must have looked like a nutcase walking in there, smelling like a homeless person, thin enough that a stiff enough wind could have carried me away. And there I was surrounded by all these white table clothes and maître d’s, luxury like I’d never been treated to. Then there was Tony, sitting alone at a table dressed in one of his suits but without the jacket. He stood up when he saw us coming, like some kind of gentleman in one of those old black and white movies. You know what he looks like. But it was more than that. He’s got a presence, and once I was in it, something inside me just - burst.  

“We’d never even fuckin’ met. Never even spoken. But I told him that my gun was his, my skills were his, my life was his, if he wanted it. We hadn’t even sat down yet. He asked me what did I want, and I said I didn’t know. Trust, maybe. Rest, but I didn’t fucking say that. And he just smiled and said, ‘well, how about a hamburger’?” 

“No,” Peter says, one hand clutching at his bare chest. “No, tell me you did not force Audric Ansel, head chef of Le Cinq, make you a fucking hamburger at the finest Parisian restaurant in the tri-state area. They don’t even have beef on the menu.” 

“I didn’t,” Bucky says. He reaches out and threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, pulling to coax him to rest his head back on the man’s thigh. Just that act of dominance alone starts a fire simmering low in Peter’s belly. “Tony did. Is that the only point you took from that story? Shows how fucking often I’ll open up to you.”

“Not the only point,” Peter says, eyes heavy lidded. He’d need a few more minutes to become hard again, but that doesn’t mean his cock doesn’t tingle with the threat of it. “I know now that you’re in love with him.” 

Peter feels viscerally when Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling at his scalp to the point of pain. He loosens them right away at the wince on Peter’s face, patting clumsily as if to soothe the ache he caused. 

“If you tell him,” Bucky warns. “I’ll make you regret it.” 

“Fuck, yes, threaten me again,” Peter groans lowly. He has to bite off the end of that sentence, the way the word daddy came so easily to his tongue. But the other man isn’t ready for that, hasn’t expressed any interest in it. Not to mention, maybe it makes him a sentimental fool, but Tony is the only man he’s ever called daddy, and it doesn’t feel right to pass the moniker along. Not without permission. Peter opens his mouth wide and plants his teeth into the muscular thigh that was resting beneath his cheek. When he pulls back, there is a shadow of the imprint in the denim. “It turns me on.” 

Bucky pulls his hair again, this time harsh and purposeful. Peter’s neck cracks, an unsettling sensation that makes him shiver. He leans down until his breath fans across Peter’s upturned face. “I mean it.” 

There is a real trace of fear that trickles down the back of Peter’s neck, but he leans into it. This is what he wanted. A dangerous man brings danger with him. His mouth opens to taunt Bucky more but the eyes - those pale, sea spray eyes - they are wild. Maybe frightened. It takes herculean effort to decide between egging the man on and comforting him. Well - it takes effort to choose what he knows to be right. 

“I’m joking,” Peter says, throat hoarse from how his neck is exposed. “I won’t tell him.” 

He’s left pinned under that fervent gaze for a few more endless seconds and then Bucky’s fist loosens. Brings him back down to rest his head where he had moments ago planted his cheek. Between Peter’s legs, he is throbbing. He can’t help but reach a hand down to palm at the tented fabric of his boxers. 

“None of that,” Bucky says sternly. “Jesus, how desperate are you? You came just fifteen minutes ago and you’re already thirsty for more. You’re going to learn some patience, kid, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck,” says Peter, breathless.

#winterspider #starker #winterironspider #nff #cagewrites

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Elland Road in Leeds, UK - May 29, 1982 (Part-2)

Fan Stories

“We got a coach from my home town (about 2 hours from memory) and drank an ocean of lager on the way, by the time we got there we needed the toilet so badly we could have exploded! We got into the stadium and waited for the first band of the day. Soon enough a not very well known (to me) American band came on called Heart. They weren't bad but did nothing for me. Then came The Teardrop Explodes who tried and who I reckoned did quite well despite the flying bottles of liquid being hurled at them from the crowd. After them was Joan Jett complete with Blackhearts who got the crowd going with "I Love Rock'n'Roll" mainly because Brian appeared at the side of the stage with his daughter to have a look. Eventually after a long wait the stage lights dimmed and a strange cranking sound started up and then you were suddenly aware of the drum beat to Flash thumping out and spotlights chasing around the stadium. This went on for a minute or so and the excitement was unbearable. All of a sudden in an explosion of smoke, lights, guitars, drums... Brian, John and Roger are there blasting out the opening part of The Hero. Seconds later in a gleaming white leather jacket out runs Freddie and it begins... A moment I will never forget along with many others from Queen shows since and before it. I can't say which show was my favourite as I loved them all but that moment WAS Queen, the sheer power, the anticipation, the fantastic musical ability and above all else the way they gave people what they crave more than anything... wonderful memories.” - whiteman

“29th May 1982 - a really nice warm day. We only lived a few miles away so walked down to Elland Road - I can't believe it - Queen live in my home town at the home of the greatest football team in the country (well maybe not now!). Got to the ground early and were allowed in by security, such a relaxed atmosphere. Saw band's soundcheck - great! So hot sun, never went behind stadium roofs. Got best suntan I have ever had! Heard Teardrop Explodes - not bad. Then you are aware of the beat of flash thumping out around the stadium, the smoke rises and bang - they are on! The greatest gig I have ever seen from the greatest live band in history. God bless you, Brian, Roger and John. Rest in peace, Freddie - we will never forget.” - Michael Quine

“This was my second ever gig, the first being Rory Gallagher the year before (I am sure I once read that Rory was one of Brian May's favourite guitarists). Anyway, being only 14 and not yet in the habit of getting off my face at gigs,I can remember that day very clearly. I am convinced I saw someone throw a hamburger at Julian Cope (Teardrop Explodes were going down like a lead balloon), and just as Julian was opening his gob to sing, he CAUGHT IT IN HIS MOUTH. A huge cheer went up, then they stomped off. Somebody, possibly Queen's manager, came on and told everbody to behave. I also remember a fan getting on stage and Freddie expertly rolling him off the stage. I didnt like the Hot Space album much but was chuffed they were still a hard rock band. I bought the next edition of Kerrang mag and the write up of the gig said STUNNING. Great memory.” - Edwin

“I was 15 years old in 1982 when I attended my first ever concert. Fortunately for me, it was QUEEN's show at Leeds AFC ground in the North of England. I remember when my ticket arrived in the post, possibly 2-3 months before the concert, as was often the case in those days. I stuck my ticket on a cork notice board in my bedroom and could barely contain my excitement over the coming weeks. Every morning, I would wake up and look at the yellow ticket, wishing the days away. I imagined everything that could go wrong would. Queen would cancel the gig, I would break my leg, the family pet would die on the morning of the concert and it would be too insensitive of me to go, the transport wouldn't turn up or would break down, there would be a pile up on the motorway, I'd lose my ticket en route, etc, etc. As it turned out, May 29th 1982 was a hot and sunny day, perfect weather for an outdoor gig. I was CRAZY about Queen and had been since the age of 9 but I really didn't know what to expect on that day. Myself and three friends took a coach organised by my Dad's company from Lancashire across the M62 motorway to Leeds. Our excitement began to really take a hold when we arrived at the football ground and we followed the droves of people towards the turnstiles. To me, this was something on a really big scale and I could already hear the hum of the crowd inside. Not really believing that we were actually about to witness a Queen concert, we found our seats on the West Stand, offering a great view of the stage. I remember marvelling at Queen's new lighting rig and the equipment that adorned the stage, shining in the afternoon sunshine. The ground was almost full at this point and the pitch was heaving with people. The atmosphere was relaxed as people bathed in the sunshine. I remember two guys climbing the fence from the stand and attempting to get a better spot by running into the crowd and losing themselves on the pitch. Their efforts were in vain however as they were quickly located and ejected back into the stand by two security guards. We bought some black Hot Space tour shirts (I wore mine with pride until it literally fell apart) and a programme from a vendor inside the ground and waited for the first band to take the stage. A guy near us shouted and punched his way through Heart's set and then left just as they vacated the stage. Obviously not a Queen fan! The Teardrop Explodes suffered at the hands of the Queen congregation and found themselves battling against a shower of bottles and assorted missiles. Other than that, I don't really remember much about the support bands. I think that Bow Wow Wow were billed to play (an odd choice) but I can't recall if they actually turned up. No matter, we were about to witness what is still one of the best gigs I have ever attended.

As the dusk descended upon us, the giant floodlights were extinguished one by one and the memory of the roar that followed still sends shivers down my spine. Dry ice drifted across the heads of the crowd on the pitch as the intro tape of Flash thumped out of the PA and the strange 'grating' noises added to the recording created a foreboding atmosphere. Two of our party were on the pitch and to this day remember their chests thumping in unison to the powerful rhythm. A sea of hands clapped in perfect time to the beat. To me, this was already an amazing experience. And then the big moment. Freddie, resplendent in dazzling white made his entrance to The Hero and the blaze of the lights. An apt number to start with. Before he had even sung a note, the audience were locked tightly in the palm of his hand. Such an entrance, such a showman. "You're a F***in amazing crowd", he exclaimed after the first rush. The beginning of the gig is, in truth, my strongest memory of the show itself. In particular, the "Flash!!!" vocals cutting through the night air with so much volume. I recall being shocked at the sheer power of Queen's performance and the clarity of the huge sound they harnessed. Morgan Fisher's keyboards during 'Action This Day' sounded bright and hypnotic. Freddie's intro to Fat Bottomed Girls caused quite a response too; "the bigger the t*t the better it is!". I also remember the follow spots darting wildly over the crowd during 'Tie Your Mother Down' and everybody going crazy. Oddly enough (and this is something I still swear by to this day), I was in a Maths lesson at school the following Monday and I swear I had a flashback of this and could actually 'hear' the music being re-played in my head. It was a weird moment and life was never quite the same again. We talked endlessly about our experience for months to come and one of my biggest regrets is not jumping on a train to attend the filmed Milton Keynes show a week later. Having been to so many gigs since, I can honestly say that there is nobody who has been able to top Queen live; I was lucky enough to see the band five times between 1982 and 1986, including Wembley Stadium and their last show at Knebworth. I think that my personal favourite was their performance at the NEC in Birmingham on 'The Works' tour in 1984. People were literally stood there with open mouths, unable to believe how good they were. Leeds is definitely up there too. I recall Brian May stating that he thought it was one of their best performances ever. I can't argue with that Mr May. I've often wondered if an audience shot cine film or even just photographs exist from the Leeds gig. It would be a dream come true to see my memories come to life again.” - Keith Lambert

“I can't believe it was 30 years ago that I attended my first ever gig at Elland Rd Leeds in 1982. I was 17 years old at the time, I was into Queen when I first heard seven seas of rhye, which was so different to all the other stuff around at the time. I'd heard them live on tv, and had Live Killers. Also I used to buy bootleg cassettes of all of their tours from 74 onwards. But nothing could prepare me for that day. They should have played this gig at Old Trafford Manchester, my home town, so I was gutted when the residents opposed it. Tickets were very easy to come by, believe it or not, cos Queen were not seen as a relevant band at that time. Also touring the Hot Space album didn't seem to excite anybody. So, Billy no mates had to go on his own, haha. My memory is a bit hazy, but I will try my best. I got to the ground about 1pm, and was lucky enough to have a pitch ticket. I got right to the front, well about 10 yards from the stage, slightly off centre and to the right. If I told you I never moved from that spot all day and never spoke to anyone, would you believe me? One of the reasons for this is the rivalry between Manchester and Leeds, also I was only a kid, haha. Not sure who was first on, probably Teardrop Explodes, Julian Cope, I remember while they were throwing bottles at him, picked one up and started hitting himself with it and stretching his arms out saying he was an Argentinian bomber or something. It was during the Falklands war, remember. Then Heart came on, not really my cup of tea, and I had a lie down on the tarpaulin and tried to go to sleep. Then Joan Jett, who was better than the rest, but not really exciting. During the band changes, I remember the roadies polishing Roger's drum kit and climbing up ropes and those threepronged lights, which before I saw them move I thought they were cameras. Queen took ages to come on. From my recollection and I might be wrong, they didn't come on until 10pm and went off around Midnight. I heard later that they got fined so much per minute for being late on stage but they wanted to wait until it was dark for the lighting rig to take effect. If you watch the Bowl DVD you will notice it was light when they came on stage there. But that was being filmed by Channel 4. But it was absolutely pitch black when they came on stage at Leeds. Then the floodlights went off, smoke started to appear and strange noises started, which I can't describe, sorry. Then Flash's Theme started, it was loud, very, very loud. I knew they were supposed to be loud and this was the part that scared me. The ground was thumping, the bass just pumping away. The these 'cameras' flicked into life, with men on them. The intro seemed to last for a very long time. Then BANG Brian appears with the first chord of The Hero and a flash of the biggest white light I've ever seen and will never forget and the absolute loudest noise I have ever heard just hit me. The intro was quite in comparrision to this. When I play Live at the Bowl, I tend to repeat the intro and The Hero, virtually every time, because it was definitely a life changing experience for me at that moment, just incredible. Then Freddie appeared in brilliant white again, I was that close, I swear His hair seemed blue because of the mass of white lights. His voice, so loud, so clear, honestly, I can't describe that moment properly. I heard Freddie swear, saw Roger spitting, quite a lot, over his drum kit and onto the stage, I was bewildered.

When they did Play The Game and also Somebody To Love, when Freddie was doing the intros for them and it will sound strange to those that weren't there, but I didn't know what the songs were. I thought they was new unreleased songs. The reason was they was so loud, It kind of deafened you and then kind of sunk in what they were about to play. Then the rest of the gig flew by and I was singing my head off. Everyone was, but you could only hear Queen. Again my memory may be wrong, but I read afterwards that Queen had paid for residents to move out of their homes for the day. These houses were monitored and they said that the sound was like Concorde flying 10 feet over your head... Yep I will buy that. For all that and for all the bad things said about it, The Works tour, which I went to all the 4 origional England gigs they had planned, was the best tour they ever did. The set list was fantastic and the lighting rig was incredible. Not as loud, I also add. I also saw them in Manchester, 86. They had to be off stage by 10pm and noise levels had to be adhered to. I was too far awy to see them and the screens didn't come on because it was too light. Also I couldn't here them properly. I've watched the mMagic Tour gigs on DVD etc, but for me, that was the poorest tour they ever did. So that's it, hopefully some of you can confirm my bad memory, or say I'm wrong. Hopefully not bored you all. But it was the greatest musical experience I ever witnessed and I am proud I was there.” - Paul Wakefield

Part-1

(x)

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

[sketchguk]

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other. 

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen! 

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning. 

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid. 

And he’s right. 

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm. 

That, you can get behind. 

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM. 

It’s anything but charming. 

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you. 

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder. 

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately. 

“Shit,” you hear from the other side. 

Did he come? Is it over? 

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose. 

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund. 

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor. 

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too. 

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday. 

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter. 

Not at all. 

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily. 

He’s talking to you. 

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange. 

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head. 

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. 

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side. 

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough. 

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress. 

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night. 

But it doesn’t because it never works that way. 

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence. 

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken. 

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend. 

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute. 

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs. 

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so. 

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses. 

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems. 

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space. 

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything. 

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it. 

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye. 

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before. 

Everyone’s been there before. 

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you. 

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.” 

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off. 

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.” 

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago? 

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?” 

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent. 

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket. 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent. 

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.” 

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold. 

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough. 

“Would you want to?” 

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.” 

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him. 

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do. 

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you. 

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?” 

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.” 

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?” 

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less. 

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.” 

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense. 

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough. 

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other. 

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.” 

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying. 

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow. 

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.” 

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain. 

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation. 

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break. 

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.” 

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet. 

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least. 

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face. 

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night. 

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull. 

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone. 

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.  

You can hear him before you can even see him. 

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life. 

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination. 

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him. 

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle. 

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile. 

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout. 

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning. 

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes. 

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”. 

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you. 

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question. 

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over. 

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.” 

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously. 

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.” 

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.” 

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…” 

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh. 

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you. 

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them. 

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises. 

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots. 

“Love it,” you gulp wryly. 

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged. 

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t. 

“Is the coffee good?” He queries. 

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display. 

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.  

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely. 

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind. 

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers. 

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know. 

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries. 

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?” 

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation. 

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep. 

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?” 

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year? 

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day. 

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery. 

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another. 

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon. 

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.” 

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend. 

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love. 

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands. 

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend” 

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.” 

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point. 

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?” 

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?” 

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart). 

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off. 

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval. 

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back. 

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow. 

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand. 

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.” 

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.” 

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home. 

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands. 

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in. 

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon. 

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.” 

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️ 

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way. 

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table. 

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured. 

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations. 

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day. 

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart. 

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest. 

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does. 

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not. 

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove. 

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you. 

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist. 

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence. 

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough. 

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side. 

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways. 

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit. 

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre. 

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!” 

“I don’t know where to put them!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!” 

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears. 

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process. 

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it. 

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day. 

And it works for the most part. 

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth. 

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously. 

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over… 

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary. 

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are. 

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock. 

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet. 

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop. 

But of course all good things come to an end. 

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again. 

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips. 

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?” 

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story. 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?” 

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection. 

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.” 

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor. 

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.” 

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.” 

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—” 

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips. 

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.” 

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.” 

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.” 

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes. 

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?” 

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another. 

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.” 

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.” 

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.” 

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?” 

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt. 

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half. 

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin. 

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.” 

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue. 

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat. 

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.” 

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that. 

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles. 

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice. 

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it. 

“You don’t sound very happy?” 

“No, I am,” he deadpans. 

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer. 

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is. 

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.” 

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy. 

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent. 

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk. 

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects. 

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought. 

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.” 

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word. 

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.” 

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile. 

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.” 

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.” 

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows. 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.” 

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly. 

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.” 

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.” 

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock. 

“Yeah… I don’t know either.” 

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest. 

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead. 

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him. 

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?” 

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable. 

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?” 

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.” 

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters. 

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.” 

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed. 

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.” 

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries. 

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew. 

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year. 

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound. 

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes. 

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet. 

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again. 

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness. 

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth. 

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day. 

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch. 

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude. 

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage. 

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear. 

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended. 

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー” 

“Second of all, I do have one.” 

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips. 

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face. 

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease. 

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.” 

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers. 

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests. 

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.” 

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation. 

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. 

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die. 

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.” 

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads. 

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt. 

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.” 

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life. 

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink. 

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden. 

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour. 

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight. 

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn. 

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber. 

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise. 

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden. 

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day. 

And powering through is what you do best. 

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take. 

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you. 

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin. 

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.” 

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter. 

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin. 

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart. 

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else. 

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction. 

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden. 

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm. 

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested. 

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight. 

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling. 

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance. 

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh. 

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself. 

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care. 

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face. 

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene. 

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face. 

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead. 

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar. 

It’s a bit out of the ordinary. 

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight. 

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead. 

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity. 

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits. 

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week. 

Nothing seems to satisfy you. 

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point. 

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion. 

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love. 

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent. 

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing. 

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning. 

But still, you had his best interests in mind. 

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force. 

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention. 

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards. 

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves. 

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you. 

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open. 

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips. 

“What’re youー” 

“Y- You liveー” 

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery. 

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through. 

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice. 

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this. 

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in. 

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door. 

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater. 

How much weirder can this situation possibly get? 

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row. 

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you. 

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream. 

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.” 

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes. 

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids. 

“Shoot.” 

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now. 

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile. 

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.” 

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment. 

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?” 

“You wanted to check up on me?” 

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly. 

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her. 

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense. 

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg. 

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow. 

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him. 

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff. 

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit.  Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment. 

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet. 

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue. 

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you. 

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else. 

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either. 

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff. 

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー 

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall. 

“I-” He exhales. 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on. 

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted. 

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love. 

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow. 

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?” 

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you. 

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter. 

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head,  “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go. 

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you. 

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.” 

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding. 

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.” 

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him. 

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.” 

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself. 

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?” 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does. 

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum. 

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー” 

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again. 

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes. 

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.” 

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.” 

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up. 

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー” 

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes. 

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.” 

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.” 

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain. 

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze. 

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear. 

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?” 

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for. 

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs. 

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin. 

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck. 

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours. 

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on. 

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms. 

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater. 

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch. 

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts. 

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress. 

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud. 

“Jimin?” You call out for him. 

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps. 

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed. 

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.” 

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard. 

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body. 

“Love it,” you moan. 

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is. 

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement. 

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue. 

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most. 

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you. 

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks. 

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg. 

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact. 

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal. 

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist. 

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers. 

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries. 

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster. 

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory. 

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit. 

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise. 

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles. 

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation. 

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped. 

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch. 

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.” 

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.” 

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead. 

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss. 

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you. 

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles. 

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you. 

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm. 

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length. 

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice. 

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers. 

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands. 

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft. 

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex. 

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio. 

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks. 

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips. 

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?” 

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside. 

#bts smut #bts fluff #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin #park jimin #bts angst #jimin angst #bangtan #bts #fic: lover to lean on #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #flower shop au #jimin x reader #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction #bts x reader #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #bts scenario #bts imagine

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.” He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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#beth writes #macgyver #macriley #macgyver fanfiction #angus macgyver #riley davis #mac x riley #looking through a window au

[sachigram]

((In standard me fashion, I picked a prompt from Shizaya Week, weeks late, and have no intention of doing the others, lmaoooooooooo)) 

Prompt: I can’t sleep so will you hold me?

Shizuo doesn't think he could ever get used to Izaya and his bat-shit flea antics entirely, but Izaya has proven to be easier to deal with than Shizuo ever would've thought before. There are often hidden truths in Izaya's actions, things ordinary people who don't deal with him often enough would think to look for. Shizuo doesn't consider himself an expert in anything, but he thinks he's become a decent flea-to-human to translator.

Izaya will cook, but not without making snide remarks about Shizuo's inability to cook. Izaya will do laundry, but will refuse to fold it. If Shizuo asks for Izaya to come home early, Izaya will do so, but he'll still arrive later than Shizuo requested. Sometimes it still annoys Shizuo what a brat Izaya is, but he can see Izaya is actually trying, and that's enough to keep Shizuo from flying off the handle.

Izaya's sleeping habits, however, remain a constant source of contention between them both. Shizuo has a regular sleep schedule and always has. Even when he's angry or upset, which is more often than not, he finds sleep easily. It's taken him a long time to wrap his head around Izaya's sleeping habits, which are all over the place. Truly, Shizuo still doesn't get it.

Izaya will be up all night and then wake early in the morning, even without setting an alarm. He'll pass out at his desk and be dead to the world, but wake up a mere hour later and go right back to work. Sometimes he'll be out after Shizuo goes to bed and already be gone in the morning before Shizuo wakes up. It drives Shizuo insane, especially when Izaya will have dark circles and bags under his eyes but still firmly refuse to lie down. Izaya always says he has too much work to do to sleep like a normal person, and then he'll make some scathing remark about Shizuo having a caveman sleep cycle, and they'll end up arguing. It's always the same song and dance, but Shizuo is getting fed up with following Izaya's lead.

Today, Izaya is at his desk, clacking away at his keyboard. He has a humongous coffee cup next to him, which he will occasionally reach for and sip from, and he has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks cute, and Shizuo hates him for it, because Shizuo wants to be mad at him.

“Why are you staring at me, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo glowers up at him.

“You didn't come to bed last night.”

“What's wrong? Are you worried I was out being unfaithful to you?” Izaya bats his eyelashes playfully, and he grins at the expression on Shizuo's face. “I told you, I have to work.”

“All night? And you're still at it. What are you even doing?” Shizuo grumbles.

“That's top secret! I don't ask you about your work, now do I?” Izaya keeps typing even as he speaks, barely glancing in Shizuo's direction. “I'll sleep when I'm done.”

“You're never done. As soon as you finish that one, you'll think of something else to do.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Izaya sings, still not looking at Shizuo. “It takes a lot to be as efficient as me, you know? I rest for one day and suddenly I'm out of the loop.”

“I'm not asking for an entire day! I'm asking you to sleep when you need it!” Shizuo snaps, and Izaya finally frowns up at him.

“Your nagging is unattractive.”

“You—!” Shizuo stands and stomps over to the desk, looming menacingly over Izaya. “Turn off. The computer,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“I'm not tired, you idiot! Damn it, just—“ Izaya lifts his hand as if to wave Shizuo away, and Shizuo growls before grabbing Izaya's hand and tugging him. “Stop it! Shizu-chaaaaaaan!” Izaya wails as Shizuo drags Izaya, swivel-chair and all, towards the stairs. “Shizu-chan, you're hurting me!”

Shizuo freezes in his tracks and releases Izaya, who glares up at him, cradling his hand to himself. Shizuo feels guilty, feels like lead is in his stomach. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he especially never wants to hurt Izaya, even when the fucker deserves it.

“Sorry,” Shizuo mumbles.

“Oh, relax, I was kidding. You weren't hurting me; I just wanted you to let me go.” Izaya scoots himself back towards the desk, and he lifts his coffee cup, grinning at Shizuo over the rim. “What an expression you're making! I bet you wished you hurt me now, huh?”

Shizuo takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles by one, and then moves towards Izaya again, who only looks up at him smugly. Shizuo leans onto the desk.

“You wanna work? Fine. But tonight, you're going to bed when I do, and you're not leaving the bed till I do,” Shizuo says.

“That's not happening,” Izaya says, taking another sip of coffee. Shizuo slaps the coffee out of his hands, and Izaya looks from the shattered cup to Shizuo, clearly irritated.

“Yes the fuck it is happening, 'cause if you refuse, I'm gonna throw your computer out the window, and then I'm gonna tie your scrawny ass to the bed for a week.” Shizuo smiles, but there's nothing pleasant about it. “What's it gonna be, I-za-ya?”

“You're going to tie me down? Kinky. I don't see how turning me on is going to get me to sleep.”

“Keep it up and I'll tie you upside-down.”

“Whoever would've guessed how high-maintenance you are?” Izaya sighs loudly and then shrugs. “Sure, what do I care? I'll just watch you sleep and do creepy stuff to you until morning. Will that placate you?”

“Yes,” Shizuo says, not threatened in the least. Izaya scowls, but doesn't argue, and that's a victory in Shizuo's book.

***

Hours later, after they've both eaten dinner, (Izaya at his desk, eating while working) Shizuo stands from the couch and yawns. He looks over at Izaya, who is pointedly ignoring him.

“Bedtime,” Shizuo announces.

“What? Now?” Izaya asks, looking from the monitor to Shizuo. “It's not even ten!”  

“I'm tired now,” Shizuo says. “Besides, you look like a zombie. You need it more than me.”

“I'm not tired!” Izaya whines, his legs kicking out a bit. Shizuo withholds a grin at Izaya's antics, finding them cute. Before they got together, he never would have guessed how childish Izaya can be. Izaya doesn't throw tantrums, but he does pout and whine when he's not getting his way, and his surly attitude will persist for a long time afterwards until the opportunity to be a vindictive little shit comes along. “Shizu-chan, I'm still not done!”

“A deal is a deal. Come with me, or I'm tying you down, and you'll miss even more work.” Shizuo crosses his arms and watches Izaya, who rolls his eyes, sinks into his chair, and glares at Shizuo with his bottom lip poking out.

“You're being unreasonable.”

“I'll count to three.”

“Shizu-chan, I just—“

“One.”

“This is really important. My life could be on the line if I—“

“Two.”

“I hate you. I detest you! You're horrible, absolutely the worst!”

“Three.”

Groaning loudly, Izaya pushes himself up, slumps his shoulders, and makes his way up the stairs, grumbling the entire way about Shizuo. Nodding to himself, Shizuo moves to Izaya's computer, shuts it down, and turns off all the lights before joining Izaya upstairs. Izaya is in the bathroom, cat ear headband pulling his bangs off his forehead, and he's brushing his teeth with his narrowed, catlike gaze settled on Shizuo.

“Keep sulking all you want. You not sleeping isn't impressing anyone. You're lucky you haven't passed out in the path of one of your enemies,” Shizuo says, pulling his shirt off. He unbuttons his pants and steps out of them, and when he looks up, Izaya is still glowering at him. Sighing, Shizuo walks into the bathroom, shoving past Izaya to get to his own toothbrush.

When Izaya is done, he moves on to his skincare, an extensive process. Shizuo finishes brushing his teeth and then leans against the counter, simply watching Izaya apply serum after serum to his face.

“You know, you could put less shit on your face if you'd just sleep sometimes,” Shizuo says, amusement clear in his tone.

“You sound like a broken record,” Izaya says.

“You sound like an asshole.”

Clearly fuming but not wanting to show it, Izaya slams the container in his hands onto the counter, not bothering to look at Shizuo. He moves on to the next step of the process, and Shizuo reaches out to tug on the hem of Izaya's shirt, pulling him closer.

“Let go of me. You're lucky I haven't kicked you out,” Izaya huffs, but Shizuo pulls him in anyway.

“I wouldn't have to nag you if you'd bother to take care of yourself,” Shizuo murmurs into Izaya's hair.

“I take care of myself just fine,” Izaya argues.

“You don't. Being clean and having good skin isn't taking care of yourself.”

“Neither is punching people. Neither is being a stupid, simpleminded beast of a man.”

“I think that's enough skincare. Clearly you're getting grumpy from lack of sleep,” Shizuo says, unaffected by Izaya's sharp tongue. Usually he'd be enraged, but the sight of Izaya in the cat ears is too endearing. He'll yell at Izaya later, he decides, and in a swift motion, he throws Izaya over his shoulder and carries him towards the bed. Izaya curses and squirms, his bony elbows digging into Shizuo's back, and Shizuo tosses him down onto the bed, grinning triumphantly down at him.

“At least let me get undressed,” Izaya grumbles. He pulls his shirt off, pulling the headband off along with it. He looks up at Shizuo expectantly.

“Oh, you want one of my shirts?”

“Clearly.”

Snorting, Shizuo tosses a T-shirt at Izaya, who pulls it on with a pleased expression. Izaya is just squirming out of his pants when Shizuo turns out the light, bathing the room in darkness. Izaya sighs again, flops back into the bed, and relents to being held, though he doesn't relent quietly.

Despite all of Izaya's bitching, he falls asleep within the hour. He's soft in Shizuo's arms, his leg wedged between Shizuo's, and he's breathing evenly, dead to the world. Shizuo smiles and runs his hand through Izaya's hair before he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him as well.

***

When Shizuo wakes, it's still dark.

It takes him a minute to figure out what exactly woke him, but then he realizes Izaya is moving around, muttering little things under his breath.

“Flea?” Shizuo asks softly. Izaya doesn't respond, and Shizuo realizes Izaya is dreaming, talking in his sleep.

“Need to...work...” Izaya says something else after it, unintelligible, and he swats at Shizuo, who is beyond amused. “Brute.” Izaya finishes.

“What's that? You dreaming of me?”

“Hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shizuo says. He lifts his hand to wipe some drool off his chin, and Izaya makes an affronted little noise, pawing at Shizuo's chest. “What?”

“Want...want Shizu-chan...”

“I'm right here.”

Izaya whines and burrows closer, still swatting at Shizuo.

“Flea, quit it, I'm right here!” Shizuo huffs, though he's finding it hard to be annoyed when Izaya is being so cute. Izaya makes another anguished sound and presses his face into Shizuo's neck.

“Hold me...” Izaya's words are muffled, barely audible, and Shizuo wonders if he imagined them. Izaya is never this clingy, this open with his desires.

Gently, Shizuo wraps his arm around Izaya, who makes another noise, this one sounding happy. Izaya stops squirming and the room grows quiet once more, save for the pounding of Shizuo's heart. Izaya is a pain in the ass, and he's hard to deal with, and he's stubborn as all hell, and he's the last person in the world who should feel safe with Shizuo, but he does. He's here, sound asleep in Shizuo's arms, asking to be held, and Shizuo feels a lump in his throat.

“Izaya...”

Izaya hums in reply, clearly contented, and Shizuo kisses Izaya's forehead, pulls him closer, and dares to hold him a little tighter.

#shizayaweek2020 #shizaya #Shizuo Heiwajima #Izaya Orihara #fluff #established relationship

[lazychickensoup]

𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠

𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝐾. 𝑋 𝐺𝑁! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐴/𝑛: 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦 𝑠𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑙. 𝐼𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦. 𝑆𝑜 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛. 𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑖 𝑎𝑚 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑- 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡. 𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦~

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡(?)

Clicking away at the keyboard on my laptop, I sat with heavy eyelids and my third cup of coffee. My deadline was tomorrow for my presentation for a book I was writing and its details and aspects. I had been so focused on my work I didn’t hear my boyfriend come in till I felt a pair of arms lazily sling around my neck. I jumped at the sudden touch and kept typing. There were so many things going on in my life right now that I had been distant the last few weeks, but to be honest I just hadn’t felt like applying any effort into our relationship. My anxiety had gotten the best of me keeping me isolated, neglecting everything. I hadn’t even started on this presentation till about 4 days ago. No motivation, isolation, being tired all the time. I hope I’m not slipping into old habits.

“Y/n come to lay with me for a while, please. You have been glued to that laptop for the past 3 weeks. I miss you.” the silver-haired male spoke into my neck planting small kisses on my flesh. I turn to him to give him a proper greeting. He takes this opportunity to pick me up and bring me to the couch.

“Suga, I can’t my deadline is tomorrow and I’m only halfway done.” He places me down gently but I just stand back up and walk to my desk. I agitated sigh escapes from him. I feel bad for not spending any time with him, but this is a huge opportunity. I’m so close to working on my first official book. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been procrastinating so long.’

“Only halfway done? What have you been doing for the past 3 weeks then? Just staring at the screen? We haven’t seen each other in forever. We are always going to bed at separate times, we haven’t had a date in weeks, hell most of the time I have to come home and just watch tv trying to drown out the sounds of the keyboard clicks Y/n.” He sounded harsher now. ‘God please don’t argue right now. I don’t mean to. I’m sorry Suga, please.’ this is all I could think right now. Sadly, I have trouble saying what I think. I don’t want to hurt him. Maybe he deserves better.

“I’m sorry Suga. I’m almost done, please. Just a couple more hours and I’m all yours. I swear I’m trying to get it finished I miss you too.” I try walking back over to him but he backs away. I stop in my tracks. ‘Fuck. I fucked this up again. Why can’t you just take a couple of minutes off? No this has to be done. But does it?’

“No, Y/n I get this is a big deal for you and I am always going to support it 100% but it sounds like you haven’t done shit. What have you been doing?” he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I don’t know. I’ve just had trouble thinking of stuff to write. Just some writer’s block that’s all. I’m sorry.” I talk small pushing on the beds of my fingers a habit I do when I’m anxious or worried.

“Well finish your work. I’m going to bed. I’m not waiting for you tonight.” with that he leaves the room, no “goodnight babe’ or anything. ‘Dammit, you did this again. Finish your work. You deserve this.’ I exhale tears forming in my eyes making it hard to see what I’m typing on the screen. I let out silent sniffles for the next two hours deleting and retyping the same things over and over again. ‘Why can’t you just tell him what’s wrong? Maybe, he would understand then. He was the one who helped you through this before. Yeah...but what if he gets tired of doing this, then he’ll leave like everyone else did. Don’t dump this on him. Deal with it yourself. You are fine. You are just lazy. Work.’ sobs escape me now, my hands trembling unable to place another word on the digital page. I walk over to the couch and bring my knees up to my chest silently crying to not wake up Suga. My breathing becomes fast and ragged. ‘Shit I can’t breathe. A panic attack right now? God, I’m so weak.’ I do my best to keep quiet and fight this off, but my efforts fail. I hear the creak of the hardwood floor and footsteps become closer. ‘Shit, don’t let him see you like this. Don’t project this on him.’ I wipe my tear quickly and dash back to my seat just in time for him to come into the room.

“Y/n? I heard you crying. Are you okay?” his voice was still low from sleeping. It sent chills down my spine.

“Uh- Yeah just my story is a little sad is all. Sorry for waking you.” my voice breaks and my breathing is still unsteady but I am able to hide it. Obviously, that’s not enough to convince him so he sits on the floor next to my chair and leans over onto my lap.

“I know that’s, not the truth you were telling me the other day how your story was about some fantasy feminist fighter. I doubt there is anything thing in there that is making you cry that hard that I can hear you from the bedroom.” he turns my chair so that I face him but I dont turn my head. He tilts his head at me reaching for my face. “Hey, love. Is something wrong? I’m sorry for getting so upset earlier I just miss you. I shouldn’t have-”

“No.” I interrupt.

“No?”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. I’m the one who has been so distant. I’m sorry. You can go back to bed I’ll be there in a bit.” I say the best I can to make a clear sentence. Holding my breath to keep him from noticing my panic attack that has only gotten worse. ‘Please leave. Don’t see me like this.’ He wipes the fresh tears that roll down my cheeks. I left out a staggered breath and that’s when it clicked in him.

“Y/n I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s going on. You are obviously not fine. Come on let’s sit on the couch.” He takes my hand and I don’t fight back. We sit down side by side, I keep my eyes on the floor and my fist bunched up to where my nails dug into my skin. His hand travels up and down my back slowly to help calm me. “You don’t have to talk right now. Just breathe. I’m right here okay?” his other hand takes one of mine. The removal of my nails stung my skin but I try to ignore it. I do the breathing exercises I was taught. After a while, I got my breathing back to normal and was able to relax. I lay on Suga’s chest staring up at the ceiling and staying quiet. “Okay, we got your breathing under control. Now tell me what’s going on,” he spoke quietly into my hair planting kisses on my head while holding my hand and squeezing them slightly. I let out a shaky sigh. ‘He wants to know. He wants to help. Just tell him. It’ll scare him away.’

“I don’t know what’s wrong...I’m just tired?” I curled up to him more laying on my side now. I could hear his heartbeat. It was claiming, those four coffees were beginning to wear off.

“Just tired huh. Y/n you know you can talk to me. You’re not gonna push me away. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” I laugh at his response. “Is it like before? When we first got together?” my smile faded and I nod slowly against his chest. “Baby, you’re overworking yourself and overthinking stuff. I promise you will feel better if you just let it out. Here I even pinky promise that I’m not going to be upset or be scared away by your vent okay?” he holds out his pinky waiting for mine to interlock with it. It was a childish thing that we did when we meant something serious, It always makes me feel better because I know he means what he is saying. I wrap my pinky around him and he moves his fingers to intertwine with the rest of mine.

“Okay, so the last couple of weeks I’ve just had no motivation to do anything. I know that I’ve also been neglecting things like us. I just...I don’t want to dump everything on you. This book is such a big opportunity and it’s stressing me out but I need to get it done. Now, I’m even more stressed because I couldn’t think of anything till a couple of days ago. I’m also scared. Scared that if I rant to you like this you’ll leave. I don’t want to annoy you with my problems when I know that you also get stresses from volleyball and work. So I’ve just been trying to deal with it myself.” I cry into his chest staining his shirt with my tears, my stomach turns uncomfortably when I get no response after a while. I look up at him to meet his smile. I give him a confused look but he just moves the stray hair out of my face and kisses me.

“See don’t you feel better?” he finally says after an unbearable amount of time. “Even though it’s silly to think that Y/n. I told you it’s not that easy to get rid of me. Especially, when I’m so in love as I am with you, and like before we are gonna get through this. You never have to keep all that bottled up with me. You’re not neglecting my feelings by just telling me yours. We are in a relationship we have to communicate. I know your anxiety can get the best of you sometimes but I’m always gonna be here for you when it does. I love you Y/n. Don’t forget.” he pulls me closer I wrap my arms around him holding him tight.

“What did I do to deserve you,” I whisper to where he couldn’t hear. “I love you too Suga. Thank you. I’ll finish the presentation tomorrow. Can we go to bed?” I sit upon him, he holds on to my thighs and laughs.

“Considering it’s 4 in the morning I think that’s a great idea.” I get off him and he groans at not being able to touch me.

Once we were in bed he held me close to him and snuggled his face into my neck.

“Goodnight, Love.”

“Goodnight Suga.”

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu angst #sugawara #sugawara koushi #sugawara x y/n #suga fic #suga fluff #sugawara x reader

[chickenmcfly1]

Marty with superpowers headcannons?

(Again, I have no idea how the science behind any of this would work so just bear with me)

So the exposure to plutonium without cell rejuvenation gives him superpowers. Marty can briefly manipulate time by freezing and speeding up time around him, and he can manipulate space by phasing in and out through solid material

basically since his powers came from the DeLorean and interaction between radiation and the flux capacitor, Marty basically becomes a weak human flux capacitor and can manipulate space and time(sketchy science is sketchy)

He discovers them about a week after part three ends because his body finally transitions out of survival mode.

Through the trilogy, Marty is running on like 12 total hours of sleep, 1 meal, no water, 4 head injuries, 3 of which are traumatic brain injuries he doesn’t really accidentally draw on said powers. He’s weak, pretty injured, and exhausted, and his body’s probably focused on healing and staying upright, not manipulating space and time (also I always forget that by definition and time spend unconscious, Marty sustained three traumatic brain injuries in the span of 18 days? That’s gonna be fun for his family doctor to deal with at his next wellness checkup)

After he returns to lone pine 1885, Marty hasn’t really been sleeping bc he’s plagued by near constant nightmares and he’s been super on edge and anxious so he hasn’t really been eating and he’s overwhelmed and exhausted and just crashes in bed one day. And his body is like “oh we’re finally resting! we feel better! Let’s check out these new body functions!” (Again, This is not how bodies work but just humor me)

Then, the next morning, Marty wakes up under the bed? And Marty knows he’s a weird sleeper and he kinda just assumes he thrashed and moved around in his sleep and fell off of the bed, but that’s not possible bc he’s in the exact position he was on top of the bed. There’s also this heavy plastic keyboard case next to him, blocking the only side of the bed he could’ve rolled under from. Otherwise he would’ve had to roll over his guitar, fallen off of the bed, and rolled back under?

But Marty is 100% not in the mood to deal with any more strangeness and weird situations. He’s already overwhelmed and confused, he misses Doc so much it physically hurts, and he’s got real gigs lined up through the holidays and he really doesn’t have the mental energy for this so he just kinda ignores it and goes to school

But strange things keep happening? In math, when he knocks his calculator off of his desk during a test, panicking about how embarrassing it’s going to be when it hits the ground and makes and noise, making everyone turn around and look at him, the calculator just slows down, almost ceasing it’s free fall until Marty grabs it? And the few people who were turning around to look at Marty also have stopped, heads turned halfway to Marty before jerking back to their tests?

The worst one is when he’s on his way home, about to get on his skateboard. Instead for getting on, though, his foot goes through his skateboard. And just when Marty thinks that ordeal is over, his hand goes through the bumper of a car he tries to grab, sending Marty spiraling into the street. As cars zip past him and Marty’s in the middle of an intersection, thinking about how Doc was right and this little car surfing habit of his is gonna end him up in the hospital, the cars around him suddenly stop and seem to freeze then move in slow motion, just long enough for Marty to get to safety before continuing to speed down the streets as if nothing ever happened

Marty continues his commute home, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach, because there’s really one reason he could be passing through solid objects. He’s fading from existence. And that doesn’t explain the other weird stuff, but Marty’s way too worked up to consider the little details. The only thought running through is head is that there’s absolutely no way this can be happening again because this was supposed to be done it was all supposed to be better now

He goes home to get his truck, barely concealing his near-hyperventilating from Biff who always seems to be waxing one of their cars, and his dad who’s sitting on the porch, and drives to Doc’s. The lab is obviously empty, but being here makes him feel a little safer, and a little more clear headed.

He doesn’t eat or sleep that night and that puts his body back into survival mode, so his powers calm down again and Marty is beyond confused but just chalks all that up to exhaustion induced hallucinations? Which is a little scary because Marty is absolutely sure that all of that happen, and he’s really hoping he’s not going insane, but he’d rather be insane than fading from existence because option b means he messed up the time stream and that means that a bunch of other people potentially in danger and Marty’s already bucking under the guilt of 1985 A, he doesn’t need this too.

Obviously Marty has not been the same since time travel, but Jennifer notices he seems extra off as of late, so after school that day, she drags him to her house and asks her to tell her everything. And he knows he shouldn’t, but Doc’s not here and desperately needs to talk to someone and Jennifer is always so grounded and level headed and he needs that right now.

After 18 days of trauma chaos and Marty’s new affliction is described, Jennifer, who is a huge comic book and science fiction nerd, tells him in the most cheerful but matter of fact voice that he obviously has superpowers!

Marty just gives her his signature look of wide eyed, panicked confusion

Jennifer reassures him and tells him to leave a note for Doc where Doc left the DeLorean for him and ‘55 Doc. Marty likes that idea, but he’s still not entirely sure about the whole superpowers thing. So Jennifer tells him to attempt doing those things on purpose, and sure enough, all the things Jennifer makes fall off of her desk chair, including herself (which is the scariest trust fall of Marty’s life) slow just long enough for Marty to right them. Similarly his hands and legs pass through objects. Jennifer suggests he try to phase through the wall to see how strong his powers are, but Marty has a horrifying image of him stuck between Jennifer’s bedroom and closet wall forever, and he decides he’s not trying that own without Doc.

After a few trial runs, a very excited Jennifer’s going on about all the good things he could do the community with these powers and all the cool things he could do, but Marty’s anxious and overwhelmed and just wants to lay low. So he has powers, doesn’t mean he has to use them. Besides, Marty doesn’t know how to explain to Jennifer that after all the ‘good’ he did in 1985A and other timelines, the best way for Marty to serve the community is to probably stay far far far away from where he can mess anything up. Jennifer is, of course very understanding and she accompanies him to leave a letter for Doc

That night, Marty’s scared awake by a sudden rap on his window and wakes up to see Doc? And after Marty’s fight of flight response calms and his heartbeats slows enough for him to function, he just kind of sits there, convinced this is a dream and any second now, Doc will open up his lab coat, revealing bullet wounds and collapse and Marty will have to watch again. But then Doc calls his name and tells him he got his letter. And Marty is overwhelmed with joy and after flinging open the window and tackling Doc with a hug and then giving Clara and the boys another one, they go to the lab and figure everything out

Marty does, indeed, have superpowers. He’s basically a mini flux capacitor and Doc is over the moon thrilled, then panics and checks Marty over to make sure he’s still fine and healthy and that there are no negative side effects, then goes back to being thrilled

Idk what direction I wanna take this in? Whether Marty is just a normal person doing normal person things who just happens to have superpowers or if he and Doc get another crazy adventure, this time, involving superpowers, but yeah. If anyone wants to add on and take this in a direction, pls do bc I have no idea what comes next, lol.

#back to the future #marty mcfly #doc and marty #doc brown #bttf #Jennifer Parker #george mcfly #lorraine mcfly #biff tannen

[hotsexydorks]

I really loved your "Daddy's Boys" story from your Prompts & Scribbles Collection. Do you think you could expand a little more on that 'verse? Jordan definitely needs to join the family—as you had foreshadowed at the end—but what about another Daddy to help the poor Sheriff out with all his needy boys? I feel like Daddy Argent could be up to the task... :3c

Picked up the story from where it left off in the first one :)

Daddy’s Boys 2 : Sheriff/Parrish

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14053365/chapters/80706124

The drive to the convention droned on as the pair travelled down the road. Having set out early in the morning John feigned wanting to catch more sleep by turning his head to the side and pulling back the seat. In reality the man was just plotting his next move. This power he had was his, he didn’t know how long for or what it meant but he knew what he wanted, right now he wanted a way to corrupt his new Deputy.  

 Taking the entire drive to think about his plans John could feel a part of him enjoying it and wanting more. It felt so right, so right that he could see that even just his thoughts could affect the world around him, it gave him a rush like he had never felt before. 

“Uh. Sheriff?” Parrish called out. Reaching out he touched the older man’s shoulder to wake him. Giving a gentle shake he rolled his neck and body after the quiet drive. 

All the time that John had to himself let the Sheriff come up with a plan for their weekend. His experience with his three boys already had given him enough knowledge to know that the more general the better. Starting with smaller pieces and building them up was the best way and the fastest way. After all Derek barely lasted a few days before he was his, now he was sure Parrish would be his by the end of the long weekend. 

“You know I wish you’d relax more around me when we’re not at work.” Just like all the times before John could feel the little pulse radiate from his body, the coin around his neck glinting gently on the chain. 

Blinking a few times at the reflection of the light in his eyes Parrish shook his head, swinging the tiredness off of his body and with it began shedding his old self. “Sorry John, I guess it’s just some old ranking habits from the army.” He tried to excuse himself for his overt properness that had earned him his nickname of Scout in the station bullpen. 

“It’s alright Jordan.” The boss replied, sitting up slowly and looking around at the hotel. 

“Looks like they picked out a fancy place for this year’s convention.” He said with a whistle joining in with the Sheriff’s assessment of the building. 

“As long as they’re paying.” John agreed with a chuckle. 

Getting out of the car together the pair both did simultaneous stretches, taking in the fresh flowing air and basking in the warm glow of the high morning sun. 

“Well let’s go get checked in and put our things in our room. We’ve got free time until the first meeting later on.” Sheriff said opening up the back of the car and taking his things out, Parrish on the other side doing the same. 

Entering the tall hotel they walked through the grandiose lobby. Passing various people around them John recognised a few faces in the crowds; cops that he had started with, some officers that he had met a few years into his job, even older officers that continued to help out. Following the scattered trail of people they made their way to the front desk.

“How about you go sign us in with convention and I’ll get the keys to the room and I’ll meet you back over by the desk.” John suggested with a nod in the direction of the organisation desk. 

“Sure thing Sher-- John.” Catching his own words Jordan chuckled as he corrected himself and left the older man. 

With diverging tasks John watched Parrish go off already setting his plan in motion for his newest boy. 

“Hi, I have a booking under Stilinski.” 

“Certainly sir..” With a quick flurry of the information the receptionist looked for their booking. “That’s one room with two singles.” He said asking for the confirmation. 

“Actually, there’s been a slight change, could I get the room changed to a single queen?” John asked, trying to vie for a different room without being too aggressive in his approach. 

“Let me look it up for you…” Clacking at the keyboard again he looked up with slight worry on his face. “I’m afraid we’re almost fully booked with the convention, the only room we have left available is the honeymoon suite which will cost you extra if you want to upgrade.” 

This was perfect, almost too perfect for his plans, fighting back the smirk that wanted to flash on his face. John nodded with only a small smile. “That’s okay, could you charge it to my card?” He asked, wanting to snatch up the room as quickly as possible John pushed his card across the counter giving the hotel worker the go ahead. 

“Alright then let me just change this up…” The clerk worked the system and quickly changed John’s booking around giving him the suite and swapping the rooms. “That’s all confirmed on our end, here is your key and your room is 802. The elevator is down that hallway and then the room will be left after doors open on the eighth floor. I hope you have a pleasant stay with us.“ 

Taking everything back with that same smile John nodded. “Thanks. I’m sure it'll all be perfect”  Winking a the worker John picked up the things and made his way over to the desk seeing Jordan chatting with a few other new recruits to the force. 

The male was smiling and being courteous to the strangers, an aspect John had admired about him which made him want to leave his mark behind it all even more. Take the clean interior and paint it. 

“Sheriff Stilinski!” One of the stationed volunteers called out to the older man with a smile. “I heard you were joining us with a new second this year, which must be this strapping gentleman here.” 

Parrish blushed a little bit at the praise he had received from the strangers, being polite and courteous wasn’t anything he thought was that out of the ordinary. 

“That’s right, Deputy Parrish has been a great help to the station and to me since he joined, I’m very proud of him.” John smiled at the Deputy making him blush even more. 

“John… uh, Sheriff Stilinski - “ Correcting himself again Jordan quickly made sure that he didn’t leave any dead air. “- is just being kind. I’m only helping out here and there, it’s really all the other officers that do the heavy lifting.” Trying to smile kindly he swept at the praise and looked almost pleadingly to John for a proverbial life ring. 

“He’s just being modest, our Scout here is worth every bit of praise he gets.” Laughing properly the older man patted Jordan on the back as he started to disengage the situation. “We should head up to our room though, get our stuff down and stretch out after the long drive.” 

Waving them off the pair separated from the side group and started away from the main floor towards the elevator. As the elevator rose through the floors the sound waved in the background behind them with stereotypical elevator music filling the empty space. 

“Thanks, I didn’t think they were going to let me go unless I ran.” Jordan tried to make a joke at how heavily friendly the group had been when he first went over to sign them in. 

“Trust me, if you think they’re bad now wait till you find them at the bar after hours. You need to be Houdini to get away from them.” 

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind and get an exit strategy in place. How was everything with reception? Was there any trouble?” 

Being asked about the other side of their plans John let out a soft sigh. “Well it seems like there was a mix up in some bookings so our room got changed but we’ll just have to see what it is. I’m sure we’ll be able to make do with what we’ve got. He said that they were booked up with the convention going on this weekend.” 

The elevator dinged in perfect time, opening the doors a moment later to the corridor. Following down the signs and the numbers John and Parrish traveled down the floor that had its rooms sporadically spread out. 

“800… 801…” John muttered to himself as they both looked for their room. 

“802?” Parrish called out looking at the door in front of him, stealing a glance at what was written on the key slip they had. 

“802.” Nodding in reply John smiled, lifting up the key for the door and unlocking it with a simple swipe of the card. “Home sweet home.” 

In the room it was lavishly open. It was more of a bachelor apartment than it was a hotel room. Stepping in they were greeted to an open room, neatly spread spaces that flowed into the next with ease. One corner had couches surrounding a coffee table that all faced onto a wall mounted TV. The other a small little kitchen area with high seats and a counter. Facing out over the top of the city line they had a balcony that overlooked the surrounding area which had to be one of the best views in the place. 

But the expense didn’t end there. Off against the wall on the other side was their bed, a comfortable queen sized bed, just one. The single unit bed was enough to stop their amazement of the room. 

“There’s only one bed.” Jordan pointed out as their bags came to a halt. 

“That’s no problem right? The couch doesn’t look all that comfortable but we can share, it’s got plenty of room.” John said as he truly acted nonchalant about the fact there was one bed after all he was the one that orchestrated it. “Hey Parrish, look over here. There’s a jacuzzi bath here as well.” The Sheriff called out, waving the Deputy towards him and showing the wide open bathroom. 

“Seems more like an upgrade than a mix up, but are you sure sharing the bed is okay? I don’t want it to--” 

“Relax Jordan, I told you before, didn't I? You should be more relaxed around me.” John started to slowly twist the earlier change he had made earlier in the car, glinting again around his neck the coin shone in the overhead light. 

“Right.. You’re right, Sorry John, I guess it’s just been a while since I’ve had to share a space with someone before, let alone my boss.” Straightening his clothes Jordan swallowed down with the confession the changing male looked around as he grabbed his shirt and fanned the air from his body. “Do you mind if I take some clothes off? It was a long drive and I don’t want to sweat out my clothes.” He asked as he had already begun peeling his t-shirt and dropping it to the floor. 

“No go right ahead, do what you need to do, it’s just us here after all.” John reassured him with a slight hesitancy at how fast things had begun to shift. Of course he had anticipated for things to move faster but this was still faster than even he thought. 

Disappearing from view for a moment Jordan stepped to the couch and started to hang his clothes out so that they could air without becoming stale, but he didn’t stop there. Coming back Jordan was dressed only in a pair of white briefs, cut up into his crotch; the briefs could have been mistaken for a thong if it weren’t for thinner covering over his ass. Which explained to John how the other’s ass always looked so smooth in the tight work pants of their uniform. 

“Hope you don’t mind, I’m usually just lounging in my own place. After spending time in the army you kind of get used to it, you know?” Jordan asked, alluding to the man’s own time serving. With a smile as he came back and looked around the tub. “I haven’t had a good tub in a long time, I’ve been meaning to get one for my place but they’re so expensive to run.”

 “Not at all.” John replied, his eyes eagerly taking in the other’s body. Being almost fresh off of his time in service Parrish’s body was still in peak condition. Muscles cut and strong, his skin was also smooth and soft. All of it looking like it was calling out to the man for his marks. 

Usually walking around his own apartment in his underwear Jordan’s mind began to slowly twist and form into this new Jordan that was placing John in that same space that would allow him to lower his inhibitions and open himself up to becoming one of John’s boys - one of Daddy’s boys. 

“Why don’t we try it out? After all, we’ve got time before we’re needed for anything and the opening meeting is always just a standard introductory meeting that we could skip.” John tested the hypothetical waters dipping his idea into the space with a little wave. “It would be a good way of relaxing together and building our bond.” John pushed a little more trying to shape the other’s view of it with his nudges. 

“Sounds like a good idea, as long as you’re okay with skinny dipping. I didn’t bring any swimming stuff with me and I don’t think it’d be a great idea to get our underwear soaked in the tub.” The younger male explained looking around the bathroom for things that would make their shared, essentially, bath together more than just water. 

“That was exactly what I was thinking.” Smiling at the other John clapped at Jordan’s shoulder as he passed him. Going out to the bed right beside the bathroom the older man started to take his clothes off. “Start the water so it’s good and hot.” 

Reaching down Jordan fiddled with the taps and started to fill the tub and turn on the heater as well. Putting in some of the complimentary bath lotions to give the water a little scent but not enough to fill it with bubbles and perfume. 

Once the water was one the rise Jordan pulled down his underwear and threw them onto the rack by the wall to get them out of the way so that he could get into the pool without a worry. Leaning over, Parrish bent down, sticking his hand into the tub to test the temperature of the water as it filled up and that was how the Sheriff found him. 

Naked and reaching down Jordan’s ass was sticking out behind him, an enticing sight all for him to see. Making the mental note of it being the first time he gets to see the other’s body John approached him from the side his own boxer briefs still on.

“How’s the water?” 

“Almost there, just waiting on it to fill up -- “ Turning around to speak to the other Parrish immediately noticed the other’s state of dress. “I thought we were going to skinny dip it?” He asked, now feeling a little bit embarrassed about his own naked state. 

“We are, but you know how it is. It can get a bit cold, no one wants to be the smallest in the group.” John chuckled. Reaching down he took a light grasp of his crotch and showed off how deceptive the bulge was behind the underwear. 

After gaining his first two boys and putting his own body through his own wishes John’s wardrobe went through a small change. With more fitting clothes, more prouder clothes the older man took a step into a more bold sense of style. It was subtle but enough to anyone that would have watched him in any significant way. 

The cuts were a little bit tighter, the fit was a little bit better. Wishing your own body back to its peak of fitness had its perks now he'd be able to go toe to toe with the best of the young officers. Not to mention the wishes he had for his own sex.

One of which he was showing off to the Deputy. Of course the Sheriff was already proud of his size, but a little more never hurt but that wasn’t the only thing that changed. After all, now when he had three hungry boys that begged to be filled with cum almost every hour of the day a little bit of help in that department was only logical. 

But now he was even prouder of it knowing that all the power he could want was his. 

“Come on John. There’s no need to be shy about it. The guys in our unit would compare all the time. Surely you were the same.” Jordan asked looking down at the other’s bulge the question of how big the man was starting to wave in his mind. The mental shots of his boss's body , mainly of his cock, but his body just posing in front of him.  

“You get a different view as you get older, Parrish. Besides, compared to you young ones now I’m probably not worth the second glance.” John teased through self deprecating humour wanting to see how the Deputy responded. 

“That’s nonsense, you’re in good shape.” Jordan reached out pointing at the older man’s body, his eyes and fingers dancing down the man’s chest until they were gaining on his hips. “You’ve got good definition here.” His fingers brushed past the other’s ribs all so he could quickly move next. In a flash the Deputy reached down, grabbing at John’s underwear he pulled them away in a swift motion. Dropping to his knees Parrish released the Sheriff’s cock from its prison and exposed him in an instant. 

Down at the new height Jordan was at the perfect eye level to see all of the man’s crotch in its glory. Accidentally staring at it Jordan’s eyes looked at it almost as if he were studying it but in truth it was because he felt drawn to it. 

“Jordan?” John called out to him trying to see if he could get the other’s attention. Of course, he knew what was happening, but he still decided to be safe. This, just like everything else that had happened, had all been according to the man’s plans, his wishes. 

Distracting Jordan with his cock he knew that the seeds that he had been planting were all coming to fruition now.

A moment after John called out to him Jordan finally reacted, shaking his head getting himself out of his trance for a moment. “Sorry, just.. Never seen one like yours, and I saw a lot in the tents.” Parrish laughed it off, still unable to pull his eyes away. 

“It’s alrig--” 

“It’s just so big… so smooth….” The longer Jordan looked the deeper his fascination grew, forming until it started to become an obsession. “So perfect…. It even smells so.….” Pushing forward Jordan buried his face into the crook of the man’s crotch. His nose pushed up against the trimmed pubes until he was able to rub his face against it. Unable to pull himself away from the desire that was building up in him Jordan would have been blind sided if he had noticed it but instead the more he gave into it the more it would cement itself in his head. 

“Uh… Jor-” Before John could probe the other at what he was thinking the deputy was pulling away from his musk only to enable his next thought. 

Once his face had been freed from inhaling his boss’ musk he opened his eyes, his pupils blown with lust taking in the sight before him. “I wonder what it tastes like..” Before Jordan even had a chance to blink the Deputy was already closing in with an open mouth in tow taking the soft tip into his mouth. 

Seeing the younger’s changed self growing stronger John smirked reaching down he rubbed at Parrish’s scalp. Guiding him with a gentle touch as his soft cock started to take up Jordan’s mouth, slowly starting to react to the wet tongue that was lapping at his skin. “That’s it, taste Daddy’s cock, let Daddy feed you.” 

Looking up with eager eyes Jordan showed off the new sense of self he was getting. ‘Sheriff…John…Daddy… ‘ The names flowed through his head, each one of them making more sense than the rest until he was saying them out loud. “Dad…. Daddy..” Saying the name aloud was the final push it needed. Shining brightly in his eyes Jordan’s gaze fell on the coin as it took root. 

“That’s right. I’m Daddy, and you’re my boy, and you have some brothers waiting for us back at home. But you’ll meet them after this weekend. Right now. Daddy needs to take care of his new boy.” 

Brushing Jordan’s hair back he pushed the kneeling Deputy to the side and made his way to the tub that had now filled and was ready. 

“Let’s test out the pool.”

Jordan rose to his feet in a hurry and joined his Daddy in the tub. Sitting down beside him he looked at the man while the changes started to settle in his body, the heat of the tub making him relax even more against the heat. 

“Daddy?” Pressing his body against John’s side, Jordan got as close as he could like that. His hand pressed on the man’s chest. Starting its path down his abs towards the cock he gripped it firmly giving him some assured strokes. “Can I taste your cock again?” 

 “That depends, baby. Why don’t you come sit in Daddy’s lap and answer some questions first..” He leaned back to give Jordan the room to settle against him. Taking the opportunity Jordan slid his body over John’s lap and planted himself firmly against him. It was only a moment of adjusting before their bodies were slotted against each other, Jordan’s ass on top of the man’s cock feeling the shaft between his cheeks.

“I’m here Daddy.” Jordan said almost gleefully, taking his seat and smiling. His hands began to rub against John’s body, truly feeling him and getting to know his Daddy’s body. 

“You said that you’ve compared with the other officers in your troop, did you do any more than that?” Taking Jordan’s chin in his fingers John lifted it gently so that their eyes could share the gaze. Staring at each other as it deepened their bond.

“No Daddy, we only just compared our sizes. But sometimes we would prank each other, wake someone up with a cock slap to the face.” The memories made him chuckle, his hands not stopping as he squeezed along his chest. 

“So you’ve never experimented with other men before?” His voice pushed with a slight authority. 

“Not during my service… but I did jerk off one of my friends in school.”

“That's all?” 

“I didn’t really feel like it was for me.. But there’s just something about Daddy’s that draws me to it.” He admitted eyes looking earnestly back at the man. Wide and soft showing no hesitancy for it now.

Taking his hands lower, John began his own exploration of the other’s body. “That’s because Daddy is the best, and you know it, but I’m going to show you why today.” 

“Yes Daddy.” 

The hands traveled lower and lower, trailing down his abs and around to reach Jordan’s ass. Holding the cheeks in his hands John groped at them lightly enough to only ripple gently in the water. 

Gasping at the new sensation Jordan glanced over his shoulder. He had had his ass slapped and hit in jest before but John’s hands massaging him and playing with his ass was something new entirely. Moaning softly the Deputy arched his back and pushed his ass into the boss’ hands filling them up even more. 

Smoothly their dance continued, only punctuated by the sound of moving water and soft moans of pleasure. John’s eyes took in every tick and movement that he pulled from the Deputy. Each little bit as if he were playing him like an instrument. His fingers flexed and pushed along his backside, sneaking closer and closer to the virgin hole. 

Jordan’s hands following his own song down John’s body, over his abs and back again. With his ass seated over the man’s crotch he rocked slowly in place using his cheeks to give back the little that he could. He knew that it was working when he heard the Sheriff, his Daddy, moan. With his intuition proving to be correct the new boy started to ride back more intently. Scooping his hips downward making every moment of contact that he could. Soon enough he could feel his Daddy’s cock growing hard under him, spreading his cheeks wider. Each swing of his hips alternated the contact between John’s cock and his fingers sliding against his hole making his moans grow.

“Daddy…” Jordan warned with a slight wave in his voice. It wasn’t one of hesitancy but filled with pleasure and charged with lust. With just the little teasing that they had been doing in the tub Jordan felt as if it were shaking him from his head to his toes. 

“I know Baby Boy, but we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” Hitting Jordan’s ass, John started to push the other off of his lap giving himself the room to stand. Once he was freed he slipped backward and sat on the edge of the tub with his hard cock on display. Standing out and proud from the attention that it had been getting and the anticipation of claiming the new boy.

Kneeling with his lower half in the water Jordan was shocked at the man’s exposed cock. “It’s so big..” Needing to use both hands to cover a majority of the man’s cock he grew closer and closer to it with an open mouth ready to take him again. Jordan stuck his tongue out searching for the man’s taste past the water that was dripping off of them. 

Jordan’s tongue swiped back and forth taking him past his lips and down his throat all in the effort to taste him. The moment the taste started to emerge Jodan moaned loudly up at the man in disbelief that he waited so long to experience this. With the new taste filling his senses Jordan started to enthusiastically worship at his Daddy’s cock. 

Thinking about what he had liked done to his cock during a blowjob Jordan mimicked that and hoped that he was doing his Daddy proud. Soon light licks turned into steady swipes, gentle suckling turned into assured sucking. Jordan’s eyes were now shut, bobbing back and forth; he carefully took the man’s cock deeper and deeper until he met an unfamiliar resistance. 

There was something new hitting at the back of his throat, something that the Deputy had never felt there before and it wasn’t comfortable. But still determined to push through it, Jordan gagged and choked on the thick cock forcing himself to his limits, his mouth seeping down the length. 

A strong hand trailed down his back. Jordan’s body tingled, like pins and needles filling his skin, it made him shudder. 

“That’s it baby, just keep working Daddy’s cock.” John guided his hand further down the male’s body. Now that he had Jordan, why wait for more. His hand went further and further, leaning over John started to reach for Jordan’s ass. Pushing his prelicked fingers against the tight hole he started to tease it for what was to come.

A deep sound erupted from Jordan’s throat, muffled only by the cock in his mouth. He could feel the fingers against his virgin hole and it felt good. Mind blowing. Spurring Jordan on even further it felt like the jolts of having his ass played with revitalised him, more than giving him energy it made him long for more. Jordan pushed his legs further apart, spreading cheeks to let the fingers touch him more. 

With a grin John moved. Shuffling in closer to Jordan’s head he placed one hand behind the male’s head to hold him steady as he forced his cock deeper and leaned over the Deputies’ body to push his fingers against the rim.

“You like that, don’t you?” John’s fingers pushed deeper slowly, spreading Jordan’s hole open in a way that he had never tried before. Opening and closing his fingers against the tight muscle the Sheriff started to massage and work it open. 

Nodding along with his words Jordan’s focus started to waver. Dipping back and forth between his focus on the Daddy's tasty cock and the new feeling he got from Daddy’s fingers on his ass, Jordan started to lose track of what he was doing. 

Apparently becoming too lax for the older man Jordan’s sense came back to him when he felt the Sheriff start to fuck his mouth. The leaking cock slid back and forth with power. Spreading his throat, stretching his jaw down. John’s hold on his head meant that he had no place to escape but deeper, so he did it. 

Shoving his head into the harsh thrusts he could feel all of his muscles tightening. Gagging and sputtering with tears falling down his face Jordan gasped for air but also his body told him that his Daddy was more important. 

Surrounded by the sounds and smell of their sex John’s grunting signled the nearing ending of their first journey. Each of his thrusts splashed the water under them. Where John held Jordan’s head was at the perfect height for the waves to hit his face as well. Truly using the Deputy’s through like a toy John fucked and bashed past the other’s reflexes. 

“Take it boy.” John growled. His balls pulled up with a body filling shudder. Taking him over the edge John’s hot cum poured deep, filling him up with his very first batch of John’s charged load. Altered by his wishes John’s cum was strong, heavy, thick and most importantly there was a lot of it. Pulsing full of like John’s cock stayed hard as he threw his head back in ecstasy, there was nothing like claiming a new boy. 

Through his orgasm John groaned deeply. Rocking in place the older man had to use every last bit of his will to stop himself from filling up Jordan too much. Wanting to save the bulk of his load for later John gritted his teeth in concentration as managed to hold back from filling Jordan to the brim. 

Pulling away the older man freed his cock but more importantly Jordan’s throat. 

Sputtering and coughing for air the Deputy grasped at the side of the bath looking for his composure. With a white knuckle grip Jordan held himself up. He looked up at John with a messy face, spit and a little bit of cum splattered over his face. He smiled through his messy recovery, beaming with pride at the man. 

“Now it’s time for the next part.” John patted at Jordan’s ass, one of his hands rubbing the mess against his lips. “Would you like that baby?”

“Yes Daddy.” Jordan could put together the pieces to know what was coming next. He knew that even though he had never done it before it would be the best thing in his life. 

“Good, now let’s go to bed. Your first time should be special.” John smirked as each of the pieces started to line up and fall into place with ease. 

With a quick flash the two dried off, getting out of the tub to make the next stage come as quickly as possible.

Moving both to the bed Jordan laid on his back. Spreading his legs he lifted them up and exposed his hole to the man. He looked at him eagerly holding his legs up in place. 

“Don’t worry Jordan, it won’t hurt.” John approached his Deputy with a smirk. His cock still hard and ready to do the deed. 

“I trust you John, it’ll only feel good.” He answered happily, anxious only for the pleasure that he knew was going to come.

“Then let’s make you feel good.” Now John’s cock was pushing tentatively at his hole. Teasing him with only one thing in mind, claiming his prize. After giving Jordan a few test thrusts John could tell by how the hole gave in that the Deputy was ready.

Yelping out Jordan’s eyes opened wide as the thick cock pushed into his virgin hole penetrating him for the first time ever. “O… ooooooooo” 

Jordan’s cries were cries of blinding pleasure instead of pain. Spreading his pink hole like butter, one of John’s overarching wishes started to take effect. Taking away any of Jordan’s natural resistance to taking a big cock up his ass meant all that was left was bliss. But that wasn’t all. Like Daddy’s other boys Jordan’s body also started to go through more changes. His cheeks, already round, became cakey and thick growing until his they were like an extension of his hole giving more for the older man to fuck.

Gasp aloud Jordan eyes began to flutter. A floating feeling started to take over his body. Rocking back and forth he didn’t wait to feel the heavy cock hollowing out his insides. “Ooo.. Daddy… that feels so good…” 

By now John’s cock was pushing deeper with ease, Jordan’s rocking only helping him open the boy up faster. “That’s it boy, push back on Daddy’s cock, relax into it baby.” 

Filled to the brim with the man’s cock Jordan drooled, surrendering himself to the thick girth. Taking him over it introduced him to a brand new world that he had never even thought about and it rocked him to his core.

“Oh please Daddy, give me more of your cock.” Jordan whimpered out to the man as he begged to feel more than just the static size of his cock in him. His rocking stopped by the man’s hips acting as a barrier. 

After their little session in the tub John was all too ready to break in his new Deputy. His plan to single the male out and take him for his own was working a treat. From above John started to lean down, pushing Jordan’s legs back leaving them in a mating press. Taking Jordan’s legs in his own hands like reigns John started his trusts. 

Sliding his cock back and forth through Jordan’s newly sensitive hole John enjoyed the feeling of his cock taking the male’s hole and so did Jordan. 

With their position pushing the cock deep into his body his eye crossed and rolled back. Drooling and letting out cries of pleasure. Through those same unfocused eyes he could see the faint bump of the cock pushing up against his tightened body. Plunging deep into him with balls slapping against his ass the man’s cock rearranged his guts and forcefully made his space. 

Being able to heal any of the damage that his Daddy could do to his body didn’t mean that Jordan didn’t feel it. In fact, now, he felt it more. Every moment that the man was ruining his hole, thrusting deep in him and it felt right. His body was the cushion between the man and the bed taking all of the strength behind his thrusts going straight at his hole. 

“Cum for me.” John grunted.

At the man’s order Jordan’s eyes fell wide open, suddenly acutely aware of his rock hard cock Jordan felt the all too familiar feeling of his orgasm. Only this orgasm was different. Instead of feeling the pleasure on his cock from his hands all the pleasure he felt was all over and it all came from his ass. From his Daddy. 

Gripping tighter around the other’s cock and making his body feel even better Jordan screamed through his orgasm, calling out for his Daddy’s cock. “Ohh Dadddyyy!” His load shot between them, coating their bodies and flying around them as John didn’t stop. His thrusts didn’t let up, his fucking of his new boy went on and on. But as soon as his first was over the next came felt like it was flooding through him already. 

The onslaught on Jordan’s ass continued. A pro by now John was able to balance his power and speed while making sure he didn’t cum too early and for him that was anytime that he didn’t want to. 

Fucking Jordan through his first John quickly caused the second, then the third, then his forth. Each one rolling after the other without any breaks. His cock was milked each time until it was a constant stream.

Sweat and cum soaked into the bed around them. Splashing from their wet bodies the sweat accentuated the rhythmic slapping that had begun to speed up. “You like Daddy’s cock. But now it’s time to become one of Daddy’s boys.” Pounding down John smirked while Jordan smiled widely and dumbly as he felt his hole getting even better and better. Their thrusts all culminated finally in a harsh slam from the top. Forcing himself as deep as he could go, nestling his cock all the way to the root he growled loudly. His twitching cock began to fill up the other’s hole, spreading him deep and giving Jordan his first taste of being bred, completing his giving into Daddy’s boy. 

Spilling out the sides of his hole he was filled to the brim and beyond. Gasping through the ride of his life Jordan smiled widely and dumbly his body lay back in the afterglow of sex. Pulling his heavy cock out from the tight hole John leaned back. His cock was messy and covered in cum but it wasn’t anything compared to the aftermath on Jordan’s once virgin hole. 

Sticky and covered in thick cum the boy’s hole winked and gaped from how his Daddy had just used his hole. With cum leaking from his messy body Jordan lay there panting, his fingers snaked between his new cheeks to explore his new ass moaning at the lingering pleasure. 

“That’s it baby.” John said as he admired his own work. The wet noises squished from beneath him as each wink caused Jordan’s hole to heal more until it was trapping the man’s load inside him, rounding his stomach a little bit as if he had eaten a full meal. 

Knock. Knock.

Turning his head back to the door John patted at Jordan’s filled cheeks. “You go back to the bath and get cleaned up, we still have a lot more to teach you baby boy.” He smiled. Leaving Jordan to go back into the bathroom John went to answer the door. Grabbing a towel the Sheriff tied the small towel around his waist leaving his hard cock showing against the thick fabric while he opened the door.

“Yes?” 

“Congratulations Sir, this is the complimentary champagne that comes with our honeymoon suite.” The young staffer was fighting his eyes from looking down at the man’s obvious bulge. He thought if the towel had even been an inch away the other’s cock would be on show. 

“Thank you.” John could feel the eyes on him and even if he hadn’t he could see the other’s face betraying him. “Could I also get the sheets changed? We ended up making a bit of a mess.” The older man let out a chuckle moving his bulge with his free hand he pointed at the messy bed. 

“Certainly… uh.. Do you need anything else?” He asked stepping into the room and moving over to the press and taking out the clean sheets so that he could change them. 

“No that will be all, just let yourself out once you’re done.” John walked away from the man and into the bathroom that was opposite the bed. Dropping the towel to the floor on the way he carried the chilled champagne with him. “Come over here baby, Daddy’s cock is back.” 

That was the last thing the hotel worker heard before all he could hear was the cries of Jordan’s voice mixing with the unmistakable sounds of sex in the tub. Trying to focus on the task at hand the worker couldn’t escape the blush the entire time he worked.

When John heard the door close leaving them alone again he smirked down at the male, his hand reaching around and holding at Jordan’s rounding stomach. With each of his thrusts the man could feel the cum inside him.

“Please.. Oh Daddy… Breed me” Jordan cried out begging for more cum, a need in him wanting to be as full as possible with his Daddy’s seed.

“We’ve got all weekend baby.” The man smiled down at the other, his excitement for the rest of the trip beginning to rise even further ready for all the power he was about to feel.

#prompts #scribbles #story sunday #sheriff #Jordan #anonymous #answered

[kitsuragied]

running low

I wrote this in forty-five minutes last night and actually edited it today! can you believe it? no neither can I. anyways this one’s for the girls aka @neptrabbit and her amazing headcanons. contains hamgelica but it’s not the main focus of the story, just some general fluff featuring alex & co.’s terrible habits. mention of past jefferson/hamilton and jefferson/angelica. please enjoy.

“Oh hey Peggy,” Alexander says blearily, looking up from the mound of books, papers, loose pens and assorted office supplies he’s buried in. The youngest Schuyler sister smiles cheerily at him despite the late hour as she enters, shutting the door behind her with her heel. Catching sight of his giant mug of coffee (a gift from Eliza, who immediately regretted enabling his all-nighters) and smaller, empty ones scattered around him, she laughs. “Coffee? That’s gonna give you a heart attack someday and then I’ll get to say I told you so as you die on the floor,” she says. Alex rolls his eyes. “Sugar is sooooo much better,” she continues. “I’ve still got a fuckton of Halloween-sized assorted bags and Laf bought me some peppermints and Skittles so I’m all set. Didn’t even have to buy any myself!”  Ah, he thinks, so that’s why she bounded into my study at- a glance at the digital watch on his wrist- one A.M. in the morning. 

“Pegs, that shit will kill you too,” he grumbles. She shrugs. “Maybe, but for now I’m hyper as hell, feeling GREAT and I’m actually going to get some work done!” He watches her plop onto a beanbag in the corner and promptly fall out, giggling. “Oops!” The next few tries all end up the same way and around the fifth time she gives up, spreading her papers on the floor and lying down in front of them. Alexander sighs and goes back to work.

It only lasts for about five minutes (well, he thinks five minutes, time is a foreign concept to his coffee-soaked, exhausted mind) before another Schuyler bursts in. “Cowards!” Angelica Schuyler crows, computer held aloft. “You’re all weak-minded cowards. Coffee, sugar? I rely on nothing. I get by on sheer force of will and spite alone.”

“Hey babe,” Alex says, not looking up. She laughs, seating herself on the other side of Alex’s desk. “Hello, dear. I see we’re both at it again.” 

There’s a loud huff from the floor. “We’ll see how well your ‘spite’ holds up when it’s five A.M. and you’ve spent all your energy keeping yourself awake,” she says. Angelica’s eyes glint, and even Alexander looks up at this. Just like him, Angelica Schuyler does not take challenges lightly. 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

And that’s how Elizabeth Schuyler finds them six hours later, wandering the halls looking for them. “Hey guys?” she calls as she swings Alex’s study door open. “You guys it’s breakfast ti-” She stops short. Peggy’s lying sprawled on the floor, face in her papers, snoring, stray candy wrapper in her hair. Alexander is still at it, just barely, mumbling incoherently and attempting unsuccessfully to lift a pen, nose brushing the desk.

And Angelica. Angelica’s face is scrunched up in determination, fingers still typing away at her keyboard, locked into focus even though her eye is twitching and she’s vibrating slightly. “Uh, Angie?” Eliza asks softly, stepping forward. “Angie? Hello?” 

Eliza has to physically wave her hand in front of the computer screen to get Angelica to snap out of it. Even then, she can tell she’s having trouble concentrating on her sister’s form in front of her for a few seconds until she suddenly seems to snap to attention.

“Did I make it?” she asks immediately. Not waiting for an answer, she looks around the room- first across the desk, where Alexander is still muttering, and then at the floor, at Peggy passed out on top of her French homework. 

“YES!” she shouts. Alexander jolts, and Eliza rushes to his side. 

“Oh my goodness, you all didn’t just try to out-sleep-deprive each other, did you?” she asks, worried.

“No, no, no, ‘liza dear,” Alex mutters, words still slurred, slouching in his chair. “It was just an- an exper- expurmint, we were looking at what’s most effective to keep people awake.” Eliza raises an eyebrow. “Really, Liz! We had- we had the- what is it? The varbles and everything,” he protests. The fact that his voice is barely above a mumble doesn’t help his case. “We were testing candy, coffee and- uh- what was it you said, Ang? Oh yeah something about, like, was it sp- spat- no- no, it was sprite? Uh-” 

“Spite?” Eliza offers. 

“Yeah! Yeah, spite.” 

Eliza sighs. “I can’t believe you roped Peggy into your little workaholic club,” she says. Alex shrugs. “Wa’n my fault. Pegz just wants to impress Laf. Plus she didn’t pay attention in class b’cuz Maria sits in front of her so she waited till the last minute to do her stuff.” 

“I-” Eliza takes a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll unpack all that later. For now- do you have an excuse? Were you trying to impress Washington or something?” 

Alex just shrugs. “I gotta get shit done,” he says. It isn’t much of an explanation, but Eliza can sense she won’t be able to get much more out of him, so she rounds on Angelica. “What about you?” 

Angelica shrugs too. “Gotta get shit done.” 

Eliza takes another deep breath. “Jesus, you guys. I almost wish either of you were still dating Jefferson so I could call him in here and get him to chew you out.” 

Angelica offers a guilty smile. “I could leave and then come back in again and yell at Alex?” 

“No, silly, you did this too,” Eliza reminds her. “I’m very mad at both of you.” She closes Angelica’s computer and walks over to Alex’s side of the desk, slowly sliding his papers out from under him. “You two are going to come and have breakfast, and then you’re going to take a nap. And then you’re going to never do this again.”

“But Liiiiiiiiiiizaaaaaaa,” Alex whines, trying to pull the papers back towards him. 

“No. No ‘buts’. This is unacceptable.” She tries to put on a stern face. It doesn’t work well. Alex just pouts harder, and she can see Angelica edging closer to the computer out of the corner of her eye. 

“I see you, Angie. Out. Breakfast is laid out in the dining hall- you know, on second thought I’ll just bring it to your bedroom. Go. Now.” Alex screws up his face. 

“What about Peggy?” 

“Peggy is asleep right now. She’s also younger, and more susceptible to these sorts of behaviours. You two know better.” Alex could have sworn he saw Peggy stick her tongue out from behind Eliza’s back at that, but she’s back to her sleep face in a second. He huffs. “Fine,” he says, petulantly. Angelica follows him out silently. 

Alex has a room in the Schuylers’ mansion, but he doesn’t sleep there much anymore, and even though neither he nor Angelica speak as they walk through the halls, they’ve both set a course for Angelica’s bedroom.

He stumbles slightly on a patch of carpet and Angelica grabs his shoulders quickly, holding him upright. He sighs, leaning into her touch, feeling her pull him closer. “C’mon,” she mutters. “We’re almost there.” 

They are, indeed, almost there, and they reach her bedroom without further incident. Angelica goes straight for her bed, collapsing onto the soft duvet and closing her eyes, sighing happily. Alex follows, making an attempt to spoon her from behind, but he’s too small and too tired to make an attempt to figure it out and she ends up turning, pulling him in and tangling their legs together, laughing quietly. He just snuggles closer, arms around her, and tries to let himself drift. Normally it’s hard for him to relax, let alone sleep, but there’s a fog of exhaustion and caffeine crash dulling his normally ever-active mind, and Angelica’s so warm, and she smells so nice, and he finds himself falling asleep before he knows it.

~~

Eliza taps Peggy gently on the forehead. “Wake up, dear,” she murmurs. Peggy stirs, cracks one eye open. There’s a glint in her smile that clues her in immediately. “Peggy!” she admonishes, smacking her sister lightly. “You can’t just fake sleep to avoid consequences!” Peggy just grins, mischievous as always, but her eyes are tinged with bleariness, and Eliza picks her up with little effort or protest, nudging the study door open with her foot and carrying her out. Peggy hmms softly, shifts in her arms, and falls asleep again.

Eliza deposits her sister softly on her bright-yellow bed, making sure to tuck her in just lightly enough so she can still move around, and leaves, shutting the door with a quiet clunk. Once she’s outside, she leans on the doorframe for a moment, smiling. Her sisters- and a certain sister’s boyfriend- may be absolutely impossible, but she loves them anyways. 

By the time she enters Angelica’s bedroom with two plates of eggs and bacon, Alexander’s there just like she expected him to be, and they’re cuddling on the bed, wrapped in each other, not awake enough to have pulled the blankets over them. She sets the plates down on Angelica’s nightstand as quiet as she can and exits.

#hamgelica #angelica schuyler #alexander hamilton #running low #my writing #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton the musical #i'd like to specify it's not rpf #please enjoy

[slightlymore]

cute~

- a pride spin-off -

pairing: haechan x mark

other characters: doyoung, jaemin, jungwoo, onew (??? only bc I needed a name 😔)

genre: angst!! smut! fluff!!! one-shot, company!au (you can read this without reading "pride" first but make sure to read at least the little synopsis below, just to have some kind of context for the first part)

warnings: 18+, language, sexual activities, alcohol, drunk characters

words: 14K (oops)

for those who didn’t read pride and don't want to: doyoung and y/n are in love with each other but because of a series of unfortunate events (them being stupid) they can’t be together. doyoung leaves her after college and starts working at haechan’s company while being miserable; the two boys become enemies/friends. everything goes relatively well until one day y/n makes an appearance and starts working there as well. doyoung and y/n finally get (their shit) together and become a couple. haechan is the happy friend witnessing all of that and this is his story

(the photo was meant to be a shitpost but now I kinda like it lmaooo)

The phone rang for the millionth time that morning, a piercing and resounding noise, making Haechan unable to hear his own thoughts. The boy groaned. It was only 10 am yet everyone suddenly needed to speak with him. Haechan would have loved to spend his workday gossiping on the phone. Maybe chit-chatting about everyone. Listening to his colleagues talk about George's new too-expensive-for-his pockets-but-he's-an-idiot car, or the scandalous hairstyle Alex tried out to impress his already-married-and-twenty-years-older flame, or to hear how someone heard from someone else that somebody had sex with someone somewhere. But not that day. Haechan was exhausted, physically, and mentally, head buried between his arms, the white noises of the office almost putting him to sleep. The infernal device stopped ringing for a second and the young man sighed relieved before it rang again soon after. Haechan whined, almost sobbing, while lightly hitting his forehead on the desk. A soft 'what the fuck' made him raise his face with pained eyes squinting from the sudden too much light. "Are you alright?", the same voice asked, his desk neighbour inquiring. "Mind your own business, Owen", Haechan mumbled and finally put one hand on the phone while massaging the base of his nose with the other. "... my name is Onew", the dude whispered offended, but Haechan's little attention was already drifting away. A female voice said something that Haechan couldn't catch but to which he replied with a short "yeah, thanks", having figured out the words "intern" and "acceptance" through her quick mumbling. When he first heard the news during the beginning of the year reunion, Haechan was ecstatic, to say the least. They said he was responsible and could handle taking care of an intern making Haechan's shoulders widen at the compliments. Also, having an innocent soul to bother for a few months? It meant some company and less work for himself. Paradise. But Haechan had already forgotten about the joy he felt before. He had been feeling weird for a while now and he hated it. The previous night he didn't go home after Doyoung and Y/N left the company building. He listened to them talk for an excruciating period while pretending to sleep. It was beautiful, choked voices and raw confessions, and he felt like the third wheel in his own life. When Haechan walked out of his office one day, months before that, with the intention of "grabbing something important from somewhere" (or taking a break while making it pass as work) and heard the loud bang of the neighbour office door, he didn’t think that his life would go spiralling down from that moment on. It took him days. No, it took him weeks, maybe months, before the uncomfortable feeling creeping on him, making his spine shiver and palms sweat could be classified as something real by his brain. As a feeling. Sitting down on his chair, tired fingers tapping away at the keyboard for hours, he would suddenly feel this ungodly urge to get up and go to that office again as if an obscure force possessed him. To do what? To see a pair of angry eyes. Angry and full of pain. They were beautiful: round but also angled, dark but also light, absent as if looking at anything but their surroundings. Looking at something only they could see. That thing, sadly, was never Haechan. The boy tried everything to be seen by them. Being friendly, being funny, being helpful. Then he tried being rude. To his immense joy, the latter worked better, as if those eyes hatched such an enormous amount of anger that they had to spill some onto someone. And Haechan didn’t mind being that someone if it also meant being the object of those eyes’ attention at the same time. Then he realized that he didn’t want to see only the eyes. Something else was fighting for Haechan’s regard. Pink and soft looking, often stretched in a line, sometimes forming a pout. God, Haechan would have done everything to be able to touch those lips even once, even for a second. And he did it during his most feverish dreams. The first time, he woke up panting, ashamed, shaken to the core, the feeling of that soft skin still ghosting his own lips. The second time Haechan raised a trembling hand and touched the place where his subconsciousness created such a realistic scenario. He caressed it slowly, laying in that obscure slumber, silently, afraid to wake up his rational side. The third time he didn’t need to dream. He just imagined, shamelessly. His lips got kissed and his name was pronounced with such lust and desire to leave Haechan panting. So real, as if Doyoung whispered that while being beside Haechan in his room. It took Doyoung a few good weeks to call Haechan by his name in real life. When he finally did it, he wasn't even scolding him. No. From weird conjunction of stars, Haechan didn’t need to do something to gain Doyoung’s attention that day. He was in the photocopying room. One hand was mindlessly using the machines, the other was warmly hugging a mug of coffee. His slowly descending glasses were being pushed back by one of his fingers when a fluttering shadow appeared behind him. Haechan’s hands stopped as if his crawling skin could physically predict the future.   “Haechan”, Doyoung said. Just like that, sweet and soft. And the boy with that name let his coffee mug fall to the ground. Oh. “Haechan!” Doyoung repeated. “What the hell?” Yes. Yes. Haechan. That’s me. That’s my name on your lips. Say it again. “Haechan! You’re doing this on purpose now”. Doyoung stood tall with hands on his hips, looking at the way Haechan was failing to grab his mug, letting it comically slip from his hands, again and again, new coffee stains covering the carpet. I just love how my name sounds in your mouth. I don't want you to stop. Please. “Oops”, Haechan chuckled, the mask he carefully crafted for Doyoung easily slipping on his face, and despite everything, Doyoung rolled his eyes with a little smile himself. “You’re such an idiot”. Oh fuck. That. Haechan almost forgot. The boy could drown in the light that Doyoung’s face emitted when he was smiling. It would dissipate for a split second the darkness lingering around him and it was Haechan’s doing. Haechan did that. It made his little heart buzz every time and soon enough he started to fantasize about a day in which Doyoung would not have that expression line between his eyebrows anymore. And it arrived eventually. Haechan realized everything would go downhill for himself when he got blinded by Doyoung’s soul. He could see it before as well but not this way. Not while the older man's cheeks got red and his pupils were trembling. And Haechan understood soon what that was because a sick person recognizes another sick person easily. Was Haechan like that as well? Were his cheeks flushed and eyes glossy every time he looked at Doyoung? Ah, Doyoung’s soul. He took it out so suddenly and poured it into that girl’s hands. Haechan felt like dying. No. No, wait. It's supposed to go like this. I should be there. I worked so hard. I endured so much. It can’t end like this. This is my story. Isn’t it? And it was, but not the type of story Haechan imagined. In this universe it ended in him being alone, bones cold and empty, looking at Doyoung’s back as he carried his love in his arms. Haechan stayed back there, motionless, no arms holding him. He bit his lips for a little while, looking around the office as if not knowing on which planet he was. Then he crouched down and cried. He was tired. Yeah, he was just tired. It has been a long week and a long day. He was exhausted. That was the reason. Haechan, you're good. Just get a good night sleep. You’ll be fine. Now get up and go home. And he did that. Like a robot. He was alone inside the 4 am metro, blinding, fluorescent lights burning his fatigued eyes. His feet dragged him towards his apartment although he found himself knocking on Jaemin's door instead. Jaemin was a weird guy and Haechan loved him dearly. He just never slept. Every time Haechan called him, he somehow was wide awake doing some random shit. Haechan hoped that he didn't suddenly change his habits because he desperately needed some arms to crash into. And Jaemin opened the door as expected, a popsicle between his lips, eyes wide and bright. Haechan stepped inside and took the snack away, putting his lips on Jaemin's instead, pushing him against the wall, letting the coldness of Jaemin's tongue numb his thoughts. And he let the popsicle fall from his fingers when Jaemin wrapped him between his arms, guiding him towards the bedroom, no questions asked, no romance. I need a distraction right now, Haechan's whole being was screaming and Jaemin was good at reading people. Quickly and effortless, clothes sliding down, Haechan's mind finally lingered in a grey bliss as the only thing he could think of was the way Jaemin rolled his hips into him, sending shots of pleasure through his whole body. But then Haechan's slipped. "Doyoung-", he whimpered then gasped, eyes wide with horror and cheeks reddening. Jaemin didn't care if Haechan called other guys’ names but when Haechan put his palms on his face, chest rising and falling quickly, sobbing desperately, Jaemin stopped and sighed. He let Haechan go and rolled over, wrapping his shaking frame with his arms. "Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. Haechan shook his head, burying it into the other's chest. Jaemin stayed quiet, the only sound in the dark room being Haechan's irregular breaths, his fingers delicately drawing patterns on the other’s skin. "It's going to get better", Jaemin whispered after a while. "You're going to be seen by someone one day, just like you see everyone else”. It was weird how Jaemin always had the perfect thing to say. Though Haechan didn’t believe that, he had no force to argue. He stayed like that for the next hour, in silence, until the sun came out. Then he got up and let Jaemin prepare his breakfast that he barely touched. Haechan then borrowed the other's clothes and said it was fine for him to go to work that morning. You have to be sick to be able to call in sick, Haechan said. Because you’re someone that follows rules and does an honest job, Jaemin commented sarcasting with a raise of the brow. I just need to be busy, Haechan added and left.

Now, heading towards the acceptance, he regretted not staying home, maybe sleeping the whole day. Sleeping would be good but dreaming? He was afraid of that. The squeaking sound of Haechan’s shoes on the main floor tiles was so distressing that Haechan felt like taking them off and throw a tantrum in the middle of all those white collars. Blinking fast he sighed when he saw the new guy, an anonymous-looking young man looking around as if uncomfortable and slightly afraid. Haechan introduced himself in a monotone voice, letting the intern shake his hand then he turned around with a short 'follow me', not giving the other time to do anything else besides tailing his supervisor. Haechan has been babbling about the company for a good five minutes now, walking quickly through the corridors, showing rooms and people. He wasn't doing a very good job because he didn't care. The new guy, weirdly enough, didn't seem disoriented at all and Haechan shrugged internally. "And this is the terrace", the boy finally finished his monologue as they both stepped outside. It was a sunny day but the wind was quite strong, making Haechan close his eyes as his fluffy hair danced around his forehead. "Cute," the guy commented with a soft chuckle. Haechan looked around. Cute? It was kinda cute, he guessed. Too many ugly buildings around though and it wasn't the best-kept terrace. He turned his head to face the intern. "What's cute?" Haechan asked. It was the first word that guy said and Haechan wanted to hear him speak.  The intern was looking at him already instead of the surroundings and Haechan could have sworn that the dude's cheeks were flushed with a pink hue.    "You are", he said shyly, eyes big and twinkling. Haechan could only blink back. Wait. What? Did this guy just call him cute? Cute? "Listen, thanks, but you have to pay me respect. I'm your supervisor", Haechan replied trying hard to keep his voice stable. He wasn't annoyed but he couldn't just giggle, could he? Also, who calls strangers cute? On the workplace? What a weirdo. The guy’s expression shifted at Haechan’s words as if in slow motion. "Oh God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", the intern babbled and stuttered, cheeks going from pink to red, eyes darting around, not knowing where to look. Haechan has never seen someone that transparent with his feelings before and he could tell that he was very honest. Looking so naive, Haechan fought the urge to roll his eyes at him just to make him feel even more embarrassed. "I can't fire you personally or anything and I'm not your boss, but I can tell people to fire you", Haechan tried to sound cold even if the situation was rather funny. The look the guy gave to Haechan was of pure terror a for a split second Haechan felt almost sorry. But then the dude’s eyes darted to Haechan’s hair, still flying around his forehead. Haechan puffed annoyed and put one hand on top of his head as to stop the motion. The intern’s expression relaxed. "And what are you going to say? That it's because I called you cute?" he asked. His lips were back into a timid smile. Haechan was baffled. "What is so cute about me?", he sniffled, sure that he caught a cold already and switched the hand from his hair to his ear as the wind got even stronger. The intern took the question seriously. "You have curly purple hair-", he started then stopped as if that was enough to explain his comment, "-and well, your cheeks are full and now they're uhm red and it's... very cute. Also, your eyes are big and round and it's very cute-" 

Haechan groaned incredulously. 

"Oh my God! Stop saying cute", he spoke up to make his voice heard over the loud rumble of the wind, before turning on his heels and walking towards the terrace door. The intern’s cheeks turned pink again as he tried hard to not add whatever he wanted to say.

_______

Mark was told that he was somewhat of a dense guy. He disapproved. He just paid attention to what he wanted and disregarded the rest. So, if you asked him to show off the company to you, what tasks he had to do or where the bathroom was, he wouldn't know where to start. But if you asked him to tell you how many moles Haechan Lee the Supervisor had, he could answer in a second. It was weird and Mark wasn't a romantic person at all. But when he saw the guy walking out the elevator, eyebrows furrowed and dark circles underneath a pair of tired and red eyes, Mark felt a tingle in his stomach that he could only describe as love at first sight. Okay. Maybe not love. Crush at first sight? Attraction? Mark didn't know what that was and it made him so confused that he could only look at the guy's back when walking around the company as if it could give him some answers. Haechan, he said while letting Mark shake his hand. Of course. It fit him perfectly. Mark could see it - the sun - underneath his skin. Their fingers parted ways too quickly after shaking hands and Mark felt so paralyzed by the sudden tingle on his skin that he couldn’t fully pay attention. Was he also warm to the touch? Mark desperately wanted to find out. Was it weird? He was being weird. But God, he was so cute. Cute. Very cute. Cute. Cute. So fucking cute. 

This is all Mark’s mind was thinking about and when Mark thought about something he would just say it. Just like that. Cute. Don’t say it now though. Cute. I swear, Mark, shut up, for once. So cute. Please, not now. “Cute”, his tongue slipped. 

Goddammit. 

“What’s cute?” Haechan asked. The view. The view is cute. The view, Mark. Mark, say it. Mark, are you listening? The view. “You are”, Mark said instead and Haechan suddenly turned even cuter. Mark gasped, firstly because of the way Haechan’s cheeks turned red and his eyes round and big, then after a good full second that felt like an eternity, because of embarrassment. Oh shit. Fired. He was about to get fired. "God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", Mark felt like running away. He woke up that morning with the intent of finally living the life he worked so hard for and there he was instead, calling strangers cute and making everyone uncomfortable for the sole reason of not being able to shut his mouth for once. Haechan looked embarrassed as he was though and that little detail made Mark hope that it wasn’t all over. Then Haechan shut some cold blinds on his own face and Mark knew that Haechan thought he was safe, that Mark wasn’t able to see his feelings underneath all that. It wasn’t an efficient job and Mark wondered if other people needed just that little act to not see Haechan anymore.

_______

"Good morning". Haechan saw the intern’s feet first before hearing his voice, but he didn't raise his face as suddenly something very important and urgent was being shown on the computer screen and he couldn't physically let his eyes fall on the way the guy wore his suit. 

It was terrible. Long legs and strong thighs on display right in front of his desk? Terrible, and he didn’t need any more distractions in the workplace. After the intern left for the day with a soft “see you on Monday”, both tired having spent most of the time walking around the company and explaining boring paperwork, Haechan had not been able to stop thinking about him the whole weekend. No. No, it wasn’t a crush or anything. Haechan was just, what’s the word? baffled, s h o c k e d, appalled. Some random guy called him cute and Haechan acted that way? Blushing timidly? Was he feeling that bad? Was he that sick? Unacceptable. He was Haechan, for fuck’s sake. And Haechan didn’t just blush. He could not slip anymore. "Yeah, hi Mike", he replied lazily, fingers typing something he didn’t really need to write. "It's Mark", the intern replied in a neutral tone. Haechan knew it was Mark. In fact, he also knew his full name. Mark Lee. Born on August 2nd, 1999. Toronto. Moved to Vancouver. Graduated from university a few years ago. Great grades. Interested in music and sports. Plays the guitar. Good boy. Loves animals. Does charity work regularly. Has a normal amount of friends. Doesn't know how to take selfies. No, he was not being weird. He just read his CV. 

Obviously. 

He was his supervisor. He needed to read that. The other info? He Googled him only to make sure that he wasn't a criminal. And the social media research? It was just to check on his personality. 

Obviously. 

What if he posted about illegal shit? He had to check every photo and tagged person. It was part of his job. He was single, even if Haechan didn't search for that in particular. Haechan loved his work a lot and he didn't care that he worked on that until 3 am, scrolling through his phone, drifting to sleep with Mark's selfies impregnated on his lids. It's just that he took his job seriously.  

Okay. Okay. 

It wasn’t the whole truth. Haechan was curious. Who calls you cute all of a sudden? Haechan had to know more. 

"Okay, Matt. What about you go and bring me a coff-", Haechan started but got interrupted by a hand, delicately placing a cup of steamy coffee in front of him. Haechan stared at it as if not understanding what that was then finally raised his eyes to meet Mark's gentle ones. He was smiling. "I stalked your Instagram. Full of food and coffee", Mark explained honestly with a shrug while walking around the desk and sitting down on his chair. They had to share a desk and Mark was as close as to touch elbows. Haechan hated having people so close to him when he didn't want them; especially at that moment, as Mark rested his head on his hand and just stared. 

Yeah, he stared. His eyes were piercing, looking at Haechan as if that’s what normal people do. Scanning him from head to toe, then looking into his eyes as if able to see something there. 

Haechan ignored him and looked away. "Stalking my social media is problematic, Mike". Mark chuckled lightly. "You did the same". Haechan's head snapped. "And why would I do that?”. Mark shrugged. "Close the tabs if you didn't want me to find out," he smiled staring at Haechan's laptop. 

The younger’s eyes suddenly widened and with a quick hand, he closed it in a second, cheeks hot with shame. He opened his mouth to say something to get himself out of that embarrassing situation but Mark thankfully didn't give him any time. 

"What are we doing today, sir?" he asked instead with a sly smile. "We write codes", Haechan replied quietly. "Fun", was Mark's comment. 

And they did that the whole morning, ignoring each other's knees as they sometimes brushed against each other. And they ignored the way their knuckles touched when both reached for their own cup of coffee. And Haechan ignored Mark's cologne while Mark ignored the way the computer lights made Haechan's skin glow. Mark loved programming, he always did, but that morning he thought that it would be nice to not be a programmer, just for a minute, just to be in a well-lit office and see how different Haechan would look under the sun instead.

_______

Haechan stared down at his sandwich, sitting still wrapped and untouched in his lap. Then he looked up at the blue sky and let the white fluffy clouds calm him. 

It happened close to the lunch break. 

"Spaghetti", Mark said suddenly. Onew had left already and in front of their office, everyone was walking the corridor heading out. Haechan was finally getting into the flow of working when Mark's hoarse voice startled him. "It's your favourite food, isn't it?" Mark asked, explaining himself. "Soup. I don't put things I love on my Instagram", Haechan replied. Mark looked pensive. "This is why there's no girlfriend photo there?" he wondered with a timid smile. Huh? What was that? So this is what was happening? This is the reason for the cute? 

Haechan had no force to being hit on, as much as Mark intrigued him. He had zero force and suddenly all the thoughts that Haechan buried away for a few days, came back like a bulldozer. 

Haechan bit his tongue before talking too much. "Maybe the girlfriend doesn't exist", he mumbled before getting up and grabbing his wallet.  

"Wait, are you going away?" Mark got up as well, surprised. "I thought we were going to eat together. I don't know other people-". "Well, I don't want to. Make some new friends", he replied and just walked away. No, he ran away and the first place he thought about was the terrace. It was the only uncontaminated place in the whole company. Doyoung has never been there before. 

And Haechan loved the clouds. He loved the wind moving them around fast. It was mesmerizing and in moments like those, he was able to not think about anything, until he was not Haechan anymore, until he was a cloud himself, floating in the blue sky. 

"Sorry, I didn't know this was your favourite place", a voice startled him for the second time that day. 

Haechan looked at his right where Mark was standing with a plate of food in his hands. He looked like a scared deer, turning around to leave Haechan alone, probably wondering what he did wrong but too anxious to confront Haechan about it.  

"It's alright. You can stay", Haechan spoke softly and resumed his cloud gazing. 

Mark stopped uncertain, standing still for a little while but then he walked towards Haechan and slowly sat down, resting his back on the wall as Haechan did, raising his eyes to watch the sky.

"Pretty", Mark commented and this time he was actually talking about the view. 

Haechan hummed, then after a moment of silence, he apologized. 

Mark began eating his food. "For what?" he asked with his mouth full. They both knew the reason but Haechan still appreciated Mark’s effort to showcase that he wasn’t mad at him. "For telling you that I don't want to eat together. I was being an ass for no reason", Haechan explained. Mark shook his head. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I came off clingy". Haechan huffed. "Funny. Usually, I'm the clingy one". 

Mark swallowed and Haechan looked at him. "I haven't been myself lately. But I promise I'm not an asshole". Mark smiled back kindly. "I know. I can see that". 

Haechan's expression flattered. 

Mark took another bite. "You look very warm. Your name is very appropriate for your personality. You're just… very cute", he added with a shy smile. 

Haechan continued staring at the other, unable to make a single sound. 

The other had a few other bites as if not noticing the way his words made Haechan feel then he finally raised his gaze. 

"Why are you not eating? Are you sick?" Mark inquired eyeing Haechan's sandwich. The boy finally sighed and looked up at the sky again. "Maybe". "Well, you'll get worse if you don't eat", Mark commented and grabbed the sandwich, unwrapping it and putting it into Haechan's hand with force. "I can't believe you're treating your supervisor like this. Calling him cute and forcing him to eat", Haechan stared at the food in his hand before taking a small bite, mostly to make Mark happy. The other shrugged. "You act like no one calls you cute every minute. Also, I am older than you. I can do that”. Haechan rolled his eyes. "I'm still your senior. You don't want to see me get mad. I can guarantee you that". Mark opened his mouth to say something dangerously similar to “cute” but then smiled instead, shaking his head. Haechan forced himself to keep a straight face. "If you say it again…", he warned the other. Mark cleaned his already clean fingers on a napkin then suddenly grabbed Haechan's cheek with two fingers. The boy's eyes got wide and he almost dropped his food, his mouth open in a surprised o. 

Mark smiled even more at his reaction, gulping his last piece of food while gently pinching Haechan's face as if he were a child. Then he let him go and got up, dusting his pants. "I didn't say anything this time", Mark explained innocently. 

Haechan looked up at him, still shocked. 

"I'll see you in the office. Finish your food", Mark told him and left. Haechan could distinctly hear Mark comment "so fucking cute" while he was descending the stairs.

_______

That night Haechan fell into his usual decadent slumber. He was almost fully unconscious, the twilight sleep making space for a depraved and troubled dream. Fingers twitching and muscles quivering, Haechan’s mind transformed his day yearning in darkness. Images of eyes and lips tormented him again. It has always been the same pattern, yet something new derailed the boy’s focus that night. Little details. The roundness of the eyes, the form of the lips, the touch of the fingers, the voice. That voice sounded different and it whispered something Haechan has never dreamt about before. A single word, soft but sensual, repeated again and again in Haechan’s ear. 

That morning, after a very long time, the boy woke up with a new name on his lips.

_______

Mark sometimes thought that everyone was just stupid besides himself. 

Not because of an unhealthy superiority complex or something, but because he couldn’t understand how everyone could be that blind. 

“Oh, Lara, I love your new blazer”, Haechan would say while walking around the company with Mark following suit. Poor Lara would blush and be genuinely happy about the compliment. But Mark could see that Haechan thought it was atrocious. And Adam’s stuttering speech a well. Oh, and Joseph’s wrinkly newborn. 

However, it wasn’t this fake persona Haechan had that made Mark uneasy. It was the one he would wear when talking about himself. Oh, I slept very well last night. No, I don’t need any help. Yes, everything is fine, what do you mean? Smiles and laughs and sarcastic comments. 

Mark wanted to know. He wanted to get closer and dust off the misty layer on Haechan’s eyes. 

Maybe Mark thought too highly of himself. Maybe it was his ego talking. 

I’m going to be the one to help Haechan, that’s the only thing he could think about. 

And lately, during sleepless nights, Mark would beat himself up about it. 

It’s not your business, Mark. You want this to feel a good person. 

Except, he would then frown and hug his pillow tighter, getting annoyed at himself. 

No, I would want it even it wasn’t me to help Haechan out. I just want to see him happy. 

Yeah. This sounds good. 

So he would drift away to sleep, peaceful, knowing that he was selfless. 

Alas, it took very little to Mark to realize that he wasn’t that selfless as he thought. 

Mark raised his eyes when Haechan’s abrupt manners opened the office door with a kick. “Haechan, you look good today”. The other smirked. “I always look good. What do you mean?” As if the literal sun entered the room. Mark was blinded. “Did something good happen?”, he watched Haechan’s hair bounce at his every step, like a little seedling gently moved by the breeze. Haechan’s smile widened as he sat down, rolling around in his seat, pure energy sprinkling from every pore. “So I guess the answer is yes,” Mark found himself smiling as well, although a bitter taste pasted his tongue on the palate as he spoke. “I just remembered how much serotonin a good fuck gives you,” Haechan opened his computer and started working on his tasks, not paying attention to Mark’s face. 

Oh. 

Mark hated it. Oh, he hated it so much. God, he hated it. 

The boy tried hard to not think about Haechan that day, resulting in him thinking about Haechan all day. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about his body touched by somebody else. 

It was almost lunchtime when Mark finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dating someone?” Haechan raised an eyebrow, eyes still too focused on his computer to give his full attention to Mark. “What? No. Why?”, he mumbled distractedly. Mark blinked for a few seconds. Haechan finally processed and laughed. “You’re kinda sweet Mark. I just got dicked down, that’s all”, he got up and stretched his arms up with a whiny yawn. “Come on,” he lightly hit the other’s shoulder, “I think today’s menu is soup”.

______

Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark. 

It was as if Haechan was going crazy. 

It was just a dream. A single dream. 

When did this happen? How was it possible? 

“Fuck, Haechan, you’re-”, Jaemin gulped, his adam apple going up and down inside his stretched out throat just like Haechan’s body moved on top of him. “Yeah?” the directly concerned boy smiled. “-crazy today”, Jaemin concluded. “Who made you this horny?” Haechan bit his lower lip, hating his mind for not leaving that thought out, even if for a single second. “Call me--”, he ignore the other’s question, cheeks violently turning red. Jaemin groaned at the way Haechan sunk deeper on him in the process. “Call you what?”, he asked breathless, fingers tightening around Haechan’s painfully hard length. “Cute”, the boy finally whispered. And Jaemin said it, again and again until that word replaced Mark’s name from Haechan’s head.

_______

That day’s menu was indeed soup which only added to Haechan’s general euphoria. Mark walked one step behind him, troubled by the double sword his feelings formed inside his heart. His eyes were only on the younger’s face and Mark could only sigh every few seconds. 

Oh, I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love. 

Lost in his melodramatic thoughts, Mark didn’t notice when Haechan suddenly stopped.  “Hey, boys. Haechan,” a dude greeted generally before locking eyes with the younger one.  Haechan rolled his eyes and made a step back from where that guy was. The dude’s smile flattered as if annoyed at that obvious showcase of hatred towards him but kept his fake expression on as he looked at Mark instead. “So, I’m organizing this party downtown at the Garages. Do you want to come?”, he asked.  

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Haechan to see what the deal was about.  

Haechan huffed. “Mark doesn’t like parties and neither do I, Jungwoo. Thank you”, he replied snarkily while making a step to continue walking. 

Jungwoo smirked. “Says the party animal. You never mentioned it to me while I had you on my-”, but Haechan interrupted him, hitting his chest with the back of his hand. 

Jungwoo chuckled with satisfaction. 

“Oh, so the boy doesn’t have to know?” he asked indicating to Mark, faking innocence.”

Mark felt his jaw muscle flinch and a sudden urge to punch that dude in the face made his fists almost tremble. 

“The boy doesn’t like the way you’re making his friend uncomfortable right now”, he spoke with a cold voice not breaking eye contact. “Whatever happened between you before, now Haechan doesn’t want to see you again and certainly he doesn’t want to come to your party”. 

Haechan opened his mouth to say something but Jungwoo's laugh interrupted him. 

“Oh, but he does want to see me again and come to my party. Don’t you, Haechan?” the dude asked. 

“Of course I don’t, Jungwoo. Get fucked”, Haechan replied quickly, eyes rolling in their sockets, feet turning direction and walking away. 

“I bet I will”, Jungwoo shrugged with a little smile, throwing one finger gun at Mark.  “By Haechan”, he whispered with a wink while leaving him alone in the corridor. 

To Mark’s horror, despite those two’s abrasive conversation, he could definitely see that as a silent promise.

So Mark went there as well. 

Why? He didn’t know. He liked to think that he was concerned about Haechan’s safety. 

That Jungwoo guy had some rancid vibes and Mark hated the idea of the two together. Because he was concerned for his safety. 

Not because he was jealous or anything. 

Haechan could do whatever he wanted and sleep with whoever he wanted to, but what if, just what if, Haechan changed his mind and chose Mark over the Jungwoo dude? 

Mark could do that. 

Mark wasn’t self-centred but he still realized that Haechan deserved better and he could provide that. 

If that was Haechan needed to soothe the darkness in his eyes, Mark could do that.

But Haechan wasn’t there and neither was Jungwoo and the thought of that man’s hands on Haechan’s skin made Mark’s guts twirl on themselves. 

He looked around, frantically, breathing the sweat-impregnated air, trying to avoid being hit by people’s sticky shoulders. Until he started to feel sick, not only because of the loud music and blinding lights but also for some obscure reason, grabbing his throat and choking him. 

He had to drown that down.

_______

When Haechan arrived Mark was surrounded by people, eyes closed, face up exposing his neck, laughing and screaming, jumping and moving his body as Haechan has never seen someone do before. 

His legs were nicely on display in a pair of severely ripped black jeans that Haechan had no idea Mark liked to wear. 

The younger boy was so concentrated on the way a plain white T-shirt could look so good on a person that he noticed too late the way Mark directed his eyes towards him. 

He was far away and Haechan couldn’t decipher the other's expression but it didn’t matter as Mark quickly made his way to where the younger boy nervously stood. 

Mark was drunk. A lot. 

But he still somewhat fluidly avoided the crowd as if dancing until getting as close as hovering above Haechan. The boy had never noticed that Mark was taller until he had to raise his face to look up, his back and palms pressed against the wall. He didn’t notice when he walked backwards either. 

“Haechan”, Mark said his name with such worry to make the other’s heart beat like crazy. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”, or that's what Haechan deciphered from his lips since the music was so loud that his ribcage felt about to be ripped apart. “Home. I’ve just arrived”, Haechan yelled and Mark got even closer, giving his ear to the boy’s lips to hear better. 

Haechan couldn’t do anything else besides inhaling his odour. Mark was a little sweaty and his breath smelled of alcohol, but Haechan has never found someone sexier than him at that moment. 

His eyes were dark under his black curls and his lips looked swollen as if someone sucked on them. Haechan felt like prey and unconsciously pressed his body against the wall even harder.

“And where’s Jungwoo?”, Mark’s voice tingled Haechan’s earbuds. “I have no idea. Why would I know?”, Haechan replied, acting as if he didn’t realize why Mark was behaving like that. 

It made Haechan’s palms sweat. 

He thought about that a lot, at the way Mark got defensive of him in front of Jungwoo, at the way Mark’s expression darkened even after Haechan told them that he had no intention to go to the party, at the way Mark has been looking at Haechan a lot, at the way Haechan couldn’t just stop thinking about Mark for a single second either.  

He came to the party because of that. Haechan’s mind was running again and he wanted to stop it. And also because he played with his phone all day, looking at Mark’s number for a long time. 

Mark would have replied but did Haechan really want it? He was such a sweet person and Haechan didn’t dare to contaminate him with his presence. Mark didn’t deserve to be used as Haechan needed. 

So he went to the party, ready to contaminate somebody else instead. Who knew that Mark was there waiting for him? 

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole night”, Mark talked again after staring at Haechan as if trying to understand the younger one’s thoughts. Just like he has been for the past few months, making Haechan feel small and naked. "Yeah, I bet. While letting those people grind on you?" Haechan replied sarcastic trying hard to conceal his shaking voice. 

Mark got closer, bold and cocky, putting his hands on the wall, caging Haechan between his arms, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "Yeah, I was imagining you grinding on me", his confession tickled Haechan’s ear and the boy tried to move his head away on the side, afraid to do something he would regret, but Mark's hand was there and his head had nowhere to go. It wasn't right. 

Haechan was sober while Mark was drunk and had no idea what he was talking about. He had to go away, push him back, but his limbs weren't cooperating. Mark's hand though was working just fine and it gently grabbed Haechan's face, turning it into his direction. 

"Haechan, please, let me kiss you", he begged, his breath caressing Haechan’s lips. 

The boy gulped down surprised, shivering with desire, fighting with himself. He put his hands on Mark's chest, with the intent of lightly pushing him away, but he was made of iron. No, Mark, no, please. You’re too precious to me for this. 

"You don't know what you're talking about", Haechan mumbled. 

Mark breathed heavily. His jaw muscles tightened. Then he put his head down as if trying to gain forces. 

"Yeah, sorry, okay okay, I'm leaving", he retrieved his arms and let them fall to his sides like dead flesh. 

Haechan looked at them with some relief, suddenly feeling exposed and cold, even if the club's air was so hot that it was hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just him having breathing difficulties. Haechan had no idea. 

"No, wait", his lips betrayed him. "Just-", Haechan interrupted himself, eyes squeezed together as if already regretting what he was about to say, unsure, holding Mark's wrist with both hands. Then he opened his eyes again. 

Mark was looking at him his heavy lids. His gaze wandered from his face to his exposed neck, then to his collarbones and chest. Mark was undressing him without touching anything and Haechan felt like going crazy. 

"-just a kiss. Okay? It's going to be a short kiss", Haechan continued, unable to believe he was actually saying that. 

But there was no harm in that. A little kiss. Just a harmless little kiss. Like the ones you'd have in college during stupid games. No one thought about those in the mornings.

But when Mark's lips curved in a little smirk and his body got as close as to press on Haechan's one again, the younger boy knew that it wasn't going to be just a kiss. Not for him at least. And not only he would think about it in the morning. He probably would think about it for a long time. And he was right. It was indeed memorable. Slow and careful but not timid. Mark cupped the other’s face, palm pressed on his jaw, fingers as far as touching his neck and ear, the other grabbing his hips, pulling them against his. Haechan’s head felt light and he couldn't fathom how Mark managed to have so much control when he was about to lose it all. And then it became even worse as Mark slipped his tongue inside of Haechan’s mouth and the younger boy had to tighten his grip around Mark’s torso. He whined into Mark's mouth, making the other hum back, picking up the pace, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, letting his hand fall from Haechan's face to his neck, then chest, then to his stomach, grazing the skin separated by Mark's fingers only by his thin button-down. 

Haechan had to stop him. It was going too far. That was a mistake. They still had to work together. There’s a reason why Haechan avoided talking to the coworkers he fucked before. Mark wasn't realizing that but Haechan did. He had to be responsible. 

Stop him, Haechan. Stop him. 

"Mark, wait", he broke off the kiss when Mark's hands reached his jeans button. The boy looked down at him, panting, eyes half-closed: he was begging Haechan to let him continue. 

Haechan grabbed his shirt and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows. 

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?", he warned him, shutting his brain off. "Okay", Mark replied quickly putting his mouth on Haechan's again as if unable to be away from it for too long. And he put his hands on Haechan's jeans again as well, opening the button, letting the zip fall slowly, tucking his hand underneath Haechan's boxers, feeling his soft and hot skin, wrapping his fingers around him tightly, not letting the struggling Haechan to break off the kiss to moan. And he didn't even last too long. The boy came shuddering all over Mark's fist after a few good strokes and the older finally let him press his face into his chest. 

Shit, he had never lasted this little. What the hell.

Haechan was fucking embarrassed and if Mark wouldn't have been too drunk to remember anyway, he would have just run away to hide in that exact moment. 

"Fuck", Mark cursed under his breath, feeling Haechan’s hot release on his skin, nudging at Haechan's temple with his lips while the other came down from his high.   "Oh, fuck, you're so hot like this, Haechan. And cute. Shit, you're so cute, I'm going crazy", he babbled before letting Haechan's cock go and trying to bring his fingers to his lips. "Oh no", Haechan gulped trying to stop him. "Mark, don't. You touched all sort of things in the club with that hand", and Mark stopped for a second as if processing the information before dropping to his knees and tasting Haechan directly. 

The boy opened his mouth in a silent gasp and he was still so aroused that feeling Mark's tongue made him hard again in a second. 

"Fuck", Haechan swore loudly, pressing his fingers into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back, feeling himself grow harder inside Mark's mouth. 

He didn't expect it. He didn't expect any of this. Innocent and soft Mark Lee sucking him off like no one has done before in the dark corner of a club? Haechan the slut coming in two seconds and getting hard again soon after? Past Haechan would have laughed, yet there he was, moaning Mark's name like a mantra, coming for the second time in minutes like a little virgin. 

It was no dream. It was a reality. 

Mark didn't let him go and Haechan felt like flying as his cum descended inside Mark's throat. And then he looked down right in time to catch a glimpse of Mark's eyes, looking up at him, letting his cock out with a lewd plop. "Mark, where did you learn that?", Haechan asked suddenly exhausted. The boy licked his lips and held onto Haechan to get up, shakily. "Was that good? It was my first time doing it", he mumbled with a smile before resting his head on Haechan's shoulder, the cocktail he had right before adding to his brain fog.

_______

Mark woke up to the sound of a heartbeat. It was a comforting sound. Deep and regular. 

He groaned softly as his lids realized they were getting hit by bright and irritating sunlight. Then he opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the windows first, vision blurry, then on the plant underneath it, then on the young man underneath him. 

Mark's muscles got a spasm and woke up completely as his brain finally made sense of what was going on. Meaning that his face was resting on Haechan's chest. Bare chest. And his own torso, bare torso, was wrapped by the boy's arms. 

Oh fuck, he thought. Oh shit. 

"It's too late in the morning to run away", Haechan mumbled, waking up softly as well. 

Mark froze as he was trying to get up. He was propped up on an elbow when Haechan opened his eyes and Mark felt his breath hitch. 

Haechan was there, pillow adorned with his luscious locks lying all around his head like a halo, chocolate eyes warmed by the sun shining through the windows and his skin, God, he looked like an angel. 

"I'm not going away", Mark lied, surprising himself by how deep and hoarse his voice sounded like. "Fuck, you're so cute right now", he whispered soon after, unable to control himself. 

Haechan's eyes got wider at Mark's words. He expected Mark to freak out, and Mark was freaking out inside a lot, but having Haechan like that, underneath him, vulnerable and beautiful as never before, made Mark feel peaceful at the same time. 

This is all he wanted in life. 

The older managed to keep it together for a few other seconds, trying to look confident, but when Haechan's cheeks reddened with blush, Mark lost it and blushed as well, rolling away, grabbing a pillow to hide his face in with a scream. 

"I can't believe it", his voice came out muffled. "Oh my God", he yelled quietly. 

Haechan started to chuckle embarrassed. "What an idiot". 

"How-", Mark removed the pillow enough for one eye to poke out. "How far-", he stuttered. 

Haechan rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance. 

"Just oral", he whispered while getting up and putting his feet on the ground, turning his back to Mark, unable to look at him in the face either. 

"Oh", the other sounded weirdly disappointed. Haechan pinched the base of his nose. That man was sending such mixed messages. "You did dry hump my ass if that makes things better", Haechan spoke through his teeth, embarrassed out of his mind, grabbing the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand. "I'm sorry. You deserve to get fucked properly", Mark replied quietly as if thinking at loud, making Haechan choke on his water and spit it all around the room. 

Mark sat up quickly and placed a hand on Haechan's shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

The choking boy turned around to face him. 

"I thought you'd be all embarrassed about this", he commented while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand. 

"I am!" Mark's eyes got wide and his red ears confirmed it, but it was still not what Haechan expected. 

"I mean", Haechan hesitated, unsure of what words to use, "I thought you'd regret it in the morning. You were really drunk last night and you had no idea what you were doing”. 

Mark's face visibly darkened. 

"Do you regret it?", he asked. 

Haechan went on with his phrase ignoring Mark’s question. "-like I was sober and I was worried that maybe I should have-". 

"Haechan". 

Mark's voice was so deep and serious that Haechan's heart started to beat faster upon hearing him calling his name like that. "Answer me. Do you regret it? Did I- fuck - did I do something wrong?", Mark asked ruffling his hair with one hand. He looked so worried and distressed that Haechan for a second didn't know what to say. 

"No", the younger finally shook his head. "No", he repeated. "I was aware of everything and I made my choice consciously but you-", Haechan hesitated again.  "Me too", Mark spoke up, nodding. "I remember everything until you helped me to get out of the club. After I sucked y-".

"Don't say it", Haechan stopped him with a raised palm. 

Mark chuckled embarrassedly. 

If only Haechan knew how cute he was being in that moment, faking his serious face and steading his voice. Mark would have wanted to see Haechan confess just how weak he was. 

"So you, like, you wanted it? Not because you were just drunk and I happened to be there?", Haechan asked timidly. Haechan couldn't believe he was so shy to talk about sex with someone. It has never happened before. Nothing he did with Mark happened before. 

Mark gulped down. "I wanted it, yeah. I didn't do it because I was drunk. I did it thanks to that. I don't think I would have had the courage otherwise", he explained. "But I'm also sorry. It mustn't be nice to- like--uh, you know, with a drunk person", he stuttered, eyes closing and opening as he thought about the words to use. 

Haechan looked down, shyly. "You were very hot actually", he whispered back, scratching the back of his head. 

"Haechan," Mark finally found his voice after a moment of shocked silence. "I swear to God, I would take you-", but interrupted himself abruptly. 

Haechan looked at him flustered. 

Mark cleared his voice. 

Then he shook his head. 

"No", he chuckled at himself. "Nothing, never mind", he added suddenly getting up, the covers sliding down his naked body. 

Haechan looked at it. He had looked at it the whole night. That night he kissed every inch of that skin and listened to Mark's soft moans. And Haechan realized that it wasn't a hookup. At all. Not for him. But Mark didn't remember that part and Haechan didn't want to tell him. If Haechan had to think about it for the next month, so be it. It was all on him. He let himself go too far and he wasn't talking about the physical aspect. It was all his fault if his heart was aching to see Mark get dressed instead of lying beside him, cuddling, or better, doing what Mark didn't dare to tell him.

_______

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?".

Forgetting. 

Mark wanted to forget but he couldn't do it. Not the day after and not on Monday morning, seeing Haechan's pretty lips so close to him and not being able to kiss them. 

Mark lied when Haechan asked him what he remembered. 

Well, not entirely, because he did forget some parts. 

But he was definitely lucid when Haechan went down on him, slowly, after kissing his lips, then his neck, sucking on his skin, then his chest and stomach as Mark wrapped Haechan's hair around his fingers. The boy asked multiple times if Mark was okay with that until Mark had to basically beg to just suck him off already. And God, he was so cute doing it. He would never forget how that felt. Divine. His head was so light as if zero oxygen got to it, every drop of blood concentrated inside of Haechan's warm and wet mouth instead. 

And he was staring at that mouth now, as Haechan explained the work to do for the day. Mark wasn't even that horny. No. He just wanted to hold him again and softly press his lips on Haechan's plump ones. 

"Tomorrow we forget about this". 

Haechan was sober when he said that. He meant it. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. Right? Should he ask? Haechan, did you forget? Do you want to forget? Because I don't. 

And I can't. 

"Mark", Haechan snapped his fingers in front of him making the boy jolt. "Focus", he ordered. "What are you thinking about?".

You. I'm thinking about you. You. You. I've been thinking about you for days, Haechan. 

"Lunch", Mark shrugged. Haechan rolled his eyes. "What an idiot".

_______

That afternoon Haechan was in a relatively good mood. 

He should have known that the most peaceful days could bring the most terrible storms though. 

So he jolted at the sound of a voice he almost forgot how it sounded like. 

"Haechan, I thought you died or something". 

The boy in question looked up from his computer to see a pair of feline eyes. 

They were bright and amused. Then he saw the lips. Soft and pink stretched in a sweet smile. 

Doyoung was still like a house with all the lights on, but now it wasn’t empty anymore. Now everyone was home. This house was full of people, all happy and content. 

Haechan was so glad. He truly was. This is what he has always wanted to see since first locking eyes with that man. But he also felt suddenly miserable. Miserable and confused. 

His heart shouldn't have skipped a beat like that. Not anymore. 

"I did die and I just got back from hell", he replied, trying to sound as snarky as possible. It wasn't entirely a lie. 

"What about you? You also went missing". Doyoung blushed subtly at the innuendo and Haechan felt the urge to punch the table. Or himself. "I've been busy", Doyoung replied softly. "So you went to paradise instead, I see", Haechan commented with a smile hoping that no one noticed how fake it was.

_______

"A man can't have his alone time in peace. What do you want?", Haechan rolled his eyes while Mark sat down beside him, resting his back on the rooftop wall, looking in front of him at the blue sky. 

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze, enough for Haechan's fringe to wave gently. 

Mark loved it when the wind ruffled Haechan's hair but he couldn't bring himself to look at the younger boy. Not at that moment. 

"I didn't know", Mark whispered. "What?", Haechan's voice came out irritated but he didn't care. 

"That you were in love", Mark added. 

Haechan choked on his breath. 

"I'm not", he crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes as if sunbathing. Conversation over, it meant. An angry bronzing session. 

Mark finally looked at him then, feeling safe as he wasn't seen back. He watched the way Haechan’s skin glowed under the warm rays. Mark thought about how it would feel under his fingertips but he wasn’t sure. He touched it before but now he couldn’t remember it. Mark wanted to raise one hand and touch his cheek again, this time fully concentrating on the feeling. He wanted to let it slide down the boy’s jawline, feeling the sharp bone, then on his neck where the angry pulsating artery pumped blood at a crazy speed. Then he wanted to hear Haechan’s soft breath as his hand unbuttoned his shirt, this time feeling his heartbeat. Mark wanted it to be fast and only for him. For Mark. 

It all made sense now. But why does it have to be like that? What should Mark do? What do people do in this scenario? 

Was he thinking about this Doyoung guy? Has Haechan been thinking about other men? The whole time? While Mark was thinking about him? 

Was he imagining kissing that man's lips while Mark's mind was full of Haechan and Haechan only? 

Of course, he would. 

What was Mark thinking? Isn’t this what he accepted? Isn’t this what he decided to adventure in? Why was Mark suddenly so hurt about Haechan behaving as he anticipated him to do? 

We forget about this in the morning and Mark was certain now that Haechan actually did forget. 

"Does he know?", Mark asked after a while. Haechan snorted. "Of course he doesn't". "He doesn't know what?".

The other boy sighed at the trap. 

"Just leave me alone", he ordered. And Mark actually got up and left. 

Haechan's cheeks got wet right when it started to rain.

_______

"Mark, if you have something to say, just say it". 

It's been a few days of Mark not talking but still looking at Haechan as if about to burst in a monologue anytime soon. 

Haechan had been brusque with him before, but it never came to Mark not talking to him. 

The younger boy wasn’t stupid. It was obvious what was going on with Mark but Haechan didn’t have the force to deal with it sooner. 

"I don't have anything to say", Mark replied. "Do you have anything to say?".

Haechan rested his back on the chair and looked at Mark, irritated. 

"Okay, we need to sort this thing out. We can't work like this". "Like this how? We're working just fine", Mark didn't raise his eyes from the computer. "Mark, you've been writing and deleting the same line for a while now", Haechan indicated the screen with his chin. "Well, maybe something is going on with me but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so we don't need to talk about anything", Mark replied finally starting a new line. 

So Mark was able to lie as well, huh?

"Mark", Haechan lowered his voice. "Do you perhaps have feelings for me?", he whispered. 

"What?!" Mark yelled. 

Onew jolted on his seat. 

"Keep your voice down, you dumbass", Haechan put one hand on his thigh. Mark looked down at it then at Haechan's face. 

Haechan retrieved his hand back. 

Mark breathed heavily before talking. 

"It's just--”, he rested his back on the chair as well, “I've never been with someone like that before and I'm so confused right now, like, I don't know if I have feelings for you or just--like, I need closure?", he questioned as if talking to himself. 

Haechan was surprised that Mark told him all that. 

"You mean that you're a virgin?", the younger asked incredulously. "Uhm, I can hear you", Onew said. "Then get your ass up and take a stroll, Owen", Haechan spoke up. 

Mark flinched at his sudden and loud voice. 

Their colleague shook his head as if not believing he was dealing with some weirdos and got out of the office mumbling something about gen z people. 

"I am not a virgin. I meant hookups", Mark explained after a little pause while his cheeks acted like a virgin's. "You said you've never sucked someone before", Haechan raised one eyebrow. "It's alright if you're a virgin, Mark. You just have to tell me and-”, he interrupted himself as if realizing what they actually did, “-fuck, you had to tell me before as well. God, I acted recklessly, I should hav-".

"I am not a virgin! Stop saying that. I've never sucked before because I've been eating pussy, okay?", Mark raised his voice.

Haechan blinked at him. "So you're confused about your sexuality?" 

Mark rolled his eyes defeated. "I know what I like! I'm not confused. Just hear me out!" "You said you were confused just a minute ago", Haechan said. "But not about my sexuality. Because of the hookup!"  "Why are you yelling?", Haechan yelled.  "I'm not yelling!", Mark yelled back.  "You're arguing with me right now". "Because you're not listening! I don't know how I'm feeling about you because I've never slept around before. I-- just--don't like it", Mark stuttered.  "Then why did you sleep with me?", Haechan was exasperated.  Mark whined. "Because I liked you already”.  "So you do like me. You have feelings for me", Haechan raised his hands as if talking with a fool. 

The other shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable. 

"Don't all people like their hookup partners though? Like, would you sleep with someone if they were ugly as fuck? I don't think so. You still need to be attracted to them a little". 

Haechan sighed while massaging his temples. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Didn't you have crushes before? Don't you know what it feels like to be in love?".

Mark groaned tiredly. "I did. And I know. But this is different", he spoke with a softer tone. 

Haechan sighed. "So what? Am I supposed to help you figure that out? If you like me or not?". 

Mark straightened his tie and focused on his computer again as if the conversation was over. 

"Listen, you wanted to hear me talk, so I did". 

The younger boy stared at the other’s fingers as they started to type something, probably useless. 

"Do you even want to like me? Like what's your expectation?". 

Mark’s fingers stopped and he remained silent for a little while. "Well, you like somebody else, so it wouldn't be nice if I had feelings for you, would it?". 

Haechan prolonged the silence a bit. "I'm getting out of it".

Mark turned his head to him. 

That was a lie, Mark could see it. A blatant lie. 

"Do you want me to like you?", he asked. His voice was soft and low. 

Haechan thought about it for a second. He didn’t know what to say. 

Mark sighed, unable to wait like that, and closed his eyes, reclining back on his seat again. 

"I like you, Haechan. Okay? I like you, fuck. I don't care if you like somebody else". 

Haechan’s heart started to beat even faster than before. 

“Was this the problem, then? You were jealous?”, Haechan’s voice came out quieter than he intended. 

Mark opened his eyes and looked down at his hands clasped together. 

He shrugged. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. I just needed to say it. I’m not asking for anything from you”, Mark directed his gaze towards Haechan. 

He looked so serious that it made Haechan’s cheeks get pink again. 

Mark’s eyes trembled imperceptibly at that reaction but he didn’t dare to say anything about it. 

He cleared his voice as Haechan couldn’t bring himself to add anything either and got back to work.

_______

It was very late at night. 

Haechan had no idea what time it was but it was not a time normal people would be awake at. 

He fidgeted under the covers, restless and irritated. He felt hot and his mind wouldn’t let him sleep. 

His hands found his phone after a while, ready to click on Jaemin’s name. But then his thumb slid down and it stopped over Mark instead. 

Haechan stared at the bright screen until he felt his eyes tear up from lack of blinking then just pressed it with a huff. 

Bad person Haechan. You’re a bad person. You’re such a bad person. A mistake. You did a mistake a now you were about to make another one.

“Yes”, Mark’s rough voice interrupted Haechan’s train of thoughts. 

The younger boy opened his mouth to breathe better and he let that monosyllable caress his ears even after the sound already died. 

“Hey”, Haechan whispered, closing his eyes, helping his other senses to get sharper. 

Mark groaned softly and shifted in his bed, probably turning in a more comfortable position. “Haechan”, he said in the same sleepy and deep voice and Haechan had to make an effort to not whimper into the phone. 

Why was Haechan so affected by this boy but at the same time so afraid of him? He shouldn’t have let Mark get so involved. Haechan should have put a wall between them the first time his lips said that first “cute”, then another one when he blatantly saw the way Mark’s eyes couldn’t leave him, then another one that night in the club, and another one when Mark asked him if Haechan wanted to be liked. And now as well. Just end the call. 

But he couldn’t. 

His walls were not strong enough for Mark and Haechan was a bad person. 

He liked it. He liked a lot. Haechan wanted more and more even if he could give back only darkness. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, Haechan said after waiting a few seconds to recollect himself. 

Mark hummed as if telling him that it was alright. “Is everything okay?” he asked and Haechan noticed the way Mark was slowly waking up by the growing concern in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, everything is good. I just…”, Haechan hesitated. 

Why did he even call Mark in the first place? Did he need company? Rude. Did he miss him? Gross. He was a bad person, using people when he needed, disregarding their feelings? Yeah. 

“I wanted to speak to someone”, he decided to be honest. 

Mark’s breath got louder for a second as if he laughed lightly. “I’m glad you thought of me, then. Unless you called other people first and no one replied”. 

Haechan smiled, feeling like a teenager talking to his first crush, then stopped, starting to hate himself. “No. You’re the only one I called”, he confessed. 

What was he doing? Bad. Bad Haechan. Bad. 

Mark went silent and Haechan listened to his breath for a while.

“You confuse me so much, Haechan”, Mark’s voice was a whisper and Haechan swallowed nothing, feeling his throat suddenly dry. 

Yeah. It was not fair. Not when Mark told him how he was feeling and Haechan couldn’t do the same. 

“But I’m not complaining”, Mark added before Haechan could apologize and end the call, finally getting to his senses. “I don’t care, Haechan. I like you so much. You can do whatever you want to me”. 

Haechan bit his lower lip. God, he hated himself. 

“Mark-”. “Would you do something for me?”, the boy interrupted him. “Mm? What?”. “Would you-”, Mark stopped, breath suddenly quicker, “-would you-uhm-- shit”, he repeated softly before chuckling, slightly embarrassed. 

Haechan’s skin got goosebumps, wondering if he understood what Mark wanted. His heartbeat started to pump blood at a crazy speed at it all went in a single place. 

So he did what Mark asked, even if he would end up being wrong, only because he wanted it too. He slid a hand under his t-shirt, slowly, until reaching his nipples, and whined into the phone. 

Mark went completely silent for a second. 

Haechan whined again a little louder. 

“Fuck, Haechan”, Mark’s voice trembled. "Are you-- are you touching yourself?”.

Haechan hummed. “My nipples”, he simply replied as he pinched them, playing with himself, feeling his boxers get tighter at every stroke. “Oh fuck”, Mark’s rough voice made Haechan squeeze his eyes together and open his mouth in a silent moan. 

They were both panting. Haechan couldn’t tell if Mark was just lying there and imagining or if he started to shyly let his hand slide south as well. 

“How does it feel?”, Mark inquired with a shaken voice and Haechan realized he still had too much control to be rubbing one out as well. “It feels so good, Mark”, the younger one replied, adding soft swears as his fingers got under the fabric of his boxers, letting the elastic hit his abdomen once, loudly, making sure Mark heard it as well. “Hmm -a-ah”, he wrapped his cock with his hand, pumping it slowly a few times, pressing his thumb on the slit. 

He didn’t need to exaggerate any sound. Knowing that Mark was listening could make Haechan go over the edge alone. 

“Haechan, you make me go so fucking crazy”, Mark’s shaking voice made Haechan bite his lower lip. “You too, Mark”, he confessed in the cloud of sensations. 

Then listened to the way the other boy’s bed sheets irrefutably shifted and the bed creaked and his breath hitched as he started to pleasure himself to the sound of Haechan’s whimpers and the image he had of him.  

They didn’t talk anymore. There was no need to and they weren’t able to either. Not having Mark near him, made Haechan last longer but it was still too quickly than usual so he stopped right before cumming, edging himself until the other whined into his pillow, cursing and calling Haechan’s name.

_______

Haechan avoided Mark the whole day. He told Mark that he had some other work and barely came into the office. 

The older boy would sigh every five minutes, mind racing, making the poor Onew groan. 

“He’s feeling awkward. You guys fucked, it’s normal”. 

Mark turned his head towards him as if awoken from a dream, cheeks blushing violently as soon as he made sense of the other’s words. 

“Also, you’re in love with him. I would avoid someone in love with me as well if I only wanted to fuck them,” Onew added as if talking about the weather. Mark was unable to speak. “He’s afraid to hurt you now”. 

“I told him it was alright, though”, Mark finally whispered, trying hard to suppress the hysterical little chuckle he would get when nervous or talking about embarrassing stuff. 

Onew got up with his empty coffee mug in his hand. 

“Show it. Do something that can make him realize that it’s okay for you to be in this type of relationship”, he added before walking out whistling with not one single worry in the world. 

Mark would have wanted to whistle as well but couldn’t. 

That advice was breaking his heart. 

It was true. Mark said that he was okay, but he was lying. 

Of course, he was not alright. 

He wanted to, oh he wanted so bad to be alright but it was so late. It was already late from the beginning. Mark didn’t want that kind of relationship. He wanted more. 

But Onew was also right. Mark had to do something. If being able to have Haechan like that meant breaking his own heart, Mark was ready to do it. 

And when that night he went to Jungwoo’s monthly party again, he forced his beating heart to stop upon seeing Haechan’s back. 

The young men’s slender figure was curved in a laugh, the pretty sound almost audible to Mark’s far away ears. Then Haechan sipped from the drink in front of him, still amused by the handsome bartender’s joke, and spun around in his chair right in time to see Mark being hit on by a woman. 

Haechan’s lips stopped on the edge of the glass, eyes unable to blink, staring emotionless at the way Mark’s lips curved in a timid smile while his hands weren’t timid at all, firmly grabbing that girl’s hips as she wiggled her ass against Mark’s crotch. 

Haechan turned around, placing the drink on the counter with a slightly shaking hand. 

“Everything alright?”, the bartender asked. 

Haechan didn’t reply and threw his head back, finished his cocktail in one gulp.

_______

It was quite early when the boy left the party. Haechan felt like suffocating in the middle of all those people breathing heavily, clouding his mind. 

Waiting for his taxi outside, ignoring the stares of horny people smoking and grinding against each other by the entrance of the Garages, he got reasonable startled when two hands suddenly wrapped his torso. 

But those were some delicate fingers and Haechan could recognize that cologne in a thousand others. 

Mark rested his face on Haechan’s shoulder and no one said anything for a little while, listening to the deep bass coming out of the club, the yelling and the traffic on the main road just a few blocks away. 

“Sorry if I startled you”, Mark mumbled. 

Haechan bit his lower lip and turned around, expecting a drunk and horny Mark yet again. But the boy’s eyes were wide and awake, his usual staring-as-if-reading-your-soul eyes met Haechan’s ones. 

The younger looked at them for a second then he eyed the bright red hickeys on the other’s neck as well as the slightly unbuttoned shirt. 

“I see you’ve had some fun tonight”, Haechan commented unable to hide his bitter tone. Not that Mark wouldn’t have been able to see through his fake face anyway. 

Mark licked his lips and tugged Haechan’s hips towards him. 

"Is this alright?", his voice was low and sultry, ignoring Haechan’s little jab, caressing his lower back instead. 

Haechan started to pant softly, unsuccessfully trying to take a step back then he gulped down staring at the other’s lips getting each second closer. 

"We can pretend it didn't happen", Mark went on, "just like we've always done, isn’t that right?", and Haechan could have sworn that Mark was a little pissed off. “Fucking at night then pretending we don’t know each other during the day, huh? Isn’t this what you want? I can do that”. 

Mark's fingers reached the hem of Haechan's t-shirt by now, hiking it up slowly, dragging his fingertips on his skin. It was warm, just like Mark had always imagined. A loud cheer mixed with glass shattering made Haechan flinch but Mark shushed him, every second closer until they were breathing each other's air. 

"I really want to take you right now, just like this". 

Mark's whisper made both of their hearts beat like crazy.  The first, not believing he was talking like that, the second, not believing that Mark was telling him that. 

And when Haechan finally closed his eyes, ready to melt into the kiss, Mark's lips ghosted his cheek and neck instead, fingers still drawing little circles on the younger's chest, resting his palm on the beating heart. Then he pulled away. 

“It’s a shame that you’re pushing me away like this”, Mark straightened his back and walked away.

_______

Mark was a weird guy. 

And when Haechan bumped into him inside the local supermarket near his apartment, a large sweatshirt on his frame, boyfriend jeans, ruffled hair, a little stubble, concerned expression behind his golden round glasses, the tip of his tongue out, licking his lips mindlessly, deciding what brand of cereal he wanted, Haechan felt the urge to go there and yell at him that he's in love. 

Haechan never liked the "what are we" question. 

Everyone around him asked that. What are we? Friends. Friends with benefits. Nothing, we're just fucking. Haechan has never adventured there. But now, looking at Mark's profile, his hand finally picking up the cereal pack, Haechan wanted to ask him that question. 

What are we, Mark? 

Because I want us to be something. 

I want to claim you in ways that give other people no place to do the same. 

Not a friend, not a colleague, not a friend with benefits. 

An etiquette that only Haechan could claim. 

Even if Haechan didn’t deserve that. 

Mine. My boyfriend. Mine. Mine. All mine. 

Was that wrong? Probably. 

But Haechan felt no remorse. 

Was that love? Haechan was unsure but he wanted to find out. 

So he walked over. Was Mark there because he hoped to see Haechan? "Oh, Haechan", Mark seemed genuinely surprised when the younger called his name. "What are you doing here?", the boy asked. 

Mark looked around briefly as if suddenly not knowing where he was. "The meat here is higher quality than the supermarket near my apartment", he explained and Haechan could see the way Mark's expression screamed honesty. 

He wasn’t there because of Haechan. Mark might have had a crush on the other but he was slipping away now. 

Come back, Mark. Come back to me. Call me cute again. Touch my skin. Don’t do this. Don’t play with me like this. 

"Haechan", Mark's voice wavered as the boy got suddenly closer. "We're in public". 

Haechan didn’t look away. “You didn’t care about the public last night. You let that slut fuck you in front of everyone then you dared to flirt with me and leave me on the edge like that?”, he confronted him. 

Mark’s little stunt made the younger so mad the day before that he felt like bursting in his pants during the drive home. Cheeks flushed and trembling hand, he didn’t even bother to walk to the bedroom. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to rest against the entrance door as soon as he stepped into his empty apartment. He came and came, again and again, until he felt too sensitive to touch himself anymore. God, he was so mad. 

“Haechan, are you jealous?”, Mark’s eyes relaxed, the cereal pack still between them, the gaze of some elderly ladies not leaving their backs. 

Haechan’s jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah. I am. I am jealous. I am fucking jealous. Okay? I hate it. I hate that you sleep with other people. You’re mine and mine only”, Haechan spat out quickly before he could regret saying it. 

He was panting and he didn’t even have to look at himself to know that he was all red. 

Mark’s breath hitched in a startled laugh. 

“And I hate that you have all of this control over me. I was done, okay? I was done with feelings and here you are, doing all of this bullshit to me. Your little game worked. Are you happy?”. 

Getting out of the apartment that late morning, Mark didn’t anticipate getting a confession from Haechan in the cereal aisle while said person looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, doe eyes and a trembling lower lip. 

God, he was so cute, Mark wanted to grab his face and kiss him. 

“You saw my game and played by my rules?”, Mark asked impressed. 

“You didn’t even give me time to play at all! I got defeated before starting”, the other admitted frustrated. 

Mark chuckled. “Why are you getting mad at me, Haechan? You ignored me in the first place, sleeping with other people.” 

The boy huffed exasperated and walked away, bumping Mark in the shoulder, making the other pirouette and grab him by the forearm. 

“I was joking. Come on”, he cooed. “This is what I’ve always wanted”. 

Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek, annoyed. “What? Me making a fool out of myself?”

“Showing yourself to me”, Mark replied kindly. 

Haechan rolled his eyes, still using his faking-nonchalance-to-not-show-his-feelings technique, but Mark was already immune to that. In fact, he has been immune to that from the start. 

Haechan loved it. 

Haechan loved it so much that he got scared. It was too good to be true.

________

It was pouring heavily when they got out of the supermarket. Haechan had his apartment windows open and they could smell the scent of rain, clean and refreshing. 

It was cold but Mark's body heated the boy in a second, groceries fallen on the floor, wrapping his arms around the other’s frame. 

They did not kiss and Haechan was quite surprised but he didn't say anything, hiding his face the crook of Mark's neck instead, inhaling all of his favourite scents at the same time. 

"I called you upstairs for a different reason," Haechan mumbled, surprised at the sudden softness, the sound of his voice muffled by the other's slightly damp sweatshirt. 

"I know," Mark whispered against his temple. 

He placed a delicate kiss there, then another one slightly below, then another one, drawing a line until reaching the jaw. Haechan raised his face and Mark kissed the corner of his lips, then the other cheek, and jaw again, and the other temple. 

Haechan closed his eyes with a little smile as if giving up. 

Mark, what are you doing?".

"I want you to think", the other replied, lips still busy. Haechan scoffed. "I want to stop thinking". "I want you to think about me". 

His lips reached Haechan's forehead and stayed there for a little. 

The only sound was the rain and Haechan's quick heart. 

"I already think about you a lot", Haechan confessed, face close to Mark's collarbones. 

"And why do you want to stop?" the other murmured. 

His voice was so relaxing and calming that Haechan for a second forgot why was he trying to not think about Mark in the first place. Why was he pushing him away? Why has he been pushing him away all of that time?

Then he remembered when Mark's hands slid down Haechan's back. 

"Because I'm a bad person". Mark sighed as if he expected that but still wanted to hear the other say it. "You're not a good judge". Haechan tsk-ed. "Well, thanks, I guess." "I am the one who has to decide if you're a bad person or not, and I say that you're not." "You're blinded by love”. 

Mark hugged Haechan even tighter. 

"Yeah, I am, so Haechan, please, let me love you", his tone darkened suddenly. "Stop pushing me away. I can handle anything". 

"I'm going to fuck up", Haechan shook his head. 

"You won't and if you do, I still want to take my chances. What if I fuck up before you do?" 

Haechan laughed, resting his chin on Mark's chest, rising his face to look at the boy in the eyes. "Mark, you're a saint".

The saint’s eyes were those of a sinner though when he pressed his thumb on Haechan’s plump, lower lip. 

"Have you ever made love to someone before?", he asked with a deep voice. 

Haechan's eyes widened with amusement. "Are you joking? I’m a hoe.” 

Mark hummed. "No. I said, love. Have you? Because I haven't either and I desperately want to make love to you right now". 

And Mark was right. 

Haechan had never made love with someone before and he realized it as soon as the other's hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, pushing him back towards the bed, making him sit on it, letting Haechan watch as Mark elegantly took away his sweatshirt first then the shirt underneath it. 

Haechan blinked, emotions he has never felt before invading his whole body as Mark pushed him down with a gentle touch, kissing his stomach and going up, taking Haechan's top with him, letting the cold air caress his skin making it all shiver. It would have shivered anyways, goosebumps forming at every feathery touch of Mark's lips. They took away all of the remaining clothes, touching each other slowly, curiously, exploring everything, with fingertips and lips and tongues. Attentive, remembering which stroke made the other whine louder, what kind of whisper pleased the ears more, what pet name made the other blush. 

It was still raining hard, but they weren't cold, tightly wrapped in each other arms, the heavy covers to hide their secret whispers from the world. They were hidden in giggles and heavy breaths, "here?", "yeah", "like this?", "hmm", and Haechan felt so present. He was there, at that moment and he was seen. Mark was looking at him, really looking and Haechan didn't have to do anything to make it happen. There was no reason to put on an act. He just had to be himself. Vulnerable and- "cute," Mark whispered, chests rising, short breaths, his thumb caressing Haechan's red cheeks. 

"Say it again", Haechan smiled. 

Mark imitated him, his lips murmuring the word until they didn't have to, the feeling of it lingering in the air by itself.

#here she is #mark smut #haechan smut #mark angst #haechan angst #markhyuk smut #markhyuk angst #nct smut #nct angst #markhyuk fluff #nct fluff #jaemin smut #jungwoo #jaemin

[heartshyuck]

Nighthawk

Pairing: Mark x reader ft. The slightest mention of Renjun

Genre: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers but like also an established relashionship?, slice of life, soulmate au.

Synopsis: Nighthawk's were reoccurring thoughts that only seemed to strike you late at night and to Mark that's exactly what you are, until you show up in his days.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: character death, car accident, mentions of blood and swearing

The image of your face was burned and branded on the back of his eyelids as he lay there on his bed with the moon half hung in the sky being his only company. His mind occupied with the constant pressure of trying to think of anything else other than you. You, who he was totally clueless as to who you were although the light and warm tingling sensation ran course through his body which he then diagnosed to be familiarity and nostalgia.

To how that was possible was another that dominated his thoughts. As the frustration built, clearly shown through his aggressive fidgeting and the constant sighs that left his lips, Mark jumped up with a much louder groan muttering under it "who are you?". A rhetorical question of course, he wasn't expecting any answer from you directly, so he turned to the next best thing. Google.

Quickly yet almost full of anger, he tapped away at the keyboard searching "can you see a person's face without knowing who they are" to his disappointment he was met with the results of 'Prosopagnosia' of more commonly known as face blindness. If anything, Mark was facing the exact opposite of that, he was hyper aware of the face that colonised his mind.

Hours later however he fell down the rabbit hole of dream analysis, most experts say faces seen in your dreams or before falling asleep are faces you've seen before, whether that be the person you see every morning on the otherside of the road running to catch their bus or even a person you passed by for a second, not thinking anything of it until you meet again in the alternate reality of your dreams. This was a strong possibility and he was convinced this was exactly how he knew your face, until he found himself on reddit.

The descriptions of the hazy blues that streak across the faces, the fact that it feels all too real as the strong feelings of nostalgia wash over you in waves and the way he could slowly make the face change into different expressions as if he's seen them a million times before. There was no explanation for it, everyone else experiencing the same thing also having no clue what to call it or not having enough information to diagnose themselves with something. However as night slowly surrendered to the day, letting the light seep in, sleep also over took Mark as well as his thoughts about you. Leaving you forgotten until you strike him again in the depths of the night.

The next night Mark found himself in the same predicament as the night prior, the uncomfortable feeling of seeing your face as he closed his eyes. Only being uncomfortable because of how familiar it was, it was exactly that which scared him. How he knew you without knowing you, how he knew you had a scar next to your left eye but not knowing how it got there, how he knew you bite your bottom lip sometime to which he presumed was out of nervousness but not knowing why you were nervous. It made him nervous to which he would express with an equally endearing habit of scrunching his face up and collaping onto the bed behind him.

Every night a bit of you was revealed more and more. As of now Mark could see your torso now too and each time you seem to be wearing a different outfit too, he most definitely recognises them all and he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't find you attractive. Soon these still portraites of you began moving, Mark would relive moments in time that never happened yet have felt like the millionth time he's seen it.

Today he sees you standing with the most beautiful bunch of a dozen roses and bright smile meeting your eyes and a blush that almost matches the colour of the roses. The same tint finds it's way onto Mark's face for a reason he can't quite comprehend, the butterflies that burst in his stomach, and for what? Is another question Mark doesn't have the answer to.

Soon you find your way into Mark's dreams, dreams that feel too real to be dreams. Dreams that feel like memories of another lifetime, he sees you both walking under the bright blazing summer sun that illuminated the clear blue sky. He intertwined your hands together as you both walked, feeling your welcoming warmth unlike the unwanted humidity that hung in the air, under the pathway decorated with pretty pink spring snow.

"You know they say if a cherry blossom falls onto you hand as you walk with your lover, your love lasts forever" he hears you say so sweetly it makes his heart swoon as you place your hand out still walking in the same rhythmic yet slow pace. Mark sees his own hand reach out for a petal but as if they are avoiding him on purpose, they skilfully dodge his hands. Now actively trying to catch a petal, Mark sees himself looking stupidly cute until you softly place your other hand in his hand, slotting your fingers between his and again he gets to hear your sweet voice.

"You can't try to grasp it because the stronger your hold, the more it will fall out and escape, things will fall naturally in place" you say now facing him, slowly lifting your hand to reveal the petal that had fell into your palm now in his. You leaned forward, lessening the gap between the two of you and placed your lips on his. Mark felt bliss that night, smiling in his sleep as he fell in love with his nighthawk.

As night comes round once more so does the thought of you, Mark now is back to googling. He quickly and again aggressively taps away at the keys searching the meaning of cherry blossom petals and there it is, everything you said. "If it was a dream, I should've known that already." Mark whispers to himself almost not believing what his brain is thinking. He sighs and cutely scruches his face up as he leans back on his bed. Only thoughts of you cloud his head so much so it drives him into exhaustion but still you manage to find your way into his dreams.

This time he sees you scavenging through his draws, he can hear small complaints out of your slightly pouted mouth. "You don't have enough hoodies" you whined slightly stomping your foot. A small laugh left Mark as his heart bloomed at the sight of your little tantrum "correction, I don't have enough hoodies for the both of us" he teased causing you to roll your eyes "how inconsiderate can you be, buying hoodies only for yourself" you argued in a much more prominent pout as you sat on the end of Mark's bed marking the end of your quest for a hoodie. Mark's heart could've burst right then and there as he pursed his lips trying to contain his squeal. "Your right it is inconsiderate of me" he reasoned as he pulled you by your legs closer to him. "Take mine" he said muffled by the warm fabric being pulled over his head and swiftly being pulled down onto your body. A smile beamed on your face, going from ear to ear just how Mark liked it. You wrapped your arms around him placing your left leg over his and pressed your body into his side, slightly squeezing him. His hand reached up to pat your head, fingers intertwining with strands of your hair as he twists and plays with them leaving a tingling yet soothing feeling on your scalp.

"I love you Mark Lee" were the last words Mark heard before the rude interruption of the morning sun beamed down and the painful beeps of the alarm rang through his ears flushing out the thought of you.

Later that evening, Mark finds the same hoodie from his dream. It never was a favourite of his but he finds himself wearing it a lot more, pretending your scent lingers on to it.

Again as if it was a ritual, Mark would find himself lying awake in the abyss of the night being swallowed by the thoughts of you. Mark now let his mind freely run to you without any hesitation he surrendered to the sweet thoughts of you. His consciousness left him and the consciousness of another life took over.

He's met with the smokey fog of blured windows, the harsh rain pelting down from the sky but your warm presence next to him as he drives down the long road that slowly unwinds in front of him only being revealed as far as the headlights allow. Your head resting on the window, your legs placed against your chest as you close your eyes to the soothing sound of the rain that mixes with the mellow music that plays quietly.

Mark reaches out to hold your hand rubbing small circles on the back of your thumb, your hand keeps his company as he changes gears. Your eyes open once you feel the car come to a hault and the feeling of Mark's soft yet slightly chapped lips place themselves on the back of your hand repeatedly kissing you awake. "Wake up love" Mark says in a slight grumble that sits in his throat from not speaking for a while, he clears his throat and reaches to the back seat to grab the black umbrella, getting out of the car to come round to your side.

You both stand arms around each other with the umbrella loosely held above your heads, the wind knocking it from to side to side. Rain hitting you from all sides with a chilling cold that contradictes the heat that radiates from your bodies, you stare out to the clear fields where the stars shower alongside the rain listening to the steady heartbeat that pulsed in Mark's chest. A calmness overcame you and you confessed "I think your my soulmate" but then you disappeared as his consciousness flooded back in, sweeping you away with the night once again. Mark groans as his heart swoons and aches for you, squeezing his eyes shut, attempeting to dream once more but as the moon sets so does his thoughts of you.

Exhaustion and fatigue are chased away the next night, when Mark starts thinking about how he doesn't know your name. In all his dreams he's referred to you by "love" or other words of endearment. Though the memories of the vivid dreams are patchy and every growing minute more and more slips away from him, he tries to scan over what he does remember and tries to relive the dreams in hopes of somehow finding out your name.

An exasperated sigh leaves Mark as he falls on to his bed in habbit of his frustration to how close yet how far you are to him. That night Mark doesn't dream of you, he doesn't dream at all as the groggy thoughts block and overcome sleep. He stays up watching the moon be replaced by the unbearably bright sun and it's then he prays to be surrounded by your comforting darkness all the time and as he finally places his head down to sleep wanting his consciousness to leave him like you leave him when day comes.

Yet this time you come back and Mark finds you, a small you. Sitting in a sand box with a bucket and spade, filling the bucket up to the brim with sand. Once finished you stand up dusting your legs off, of the sand that clings to your skin. You pick up the bucket bending backwards slightly as you slowly waddle over to your castle, shifting your weight from one leg to the other making big stomps in the sand until your foot gets stuck causing you to trip falling forwards. The sand explodes outwards and you fall after it, hitting the side of your left eye with the corner of the spade. The corner rips through the flesh and crimson beads of blood seep down your cheek until stopped by a tissue in the hands of a small boy. He holds pressure to the side of your left eye with his small and nimbly fingers while whiping the mix of blood and tear off your cheek with his other hand, he whispers sweet words of encouragement to you trying to steady your breath.

"Hey it's okay, don't cry" he says as he now holds your hand "it's gonna stop soon and then I'll go find your mum with you okay" he reassures you and the whipers leaving your trembling bottom lip slowly stop. "Hi I'm Mark, what's your name?" He asks you sweetly a bright smile stretched along his features which was the followed by sweet giggles that escaped his lips as he patted down your hair ridding it of sand. "My name's-". Mark jolts forward as he hears the loud ring of his phone disrupt his nap. "Aah shit" he growls, crawling out of bed not having time to process what just happened in his alternate subconscious, the memory of you slowly slip from him.

Mark runs down the bustling streets making his way to the cafe him and his friends agreed to meet for lunch. As he sits with his order his minds begins to wander as he loses interest in the conversations being held and as if it was a habit his mind runs to you. Trying so hard to think what the name was that you told him in the sandbox, he stares intensly at his muffin and you come to him. His nighthawk becoming a daydream.

He sees you crouching by the oven, tongue repeatedly running across your bottom lip as you as you devoure the cupcakes, that still had to rise, with your eyes. A smile finds its way plastered on his face as he can't seem to tell the difference between the adult you and the small child that he met in the sand box. "You know if you stare at them, the longer they'll take to get done. They're shy leave them alone" He teased you causing to roll your eyes.

You made you way over to the breakfast bar stools that Mark was sitting on and planted youself on his lap now staring at him instead. Mark's eyes widened and a faint blush rose up onto his cheeks, "don't tell me your shy too" you teased in a pout, inching your face closer and closer to his and the finally placing a chaste of kisses all over his nose and cheeks and then finally placing a long-awaited sweet kiss on his lips.

Marks heart swelled and ached but the sweet daydream was interrupted by Renjun forcefully shaking his shoulders, "hello earth to Mark" Renjun said prolonging his pronunciation waving his arm in front of Mark's face. "Oh sorry" he said straightening himself trying to look more involved in the conversations taking place around the table.

As Mark walked home later that evening he was met with the familiar sight of an archway made of cherry blossom trees, the sight made him think of you and unconsciously his arm extended, wishing a petal would land in his palm yet they still skilfully avoid his hand. A small smile graced his features as he fought the urge to wave his arms around and actively catch one. "everything will fall into place" he reminds himself.

Once reaching home Mark collapses on his bed straight away hoping to pick up from where he left, he wishes to meet you again in the alternate universe of dreams. As he dozes off he sees your figure wrapped in white lace, confusion sweeps his mind but the heaviness of his eyes win and soon he's surrendered himself to you once again.

"I do" are the words that hum through Mark's ear as the vision of you standing at an alter opposite to him in a beautiful white lace dress that hugs your figure perfectly, is what he's met with. Mark's eyes widen at the scene but he doesn't feel nervous, not at all. Instead he feels complete and feels such comfort and warmth, the way you look at him with a million stars in your eyes and as if he was your world makes him feel an unexplainable amount of love. His heart leaping and threatening to jump out of his chest. It's now when Mark can feel the desperation in his heart for the world to introduce him to his soulmate.

As the wedding bells fade out into the distance and the light of the moon shine down on Mark welcoming him back to the reality he dreads. His reality without you. The rest of the night Mark lays there, heart hurting at how he's in love with someone who he hasn't even met, someone who he isn't even sure exists. His whole body aches for your presence, aches for your touch. Every moment between reality and dreams blurs together and Mark's not even sure if any of this is real anymore as his nighthawk has left him in the swallowing abyss alone, his only company being the moon that hung halfway in the sky.

For weeks to come Mark didn't meet you in his dreams, he didn't meet you in his mind in the depths of night. He didn't think of you and now the constant aching has stopped but so did everything else. Mark felt numb and empty, no emotions could ever fill the void of the overwhelming amount of love he feels for you. You who he didn't know.

That was until he felt his heart ache from grief instead of love. The tears streamed down his face as he panted for air with both arms trying to hold himself up but soon to give way. The loud sobs escaped his mouth and he held his mouth tight trying to conceal the loud sound as he let more of his tears fall. Every dream would slip away from him no matter how hard he tried to remember but this time he didn't have to try. The moon wouldn't let him forget what he saw that night.

The image of you struggling to breath, the image of you struggling to keep your eyes open, the image of you being pulled out of the flipped car, the image of your own blood drowning you. It haunted Mark, instead of seeing your beautiful smile that caused your eyes to crease slightly everytime he closed his eyes, he saw you struggling. He never stopped crying that night, the tears would never get a chance to dry and his eyes would never get a chance to rest that night.

Days went past and Mark still hadn't been able to close his eyes, the growing purple bags were proof of this. What Mark hated most was that he felt broken for the death of a person he never got to spend a second with. He felt broken for the death of a dream but the love he felt for this dream was far from a dream. It was reality. The pain in his chest draws the lines between dream and reality but he still let himself dream, hoping you were his future and the dreams were his past.

So he gets up out of bed deciding today is when he starts his future. Walking under the same sping snow that fell lifetimes ago, a small and fragile petal elegantly swoops into Mark's palm. A small smile, that seemed so foreign to Mark now, manages to creep up onto Mark's face as he remembers your smiling face for just a small second. Yet as if his mind has be trained, it rejects you from his thoughts too scared of what he'll remember next.

He continues to walk down the familar road filled with familar sights, the same man that sits on the bench and feeds the pigeons. The same kids that run back from school, the same same cars that pass by at this time and the same cafe that always meets Mark at the end of the highway. The one that always welcomes him with the strong, bitter yet welcoming smell of coffee, the same beautiful sight of fresh blueberry muffins beautifully displayed but when he swung open the door, a dark brown mimicking the colour of coffee beans, he didn't expect to be met with the sweet sight of you. he didn't expect to see you standing on the other side of the counter at his favourite cafe. He didn't expect to see your beautiful smile when you perfectly placed the blueberry muffins out on display.

Yet the moment he saw, despite being surprised, he didn't feel that hammering in his chest or the disbelief that you weren't there because it felt so right, for the first time in Mark's life he felt certain. Certain it was you and certain you were the one. In that moment there was a spark which ignited a feeling so strong, a bond built over lifetimes and the only word that seem walked up to you, who welcomed him with a warm and welcoming smile. Ready to risk it all.

His nerves however got the best of him, his words trapped in his throat, the only sound leaving his mouth repeatedly like an idiot was "um". Your sweet giggles caused Mark's eyes widened as he realised how much he was embarrassing himself, thinking of how the hell he's gonna make his stupid self stop repeating um. He quickly slapped his mouth shut and while doing so he projected air down his throat causing him to choke.

You quickly grabbed a bottle of water handing it to Mark, he grabbed it and attempting to down the water as well as the caught air in his throat. After a few coughs he finally faces you while whiping away the few tears that threatened to fall. After a few seconds of staring at him wide eyed to definitely make sure he was okay you let out a soft laugh almost as if you didn't believe that he just chocked on nothing but air. "Well I guess I must be stunning if I caused you to suddenly forget how to breathe" you tease as a playful smile replaces your previous shocked and horrified face.

Mark shyly laughs, to you it may seem like he's embarrassed because of what just happened but truly he's more taken aback at how true your words are. "So what would you like?" You asked "A date" the words slipped out of Mark's mouth and judging by his expression you don't think even he knew those words were coming out. His eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth causing you to again sofltly laugh at the awkward yet endearing mess that was in front of you. "I meant one of those caramel and date cookies as well as an iced americano please" he whinced at how his own voice sounded unsure in what he was saying clearly indicating he was trying to save himself from the slip up but your smile only grew at the more awkward Mark got. "Here you go" you say as you pass Mark his iced americano and a paper bag which has him internally facepalming at the sight of it. "Thank you" he whispers not wanting to allow himself to continue embarrassing himself.

It wasn't until later when Mark left the coffee shop that he saw the black lines on the side of the cup that read "I'd like a date too" which followed with your phone number just below it, again he whinced as he remembered how his mouth betrayed him but it couldn't stop the grin blooming on his face as he repeated your number in his head again and again as if the numbers would run away from him.

A few weeks had gone by and you both had already gone on a few dates, the first one being a simple walk in the park whilst just getting to know each other a bit more. Despite being simple, Mark made a big effort in being romantic, he bought a bunch of pink tulips. "They are used to symbolise joyful occasions" he said shyly "since it's our first date I thought it was the best way to celebrate."

You smiled as you took them from his grasp, stroking the petals and admiring their beauty, "not a fan of red roses?" You teasingly asked, a bit surprised he didn't go for the cliché. Mark's nerves crept up once again causing to stutter as he explained himself, "um well I thought undying love was a bit strong for the first date" he said in a laugh coated in his nerves until your sweet laugh shook them off and caused a sense of comfort to surround Mark. "I think you're right, red roses are definitely for date three" you said in a teasing sarcastic manner.

Once the third date rolled round, there you were met with the dozen of long stemed red roses and that's when you were sold. You and Mark had started dating, constant little outings, hour long calls and non stop texting. Days of being together turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and in these months you've learned a lot about Mark. You've learned that he loves to cuddle, he's unbelievably awkward at times and that he really hates dates in his cookies. You've learnt that he snores in his sleep, that he loves watermelons and that he was unbelievably fidgety. You've also learnt to love all of them, some quicker than others.

You also noticed the moments you fell in love with the whole of Mark Lee. The exact moments in time where you can look back and say at that point in time, I was in love. Look back and say at this point in time, i felt loved.

You were in love and felt in love when Mark took you hoodie shopping. You hesitantly agreed to go to the mall with him, though you did only agree because he kept asking whilst you were asleep. You hated the mall, you hated how packed it was with people too close for comfort, you hated the hurried pace of it all and how you had to be skilful in dodging oncoming people who seemed to be blinded by haste.

"Why are we here" you in cried out dramatically, head flopping back whilst your lips formed a pout, Mark's heart lept at the sight and his hand, the one that wasn't intertwined with yours. Helping you navigate your way through the crowds of people, instinctively pinched your cheeks. "Aww, cutie" he cooed swaying your face side to side with his soft grip still remaining on your cheek. You rolled you eyes, swatting his hand away.

"Mark" you whines again in the same tone and manner hoping that this time you'd get sympathy instead. Mark's smile only grew wider at you cute antics, "we're here to get hoodies" he said as he pulled you into one of the stores. "You couldn't do this online? You dragged me out just so you could get yourself hoodies?" The words leaving your mouth sounding a little more annoyed than you intended for them to sound but Mark didn't seem to mind as it seemed like he had a good explanation. "Not for myself, for you too" he walked further into the store, holding different hoodies against and judged which ones he liked most. "Mark" you began to explain "I only like wearing hoodies that are yours" you moaned out "I don't want any of my own, I want yours" Mark only laughed at your complaints as he placed multiple hoodies over his arm "I already know that silly, I just wanted to see which ones would look good on you before I bought them and you steal them. That's why we had to buy them in store" He laughed heading towards the counter to pay and it was at that moment that your heart bloomed, the euphoric feeling of love pumping through your veins. The feeling of loving and being loved.

Another time was when Mark decided to stay over for the weekend, each day was filled with kisses and cuddles whilst binge watching movie after movie. You favourite moment however was when you decide to paint Mark a new face.

"Come on Mark stop moving" you huffed as you tried to draw a thin line of eyeliner on to Mark's eyelid. "I can't help it, it's cold and blinking is a reflex" he defended himself. "I don't blink when I do it" you counter argued whilst physically having to hold his eyelid still "you must be dead then" he deadpanned earning a hard slap again his chest causing him to laugh. "Ah stop laughing" you complained trying to replicate the wing on the other eye.

After Mark's laughing had subsided and you successfully held down both his eyelids, your subtle eye make up was done. "Okay open you eyes" you say exitidly holding a mirror up to his face for him to examine his eyes. "Whow! I look like you but better" he jokes as he checks him self out, earning yet again a slap on the chest and again it causes a fit of laughter to erupt.

You roll your eyes at settle yourself in between his legs and sit on one of his thighs as you attempt to put lipstick on a laughing Mark. The closeness of your faces is what makes him stop, he becomes hyperaware of everything around him. Like how your hand is gently holding his chin up for you to have better access to his lips, how you eyes stare intensly at them with a all too familiar desire. You look up to meet Mark's eyes that are peering down at you through the layers of his bottom lashes that are now accentuated with mascara. You see stars in his eyes, the sparkle and twinkle with the same desire. It's at this moment you comprehend how well Mark understands you with no words needed. So you close the gap, his slighly chapped coloured lips meeting your soft and raw lips. Sweet, loving and innocent kisses are all that's exchanged throughout that night, just sealing your growing love and adoration for each other a million times over.

"Thanks for helping me get the lipstick off but how am I gonna take the rest of this off" Mark says against your lips, a blush creeps up to your cheeks and you pull away rolling your eyes hoping Mark focuses on that instead and misses the crimson tint but he doesn't and pinches your cheeks softly.

"And this is how I tricked you into doing face masks with me" you pull out a bunch of facemask and lay them in front of Mark to choose. He rolls his eyes and poutes "this wasn't about making me look beautiful was it? This was about making me look stupid with these dumb masks" he whines as he picks up one mask packet to examine. "Hun, your beautiful all the time make up or no make up, so of course it's about making you look stupid" you tease as you rip open a packet and place the sheet mask on Mark's freshly washed face. "Your lucky i love you" Mark says with a furrowed brow and a cute pout as he sits in light blue pajamas and a bunny headband holding his hair back. "Mhm I know" is all you say in response as your occupied with placing your own mask on your face but the sudden contact of Mark's cold hands under your shirt causes you to flinch to the right as he launches his tickle attack on you. "Say it back" he whines as he continuously tickles your side, your laughter rings through the apartment "okay okay" you say through shaky breaths "I love you too" and those words instantly haulted the attack. "Good" Mark smiles and press quick peck onto your lips. You still look back at the silly pictures you both took in the small and confined space of your bathroom, the matching pajamas and the face masks and anyone could tell you were both so in love.

If you asked Mark he also had his own set of memories where he could tell he was absolutely in awe of you, where he felt so in love and felt loved. One that stood out to him, was last Christmas, it was another moment where he really couldn't tell the difference beween you and the little y/n that he had seen in the sandbox. The scenes were almost exact except sand was replaced with the fresh white snow. You lay there wrapped up in layers of warm clothing making snow angels, calling Mark out to come join you. Your eyes sparkeled and you held a smile across your face all day. Once Mark had reached you pulled him on top of you and wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him tight against your own body. Both of you gathering a lot of attention from the people walking by and your neighbours as your giggles filled the street, Mark didn't care for the stares and the slight giggles from across the road, he was in love and everyone on that road knew it. It was the moments when your face lit up and your eyes held a million stars when you opened up the beautiful emerald necklace Mark got you, that he knew he wanted to see that face his whole life. When he knew that there's nothing more beautiful than you and falling in love with you. He thought of having to lift you up just so you could place the star at the very top of the tree and then his mind wandered to having to lift up a little you instead to put the star up as you watched from behind.

Their was another moment that is one of his favourites but probably not yours. You were both walking on your way to the cafe it all started at, a year had gone by and the falling pink petals have returned. You placed your arm out and as if you walked out from Mark's dreams you uttered the exact same words.

"You know they say if your walking with your lover under cherry blossom trees and a petal lands in both your hands, you love lasts forever" you say smiling as you hold up the petal to show Mark. He smiles holding out his hand as well.

"So I've been told" he smiles at his hand as finally a petal falls into his plam, he grabs your hand encasing both petals between. "What who said that to you?" You ask wondering if Mark has loved anyone else before. It wasn't really a topic you talked about, the past was in the past. You didn't really care but you still couldn't stop your curiosity. "Just someone I loved" he smiled as if he was brought back to a happy memory. You pouted, unable to hide the growing jealously, yes you knew it was stupid but Mark was your first love and you hoped you were his too. All Mark could do was laugh at your jealousy and kiss your pout away. It's one of his favourite memories because it's the only time you've ever really been jealous and it's even funnier that you were jealous at your self, well past self.

One that you both did agree on was a simple moment, not sure of when it took place but the events of the day remain engraved in both your memories. You both were lying down in bed, ready to be put into your food coma just after lunch. You legs intertwined, arms around each other, you head buried into the crook of his neck as you gave him kisses here and there. Mark's hand was on your thigh occasionally rubbing it and drawing small circles into it. You lay like this for what felt like only five minutes until Mark tried peel himself off you. "Where are you going?" you whined out as you pinned his body against yours with much more force not allowing him to move. "I need to take a shower" mark laughes out and he again tries to move away from you and get up from the bed. "No, no just 20 more minutes" you try and bargain, "you don't need to have one now, you just ate" you say wrapping your legs tighter against his. "No i really need to go now" he protests and tries tickling you until you get off of him. You let out a fit of giggles but manage to cage his hands inbetween both your torsos and stop him from being able to move his hands "No, I'm not letting you go" you say in a pout with the cutest voice you can put on in hopes he'd stop and he does for a while until the brilliant idea pops into his mind. "How about you join me in the shower?" He says in a smirk you can feel against you cheeks as he presses a kiss down. "No I already had one this morning, I'm washing my hair again" you says snuggling closer to him "how about you go when I fall asleep?" You yawn. "Fine" he smiles and holds you until you fall asleep in his arms.

This moment remained so special because you both realised how much you loved each others presence. The feeling of being wanted by someone whilst wanting to be there, to Mark and you it truly was a amazing. It was a possibility of possibilities but that's the one that played out, maybe the universe finally was giving Mark his happy ending.

But what ending was ever truly happy?

You were on your way from work, to meet Mark and go out for dinner. The green man flashed and you walked out to cross the road. Mark could see the sirens on his way to meeting you, he could see ambulance and the police cars parked outside the cafe. His heart dropped at the familiar sight, but then his phone rang and you name flashed across the screen, a picture of you lying in the snow lit up his screen and he smiled slightly out of relief. "Hey" Mark's voice was horse and clearly he was shaken up still, "hello" an unfamiliar voice came from the otherside and Mark's heart yet again sank to his gut as the police had informed him of his nightmare.

Mark ran towards the ambulance and he climbed in. Running to hold your hand, he collapsed by your side. The blood dripping from your head was an all too familiar sight and it made Mark sick, his gut clenched and his heart ached. He could feel the unsettling feeling coming up his throat. You heart monitore beating rapidly and your chest rising and falling as quick as each beep. The sound getting louder and louder until it was the only noise he could hear.

The world began to fade out when he saw you breathe your last, you lungs had collapsed and so did his world. He saw you die for the second time, the pain never faulted though. His heart clenched in his chest and every part of his body was crying out. Tears falling uncontrollably as well as his shaking body, he held your now cold hands and prayed for you to come back to him. Like those nights he used to pray for you to enter his life, again he's asking you not leave like when you left once the day came but he couldn't stop you. Life is cold, unfair and you were always meant to leave him. You left him when the morning came as his nighthawk and now you leave him as if this was all just a dream but when you left, you left with his heart and the pain is what reminded him that this was reality.

He cried and cried by your side, praying for the comforting warmth you alway had, to come back. He's now here kneeling at your grave, eyes red with bags underneath indicating his lack of sleep. Red roses placed by your gravestone and it's here where Mark pledges his undying love. He prays one more time, he places his hands together "I pray our love crosses over multiple lifetimes, so i could fall for you all over again. For loving you this lifetime, just wasn't enough" he cries.

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

#first #five #tags #don't #work #neowritingsnet #NCT #NCT 127 #nct dream #nct mark #mark lee #mark x reader #mark x you #mark fluff #mark angst #mark au #mark fic #nct drabbles #nct fluff #nct fic #nct angst #neothestars #nct renjun #nct soulmate au #nighthawks

[santiagoswagger]

i've never fallen from quite this high

Amy's birthday falls one month into her very new relationship with Jake, and he promises her he has plans to blow her mind.

Set sometime after “The Funeral.”

In all the years Amy’s known Jake, she’s been witness to the downfall of most of his relationships, and she knows they all tend to follow a similar pattern.

He was disorganized and completely consumed by his work throughout most of them, perpetually forgetting to show up for dinners or drinks because a case always took precedence. He could be selfish, unfiltered with his words and competitive to a fault. Most of the women he dated never seemed to last very long, and if they did, Jake usually found a reason to end things. There were a few exceptions, just as there are with any rule, but Jake was nothing if not consistent. He was a lone wolf, even in his personal life.

But the Jake Peralta that Amy finds herself dating now might as well be a stranger.

In the month since they decided to screw being light and breezy, she’s observed several small changes in him that often have her questioning if he’s the same man who once took her on a date designed for maximum humiliation.

When they make plans, he immediately adds them to the calendar on his phone so he won’t forget. He shares his snacks with her at the movies, even if he rolls his eyes while passing her the popcorn bucket. He takes the time to compliment her whether she’s dressed up for a date night out or wearing her ratty sweats on the couch at home, and genuinely means it either way. He’s still overly competitive, but that only makes her like him more.

She catches herself staring at him from across their adjoined desks, in awe of the person he was and the person he’s becoming. She can’t believe she’s actually falling for her goofy, infuriating partner. It’s scary, just as any big change is for a control freak like Amy, but she’s starting to believe that anything worthwhile begins with a little fear.

Much to Amy’s chagrin, Jake catches her mid-stare and smirks.

“Amy, I know you think I look extremely handsome in my new flannel, but this is a workplace. What would the Captain say?” he asks smugly, keeping his voice quiet enough so their coworkers can’t overhear. It’s something they’ve both perfected over the last month.

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop a traitorous grin from materializing on her face.

“Jake, we both know you took that flannel from the lost and found last week. And I wasn’t doing anything,” she says unconvincingly, burying her head in the open file next to her keyboard. “I was thinking. About my case. Because I’m a detective.”

Jake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “Does this ‘thinking’ have anything to do with a major life event happening this weekend?”

Amy cocks her head to the side. “’Major life event?’ What are you talking about?”

Jake lets out a loud, triumphant laugh, startling Hitchcock and Scully from their afternoon naps a few feet away.

“Amy, please tell me you didn’t forget your own birthday. No, wait, please tell me you did so I can make fun of you.”

Her jaw drops in horror. Amy Santiago, queen of organization, forgot her own birthday. Work had been so crazy the last few weeks and nights spent analyzing her planner were few and far between now that she had someone to go home with after work so something was bound to fall through the cracks. But she would rather let Charles cook dinner for her than let Jake know that.

“Shut up,” she says indignantly. “Just because I don’t obsess over my birthday like some people doesn’t mean I forgot it.”

Jake leans forward with a softer smile than before. It’s fond, almost. “You did, but that’s okay. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve for Saturday.”

“You do?” she says, surprised.

“Mmm-hmm,” he nods, grinning. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

She laughs. “Okay, I’ll hold you to it.”

As they pack up their desks to leave for the night, Amy allows herself to wonder what Jake could possibly have planned. It’s their first birthday or holiday as a couple, and it’s so early. Their relationship is still so new and exciting, but a birthday is a big commitment. They haven’t even discussed where they see things going or if there’s a future for them. She doesn’t want this birthday to be the thing that scares him away before the relationship really gets off the ground. She’s pretty sure it could be something great if they let it.

Amy wakes up Saturday morning to the smell of fresh coffee wafting into her bedroom. It’s a shock for two reasons: she’s fairly certain she ran out of coffee grounds earlier this week and she knew Jake was scheduled to work an overtime shift today. The rumpled sheets next to her confirm his absence, but they’re still slightly warm to the touch; he must have just brewed her a pot before stumbling out the door.

She takes the time to brush her hair and teeth, and wash and moisturize her face – she refuses to let her morning routine slip, even if it’s her birthday – before walking out into the kitchen. It’s where she finds a full pot of coffee, complete with a new bag of beans from her favorite neighborhood café. It’s annoyingly expensive hipster coffee, and she can’t believe Jake shelled out the cash for it.

She also finds a note written in Jake’s awful chicken scratch on some stationery he must have grabbed from her office. Lucky for him, Amy’s been forced to decipher a few hundred of his case files over the years and can read his appalling handwriting without a problem.

Ames,

Happy Birthday, weirdo! I’m sorry I have to work on the day of your birth but I promise to make it up to you later ;) See you at 5.

Jake

She smiles as she finishes reading before pouring herself a large cup of steaming coffee and taking a long sip. She sighs, and she’s fairly sure it’s not just the coffee warming her from the inside out.

Truthfully, a day to herself is the best birthday present she could have asked for. She spends the day fielding calls and texts from her family and Kylie while also managing to organize her binders alphabetically and catch up on her very full DVR.

But by the time 5 o’clock rolls around, Jake is nowhere to be found and Amy can’t help but be a little disheartened. He had been making much more of an effort to be punctual lately, especially once he discovered what that earned him from Amy, but she supposes he hasn’t completely let his old habits die. She does her best to shrug it off. He probably just got caught up finishing a case, she thinks.

By 5:30, Amy is concerned. By 6, she’s spiraling.

He’s never been this late to meet her before, and never this late without sending an emoji-filled apology text. She, more than most, knows things can get out of hand at the precinct within an instant, but a shadow of a doubt still manages to nestle its way into Amy’s brain as the minutes tick by without word from her boyfriend.

She pours herself a glass of wine and takes a huge gulp. She knows from past observations that a month is usually Jake’s tipping point in a relationship. It’s entirely possible that he’s starting to have second thoughts about turning their friendship into something more. The thought rips through her like lightning.

It’s then that her front door opens and an exhausted looking Jake practically stumbles into the living room carrying two stuffed takeaway bags. His hair is a mess and his flannel is even more rumpled than usual. Her previously racing thoughts are immediately quelled when she sees him.

“Ames, I’m so sorry but I couldn’t find the restaurant and then the order was wrong and then I had to go to a different place and it was a whole thing,” he says in a breathless jumble. She can barely make out individual words.

“Are you mad?” he asks as he catches his breath. He looks genuinely gutted at the mere possibility he’s disappointed her.

She puts her wine glass down on the coffee table and moves to wrap him up in a firm hug. She can feel the tension leave his body at her touch.

“No, I’m not mad,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “But I wish you had texted me so I knew you were alright.”

“Phone died,” he says sheepishly. She pulls away slightly and gently swats his arm.

“I thought I bought you a charger for your desk!”

“I may or may not have been playing Kwazy Cupcakes all day and it totally drained my battery,” he laughs. “The precinct was so boring today, Ames.”

She smirks. “Did you miss me, Peralta?”

“Pshh, no,” he says, eyes darting around the room.

“You did,” she says smugly and he rolls his eyes, visibly grinning. “Now, tell me about this food.”

She pulls away from him to rummage through the plastic bags he’d placed on her dining table when he came home. It smells unbelievably familiar.

“I, um,” he stutters. “Remember when you told me about your favorite birthday parties as a kid? When all of your extended family would come over and it was just a giant party with games and the best Cuban food?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says softly. It had been such a throwaway conversation, late night memories shared while cuddling on his couch in front of the TV after a long shift. She’s genuinely touched that it stayed with him.

“Well, I found a place in Park Slope that sells those cheesy guava pastries your mom used to make you every year on your birthday,” he says, rubbing his arm uncomfortably. “But they messed up the order and I had to drive around to a bunch of Cuban restaurants to find them. That’s why I was so late.”

Maybe it’s the nostalgic smell of the pasteles de queso y guayaba bringing back her childhood, or maybe it’s the look of pure vulnerability on Jake’s face, but Amy can feel the warmth from this morning’s coffee returning tenfold. A lump begins to grow in her throat and she swallows hard to tamp it down.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she says, astonished. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

He’s rubbing his arm again, a nervous tick. “I hope they’re right. The woman at the last place I tried didn’t speak English so it was a lot of charades and pointing.”

She laughs. “They’re definitely right. They smell just like I remember.”

She puts the bag down and walks quickly over to where he’s standing in her kitchen doorway. She kisses him delicately, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek, thumb sweeping his jaw as she pulls away. His eyes are half-mast but they’re shining brightly.

“Happy birthday, Amy,” he whispers, moving to gently grab her hand as it pulls away from his face.

She scrunches her nose and smiles. “Thank you. Now, are you ready to try some cheese and guava pastries?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no, thank you,” he says vehemently, backing out of her embrace.

She walks closer. “Please? For my birthday? You did say you would make it up to me after working all day.”

He groans. “Fine. But this is the last time I do anything nice for you.”

She smiles. “Deal.”

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #peraltiago #this is what quarantine has done to me