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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year

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‘Cover’

Sherlock x fem!reader

- ugh my sherlock smut fics are always the longest thing ever. i know this idea is a lil cliche but do i care? fuck noooo. this one had me blushing by the end not gonna lie. also btw i love y’all sm u guys reblogging and replying to my stuff makes me want to scream in the best way xx

You were opposite Sherlock. Sat in John's christened seat. He wasn't in right now, you were unsure if that was a good or bad thing as of this moment. You were both staring at each other intently, not saying anything, legs crossed. Insanity began to seep into your bloodstream. You were pressing your luck the longer you stayed here but you were too drunk off of his presence to care.

Sherlock was a different man all together.

He was a pompous, self entitled prick and you were stark raving mad- it wasn't a harmonious coupling but the electricity was just pulsing through the air probably due to the events earlier.

—————

Sherlock was needed to go undercover to a prestigious black tie event that he didn't want to go to in order to blow the lid off of drug smuggling ring; it was honestly a juvenile task for him but he had to grin and bear it. He was informed that he needed a plus one.

The only person that popped up in his mind was you. You were capable of handling it. Determined enough. Bold, daring...beautiful- you could be helpful to him.

The days leading up to him asking you were hell on Earth, his nails bit into his seat everytime he thought of it. You on the other hand put yourself forward and leapt at the opportunity, without his knowledge of course- Mycroft made sure of it. It was his twisted form of inflicting torture upon his brother, racking his nerves when he least expected it as a form of entertainment. Mycroft hadn't seen Sherlock this nervous in a while, he was concerned it would effect his perfomance on the field but it didn't matter, it would be entertaining to watch altogether.

When he asked you on the evening the event was actually on, you were impassive.

Sherlock was confused when you only replied with a brusque 'I know.' You were pacing around your apartment wearing a pretty slip dress, not too formal, not too casual- just right. He thought it was just for the date with one of the chief detectives that you were putting off, maybe his incessant asking got to you and you gave in. The thought soured his mood but he had no right to feel that way. He brightened when he found that you were actually accompanying him this evening, although any other day he would have been seething at this unexpected surprise...but the surprise was you.

‘’Is this good enough for you?’’ You asked while putting on your earrings, heels clacking against the laminate, wildly looking for the validation you were sure he wouldn't be able to provide you. God knows every single female interaction Sherlock had ended up in him offending them.

‘’Uh...yes. Good.’’ Sherlock said. You weren't sure what his tone carried or held, he was very passive.

Sherlock's felt his peripheral blur slightly as the sight of you. You were stood there panicking about something you shouldn't even have a second thought about: your own beauty. The first thing he deduced out of you was that your insecurity was glaring, clear as day- yet Sherlock couldn't figure out why. You were incredibly confident with your work, you knew exactly what you were doing, impossibly assertive and determined when you needed to be. so why did you worry so much about how you looked?

You looked stunning. He was left hopeless. Sherlock shook the thoughts out of his head before it consumed him.

‘’It better be because we need to leave.’’

Sherlock was very abrasive the entire evening, it irritated you. Your mind was pacing to uncover what was going on in his, he was the mystery you were keening to unravel but then again not even John could pry secrets out of him. How could you ever get close to figuring it out?

What was he thinking?

What did he want?

How is he feeling?

What is he doing?

Why were you feeling this way for someone so distant?

You hooked your arm against his while you were nearing the ballroom floor, the feeling of his tailored suit making your body wirr and buzz already- you were sure he could feel it. Sherlock definitely did, he was wondering if it was out of nerves; he definitely couldn't deal with a jittering version of vou throwing a wrench into all of his plans for tonight. He let out an exasperated sigh and it only made your face contort into a frown.

‘’You're being incredibly curt this evening.’’You said, annoyance lacing your tone.

‘’I'm not I just want to get this over with.’’ He replied, eyes locking with yours in a perpetual and longing battle. A plead for an answer you'll never get.

‘’Dance with me.’’ You said breathlessly, pulling on his arm to tug him to the dance floor where all the other couples were gazing wantonly in each other's eyes while whispering sweet nothings into every ear.

Sherlock felt himself trip up for words as you pulled him into your embrace.

‘’Put your hands on my waist.’’You breathed into his ear, the feeling of eyes watching your every move. You needed to sell whatever it is you needed to sell to the people you had to take down. ‘’Hold me.’’ Your tone was that of an instruction, Sherlock was never one to listen but in this instance he was willing to listen to you. It felt as though Sherlock was adamant on putting his hands on you, the thought darkened your already straying mood.

Sherlock was afraid that if he had his hands on you, he simply wouldn't able to let go.

He did though. His large palms met with the small of your back and your hands went to his broad shoulders, your breath halted slightly. A twinge of electricity coursed through your entire body at his secure touch. The man had so much power over you, it was embarrassing.

The cinematic strings were plucking creating a symphony of beautiful classical sounds as you danced together, swaying to the music.

‘’We don't have time for you to shove your intelligence into everyone's face.’’ You muttered seriously into his ear, face dipping near the crook of his neck.

‘'Not possible. Let me just get this done and I'll pick you up once it's finished. These people are pretentious enough to turn a blind eye towards me. In this case, I think that will work in our favour.’’

Sherlock was trying to get this over with, his mind was preoccupied with something else: you. He was dancing with you. He was touching you. He was feeling territorial over you even though he had absolutely no right to. He was in your air, he was enamoured by the scent of you, your sweet perfume clouding the air he breathed. You looked enchanting but he simply couldn't let himself tell you that. Sherlock was supposed to care for no-one, for nothing- he was married to his work, that complex mind was too rough to let alone care for.

‘’Is this what this is about? Wanting to go solo?’’ Your tone was accusatory as you lifted your face to meet with his scorching eyes.

‘’No. Mycroft is breathing down my neck and I need him to get the message that I can handle my cases.’’ He gritted.

Your fingers played with tufts of his hair as your lips were dangerously close to his ear. ‘’You know what I think?’’ Sherlock felt his heart hammer slightly as your fingers continued their ministrations.

‘’It's all a cover.’’ You whispered, gazes interfering once more, that cool breezy blue boring into yours, faces merely inches apart. Sherlock's face was hard and his lips thinned into a straight line.

‘’Cover? How so. Enlighten me.’’ He said lowly, eyes not straying away from yours for a single second.

‘’John was a cover. He was a cover to show that you do have a heart, some twisted sense of humanity but I don't think that's true anymore. You'll always want to be alone, you'll always want to do this alone. I'm not saying it's your fault but...the people in your life that care about you deserve to be more than just a cover for you.’’

Your face was etched in compassion, with care, with longing. You looked so beautiful and it concerned him to an immeasurable degree, his face was lifeless as he glared into the deep abyss of your eyes. Sherlock hated the way you saw through him, it was deeply startling for him to hear the words from those delicious lips, those lips that can be dangerous and do more harm than good. Especially in terms of Sherlock's ego.

‘’I'm being a cover for you right now. We're undercover.’’ You added, almost saddened by the thought even though Sherlock believed the opposite. ‘’Dip me.'’ You ordered and like the fool he was, he did.

Sherlock twirled you and dipped you, his grip on your waist as he stared down at you was akin to that of a iron grip- as if to never let go. As if your life was in his hands. The look between you was that of pure desire, looking through the hubris, the frailty between you both. It was potent. Heady. Intoxicating.

Your fingers carded through his soft curls, your slight exhales the only thing that could be heard.

Sherlock straightned you up to stand, faces barely inches apart, lips almost grazing each other. His eyes flitted to your lips, those lips that can make or break him. Right now, you were breaking him. Sherlock kept you close, it was evident the way your chest was pressing into his, your breathing was becoming heavier with every second he had you like this.

‘’You're wrong.’’ He said huskily. ‘’You're not a cover.’’ His breath fanned your face, eyes heavy as if to reflect his heart.

You didn't know what to say, all your mind was on was his lips. His lips were so close to yours and you were unsure of how to handle yourself like this. It took an eternity for your tongue to remember how to speak.

‘’Don't make me be so resilient.’’ You said under your breath, it was only just audible but it made his ears prick up in a heartbeat.

Sherlock's mind was reeling and then all of a sudden it drew to a blank. He had you right in front of him, pleading, begging for him to make things easy for you. To be soft for you. To want you. Maybe you were trying to catch him out, find a moment of weakness within him. His trust was compromised. With a heavy heart, he had to let you go. The case was begging for his attention more, he'd only disappoint you. He wouldn't be able to give you what you need, what you asked of him.

He let you go and left you in the wind. He walked away.

All he could do is walk away from you.

Your heart shattered inside of the crest of your body, the shards falling into your lungs making it difficult to breathe. All you could do is suck it up.

Sherlock Holmes was never prone to falling for someone, how could you be stupid enough to believe that you could actually mean something to him? You scoffed at the thought. He left you high and dry in the middle of the dancefloor and it just proved your point.

He wanted to go alone. That's all he ever knew.

—————

Now you were in his flat. Alone. With him. Only him. Sherlock was able to apprehend the drug smugglers and bring them into Mycroft fairly quickly from the time he fleed you from the dance floor. The thought made your soul wilt a little but you were reguivinated by the fact you were in his space, you were with him right now. Sherlock asked to go somewhere private to talk, you didn't think it would be to go to his flat. You were unsure what he wanted to talk about, he made his intentions very clear earlier.

You just glared at each other silently, knowing how calculating he was you were sure he could read your thoughts. You could cry to the clicking of time it was going so slow.

‘’You look beautiful.’’ Sherlock complimented, his voice sincere. It made you square your shoulders and eyelashes flutter, it could only be noticed if he looked at you close enough and knowing him... of course he does.

‘’Thank you.’’You replied bashfully.

‘’I'm sorry.’’

‘’For what.’’

‘’Leaving you.’’ Sherlock's tone was serious and hard, remembering the moment was awful for him. He never really cared for other people's feelings, he always did what he had to do, but in this case it made him irate. He cared too much for you. How could he leave a woman like you?

Achilles Heel.

He was sure you would be his downfall.

But for tonight...just for tonight, he could show you just how much the man that supposedly had no heart cared.

‘’You did what you had to do. I didn't like it but I respect it.’’ You replied, trying to retain a modicum of humility in his presence.

‘’No you don't.’’ Sherlock caught you out so easily, it was like you were making it easy for it. ‘’Don't lie and say you respect it, because we both know you don't.’’

‘’I don't.’’ You acquiesced. '’Just don't leave me like that again.’’

You let the words hang in the air for a little, but it only just electrified the engery swinging through the room even more. Oh God, you wanted him on your lips, touching you with his fingertips.

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up and straightened his suit jacket; you watched him intently, wondering what his next move was going to be. He finally grabbed you by the arm and flung you from the sofa and tugged you into him so you were against his chest, you were disarmed immediately. Like the moment where he held you so close to him earlier tonight. An impossible ache began swirling in your stomach and you didn't know how to quiet it, it was becoming even more of a problem when his hands found home on your waist.

‘’Do you want me to promise that?’’ Sherlock grumbled, eyes roaring with an incandescent flame at the sight of you.

‘’Promise it if you think you can actually live by it.’’ You said softly as you stared at his lips. ‘’Don't say it because you think it's what I want to hear.’’

Sherlock pondered your words for a moment.

‘’What do you want to hear?’’ He asked, light as a whisper.

‘’How badly you want to fuck me.’’ Your voice was as deadpan, impassive. Sherlock was impressed with how you were containing yourself, your body was just begging to be touched by him and he was more than willing if you trusted him enough. ‘’How much you need me.’’

Sherlock gazed at you, completely lost in your request. His lips crashed against yours like stormy waves on the seashore. Lightning against the coast when his mouth tasted at yours. You didn't care if Sherlock uttered sweet little lies, his were the lies you would consume with no remorse. You tasted divine, a myraid of luscious tastes, cherry, peach, lust. You tasted like the world.

Your fingers flew to his bowtie and you pulled him closer with it, you let your lips ease against his as you pulled back to gawk at him, to revel in his reaction.

‘’I don't even need to tell you how much I need you...can't you feel it already?’’ Sherlock questioned and your mouth dried, you were drowning and only he could throw you a line.

‘’Take me to bed. I'll be good I promise.’’ You said whistfully, breathy and Sherlock grabbed you by the hand and whisked you to his room. His hands were fucking massive, his grip tight. How could he deny you when you promised him so sweetly?

He couldn't, and he didn't even want to stop himself. Sherlock had waited long enough for you.

He didn't even have the decency to slam the door shut, he wanted you to be as loud as you wanted. It was only him that could hear you. Unrelenting, you grabbed his head and kissed his lips roughly, a sweet moan echoing through the soul he lived in. His hand meandered all over your body, from your hair, down your back and to the curve of your ass. He was marvelling at your figure, you were a star that fell to earth, a light cast in the darkness of his head.

Sherlock grabbed you and pushed you on his bed, his whole body stirred and desire coursed through him to the end of his cock. He was just so ready for you, he has been for a while but he didn't want to disappoint you. He was falling to pieces while he was with you, Sherlock simply just didn't want it to end too quickly.

‘’Beautiful. So beautiful. Can you even begin to understand how much I want you?’’ Sherlock admitted and it made your whole body alight, it was humiliating. His nose grazed against yours, he wanted to see that look in your eyes when he said.

‘’No. I don't.’’ You breathed.

Oh no, this will simply not do.

‘’Let's change that shall we?’’ Sherlock promised huskily, you were keening to experience it, every single motion he made, every sigh and gasp he illicits.

Sherlock peeled you of your dress far too easily, your body bare and all for him to mark up as he pleases, all for him to claim as his. Lord you were enticing. He wanted to memorise every single dip and curve, every single reaction he can get out of you. It was like you were designed just for him.

Your nimble fingers flew to his jacket, you shrugged it off easily and then you got to work on his button down.

‘’You don't seem very patient.’’ You teased as you undid the last button and discarded it off him.

‘’You know I'm not.’’

Sherlock ripped your underwear off and shimmied the reminants down your legs.

His heart was thundering at the sight of you, as if he'd never seen a naked woman before. You were unmanning him.

‘’Sherlock...inside....’’ You mumbled, almost drunkenly. So intoxicated by his presence you were slurring your words.

‘’Shh...be patient.’’ He mocked you and again it disarmed you once more.

Your insatiable hands went to his zipper and undid it so rougly it was threatening to break. You stuffed your hand down his pants with a wicked gleam in your eyes, you marvelled at his grunt. It was so goddamn hot. Your slender palm began rubbing against his painfully hard cock once you pulled it out, he was so deliciously massive. It was glorious. Sherlock was sighing, gasping and grunting and it made your self esteem boost tenfold.

Enough was enough, he'd inflict the same torture onto you.

Sherlock's mouth fell against yours again, he was fawning over you, kissing at you like he had nothing to lose. His mouth travelled to your jaw and neck, his face was nestled in the crook of your neck, leaving small bites in his ever immortal wake. The pleasure was too painful to bare, you were about to explode.

He lifted his face to look at the way your face scrunched up in tense bliss, Sherlock's fingers meandered down the skin of your stomach and you shivered at the sensation.

‘’Do you want my fingers?’’' He offered deliciously and you were jumping at the opportunity.

You nodded fervently.

Sherlock delightfully obliged as he dabbled in your increasing wetness. Christ, you were soaked. You made it easy to plunge two thick fingers in you, he stretched you out and it made you go wild. Like a cat in heat.

‘’Mmm...so...good.’’ You stifled out and he chuckled lowly at your reaction.

‘’I know...I know.’’ He cooed.

A strangled scream got caught in your throat when he replaced his fingers with his cock. You were sure you saw the gates of heaven when he did. Sherlock thought you were a malleable and bendy creature, so well moulded to him it was insane. His brutal pace was unrelenting, he plunged in and out of you with abandon. With ecstacy. You felt your insides heat and burn up at his actions, his hands, his body, his mouth- everything was just too much.

Sherlock pinned your hands above your head, staring into your eyes as he fucked into you so animalistically. He would always be left untamed and that's how you like it.

‘’Feel needed now?’’ He gritted through clenched teeth. You kissed him furiously as a response.

He rocked his hips against yours, it was earth shattering. The tension falling in layers with every moment of pure unbridled pleasure and heated desire. Sweat fell down in small pinpricks and beads down your brows, he was working you so hard it was wearing you out.

‘’Sherlock…’’ You whined but you weren't sure what you were whining for, it wouldn't get you anywhere.

‘’Say it louder, it's only for me to hear.’’

‘’Sherlock!’’ You practically screamed as a means to get him to make you cum.

As if clockwork, you exploded onto him. This pent up frustration and pining turning into this insurmountable neediness that only he could draw out of you, he fucked you through your rippling orgasm. Your skin felt sticky and wet and it was just evidence of how desperate you both were. Your moan was practically a prayer. Sherlock lost his mind at the erotic sound, he sloppily came inside of you when you let him go from that final clamp. He let out a gutteral groun as he spilled himself free inside of you, he was too high off of you to care about the mess he was making. You kissed his cheek and he planted himself beside you to bask in your glory.

Sherlock was messy.

He liked leading his life on his lonesome.

But you saw through that.

You weren't his cover, you were never his cover. It just took you far too long to realise that.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock smut #sherlock fanfic

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blatterpussbunnyfromhell · 7 months

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Did Silver kill Flint?

I keep seeing cold ass takes in the Black Sails side of tumblr that make my blood boil.

Look, I got into Black Sails in 2017, three weeks after the finale aired. Back then, there seemed to be an understanding that the "Silver killed Flint" interpretation was just a fringe theory from straight people made uncomfortable by the queer lead getting a happy ending. Personally, it was my first encounter with the phrase "unbury your gays" (having learnt "bury your gays" a year earlier with The 100). It seemed to be generally accepted that Flint lived, and that this was the whole point.

Now, it would appear that a shift has happened in the fandom, where the idea of Silver killing Flint is no longer treated as a theory by straight weirdos but as a canon, onscreen event, and these posts come from queer fans. It seems to come from younger fans who were about 12 or 13 in 2017. It's so mindboggling to me.

The arguments for this Silver-Killed-Flint thing is usually the same two: birds flying away and Silver's men turning around in the forest, as in reaction to a noise, which is interpreted as a gunshot.

Like, I'm just elaborating on a rant I sent to my friends earlier today here but, if Silver killed Flint, then :

Why would we be shown an entire sequence with one of Silver's henchmen looking for Thomas where he is?

If Thomas and Flint are dead, why aren't we shown their deaths? It's an actual rule in cinema that a character whose death isn't shown on screen isn't dead, a rule that the show does follow (we see Billy's funeral but not his corpse). Besides, Black Sails doesn't shy away from showing death on screen, even for main characters. Then, why not show how Thomas died instead of telling us? Why not show us Silver shooting Flint? The writers trust their viewers to understand the pattern, and understand that the reason we do not see their deaths is because they aren't dead.

Why would Silver bring up Thomas to Flint if he'd planned on killing him? Or if, as I've also seen it said, it was just a lie he made on the spot for Madi ?

And talking about Madi, I've seen A LOT of people saying she would never forgive Silver. And to that I genuinely have to ask, have you seen their last appearence in the show? I dont mean their argument in the cabin, I mean the scene where Silver sits on top of a hill and turns around to find Madi waiting for him on the path. I mean the scene where he walks towards her and she waits for him. So, my question here, if she wasn't gonna forgive Silver, why is she waiting for him on that hill? Nevermind the fact that Treasure Island's Long John Silver is in a relationship with a Black woman (I've seen posts saying that could be Max, and really wtf??), what is the point of showing us this scene if she's not gonna forgive him? Why not stop their arc at the cabin where she sends him away?

At the time when Black Sails' finale aired, Supernatural was still queerbaiting its audience, and Sherlock ended in a fucking shitshow. People were throwing fits over Bill Potts, Doctor Who's first ever onscreen lesbian companion because she was a lesbian with a masculine name. A year before that, The 100, a very popular tv show at the time, had just killed it's only lesbian character and faced so much uproar and backlash for it. (That was my entry into the LGBT+ community, by the way : the first character to make me think I might actually like women getting killed on screen two scenes after having had sex with the female lead). Sense8's two-hour long finale and Love, Simon wouldn't air for another year.

So yeah, if you weren't into queer media back in 2017 (and omg I sound like such an old twat), I don't think you can understand just how important that ending, with Flint being reunited with the love of his life after so much pain and loss, was.

If your interpretation of Black Sails is that the events of Treasure Island happened the way the book tells you, then I'm sorry to tell you this but you completely missed the point of the show.

#black sails #black sails meta #long post #silverflint #long john silver #james flint #thomas hamilton #james mcgraw #captain flint #ok to rb

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 10 months

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The Same Page Part 5/?

So, here it is, another part! Still have no clue how long this series will go, this part took forever to write, I kinda just go whenever I have inspiration, so we’ll see.

Synopsis: Greg comes over for a visit and Mycroft notices some changes in you.

Same Page Masterlist:

You were already fast asleep on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket draped on top of you by the time Sherlock said goodbye to John and made his way inside Mycroft’s house.

Mycroft was on one knee next to the couch, his hand absently brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Is she alright?” Sherlock approached his brother quietly, not wanting to disturb the scene in front of him.

Mycroft’s mouth twisted as he stood, removing his hand from your head.

“I think so. She really wore herself out today, I hope she didn’t make herself sick.”

“Has she ever…”

Mycroft shook his head, anticipating his brother’s question.

“She’s never run away from me. She has tried to come after me before when I tried to leave for work a few times, about a year ago. I tried to leave her with several of your…friends. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, even John. She wouldn’t have it.”

Sherlock frowned, “She’s never been particularly clingy with you before.”

Mycroft gave a slightly sardonic smile, “Yes well, there are a lot of things about her that have changed.” He sighed. “I suppose she thought that if she left me alone, the way-“ if Sherlock didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Mycroft almost chocked on the words before continuing, “the way she left you alone before—well, you know—that I would’ve done exactly what you had done. She thought she’d lose us both, I suppose.”

Sherlock stared down at you. You looked so peaceful, so unlike anything he had seen from you since he’d been back. It cut him deeply to think that you actually felt responsible for your brothers’ safety. That was his and Mycroft’s job, to look after you.

“She didn’t blame herself for-“ Sherlock didn’t even want to finish the sentence.

Mycroft turned to look at him, and Sherlock almost recoiled at the look in Mycroft’s eyes. He looked…heartbroken. Almost…vulnerable. Almost.

“Yes. She did. After she got over the shock, and the denial, that’s all she could think about for months on end. She kept asking me what I thought would’ve happened to you if she-“ Mycroft swallowed, “if she hadn’t left you alone that afternoon. If she’d let John leave and remained nearby to make sure you were alright. If she’d been more attentive to your needs, your feelings. I didn’t know what to say to her. I couldn’t tell her that you weren’t actually depressed…” Mycroft trailed off, breaking eye contact with his little brother.

Sherlock was horrified. He now understood Mycroft’s pain, his hesitance to breech this subject. A small, selfish part of Sherlock was now glad that it had been Mycroft, not himself, that had been here to deal with the tsunami of a wake that his death had left behind.

Neither brother spoke for a while. There was nothing left they wanted to say. Not about this.

A knock on the door cracked the still air, and Mycroft stiffened when you flinched awake.

“Myc…”

Mycroft rested his hand on your shoulder, “shh, it’s nothing, get some rest alright? Sherlock is here with you.”

Mycroft stood to open the door, surprised to see Lestrade standing there.

“Inspector,” he greeted cordially.

“Sherlock…shared his little secret with me earlier,” Greg said awkwardly. “I thought I would come and see how Y/N is now that…”

Mycroft nodded slightly. He didn’t quite understand the relationship you had with all of Sherlock’s friends, but he was glad you had so many people that cared about you.

“I see, unfortunately she’s resting right-“

“Greg?”

Mycroft turned to see you, wrapped up in your blanket, a slight smile gracing your lips.

Lestrade grinned back at you.

“Hey N/N, are you alright?”

Mycroft stepped back while Greg embraced you, glancing sideways when Sherlock stepped up next to him.

“I’m ok,” came your muffled reply.

No one in the room really believed you, but no one was going to speak up about it either.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Greg as he stepped further into the house and shut the door behind him.

“I’m here to see you, of course,” he smiled down at you, and Mycroft was surprised when you smiled back, albeit a bit wearily.

The smile dropped quickly however, and your eyes seemed almost haunted as you choked out your next words.

“Have you known about…”

Greg shook his head quickly, “No, no I haven’t. I found out just after John.”

Your relief made Mycroft feel uncomfortable, and more than a little guilty. He had thought this might happen, that you might form some kind of bond with the ones that had been truly deceived. He had somewhat expected it.

What he hadn’t expected was the twist in his gut that came now. What was it?

It took him a few moments to realize the true meaning of this unfamiliar feeling, and when the realization hit it was like a backhand across the face.

Jealousy. He was jealous.

But why? Why should he care about the bonds you forged with the ‘Baker Street Crowd’, as he thought of them?

The answer was simple, really, but Mycroft didn’t want to believe it.

As hard as the last two years had been, as uncomfortable as he was in his position as caretaker…

He would miss it.

He would truly miss the way you ran to him for every problem, the way that you looked at him like he was Superman, capable of solving every trouble and pain that shook your whole world.

He didn’t want that to go away. He didn’t want you to form a bond with Lestrade, or with John, heck, even with Sherlock, that would rival the one that you had with him.

He hated feeling this way, thinking this way. It was selfish. It was wrong.

But he couldn’t help it.

You had grown up so much closer to Sherlock, and he hadn’t cared for so long.

But now that he knew what it was like, to be so close to you, to be the big brother that you wanted to comfort you…

He didn’t think he could go back to the way things had been like before.

“How long can you stay?”

Your voice snapped Mycroft out of his reverie, and he had to swallow his annoyance at Lestrade’s response.

“Hey, I’m here for as long as you need me,” he turned to look at Mycroft, “as long as it’s ok with your brother.”

No. It wasn’t.

Mycroft bit back this response when he saw the pleading look on your face when you turned to him. He forced a polite,

“Yes, of course.”

Whatever you needed.

…

‘As long as you need me,’ turned out to be the rest of the afternoon, and after mere minutes of watching you and Lestrade catch up, Mycroft disappeared into his office under the excuse of getting some work done. He hated the way you seemed to be getting alone with Lestrade, especially right after you had just run away from him to be with John.

He was noticing a pattern.

You were beginning to gravitate towards the people who had shared in your pain, the people who had also been lied to. The people whose grief had been real. It was probably good for you.

But that also meant that you were gravitating away from him. The liar. The faker.

The betrayer.

Would you ever look at him the same way again? That look of complete and utter trust, the one he had slowly become dependent on over the last two years. He needed you. He needed you to need him.

He hated feeling this way.

He hated himself for it.

…

You finally told Lestrade that you would be fine if he left, once it was close to dinner time. He said his goodbyes, and finally left to join his wife for dinner, with a promise of, “I’ll see you later.”

Something about Lestrade’s visit seemed to have energized you, which made Mycroft nervous, especially after your tiring excursion with John.

So when you asked Mycroft if you could make dinner tonight, something you’d not done in over two years, he was hesitant to say the least.

“Are you sure you’re not tired? You’ve had quite a day.”

You nodded resolutely, “I’m fine. Please Mycroft?”

You were as stubborn as Sherlock when you made your mind up, and Mycroft figured he would win no brownie points with you by arguing. So he relented.

“Would you like any help?”

You shook your head firmly, “I can do it.”

…

Mycroft didn’t stray far from the kitchen, ready at a moment’s notice for you to call out to him for help.

But you didn’t.

In fact, you seemed to be completely capable, even enjoying yourself, alone in the kitchen.

Mycroft hated it.

He wanted you to get better, he really, really did, but he didn’t want that to mean that you completely pulled away from him. And he felt now like that was what was happening.

Not that he’d ever admit how he felt. Not to anyone. Even himself.

After dinner, you insisted on cleaning up, and Mycroft was truly amazed at your new energy level. He supposed that’s what he deserved for underestimating you.

After dinner and cleanup, you headed towards the stairs leading to your room.

Mycroft stepped forwards, “Are you going to bed? Would you like help?” With your lower energy level, due to your usual lack of sleep and irregular eating habits, he was shocked you were still standing, much less ready to walk up stairs.

You didn’t even meet his eye as you shook your head firmly, “I’m fine. Tell Sherlock I said goodnight. Is he going back to Baker Street?”

Mycroft was taken aback, “I—I’m not sure. Do you want him to?”

You shrugged, still not meeting Mycroft’s eye.

“He can do whatever he wants.”

You walked up the stairs without another word.

…

“I’m worried about her.”

Sherlock frowned at his older brother.

“You’re worried because she doesn’t have separation anxiety?”

Mycroft sighed, “I’m worried because of her complete change in personality. It doesn’t make sense, and it isn’t healthy.”

Sherlock shrugged. “And what she was doing before was healthy? Maybe this is a good thing, maybe it means she’s healing.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Or maybe it means she doesn’t trust us enough to tell us how she really feels..”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen her with you,” Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I’ve never seen anyone trust someone as much as she does you.”

Mycroft hung his head, something that shocked Sherlock.

“That was before she knew how much I’ve lied to her.”

…

Sherlock decided to head back to Baker Street that night, despite Mycroft’s protests.

“What if she wakes up again and needs you?”

“She was fine tonight, Mycroft. You need to let her be fine.”

Though Mycroft would never admit it, that comment had stung. Was he really so desperate for his little sister’s company that he refused to let her be alright?

No, no that wasn’t it. He knew his little sister, had spent the past two years getting to know her better than she knew herself.

He wasn’t accepting this new side of you, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew it couldn’t last. Not yet, anyway.

This kind of improvement would take time, and a lot more work than had been accomplished in the few days that Sherlock had been back.

You still needed your big brother.

And he was going to be there for you.

…

To Mycroft’s surprise, the night passed without incident, and so did the next morning. You let Mycroft cook you pancakes, but you seemed particularly silent that morning, not even asking him if Sherlock was going to be there that day.

Eventually Mycroft decided to leave you to your own devices, and he went to his office to get some work done.

A few hours went by uninterrupted, until Mycroft realized it was nearing lunchtime. He was desperate to keep you on your eating schedule, especially while this energy of yours lasted and you seemed to have no objections to food, so he shut down his work computer and left his office to find you.

He expected to find you on the couch, watching something or perhaps reading.

What he didn’t expect was to find you sitting on the floor next to the stairs, your back against the wall and your knees pulled up against your chest. He rushed to your side, and your head jerked up when you saw him standing next to you.

“Mycroft…” the croak in your voice, along with the tears sliding down your cheeks, struck Mycroft right in the gut. How long had you been sitting there like this, while he was busy not paying attention to you?

“Sweetheart…” Mycroft kneeled on the floor in front of you, tilting your head up so that you’d look at him, “what happened?”

Despite his efforts, you tilted your eyes down to avoid his gaze.

“I-I was just trying to go up to my room…but I guess my crazy day yesterday finally caught up-caught up to me because I just-just fell down and I couldn’t find-find the strength to get back up.”

Mycroft began looking you over worriedly.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

You put your hand against his chest and pushed him to arms length, “Mycroft, no, it’s ok. I’m fine.”

He sighed, “Why didn’t you call for me?”

You shook your head, still desperately avoiding his searching gaze.

“I’m fine.”

Mycroft sighed again, “You’re sitting on the floor because you can’t stand.” He brushed your hair away from your face, “You know it’s ok to need help, right?”

Your lip started quivering, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet Mycroft’s. He forced himself to keep eye contact, despite nearly flinching from the look in your eyes. It wasn’t that broken-glass look he had seen so often, but you looked so…

Sad. But more than that, you looked alone.

You broke eye contact, casting your eyes towards the floor and leaning against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“I can’t need help all the time.”

Mycroft winced.

“You don’t need it all-“

“Yes I do!” You sat up suddenly, looking up at your brother. “You haven’t gone to work in-in two years, Mycroft! And don’t think I don’t notice how tired you get, I know I’ve-I’ve kept you up with my stupid nightmares.” You were crying now, and yelling, and Mycroft was at a loss for what to do. Every time he thought he had you figured out, every time he was sure you couldn’t surprise him anymore with your emotions, you peeled back another layer and he was lost again. He wished he could understand your feelings, he had tried so many times, but it just wasn’t him.

“Please don’t say that.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and even. “I chose this. I want to be here for you.”

You shook your head, “But it can’t always be like this. Sherlock’s here now, I should-“

“Should what?” Mycroft raised his voice, “should magically get better? That isn’t how it works. We all want things to go back to how they were, but these things take time. You have to be patient.” He sighed, “where did this desperation come from anyway?”

“When Greg and I were catching up…he was talking about some of the cases he’s been on recently. It made me realize…that’s what Sherlock wants to be doing. That’s what you want to be doing. Your work. You shouldn’t have to spend all your time looking after me, you-you guys have lives too. I’ve been selfish.” You looked up. “I’m sorry Mycroft. I’m trying to do better.”

Mycroft felt like he’d just swallowed glass. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe, tried to speak, all of it just left him with a scratchy lump in his throat, and nothing would work properly. You stared up at him, blinking slowly, waiting for his response.

“Don’t…” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t every say anything like that again, do you understand?”

You were confused, “I only meant-“

“No!” Mycroft regretted his tone when you flinched in his arms, and he softened. “No. This isn’t your fault. I know you’re trying your hardest, but I would stay home with you for the rest of my life if I thought that I could help you in any way. You are more important to me than anything, especially work. And Sherlock feels the same way, I know he does.”

You pondered this for several seconds, before meekly asking, “Are you angry with me for running away?”

Mycroft sighed, “No. I’m not. I was very worried, but I’m not angry. I know why you left.”

You sniffled, “I’m not sure I know why I left. I was angry, but…I don’t ever want to leave you like that again. Even though you-you lied…you’re by brother, and I trust you.” You smiled weakly at him, and he felt his spirits lift. “I really, really trust you. And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize. But thank you.”

Mycroft slowly got to his feet, lifting you in his arms. “I think you should get some rest. You look exhausted.”

You leaned against his chest as he carried you upstairs, and when he laid you on your bed you reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Mycroft? Will you stay with me?”

Mycroft smiled down at you.

“Always.”

Taglist: @navs-bhat

@isabellavere

@chaoticglitterkitten

@peachycupotea

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victorianpining · 1 year

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Hi! I'm a big fan of your blog and I'm looking for some advice on a fanfiction I'm writing. It's based on the original ACD stories. Basically what I'm trying to figure out is, why does Holmes fall for Watson? What initially attracts him to Watson, and why does he eventually fall in love? I feel like this isn't revealed in much depth in the original stories--it's clear to me that he DOES love him, it's just that Watson doesn't show why he does in his narration explicitly. Thank you!

Hello! Haha, that's the trick of it, Watson wouldn't really focus on himself would he? But I do think he includes a version of that answer in his description of Jefferson Hope's backstory, the tragic tale of the young lovers who could not be together because of the way the society around them viewed their relationship.

The way Watson describes the younger Hope is very similar to how Holmes describes him earlier on.

“Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan... Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair."

“You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said her preserver, respectfully. She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. “I’m awful frightened,” she said, naively; “whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?” “Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders.

Watson describes it as being love at first sight on Hope's (his own) part.

When she had vanished from his sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life.... The love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human perseverance could render him successful.

Very similar to Watson after first meeting Holmes:

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.” “Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’ you know." “You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. “You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good-bye.” "Good-bye,” I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance.

Even with this mirror though, this paragraph is about all the explanation Watson gives for why Holmes liked him:

He had been a pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He had been a scout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. He soon became a favourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions, Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes, showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections.

So similar to what you get in the most interesting reading of BBC Sherlock, Holmes falls for Watson because he's a handsome, loyal, brave, adventure loving man who swoops in and saves his life (for Lucy and BBC Sherlock this is literal, for Holmes maybe more metaphorical). And despite all Holmes' protests about Watson's writing, if we're taking Lucy to be a stand-in for Holmes, he does also genuinely like his storytelling.

I think you can pick up from the meeting scene that Holmes was instantly interested in Watson, he is very excited about moving in with him, very quickly.

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. “You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm... “We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.” Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me.

But the beauty of writing your take on it is that you get to make those calls for yourself!

#asks

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writingfanficsfan · 2 years

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Working on chapter 6 is hard. But I finally found the reason why Greg is reluctant. That’s in part because to the help of @batik96 Thank you :)

It takes Greg an embarrassingly long time to stop staring at a sleeping Sherlock and get out of bed. A sleeping Sherlock Holmes is breathtaking. He looks young and soft and vulnerable and Greg’s heart nearly stops beating when Sherlock moves in his sleep and scrunches up his nose, a frown forming between his eyes as he mumbles something too softly for Greg to understand, pressing himself closer to Greg's side. He resists the urge to touch Sherlock’s curls and place a kiss on his forehead, partly because he wants to let him sleep and partly because he’s afraid of what this day will bring.

Everything from Sherlock standing at his front door at 3 AM to Sherlock closing the distance and kissing Greg, asking him to stay and share the bed, it all feels like a dream now. Greg sighs, running a hand through his hair, careful not to wake Sherlock up because apparently, Sherlock Holmes is some sort of human octopus, tangled around Greg with arms and legs and it makes Greg smile like a lovesick teenager. Selfishly he wants this moment to stretch out indefinitely, laying here with Sherlock in the spare bedroom is most of his dreams come true. Of course, it would be even better if they were in Greg’s bed, preferably naked but you can’t be too greedy in life. The kisses they had shared earlier had been life-changing and Greg inwardly curses himself for stopping it all so soon, even if he knows it is for the best.

This thing between them is very new, very, very fragile and Greg isn’t sure what to make of it. Sherlock had not been himself, lost and on edge. He’d been not himself since he’d gotten back from taking down Moriarty’s network and Greg still doesn’t know half of what went down there. Any time he asks, Sherlock brushes it off, changing the subject and Greg never wanted to push. But now they’ve kissed and Sherlock is sleeping next to him, looking beautiful and soft and Greg’s heart can barely take it.

Was Sherlock coming to him a conscious choice or was it just a reaction to everything that has happened? The exhaustion had been clear on Sherlock’s face, even before he’d stood at Greg’s door. Was it some sort of trauma response? A way to deal with the changes in his life, a way to forget John and all the drama surrounding them? Greg isn’t sure and he’s afraid to ask. He doesn’t know all that has happened between the men since Sherlock got back but the fact that John isn’t even mentioned anymore speaks volumes. Deep down Greg is afraid that he’s just a temporary replacement, that when the dust settles around them all Sherlock will go running back to John, forgetting about Greg once more. It doesn’t matter that John broke Sherlock’s nose. Greg knows Sherlock feels like he deserves it and that makes Greg want to kick John’s arse all over again. All of them had been wrong. So wrong and Greg’s heart constricts whenever he thinks back on those days. Donovan had maybe started it, asking some thoughtful and in any other situation, good questions but Greg should have known better than to doubt Sherlock.

“Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing. Unbelievable.” Donovan had said, a hint of disbelief in her voice that Greg had chosen to ignore. He should have known that that was just the start of it. The first hint of doubt and of course the girl screaming her lungs out when Sherlock entered the room hadn’t helped much. It had been in the air even then, the suspicion in all their minds and somehow it had all gone downhill spectacularly fast.

“The footprint. It’s all he has. A footprint.”

“Well, that’s why we need him. He’s better.”

“That’s one explanation.”

“And what’s the other?”

“You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home… there.”

“Will you come?”

It had sickened him. Having to go to Baker Street, asking Sherlock to come with him. Of course, being the genius that he is, Sherlock had known the reason, had even known it would be Sally to start it all. It had sickened him, having to go to the Chief Superintendant, having to explain, having to admit.

“Shut up! An amateur detective given access to all sorts of classified information, and now he’s a suspect in a case!”

“With all due respect, sir …”

“You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade! Now go and fetch him in right now!”

And Greg had been an idiot. He’d been an idiot for listening to Sally and Anderson, for letting Moriarty fill his mind with doubt. It had all been so weird, almost like a game, another puzzle for Sherlock to solve but now it felt off. It felt wrong, seeing the glee in Sherlock’s eyes as he tried to figure it all out. Everyone on Greg’s team had seen it, had questioned him about it and Greg couldn’t really blame them. Sherlock had always been a bit different, had always had that light shining in his eyes when he walked around crime scenes, getting all the details and making the connections Greg and his team couldn’t. Sherlock was better at those things, finding the details and piecing them together to get the whole picture. But that time, those cases….

“Hmn.”

#My writing #wip #sherstrade #writing is hard

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ariweather · 9 months

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Chapter 3: Concussed Detective (part 3/4)

Granny Hudson and Watson watched in calm horror as Sherlock's bony face contorted with shock and his curly head SMASHED into the bookcase. His vintage designer shoelaces slithered about in the air as if to say "he deserved this." Books exploded off the shelved and hit the floor with the intensity of thunder. Next thing they knew, Sherlock groaned out, "Uuehaghhhhhhhh... I believe I am concussed."

"You were right about the shoes," Mrs. Hudson remarked to John.

"Yes, perhaps we should buy him a pair of Crocs," John replied, turning to look at his dumbass roommate. "Eh... should we call an ambulance? Sherlock, how do you feel-"

"John, do NOT call the authorities under any circumstances. There are some things in that fridge I'd rather not risk being seen by well-meaning EMTs looking for cold packs. And if Lestrade finds out, that'll just be an annoyance for me. I'll be fine with some home remedies. Just get me some ice, or something. I really must see what cases there are for me to solve-"

Granny Hudson glared at him. "No, Sherlock. You must rest. No more cases for now. You have a concussion, dear! And now you have a lovely flatmate to nurse you back to health! I'll make you a cup of tea, just this once." She departed for the kitchen. Once again, John did not appreciate how Mrs. Hudson seemed to think that he and Sherlock were an item, even though they literally were.

"Thanks." Sherlock stumbled over the mound of literature and onto the soft pleather couch where he laid down, slender legs propped up over the side. John Watson, A Broken Man, carefully sat down in the homely brown armchair in the corner near the couch. He thought to himself, "mmmmmm sandwich."

John watched the snowy dust float silently in the golden sunlight which shone through the yellowed windows. He inhaled. The flat smelled like violin rosin and old books. It sounded like creaky old wooden floorboards and coffee makers. John *almost* felt as though he'd lived in this place for a decade, except that was broken by the presence of the concussed man on the couch. The concussed... person. What did this guy do for a living again?

"Sherlock, who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

John hesitated for a moment. "I'd say private detective..." He guessed unsurely.

"But?"

"I dunno... maybe you're a forensic scientist actually. What with all the test tubes and whatnot earlier."

Sherlock looked at John like he was a bit stupid. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock glared at John, offended that his soulmate would think even for a second that he, the great Sherlock Holmes, was an AMATEUR. He had to show poor, mistaken Watson what a real consulting detective was. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John's traumatized blue orbs were intently glued to Sherlock.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room..."

"No, hold on Sherlock. No flashbacks right now. I mean, I am curious, but I feel bad making you explain everything to me after you've been concussed."

Mrs. Hudson returned with a mug of british-smelling tea for Sherlock. "Here, darling. Drink up while it's warm!" She smiled, grandmotherly, and handed it to him.

"Thanks mum."

"What."

"Must be the concussion..."

John thought to himself, "mmmmm sandwich." Perhaps his freshly concussed flatmate was hungry. When Watson remembered the sandwich shop they passed on the way in, he offered to Sherlock, "how 'bout I run down to the sandwich shop and pick up some lunch?"

"Ah, thank you. That would be lovely."

"Anything specific you had in mind?"

Sherlock was nicely surprised by his new flatmate's kindness. He was, in fact, hungry, so he gave Watson his go-to sandwich order. "I'll have a black forest ham sandwich, rye bread, topped with tomato slices. If the tomato slices don't have a diameter 6cm, it ruins the whole thing. Also have them layer some extra thin slices of Winnimere cheese in between the ham. Make sure it's spread out evenly. Texture is important. If they have their pickles in stock, ask them to lightly saturate the innards with the pickle juice. And then have them sprinkle a blend of oregano and beetroot flakes onto all of that. And make sure they toast it until it's almost crispy, but not quite all the way crispy. After it's been toasted, I want them to insert 7 evenly spaced slices of fresh iceberg lettuce into the topmost layer of the sandwich above the ham. These must be very thin and spaced at minimum 3cm apart. Finally, dress the top of the bread with freshly squeezed lemon juice from imported Italian lemons. I will be able to taste if they're from, God forbid, Florida before the sandwich even enters my mouth. Oh, and mayo on the side. No less than 16 of those little individual packets."

Lord. Did the God hate John Watson? What did he do to deserve this? What kind of FUCKING PSYCHO orders that. christ. with each new topping listed, a piece of John's remaining mental stability was chipped away. john wanted to boil alive. fucking hellllllllll

"Sherlock...... what?"

"or just ask them for Sherlock's usual order. They'll know."

And then john watson went off to the sandwich shop.

----

Link to previous chapter (chapter 2) Link to next chapter (chapter 4)

#sherlock #The point of this fic is to make the readers lose braincells lmk if it worked

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alpacaparkaseok · 2 years

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How to Sell Sunshine |11|

Chapter 11. The Light

→ Pairing: mafia!BTS x reader (not poly)

→ word count: 10.8k :))

→ warnings/tags: some gory references to Shakespeare and murder, firearms, unrequited love, the Lambo rides again, armed robbery, fighting, general criminal activity, oc is making progress I think

→ a/n: hi. there's a lot that goes on here but I really hope I've written it in a way that flows and makes sense. as always, feedback, comments, and questions are encouraged and quite frankly needed! thank you guys for the support, happy reading! I'd love to hear from you about this chunky lil chapter!

AND come participate in the clash of the fan clubs - I'll be putting up a link to a google form survey so you can let me know who you're rooting for!

Series Masterlist ♟ join the taglist!

With the ending of the world comes a blanket of silence. Everyone must have felt it just as heavily as you did, each one shuffling into the dining room with an air of solemnity you’ve never tasted before. The dim light of the winter sun filters through the windows, illuminating the fading bruise on Namjoon’s jaw.

It feels like it’s been months since you first spied the bruise on Namjoon’s jaw and Jimin’s collarbone – both courtesy of your father’s misplaced rage. As Namjoon speaks, you find yourself focusing on it with rapt attention, the ghost of your father crawling up your skin.

Even in death, your father has found a way to mock you.

“I’m still confused about who Yadiel is,” Seokjin is saying. You tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s jaw to focus on the man seated beside him. “Jungkook said that he’s one of the top mercenaries for hire, but I’ve never heard of him.”

He has a careful tone underlying his words. Whether or not the rest of the occupants at the table have heard about your moment of weakness with the arsonist earlier this morning, they don’t show it.

Seokjin has acted infuriatingly normal since you wandered out of your room sometime in the afternoon. Something about his mannerisms is almost calculated normalcy – like he’s measuring out just how much he should make sarcastic comments and timing how long he should hold your eye contact.

“He only went by Yadiel with those that trained under him,” Namjoon supplies. “To his clients, he had another name.”

Hoseok is watching you carefully from where he sits to your left. “Which was…?” You’re staring hard down at the table, almost as though you might light it aflame with the sheer intensity of your gaze. Namjoon grimaces at some internal thought, and Hoseok wonders if the two of you are thinking of the same thing.

“Shylock.”

Jimin leans back in his chair, crossing him arms. “Shylock? Like what, some knock-off Sherlock Holmes?”

Again, Namjoon grimaces. Before he can respond, however, Yoongi curses under his breath.

“Shylock? That’s…Yadiel?” He glances at you for some sort of response, but you maintain firm eye contact with the table. “I had no idea…” Now Yoongi, too, looks lost in thought.

“Where do I know that name from?” Hoseok finally asks.

Jimin clears his throat. “From Sherlock Holmes, Hoseok. Keep up.”

Both Taehyung and Jungkook groan in unison, the former shutting Jimin up with an elbow to the ribs. “Continue, Namjoon.”

“Shylock is a character from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice,” Namjoon says, the words dangerously soft. “He lent money to a man named Antonio, and when Antonio didn’t pay him pack on time, he demanded that he pay the price. Only, he wanted a much crueler form of payment.”

Hoseok’s stomach drops as he recognizes something awful coming. “What did he ask for?” He mumbles.

A low laugh escapes you; the kind that has everyone falling silent. Blinking, you look up at everyone, almost as if just remembering where you were. Hoseok notes the way Seokjin glances at your bloodshot eyes before quickly returning his attention to the food on his plate.

“He demanded one pound of Antonio’s flesh, to be carved out right then and there.” You squint, hand instinctively rising to your shoulder. “Only then would he consider his debt paid.”

Silence as everyone takes in the gory details of Shakespeare’s beloved tale.

“…did he?” Jimin leans forward, eyes wide. “Did he…make him pay?”

You shake your head once. “No. Antonio’s love, Portia, disguised herself as a judge and told Shylock that he could carve out Antonio’s flesh, but if he spilled even a single drop of blood, he would be considered a criminal for breaking the terms of his contract he made with Antonio.”

“So he chickened out.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“So Yadiel is Shylock…” Jimin’s eyes spark with untamed curiosity as he speaks. “A bloodthirsty businessman that’s demanding payment. But for what? From whom?”

You continue to squint at Jimin, like you’re trying to see him clearly. “As for what, that could be any number of things. He might be a little angry that I tried to kill him and that he didn’t get take my father’s mafia from me like he’d always planned. It’s very possible that he’s seeking revenge.”

Taehyung twirls his steak knife in his hand. “Balance in all things. That’s what he always said to you, wasn’t it?”

Jungkook meets your eyes, an unspoken memory flitting between the two of you. “Yes,” you mutter. “Balance in all things. An eye for an eye. Bullet for a bullet.”

“So let’s assume that he wants revenge – payback for you trying to kill him,” Jimin muses, leaning back in his seat. “That makes you Antonio, right?”

Hoseok stares at the blond across the table, recalling all the reasons why he dislikes him. “You’re really getting a grip on Shakespeare, Jiminie. Look at you go.”

Jimin returns Hoseok’s annoyed gaze with a crooked smile. “As the resident Romeo, isn’t it my duty to study up?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips but it’s gone before Hoseok can really see it. “Look, I think you’re onto something with the whole Shylock-Yadiel parallels, but this is real life. Sure, maybe I’m Antonio in this situation, but there’s no Portia to disguise herself as a judge and save me.”

“I, for one, look amazing in women’s clothing,” Seokjin interjects, keeping his eyes carefully trained on where your fingers are drumming against the table. “So don’t rule me out of the Portia role just yet, sweetheart.”

Is that a blush on your cheeks? Hoseok can’t quite tell as you give an unappreciative snort and lean back in your seat, allowing the winter sun to go right over your head and into Hoseok’s eyes, effectively blinding him.

“The fact of the matter is that there is no Portia,” you sigh out, finally giving up on your squinting in favor of squeezing your eyes shut. Hoseok can’t help but wonder what you see that makes even looking at them unbearable. “There is no law, no protection. I mean, we’re the mafia. Isn’t our existence itself a major misdemeanor?”

Taehyung winces. “Ouch.”

“Would you look at that,” Seokjin croons, observing Taehyung like a tiger kept in a cage for far too long. “The Italian has feelings.”

It’s with a dagger-like smile that Taehyung responds, “I have lots of tricks up my sleeve, Seokjinnie.”

“Is that so? Sit. Roll over.” Seokjin nudges Namjoon jokingly, no humor in his eyes as he chuckles. “He’s such a good boy, isn’t he?”

Namjoon looks like he’d rather throw himself out the window than encourage the strange tension building between Seokjin and Taehyung, but the sound of Jungkook clearing his throat stops him from having to intervene. Everyone turns to listen to the youngest, who has yet to speak throughout today’s entire exchange.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately betray his thoughts. There’s a spark of hope as he turns his wide gaze to your stiff figure at the head of the table, and you regard him solemnly.

“We’re forgetting something here. Aren’t you still assumed dead by the outside world?” Jungkook suddenly pushes back from the table, rising in one smooth step and skirting around the table to where you sit. He crouches down beside your chair with the air of someone who has known you for many years already. “You’re talking like you’ve already lost. And yeah, things have changed – drastically. Nobody could have foreseen things playing out like this. But you’ve still got a chance-”

“Jungkook, he knows. He knows I’m alive.” You rest your hands atop his own in order to hide the way they’re shaking. “Why else would he have sent back those pearl earrings? He somehow knew that I’d be on the receiving end of them.”

“Then go,” Jungkook pushes the two syllables out with as much force as he can muster. He rises once more, turning his attention to Taehyung who sits with mannequin-like stillness. “You promised me that if she ever found herself in another situation like this with Yadiel, that you’d take her and leave!” You jump as Jungkook’s fist meets the table, and he points an accusing finger at Taehyung. “You- you can take her back to Sicily and keep her safe. You promised me. You promised.”

Everyone else in the room feels as if they’ve stepped into a scene they most certainly should not be a part of, but they’re left to sit in heavy silence as Jungkook stares between you and Taehyung.

Taehyung’s eyes find yours, the memory of that promise made so long ago floating before him like an untouchable shadow. He can still hear the desperation in Jungkook’s voice, mirrored now years later in a much more extravagant home than the one you’d shared back then.

“Take her back with you,” Jungkook pleaded.

“Back where?” Taehyung didn’t even look up from where he was emailing a local car dealership, setting up an appointment under a false name.

“To Italy.”

This has him looking up at last, noting the fear in the younger man’s eyes. It wasn’t very often that he saw such naked terror from him, which made Taehyung actually worried for once. Rather than get to the meat of the matter, however, he stuck to his typical annoyed banter.

“I’m from Sicily, Jungkook. How many times do I have to clarify that?”

“Sicily, whatever,” Jungkook groans. “Just, take her back. Keep her safe.”

Closing the laptop with care, Taehyung stretches and yawns obnoxiously. “What makes you think I’m going back?”

Shuffling on his feet, Jungkook picks at his cuticles. “…you’re not? Were you really planning on staying here forever?”

Was he? If he was being honest with himself, Taehyung really never had much of a plan at all. Sure, he wanted to get out of Sicily, out of Italy, and out of Europe. He did that. He found the girl he’d been searching for ever since you disappeared from his sight. He was somehow funneling funds from his family and was on the verge of beginning the next mafia.

So what was he planning on doing next?

“I guess I was, yes.” He shakes his head, ridding himself of the confusing thoughts that he’d have to examine in more depth later on. Not now, with a nosy boy lingering in his doorway. “But why are you so freaked out right now? What good will it do her to leave here? You know, the mafia is just as bad over there as it is here-”

“I’m afraid that one of these nights, Yadiel is going to kill her.”

There it was. The silent fear that both of them had carried for months. Finally, it had been voiced out loud.

Taehyung had never met the man, but he’d seen enough from both you and Jungkook to know that Yadiel wasn’t someone to mess with. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t begun wishing that you’d come home in blood that wasn’t your own for once.

“Promise me,” Jungkook pleads once more. “Promise me that if anything goes south – if you really think that Yadiel is going to make his move and get rid of her…take her away from here. You-” he chokes on the words, almost as though they hurt to push past his lips. “You’re the only one that can.”

Taehyung knows exactly what Jungkook means by that. Because out of the two of them, Taehyung is the one with the money. He’s the one with the connections, the secret locations, the safe houses. The only thing Jungkook has his is his grit and the shirt on his back.

“You’d let me?” Taehyung doesn’t need to ask the full question, knowing full well that Jungkook understands him completely.

You’d let me take her from you?

Jungkook is already bowing out, eyes on the floor as he turns away. “Just promise me, Tae.”

Tae. He must be feeling really lost if he’s letting the affectionate nickname slip out. Perhaps it’s that meek desperation that has Taehyung agreeing without further argument.

“I promise.”

Blinking away the memory, Taehyung looks caught between a rock and a hard place. “Capa,” he gingerly begins, but you’re already shaking your head.

“If this is about to turn into a ploy to get me to run and hide, then I’ll take my leave.”

Hoseok catches Yoongi’s eye from across the table, who has remained oddly quiet since early on. He looks at the hitman, silently communicating what he needs.

“Wait,” Hoseok reaches out, stopping you from making good on your word and leaving. “Taehyung, Jungkook – we’ll sort this out later. For now, we need to understand what we’re up against.”

Jungkook swallows, speaking low. “I know exactly what we’re up against. And so do you,” he turns to you, something akin to disappointment in his eyes.

“Which means that you know that even if I were to leave, that would only serve as a minor detour in whatever Yadiel’s planning,” you cut back. “I’m not running, Jungkook.”

He hesitates, hand twitching at his side as though longing to reach out to you. A sad, knowing smile crosses Jungkook face as he whispers, “Not even if I ask nicely?”

You mirror his smile, eyes alight with a nearly forgotten inside joke. “Probably not, Kook.”

The youngest’s steps back to his seat are heavy, but he doesn’t say anything more as he sits. Your eyes follow him, a lingering sentiment there that Hoseok can’t quite discern. Instead of worrying himself over it, he turns his attention to Yoongi, who appears to be preparing the best way to share what he’s discovered in the past fifteen minutes.

“Yoongi?” Namjoon softly calls, brows furrowed. It looks like everyone else has picked up on the way he’d been a recluse.

Yoongi looks around the room, double checking that they’re completely alone before looking to you with a frown. “I think what we’ve been failing to ask ourselves is how Yadiel even knew you were alive in the first place.”

Like diving into a frozen lake in the dead of winter, the shock of what Yoongi is implying nearly drowns you. “You mean…like a mole?”

Much to Hoseok’s relief, Yoongi is quick to turn down the possibility of one of the seven of them being a traitor. “I highly doubt that any of us would turn to Shyl- Yadiel. But I do have one suspect. Have you spoken to Alexandra lately?”

“Alexandra?” The name weighs down your tongue. “Alexandra wouldn’t- she helped us at the gala and made sure I recovered just fine-”

“Which means that she is the only other person outside the people gathered in this room that knows you’re alive.”

Hoseok reaches out to take your hand under the table, offering you a reassuring squeeze. You turn your frantic gaze to him, eyes wide. He recognizes that look all too well. “You told us she was an old family friend, is that right?”

You nod slowly. “Her father worked with mine for years, but she was like me. Didn’t want anything to do with him. So she left, years ago. Took up a normal job a-and told me that if I never needed any help, she’d be willing to step in.”

“It would appear that she cashed in your friendship for the right price,” Yoongi muses. “When was the last time you two spoke?”

You shrug. “I don’t know…three days ago? She called to make sure I was recovering well, that I hadn’t had any adverse side effects.”

Namjoon ticks his jaw, a cold fire in his eyes as he leans forward to address you. “She’s young, beautiful, and willing to betray those she cares about for a shiny penny.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s exactly Yadiel’s type.”

Your grip is like iron shackles on Hoseok’s hand, but he doesn’t move. “Yoongi, can you figure out where she called me from if you look at my call history?”

He ponders it for a moment. “Probably. You’re willing to let me scroll through your phone?”

“Oh please,” you try to sound airy, but the panic in your voice is palpable. “Not all of us keep our darkest secrets on our phones.”

“That’s just me?”

“Just you.” Sliding your phone across the table to him, you fixate your attention on Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jimin. “You three, I need you to head out the second Yoongi finds the location Alexandra called from. Do not go barging in – your objective is to scout out the area and determine if she’s still there. Don’t approach her, and keep your wits about you.”

“I’ll go, too,” Jungkook says.

“No.”

He completely ignores your stern reply. “It wasn’t a request. What if they run into Yadiel? How would they even know who it was when they’ve never even seen him before? Besides, we both know I’m your best bet when it comes to getting in and out of Yadiel’s grasp.”

In the end, Hoseok thinks your exhaustion wins out. Leaving Namjoon with instructions to assist Yoongi on compiling more information about what Yadiel has been up to for the past few years and with a final warning to stay safe to the others, you rise from your chair. It isn’t long after you’ve left the room that Yoongi looks up with a smug smile.

“Got it.” He sends the location to everyone else’s phones, getting up and patting Jungkook on the back. “Have fun on your field trip, boys.”

Hoseok watches as Namjoon and Yoongi disappear into the study, and the remaining four men prepare to head out. Jungkook stands by the door with a clenched jaw, watching as Jimin swallows his pride and agrees that Taehyung should drive.

Seokjin pats Hoseok’s shoulder as he sidles past him. “What will you do while we’re gone?”

“Not sure,” Hoseok admits. He’s not sure why you didn’t ask him to go, as well. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit more firepower just in case things went south. “Maybe I’ll help to flesh out a plan for what’s next.”

“Good. That sounds good.” Seokjin eyes the stairs that lead up to your room, worry clouding his features before he blinks it away. “Make sure she eats while we’re out, yeah?”

Hoseok wants nothing more than to ask what happened this morning when he’d heard your sobs and opened the door to the garage only to see you wrapped in the arsonist’s arms. He wants to know if that was a regular occurrence. But spying the other men lingering in the foyer he deems it not a good time.

“I will.” Hoseok nudges his old friend toward the door. “Stay safe. Come back to us in one piece, would you?”

Taehyung pats Jungkook’s head on his way out the door. “Not if we can help it.”

With everyone gone to their respected tasks, Hoseok lingers in the foyer. The muffled voices of Namjoon and Yoongi drone on from where they work in the study. The sounds of the cars the others took have long since faded, leaving the hitman feeling oddly alone.

Being alone means quiet.

Quiet means that his thoughts grow too loud.

He has two options: first, go and assist Namjoon and Yoongi with piecing together Yadiel’s past few years. Second, he can go pull you out of your slump.

“C’mon Hobi,” he gives himself a pat on the back, already starting up the stairs. “Do the hardest thing first.”

That’s how he ends up standing in your doorway, arms crossed as you gaze at him from your bed. Your hair is sticking up at odd ends, making him wonder if you’d been contemplating pulling it out before he got up here.

“What do you want?”

The question clearly takes you off guard as you thought the answer had always been glaringly obvious. “I want my father’s empire torn to the ground.”

Hoseok shakes his head, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “That’s already being done, with or without you.”

You bristle at his response, despite knowing that he’s only speaking the truth. “Why did you ask me what I wanted, then, if you already knew the answer?”

“What do you want now?” Hoseok crosses his arms, leaning back against your doorframe. You sit on your bed, feeling like a child. “What’s our next move?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No! I don’t know, Hoseok!” You shout. A part of you wishes he would flinch or show some sort of emotion other than cool calm. “Happy? I dragged you all the way out here for nothing. You might as well go home.”

Pushing off the doorframe, the hitman reaches you in three easy steps. He doesn’t crouch down to your level; he doesn’t kneel before you like so many think he does. Instead, he stands straight and takes a deep breath before speaking in a low, even voice.

“Look at me.”

You head moves of its own volition, eyes meeting Hoseok’s. You wonder if he can see how you’re drowning in shame. Just how useless you feel in the light of Yadiel’s return and cold-blooded murder.

“Outside that door, you have six other men that have pledged their loyalty to you. Down those stairs, are some of the most talented, hardworking people that you’ll ever find – and they want to follow you.”

Your head is shaking as you internally curse yourself for dragging everybody onto a sinking ship. “I jumped the gun, Hoseok. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Look at me, I had no idea that Alexandra could even do this to me-”

“We are going to do this.” Now he does kneel, meeting your eye level. “Nobody is asking you to do this on your own.”

There’s something achingly familiar in his eyes. It makes you want to dive into him, like he has his own gravitational pull.

Your voice is uncharacteristically soft as you avert your eyes. “Then what are you asking me to do?”

Hoseok’s hands linger above your own for a brief moment before he takes them in his. He offers a reassuring squeeze.

You resemble a lost child as you speak, allowing yourself to crack and splinter before the hitman. “I’ve made a fool of myself, Hoseok-ah. All of this, this,” you put your sweatshirt down enough for your bruise where he shot you to glare at him. “Was pointless. How am I supposed to lead anyone when I got us nowhere?”

“You’ve fallen.” Hoseok eyes the bullet bruise, an emotion you can’t detect swimming in his eyes as he gently pulls your sweatshirt back up. “And I’m right here, asking you to get up.”

“And if I fail again?”

He shakes his head, smile soft. “I have failed in every way that counts. You know what I always do when I fail?”

“What?”

“I have a stash of treats in the kitchen. I raid it on the hard days. You wanna know where I hid it?”

You nod, utterly intrigued by this delightful side of the feared hitman. Who would’ve thought that he turned to chocolate and caramel goodies when things didn’t go his way?

“I’ll tell you on one condition,” he continues. “Ready?”

There’s a light in his eyes, glowing softly like a porchlight left on for you to come home to. Something tells you that no matter how dark the night becomes, that light will never go out. Fixating on that promise in his gaze, you slowly nod. Hoseok smiles softly in return, and you wonder if he knows the effect he has.

“Stop running in the wrong direction.”

You frown at his cryptic message, but let it slide as he proceeds to divulge the location of his secret stash.

Having left you in the kitchen raiding his stash with no shortage of glee, Hoseok finds himself back in the foyer. He listens carefully to the voices coming from the study, deciding that it’s time to move onto his other task.

Following the sound of Namjoon’s low voice, Hoseok comes to the doorway of the study. It’s become Yoongi’s unofficial office of sorts, signs of his occupancy scattered throughout the room. An unopened bottle of whiskey sits on the bookshelf, the lingering scent of pine and alcohol practically screaming Yoongi’s name.

Namjoon notices Hoseok’s presence, giving him a nod before continuing. “Like I said, the last time I saw Yadiel was about three years ago. What about you?”

Yoongi thinks for a moment. “I never really interacted with him, but I was aware that Shylock oversaw tying up loose ends for the Genovese family for a short time. The last job we- they hired him one would’ve been around the same time. Three years ago.”

“He must have had some promising credentials,” Hoseok muses, stepping into the room. “If the Genovese family was willing to take him on. Didn’t they usually just stick to their own men for that kind of stuff?”

“They typically do, that’s why I thought it odd. But then again, it was during a turbulent time that they hired him. Russo – the right-hand man – was going through something of a disagreement with the Father. They couldn’t trust each other or their men, so naturally hiring an outside source seemed the simplest solution.”

“The Father?” Namjoon interjects. “Wow, you guys were really sold on the whole mafia aesthetic, weren’t you?”

Yoongi’s returning grin lacks any warmth. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“And that, my friends, is why I was always a free agent,” Hoseok chuckles. “I did my time in some clans out west, but once I had a reputation, I was out of there.”

“Yet look at where we all ended up,” Namjoon says, a knowing smile on his face. “Never thought I’d ditch my day job for my boss’s daughter. But she’s got a spark about her that makes me believe in her, you know?”

Hoseok hums in agreement, recalling his past experiences with you. “Dead boss’s daughter, remember. And didn’t she like, bail you out of jail?”

“Hey, I got myself out,” Namjoon protests. “She was just there for the ride.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Yoongi traces a ring on the desk, no doubt courtesy of one of the times he forgot a coaster for his drink. “She’s an absolute menace.”

“How’d she get you two on board?” Namjoon asks, a bit of that childlike curiosity coming back into his eyes. “I mean, I heard that she seduced you, Hoseok, and-”

“Seduced?” Hoseok chokes out, leaning up against the wall. “Hardly. More like she got caught on the wrong end of my gun and managed to talk herself out of it.”

Now Yoongi laughs in earnest, seeing right through the hitman. “Isn’t it your job to shoot first, talk later?”

Hoseok bites his tongue, red flushing his cheeks. “Shut up.”

“What stopped you, Hoseok-ah?” Yoongi teases. Namjoon watches the interaction, unfamiliar with Yoongi’s casual side. “Be honest, you couldn’t see past the hearts in your eyes.”

“Oh, wait wait wait,” Hoseok fights back, pupils shaking. “You can’t accuse me of being a little hesitant to shoot a pretty girl when you literally let her into your house in the middle of the night.”

Namjoon gasps, too caught up in this telenovela to switch the channel. “You what? Min Yoongi let a stranger into his home? Were you drunk?”

Yoongi scoffs, now scraping at the ring on the desk with a stubby nail. “I was curious, that’s all. It’s my job to know everyone involved in the mafia scene, so naturally I knew who she was. It wasn’t that hard. And when she showed up on my doorstep, it was too easy. Like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“Wait, how? What happened?” Namjoon asks, eyes round and wide. “C’mon, I’ve been dying to know how she convinced you to join!”

“It’s a long story,” Yoongi complains. “She’d been trailing me for months, always just outside of reach. So naturally, I wanted to know what she was planning. Like one time she literally showed up at our- their headquarters’ pretending to be an old friend-”

“If you’re going to tell our story, tell it right.”

All three men fall silent, turning to look at you sheepishly like children caught stealing from the cookie jar. Fittingly enough, you hold a chocolate chip cookie in one hand, the other on your hip as you look at Yoongi disapprovingly.

He shifts in his seat but doesn’t look away from you. “I thought you were upstairs.”

“I was,” you reply, amusement painting your features. “But I wanted milk with my cookie.”

“We’re out of milk.”

“I know that now,” you respond sullenly. Wandering inside the study, you pause in front of the bookshelf. Taking the whiskey from off the shelf, you pop the cap off and take whiff, grimacing at the strong smell. “Did you two know that Yoongi has an affinity for whiskey? Especially Woodford Reserve Kentucky Straight.”

Judging by Yoongi’s sigh, you’re right.

“It started out simple enough,” you recall, the hint of a smile on your face as you grab a glass and head over to the mini fridge that Hoseok is just noticing in the corner of the room. “He was right, I did trail him for months. Jungkook, Taehyung and I all knew we needed someone like him to get us on the map. He’s well known, since he hails from one of the most revered and oldest mafia family in the States. A bit of a legend in his own right, what with the way he was always a bit of a wild card. Ruthless, too.’

“Like Arceus,” Namjoon whispers in awe. You give him a blank stare, and he stutters out, “The unofficial freaking god of Pokémon? Super strong, amazing powers, an original-”

“The sentiment is appreciated, Namjoon,” Yoongi supplies. “You were saying?”

It’s hard not to laugh at Namjoon’s crestfallen expression over your lack of knowledge of Pokémon, but you resist bringing up the fact that you at least know who Pikachu is. Something tells you that that will only make him more bitter.

“Anyways, we were still unknown by most everyone. I had an inkling that Yoongi might know who I was, but I couldn’t be sure. I also couldn’t be sure that his allegiance could even be swayed. So instead of promising him something too good to be true – money or power, both of which were still just a pipe dream at the time – I promised him something real and tangible.”

“Which was?” Hoseok presses.

You reach into the mini fridge, pulling out a square ice cube and dropping it into the glass. “A drink.” Slipping a coaster off of the top of the fridge, you walk to the desk, and without breaking Yoongi’s eye contact you drop it directly above the ring etched onto the wood.

Yoongi watches you carefully as you pour the whiskey from the decanter into the glass before setting it atop the coaster.

“That’s it?” Namjoon asks, incredulous. “You convinced him to join your pipe-dream – your words, not mine – all through a bit of whiskey? Yoongi, have you ever considered going to AA meetings?”

Snorting, Yoongi traces the rim of his glass but doesn’t drink from it. “Like I said earlier, I was curious. She showed up to the headquarters with a bottle of Woodford Reserve, which tipped me off to two things: one, she’d been studying up on me just as much as I’d been looking into her. And second, she had guts. Walking right into the belly of the beast if you will.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Tell me, Namjoon: has it ever even crossed your mind to stroll into Genovese territory with only a grumpy Italian and a no-name street rat to back you?”

No answer, but it’s answer enough.

“But you showed up at his house, too,” Hoseok urges the story forward, despite having already heard it before.

“I did,” you nod. “With another bottle and a question.”

Jungkook would have your skin if he knew you were here. Standing across the street from Min Yoongi’s residence, hiding under an awning to avoid the downpour. Under your coat the bottle of Woodford Reserve was growing heavier by the second, urging you forward.

Bracing yourself, you step out onto the street.

Right into a puddle.

Cold shoots through you and freezing rainwater soaks through your clothing in an instant, but you grit your teeth and keep moving. There’s one light still on – the living room, you think. It’s not a surprise to you. Over the course of the past three months, you’ve come to learn that Min Yoongi is just as paranoid as he looks. He never goes a night without leaving that light on.

Whether to make it look like he’s still up and deter people from stopping in for a midnight raid, or because he’s simply afraid of the dark, you’re not quite sure.

Either way, it illuminates the steps up to his sleek apartment. Looking up and down the street, you can only hope that the other members of the Genovese mafia that live nearby haven’t decided to look out their window at this late hour. Chances are they wouldn’t be able to see much past the downpour, but you’re still all too aware of the fact that you’re completely exposed out here.

You can hardly hear your fist pounding against Yoongi’s door above the rain and thunder that cracks at that precise moment, making you jump. Luckily for you, Yoongi must hear your incessant knocking because a few seconds later, grumpy and armed, he opens the door.

There’s no shock on his face when he first looks at you, making you think that maybe he was expecting you.

“What?” He hisses, holding his handgun in his right hand while the other supports his body against the door. “Speak quickly, you’re letting the rain in.”

Your teeth are chattering, surely making for a poor presentation. But he hasn’t tried to kill you, yet. That’s gotta count for something.

“Do you have an extra glass?” You say by way of greeting, pulling the bottle out of your coat. Yoongi tenses for a brief moment at your sudden movement, but as his eyes zero in on the whiskey, he lets out a harsh laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You shake your head once, rain dripping down your hair and leaving streaks on your face. “Nope.”

He assesses you for a moment longer, shoulders still shaking from silent laughter. “You got a gun?”

“Of course I do, I’m not stupid.”

“You sure about that?” Despite the taunting tone, he steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. “Get in, quickly. Stay on the rug, don’t move. I just had my floors cleaned yesterday.”

You do just that, watching the way he peeks outside to assure that no one is watching him before promptly closing the door. Your ears ring as the rain and thunder are suddenly muffled.

“Gun.” He comes around to stand in front of you, extending a hand. You roll your eyes, first handing him the whiskey, then fishing out your handgun from your back pocket. Satisfied, Yoongi disappears down around the corner to what you assume is the kitchen if the sound of cupboards opening and closing is any indication.

He reappears only to disappear down the hallway, leaving you to stand on the rug by the door. Glancing over your shoulder, you realize that the door isn’t locked. As quietly as possible, you turn the deadbolt.

“Are you seriously locking the door?” Yoongi’s voice comes from deeper within the apartment.

“Better safe than sorry!” You call back. You swear you hear him chuckle.

“I’d be more worried about getting out than getting in, if I were you.”

Intimidation factor: check.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” you trill off. A second later Yoongi comes back down the hallway, several towels in hand. “All this for me?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

He tosses the pile at you, a snide grin on his face. “I just got my floors cleaned, remember? Now hurry up, I’m tired and it’s late.”

Giving him a mock salute, you busy yourself with drying up as quickly as possible. He watches you, leaning up against the archway that leads to the kitchen. Once he deems you dry enough, he motions for you to follow him.

The whiskey has been transferred over to a crystal decanter that glimmers in the dim lighting of the kitchen. Two glasses are set out on the dining table, set on either end so as to put as much space between you as possible. It sends a clear message: he may have let you into his home, but he’s nowhere near trusting you.

“Do you just have bottles to spare?” Yoongi asks, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do just that, watching as he pours your glass with practiced ease. “Is that why you’re back for yet another drink?”

Another drink. Because just a couple of weeks ago you waltzed right into the main household of the Genovese family, and straight into Yoongi’s office with a bottle just like this one.

“No.” Honesty seems to be the best tactic when it comes to Yoongi. Something tells you he’d see right through you otherwise. “To be honest, my wallet hates me right now. Why’d you have to like such an expensive brand?”

He shrugs, pouring a bit for himself before sitting. “It’s smooth and mixes well. Besides, doesn’t Kim Taehyung have more than enough money for a few bottles?”

Your face reveals too much. Yoongi sits back, smug at your shocked expression. You’d figured that he would know who you were, and possibly even Jungkook. But Taehyung? Perhaps you’d be better off to always assume that Yoongi knew more than you expected.

“Taehyung’s wallet wasn’t available today,” you finally say. Yoongi’s brows arch, no doubt storing away an interesting tidbit of information for later.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming here,” he realizes. “And your other little friend doesn’t know, either I would assume.”

You’ve got to get this conversation back on track. Time is ticking, it’s only a matter of time before Taehyung gets worried and calls Jungkook, and will realize that your supposed late-night raid with Yadiel was a cover-up for something different.

The scent of your drink wafts up to your nose, managing to fill you up with a bit of courage. Yoongi takes a sip, watching you with open interest.

“You know who I am.”

Yoongi doesn’t deign to answer, both of you knowing that it wasn’t a question.

“And judging from your knowledge of my little friends, you know that I’m planning something.”

“And what’s the point of all this, then? I can assure you that if you’re seeking assistance from the Genovese family, you’re a bit too optimistic.”

“No,” you shake your head, pushing your untouched drink to the side in favor of focusing fully on the man across from you. “I don’t want help. Much less from them.”

Bringing the glass to his lips, Yoongi arches a single brow. “You’re not a very good drinking partner, you know. You haven’t even touched your drink.”

“I don’t like whiskey.”

“Shame.” He taps the table, and you pick up on the signal to slide your drink over to him. “So?”

“I’m just here for you.”

He’s finishes his glass with an exaggerated wince. “Bold of you to assume I’m single.”

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Pausing as he brings your donated glass to his lips, he blinks down at the amber liquid before setting it back down atop the table. It’s only now that you notice the countless rings adorning the tabletop, all on his side of the table. Your side is spotless.

“I see three options for you,” you continue, praying that your assumptions are right. “One, you stay here. Working for the Father, riding on the wave of your usefulness until it eventually crests and crumbles. Maybe you’ll live a long life. Maybe you’ll have lots of years to add to your assortment here,” you nod at the evidence of countless drinks from the past on the tabletop. Yoongi glances down at them, all too aware of the way the stains screaming his name. “But you’ll never be more than you are right now, Min Yoongi. You know that, don’t you? There’s no real future for you here.”

His eyes are devoid of emotion as he drags his gaze but up to you. “Did you prepare a PowerPoint to go along with your presentation?”

“Second,” you push forward, ignoring his snide comment. “You slip up. Someone saw me come into your office two weeks ago, and thinks we appear to be pretty close. Luckily for you, they have no idea who I am. But it’d be pretty easy for an anonymous tip to find its way up to Russo or the Father that the girl you were sharing a drink with at work is actually Bianchi’s daughter. Their long-standing rival that they’ve always lauded themselves over somehow found a way to worm herself into their own home. What do you think would happen then?”

He’s not going to respond, you know that. But you take too much pride in the way his eyes slowly begin to burn with the knowledge that your second scenario is far too realistic for his liking.

“Maybe you’ll get to find out first hand just how ruthless the Father is with traitors. You’ve helped to dispose of a few, if I remember correctly. How fitting would it be if you ended up in the Hudson right alongside them?”

Can a glass shatter from holding it so tightly? Yoongi’s knuckles are white as he take a long drink, forcing himself to calm down. He’ll kill you before anything like that happens. But then, he’d have to take care of the other two that follow you around like loyal little puppies-

“The third option is my favorite.” You’re stretching, raising your hands above your head as you yawn. Your coat rides up with the action, revealing a sliver of skin above your hip.

It’s riddled in bruises.

“In ten years from now, you could be cashing in your last paycheck and heading off to some nice, secluded town. Retirement for a man that looks like he needs it sooner rather than later.”

He snorts, but it lacks the ire he was going for. “I’m assuming you’re talking about me coming to work for you?”

“With me, not for me. Big difference.”

“Name one.”

“Freedom. To leave after you’ve helped me with what I need. To really leave – no people at your doorstep and no more looking over your shoulder at every turn. We’ll protect you from afar, if that’s what you’d like.”

Protection?

For him?

The idea is as foreign to him as the way you’re looking at him with a certain degree of warmth in your eyes. It’s just not normal.

“I don’t buy it. Impossible.” He hates the way his voice sounds almost hopeful – like he’d leave behind his legacy if it were actually an option.

You rise from your seat, lazily making your way over to him. Your hair is still wet, a few strands sticking to your cheeks as you stop a mere step away from him. Reaching out, you look as if you’re about to caress his face.

Instead, your cold fingers trace the line of his jaw before dipping down to his neck. In an instant Yoongi has grabbed your hand, stopping all movement.

Are you smiling at him? You look so strangely innocent in this moment, with your sopping wet appearance and young eyes. But as you step forward in between in his legs, he knows that you’ve been taught how to get exactly what you want.

And right now, what you want is him.

“Don’t be such a pessimist, Yoongs.” The nickname rolls off your tongue smoother than any whiskey he’s ever tasted. “Think about it, would you? If not for me, then for your own neck.” Your finger twitches against his Adam’s apple, reminding him of option #2.

In one smooth movement, you’ve wrenched yourself from his grip and are suddenly halfway through the door. “When you make up your mind, you know where to find me,” you all over your shoulder. “If I don’t hear from you by the day after tomorrow, I’ll assume you’ve chosen to go a different direction.”

Your ultimatum sits heavy in the air, and Yoongi’s left blinking into the haze you’ve left behind. It isn’t until he hears the lock turning that he jumps out of his chair.

“Wait!” He silently curses himself for sounding like such a novice. “Don’t you want your gun back?” He grabs your gun from the cupboard he placed it in earlier, waving it around as he rushes out into the entryway.

You flip your hood up, smiling softly at him. “Keep it – think of it as a gift.” Patting your coat pocket, you shrug. “I’ve got a spare, anyway.”

With that, you open the door and disappear into the downpour, leaving Yoongi standing in the entryway with your gun in hand and his mouth wide open.

In his annoyance, he considers just giving your gun away. Of course, he won’t sell it fully loaded. But when he opens the chamber to extract the ammunition, he freezes before barking out a laugh.

It wasn’t even loaded.

“Is this the spot?” Jimin leans forward in his seat, frowning over the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, Seokjin checks his phone.

“Yep. This is the same address that Yoongi found.”

Up ahead, a bright green Lamborghini rides low and slow around the block, the tinted windows hiding Jungkook and Taehyung from view. Jimin snorts at the sight.

“Why did they have to take that gaudy abomination?”

Seokjin already knows exactly what Jimin is referring to, turning a shrewd eye to the Lambo and its occupants. “You know what people say about people with fancy cars, right?”

“What?”

Wiggling his brows, Seokjin unlocks the doors. “They’re compensating for something.” With that, he hops out of the SUV, leaving Jimin behind to try to rein in his laughter. Down the street, Taehyung parks his car in an abandoned IHOP parking lot.

On the corner of the street, matching the address that Yoongi discovered, sits a public library. Supposedly, Alexandra called you from there.

The alleged traitor, the one that has quite possibly sold you out to Yadiel.

Jimin takes a deep breath, gathering up his strength to get out of the car. Taehyung and Jungkook have already gotten out, meeting up with Seokjin in a way that he’s fairly certain is not the discreet manner you were hoping for.

You. There you are, once again entering his mind and leaving him lost. He’s all too aware of the rocky nature of his relationship with you – professional and personal. The more he dives into this mission, the more he can’t help but notice the way everyone else looks at you like you’re the center of their universe.

He hates to admit it, but he’s got to channel some of Hoseok’s professional energy. Suck it up for once.

Focus.

It’s with renewed determination that Jimin steps out of the SUV, pocketing the keys and eying the library with unmasked suspicion. Taehyung waves at him with mocking excitement, which Jimin wholeheartedly ignores as he heads straight toward the entrance. Fiddling with the straps of the backpack on his shoulders, he takes deep, steadying breaths.

The mission was straightforward: scout the area, pick up on any clues as to Alexandra’s whereabouts, and get out before anything bad can happen.

Easy, right?

Pushing the doors open, Jimin is met with the overwhelming scent of book glue and well-loved pages. It almost throws him, making him blink a few times to get his bearings before making his way up to the front desk.

“Hello,” the older woman speaks softly, smiling at Jimin as if he were her own grandson.

He nods at her, hesitating beside the desk. “Hi.”

“Can I help you with something?”

The doors open once more, Taehyung and Seokjin strolling in as though there were old pals. Jimin can see right through the façade, knowing full well that if those two had it their way, they’d find the heaviest book this place had to offer just to promptly drop it over the other’s head.

What a happy family they all were turning out to be.

“I, uh, I’m looking for a book.”

The woman lets out an endearing giggle. “Most people are when they come in here, dear.”

Seokjin’s voice echoes up and down the aisle as he herds Taehyung toward one end of the library. “What a lovely selection of books we have here. Look, Erik! Dante’s Inferno!”

Taehyung’s disgruntled voice is enough to make Jimin have to clamp down on a laugh. “I told you, you’re Erik. I’m Hans!”

“And I stand by the fact that our fake names are stupid!” Seokjin hollers back. “I mean, look at us you idiot, we’re Korean! At least pick something convincing!”

The two of them have successfully gained the attention of the woman behind the desk, and she meekly excuses herself as she hurries to shush the two annoying newcomers. Once she’s disappeared between the stacks, Jimin quietly makes his way behind the desk.

“Excuse you, I’m Italian, you jerk,” Taehyung’s voice sounds even farther away now, no doubt leading the poor old woman deeper into the library and buying Jimin more time.

“Oh-ho!” Seokjin echoes back. It’s clear that he’s having the time of his life right now, as Jimin can actually hear the grin in his voice. “But you said you were Sicilian? Are you finally giving up your ridiculous-”

“Gentlemen!” The shrill voice of the librarian makes even Jimin wince, and he begins to scour the desk with more desperation. So far, nothing seems out of place. Nothing to indicate that Alexandra or Yadiel ever came here.

He pushes aside papers and binders, old books and new ones. Nothing seems special. A little family is coming up the sidewalk, making their way toward the doors. Jimin feels adrenaline rushing through him, and he begins to search in frenzy.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Dropping to his knees before the family entering the library can wonder who the frenzied man behind the desk is, he ducks under it just in time. They hesitate beside the desk, leaving their books in the bookdrop before heading off toward the children’s section with their daughter in tow.

Once the coast is clear, Jimin begins to crawl out from under the desk. He hisses as he bumps his head against the top of the desk, glaring up at it.

“…wait a second.” He didn’t collide with the desk – no, that’s a book. Strapped onto the bottom of the desk, as if someone wanted a quick hiding place for the volume.

Heart practically jumping in his throat, Jimin eases the book out of its hiding place. It’s surprisingly heavy, looking to be an older book than most of the library copies hanging around the front desk. Indeed, the back cover is just a blank faded brown color, with no library stickers in sight.

When he turns it over to see the title, Jimin knows that he found something that whoever hid this most definitely wanted kept hidden.

Shakespeare’s Greatest Works

“There you are,” he whispers triumphantly. Then, just as he’s about to open the book, Jimin realizes something strange.

It’s quiet.

Seokjin and Taehyung are no longer obnoxiously screeching, nor is the little family gently speaking. No footsteps echo around the stacks.

Get out! His brain is blaring an alarm at him, but he’s frozen. He needs to put the book in the backpack, that much he knows. But it’s so quiet, surely the sound of his backpack unzipping will act like a siren.

Then, there it is. Hurried footsteps, followed by heavier ones.

“I- I don’t understand, sir, we’re just a library we don’t carry a lot of cash-”

“I wasn’t asking for an annual report,” drawls a familiar voice that carries a nervous hitch. “Just hand over the money in the cash drawer and I’ll be on my way. All of it.”

There’s the older woman, coming around the desk. Jimin watches her feet as she stops a little to his right. Her hands are trembling something awful as she tries to get the cash drawer open.

“Open it!” The voice demands, making the woman jump. Somewhere within the library the little girl that came in with her family starts to cry.

But Jimin has heard enough. He knows that voice all too well, it’s been annoying him for years. So, clearing his throat and effectively drawing the attention away from the old woman, Jimin crawls out from under the desk, but not before dropping the book into his backpack.

“Really, Ortega? You’re robbing libraries now?”

Standing on the other side of the desk with a frantic look on his flushed face and a firearm in hand, Ortega eyes Jimin up and down before breaking out into a desperate grin.

“Park!” He shouts. “I thought you were dead along with Bianchi!”

Jimin steps up to where the woman is still struggling with the cash drawer, placing his hand atop her own. She bites back a sob, cracking Jimin’s heart. He shakes his head at Ortega.

“Ortega,” he sighs out. “Bianchi’s been dead for a day, and you’ve already gone rogue? Get out of here.”

Ortega’s hands are shaking too much to hold the gun properly. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, making Jimin more on edge than he already was. “You didn’t see him, Jiminie. The way he looked – like he was some sort of child’s Jack-O-Lantern-”

Jimin’s stomach lurches. “Enough. Spare me the details. Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

Eyes flitting between Jimin and the cash drawer, Ortega shakes his head. “I can’t. I need the money before I leave this place.”

“I’ve got something better than money,” Jimin pats his backpack, immediately drawing the other man’s attention. Behind him, he sees movement in the stacks. It’s Jungkook, judging from the way he carries himself. No doubt Seokjin and Taehyung sent an alert to the street rat who was positioned at the back entrance.

“Show me. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I know, I know.” Sighing, Jimin takes a few steps away from the woman before slinging the backpack off his shoulders. Slowly, so slowly it almost hurts, he begins to unzip it. Jungkook is growing closer and closer, moving silently through the library. “Where you at Bianchi’s house when it…happened?”

Ortega takes the bait, immediately beginning to prattle off about the events of last night. “They came out of nowhere, Park. I’ve never seen anything like it. We might have stood a chance if you and Namjoon had been around, but I think he must have planned it that way, you know? Like somehow, this Shylock guy was in on it. Sending you away so he could clear the path.”

“Shylock?”

Ortega eyes the backpack greedily. “Yeah, Shylock. He left something of a calling card on Bian- er, the body.”

Shuddering to himself, Jimin pushes the dark thoughts away once he realizes that he’s run out of backpack to open. “That’s…gruesome.”

“Yeah, and you wonder why I’m out here looking for any scrap of change? My money was tied up with Bianchi. Doubt I’ll be seeing any of it now that all of his stuff has been hijacked. I’m trying to scrounge up some cash so I can get out of-”

Jimin doesn’t even get a chance to feel sympathy toward his ex co-worker as Jungkook appears over Ortega’s shoulder. In one swift movement he has his arms trapped behind his back. A swift kick to the back of his knees has him crumpling before he even knows what happened, but when he lands on his back and sees Jungkook grinning down at him, Jimin wonders if Ortega might combust right then and there.

“Miss me?” Jungkook croons.

“You two know each other?” Jimin asks, eyebrows raised.

“We’ve met once or twice back in the day, when I’d trail Bianchi for fun.”

“Yeah…sounds like a riot.” Sidestepping the desk, Jimin watches with open admiration the way the Jungkook pins Ortega down with effortless ease. The younger man suddenly appears years older as he clenches his jaw and rips the gun from Ortega’s hands.

“Alright, out we go. Jimin, would you mind holding his arms down?”

“Jimin! Jimin, what are you doing?” Ortega screeches as Jimin quickly obeys. He has to put all of his weight into keeping Ortega’s arms down, and once again he finds himself in awe of how effortless Jungkook made this appear.

Hands snaking around his throat, Jimin realizes that Jungkook is looking for Ortega’s carotid artery. “There you are,” he whispers triumphantly. It doesn’t take long before Ortega’s breathing becomes raspy and he fights less and less. Once his eyes begin to slip shut, Jimin lets off a bit.

“Don’t move,” Jungkook warns. “Not until he’s completely out.”

It’s another thirty seconds of waiting until Jungkook deems that Ortega is well and truly unconscious before Jimin can move. “We good to go?”

Jimin grabs his backpack, checking that the book is still inside. “Good.” Then, turning to the old woman who has taken a seat and stares up at him with unabashed terror, he offers her a pitiful smile. “Will you be alright?” She nods shakily.

From across the library, Taehyung and Seokjin appear from between the stacks. Trailing behind them is the little family, the little girl clinging to her father as she muffles her cries.

“Thank you so much for your help,” the mother says, her hand coming up to Taehyung’s shoulder before turning to squeeze Seokjin’s arm. Behind her, her husband eyes the men warily. “You saved our lives. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t brought Alice back to us before- before-”

Seokjin shrugs, giving her a charming smile. “All in a day’s work.”

Beside him, Taehyung reaches out to ruffle the girl’s hair. “You’re safe now, kiddo. Good thing you’ve got such a brave dad, right?”

Now the father looks significantly more approving of the handsome strangers as he holds his child a little tighter. Then he spots Ortega, passed out on the floor between Jimin and Jungkook.

“Oh, there you guys are,” Seokjin drawls. His nose crinkles up as though even the very sight of Ortega was displeasing. “Ready to head out?”

Jimin scoffs. “After you.”

In the end, they shove Ortega into the back of the SUV, Jungkook joining Jimin in the vehicle while Seokjin is left to either share the back seat with the unconscious man or join Taehyung in the Lambo. To everyone’s surprise, he chooses to ride back with Taehyung.

“What, you don’t like the backseat?” Jimin taunts. Seokjin brushes off some invisible lint from his shirt.

“He reeks of desperation and cheap cologne,” is all he says by way of explanation. Shrugging it off, Jimin watches the arsonist slide into the Lamborghini, following after them as Taehyung wastes no time revving the engine and taking off down the street.

“Let’s hope they don’t kill each other,” Jungkook mumbles under his breath. Jimin chuckles, knowing full well that that’s a possibility between the two of them.

“What’s going on between those two lately?”

“Who knows. But Taehyung’s always been weirdly protective of-” he glances behind him at the slumbering Ortega. “Of her.”

Jimin blinks. He always forgets that Jungkook and Taehyung have known you for years longer than he has. “You think this has to do with her?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, resting his head against the chair. “With Taehyung, it’s always something to do with her. He’s predictable like that.”

What Seokjin has to do with anything is beyond Jimin, but for now he decides that he’ll focus on driving. It’s peaceful in the car for a few minutes before Jungkook speaks once more, his voice quiet in the way that makes Jimin wonder if he’d been dozing off for the past ten minutes.

“I wanted to apologize, you know. I don’t know if you even remember this but…I tried to shoot you once.”

Jimin doesn’t even try to muffle his laugh. “You what? When?”

“Yeah, like years ago. You were at some event with Bianchi and your hair was a stupid shade of pink-”

“I can pull off pink like no one else. You’re just jealous.”

“I was.”

Well, what an interesting day this is turning out to be. Jimin glances at Jungkook, who keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

“I think I was jealous because I knew that I was already losing her,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes slipping shut as he recalls the past. “She was dreaming about recruiting more people, but I’d always had this stupid idea that one day, Taehyung would return to Italy-”

“Sicily.”

“Sicily, whatever. But he’d go home and it’d be…” Jungkook trails off as if realizing for the first time that he was saying all of this out loud. “I’d never stop her from chasing her dreams, but I forgot to chase my own in the process.”

And that’s the exact moment that Jimin realizes that Jeon Jungkook is a good man. Better than himself, at any rate.

Jimin hates himself for saying it, but the words dive out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Have you ever told her how you feel?”

Silence, heavy with years of longing is what Jungkook responds with. It’s quiet for long enough that Jimin begins to wonder if he’s fallen asleep once more, but eventually Jungkook responds with nothing but a broken whisper.

“She knows. She has to, by now.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Jungkook shakes his head, turning to look out the window. The message he sends is clear enough: conversation over.

But his words linger in the air, crawling into Jimin’s mind and repeating themselves over and over again.

She knows. She has to, by now.

The sun has long since drifted below the horizon since Namjoon left the house to go off in search of milk. Twisting your phone between your fingers, you quickly type another message and send it off.

:: could you pick up some bread, too?

Namjoon’s reply is almost immediate.

n.j.: already did. Do you prefer oranges or apples?

:: both.

n.j. : great. The more the merrier, right?

:: right.

Tossing your phone on your bed, you lay back with a groan. There’s a headache working its way through your skull, but you’re too tired to get up and grab some medicine for it.

The past 24 hours have been brutal. And yet, somehow you feel like living in the aftermath of your father’s murder is easier than when you were under Yadiel’s thumb. Hopefully you can keep it that way.

Your father. The mere thought of him leaves you feeling empty. Void of the emotion that you must have cried out on Seokjin’s sweater in the wee hours of this morning. Right before you’d made a complete fool of yourself in front of him.

Your eyes slip shut, producing the image of Seokjin’s warm brown eyes as he holds you tight. No wonder you wanted a distraction from him – being that close to him is intoxicating. It’s different and good and-

“Stop.” You hiss as you pinch yourself, forcing the thoughts to derail. “You’ve got to stop.”

Because you’re heading down a path that you know can’t end well. It’s unfair of you to demand so much of someone when you don’t even know how to give anything in return.

Perhaps you really are just like your father.

The thought is enough to finally drive you from your bed, heading down the stairs until you find the couch in the foyer. Hoseok and Yoongi’s voices drift over to you from the kitchen, lulling you into a soft haze as you curl up on the couch and close your eyes.

It takes a while to push away the distractions. Faces of friends and enemies alike try to follow you into your dreams, but you fight back until all that’s left is one.

Your own.

Hoseok’s words echo through your dream: stop running in the wrong direction.

Somehow in your slumbering state, the words begin to make sense. For the first time you can recall, you don’t run into the arms of another distraction.

You run into your own embrace.

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soooo how we doin

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**also gonna start doing tag lists in reblogs because Tumblr hates me and I've got too many people to tag, pls let me know if the tag doesn't work for you!

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utopianvoices · 3 years

Text

past, present, future → b.chan

synopsis: Your best friend drags you to his high school reunion against your will, and never have you encountered such chaos. Alternatively, you go on the journey of making more friends, and a potential lover.

genre: high school acquaintances to lovers au; fluff, one second of angst

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 14.4k

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, kinda dialogue heavy (oops)

note: i am BACK with this mess of a fic. it took me too long to finish this, and i apologise for any shitty writing :3 thanks to my little babie @curanonemu for making sure i finished this and supporting me as usual muAH. new formatting on posts too weeeee (new year, new me fsdhfgs jk no)!! also, synopsis kinda sucks i’m sorry :P hope y’all enjoy! x

You did not want to go for your high school reunion dinner.

High school is a time for many that is either the best, or worst time of their lives. Forever friends are found there and painstakingly embarrassing memories are made in run down buildings with people you care about. Except, you didn’t have any such attachments.

Those three years were nothing but a filler for you as you studied, helped out in the library, and hung out with one person you called your best friend.

And on top of it all, it wasn’t even a high school reunion dinner meant for you.

The night the bomb is dropped on you, Changbin walks into the living room of the apartment you both share just outside the grounds of your university, and goes straight to the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal because cooking and Changbin did not get along well. The apartment was way cheaper than the dorms your school provided, and it definitely did not have any nosy RAs who were just out there to torture students for their own viewing pleasure.

On top of all that, you could live with your best friend and not some random stranger who might very much as well be a psychotic killer. Perhaps, Changbin could have some questionable habits, like talking to himself in a baby voice while looking in the mirror, but nothing that threatened your life.

You hear Changbin’s phone ringing from the kitchen as you aimlessly flip through the shows available on Netflix, deciding which new show you should watch and commit to, when your best friend’s boisterous laughter fills your ears. Used to the noise, you roll your eyes before increasing the volume of the TV, finally deciding to rewatch Sherlock.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re about to solve the known mystery together with Benedict Cumberbatch when Changbin walks in front of the TV, automatically eliciting a whine from you as you crane your neck left and right to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What the fuck, Bin?” You finally yell, frowning at the boy in front of you. Realising that he probably wanted something, considering the fact that he wasn’t moving till you asked him, you switch the TV off and settle back into the sofa, throwing him a death glare. “What do you want from me, pest?”

Something’s definitely amiss when you see Changbin shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, a guilty smile ever-present on his face.

“Whatever it is, my answer is no,” you say distantly, leaning back into the sofa with crossed arms. “So give it up.”

“Oh c’mon Y/n! At least hear me out?” Changbin cries out loudly, dropping onto his knees with clasped hands.

Heaving out a sigh, you slowly unfold your arms and lean forward, eyebrows raised as you nod at the poor boy in front of you. “I’ll hear you out. But don’t expect me to say yes.”

“Um...” Changbin starts, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find the right words. “So my high school friends are having a reunion dinner next week and I told them I’d go, but I also said I’d bring you along and they were too happy and so now I think you’ll have to come with me but-”

“Woah woah woah, a high school reunion party? Absolutely not.”

It’s not like you had anything against his friends. You did have brief interactions with a few of them in high school and you knew they were pretty decent lads, but there was no way you were following Changbin to what was meant to be a friends’ gathering.

“But why not!” Changbin whines, waddling over to you on his knees. “It’ll be really fun!”

“Yeah, fun for you,” you deadpan, staring at your pitiful best friend who has now resorted to throwing you puppy eyes. “They’re your friends after all, not mine.”

“That’s right. But they could be. Don’t you think it’s time you start finding more friends who are not me?”

Changbin’s once pitiful eyes held something other than desperation at that moment; they held concern.

It was true that you had no other friend other than Changbin. You knew lots of people, sure, but you wouldn’t call them your friends. With no friends to your name other than that one, it also wasn’t hard to guess that you never dated too. But all that mattered is that you were fine with it, right?

“You know that I don’t need any other friends. You’re more than enough for me. Truthfully, I don’t think I could deal with another Changbin in my life.”

Your words incite chuckles from Changbin, but that doesn’t stray him from his original goal.

“How about this,” he starts, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor because his knees were starting to hurt way too much. “You come to the reunion with me, and the moment you feel uncomfortable, we both can leave no questions asked. Deal?”

As tempting as that sounded, you knew it was not fair to cut Changbin’s precious time with his friends just because you did not want to hang out with new people. “That’s not fair to you.”

Shaking his head, Changbin stares at you, the fire in his eyes clearly visible, and you know that he had made up his mind. “I don’t care. It’s either you follow me and we can leave whenever, or I don’t go at all.”

There was no turning back now. You knew that in the end, what Changbin wants, he gets.

You sigh numbly before nodding your head in defeat, dreading the day that was to come where you had to leave the comfort of your apartment.

With no warning, you’re engulfed in a tight hug by a nuisance chanting “thank you” a million times. You ease into the hug, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a light squeeze, before pulling back to see that he had a smile similar to the one on your face.

“I guess you’re right about me needing more friends. I can’t be annoying you for the rest of my life, right?”

ii.

You’re once again reminded why you don’t go for social gatherings as you take in the various clothes strewn all over your room.

“Hey- Woah, what happened here?” Changbin asks, bewildered at the sight in front of him. “It looks like a hurricane hit your room or something.”

“Yes, it’s called Hurricane Y/n Is Screwed,” you reply sarcastically, before sinking down into your bed in defeat. Looking up at your best friend, you decide to give it a shot and put on your most pitiful face. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes, you really have to go,” Changbin replies without sparing you another glance, as he sifts through the heap of clothes on your bed. “And get that ugly look off your face, please. It makes me want to barf.”

Flipping your best friend off, you manoeuvre yourself such that you’re facing Changbin, and look upon him in curiosity.

After what felt like forever, pieces of clothing are thrown at you, along with a reminder that you had three hours before you had to leave.

“Three?!” You screech, causing Changbin to wince and cover his ears. “You should’ve told me earlier so that I have more time!”

“What are you so loud for, you damn pterodactyl? And three hours is more than enough. We’re just going to a cheap restaurant a few blocks away because we’re all broke college students.”

Huffing at your insolent best friend, you grab the clothes he threw at you and make your way to the bathroom, not bothering to contemplate his decision because you knew he had pretty good taste in fashion. In fact, half the clothes you had in your wardrobe were bought with him as your advisor, so you’re really in no position to criticise his choices.

You stare at your reflection and let out a nervous breath; you weren’t used to meeting new people, and there was no way you were going to be able to handle a hoard of newly turned adults. The last thing you wanted was to cut Changbin’s time short with his friends, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you make a promise to yourself that you’ll get through the night by whatever means. Even if it meant hours of torture.

Changbin, with absolutely no urgency, is sitting on the couch watching the fourth Harry Potter movie, when you walk into the living room, makeup half done and still dressed in your stay-at-home clothes. Boys, you think.

“I think I need to know who and how many people will be there,” you finalise, watching Changbin pick up the remote and pausing the movie at exactly when Cedric dies; poor chap. “ So that I can, you know, mentally prepare myself.”

“You really don’t, but okay. There’ll be nine of us, including you. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix from the dance team, Jeongin and Seungmin from the baseball team, Chan from the swimming team, soccer team, and honours board, and Jisung who was pretty much useless like me.”

“Wow.”

“In my defense, you’ve seen all of these dudes at least once,” Changbin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, they’re all really nice and fun so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Says you,” you mutter under your breath, before returning to your room to prepare for your doom.

iii.

The sign of the restaurant flickers periodically as you stand in the middle of the street with Changbin by your side. People brush past you as they hurry to meet their friends and families in the various restaurants lining the street, excitement evident in their steps.

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door. Immediately, a gush of warm air welcomes you, causing you to let out a content sigh.

“Hey Changbin!” A loud voice calls out from behind you, and the both of you turn in your place. The sight in front of you gives you equal amounts of anxiety and fear, as you wonder how you were going to handle the table of one, two, three… seven boys, including the embarrassment standing beside you, who was now busy doing some sort of weird wave in favour of a greeting.

“Changbin, please,” you plead, burying your face in your hands as you willed for someone to transport you back to your apartment so that you didn’t have to face reality and stand next to your shameless friend.

Chuckling sheepishly, your best friend finally stops, patting your back before walking towards the table at the back of the restaurant. “Oops sorry. Let’s go meet the rest!”

Here goes nothing.

Reaching the almost-filled table, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to see if you could remember anyone currently seated in front of you.

“Guys! This is Y/n, my best friend,”—at this, a few complaints erupt from around the table—”Gosh, fine. My other best friend.”

Immediately, at least three people shout their greetings your way.

“Hi Y/n! Nice to meet you!”

“Yo~ Changbin’s told us lots about you.”

“Y/n, sit beside me!”

Exasperated, your eyes flit around the table, trying your best to smile at all of them (which honestly turns out to look more like a pained grimace). Luckily, there was one seemingly sane person present.

“Shut up, everyone.” A boy with blue hair and sharp eyes shushes everyone. “Hi Y/n, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Jeongin.”

At this, the once quiet table is back to chaos as complaints are directed towards Jeongin for sneakily introducing himself first. Taking advantage of the mess, Changbin guides you towards the empty seats and finally settles the both of you down. Now all the seats were filled, except for one empty seat left beside you.

You’re about to ask Chanbgin about the empty chair, but before you can, he claps his hands, attracting everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone will take turns introducing themselves. Seungmin, you start.”

The sandy haired boy seated on the right of Changbin waves both his hands while bouncing in his seat, reminding you of a puppy. “I’m Seungmin!”

Next is Jeongin, who just gives you a small smile.

Beside him, you see a blonde haired boy, what is up with the hair colours, who just smiles brightly, eyes shining brightly and freckles visible. “Hello, I’m Felix. It’s great to meet you!”

Taken aback by the deep voice, which was a total contrast to his cute appearance, you’re unable to hide the shock from your face. This triggers a bout of chuckles from the table; it was probably common for people to display similar reactions when meeting Felix.

Before pretty boy (that’s what you decided to remember him as) could introduce himself, the black haired boy resembling a squirrel interrupts him. “I’m Jisung!”

You recognise him as the one who shouted when you and Changbin entered the restaurant, and you’re about to acknowledge him when you’re cut off.

“Oi Han, it was my turn to introduce myself! Who allowed you to skip the line?”

“I do what I want,” was Jisung’s response, and pretty boy looked like he was one push away from murder.

Just as you’re sure that you were about to witness a murder, Changbin chides the two boys and breaks up the petty argument. “Just introduce yourselves without any nonsense, please.”

“I’m Hyunjin,” pretty boy mutters sulkily, giving Jisung a death stare. “And I can dance better than Jisung.”

“You motherf-”

“And I’m Minho,” the last person introduces himself, successfully cutting off Jisung’s profanity mid-word. “Sorry, don’t mind those two. They’re like Tom and Jerry.”

Smiling weakly, you muster up the courage to introduce yourself to the four pairs of eyes staring at you. Hyunjin and Jisung were busy having a staredown, while Changbin was eyeing the meat sizzling on the grill. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Changbin’s friend. It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for having me here.”

And just like that, everyone is back to their own conversations, with Changbin piling the perfectly done meat onto his plate. You take in a deep breath and look around the table at the happy faces.

This isn’t so bad, you thought, a little chaotic, but otherwise entertaining.

“They’re overwhelming huh?”

Any effort to mask your bewilderment vanishes as you catch the knowing look on Minho’s face. A guilty smile blooms on your face and you nod your head. “Just a little.”

“I get that,” he starts, but soon enough, there’s a content smile on his face that shows his love for his friends. “But at the end of the day, I know that these monkeys will be there for me no matter what, so I guess it makes it all worth it.”

Smiling softly at his words, you almost coo at the light blush dusting Minho’s face as reality catches up to him.

“Ahem anyway. How’s living with Changbin?” He clears his throat before changing the topic, instinctively putting some meat on your plate before helping himself, earning a grateful smile from you.

“It’s not too bad,” you start, feeling Changbin’s gaze on you after having overheard Minho’s question. “Except sometimes, he talks to himself in the mirror and it’s pretty scarring.”

“Y/n!” Changbin whines as Minho guffaws beside you, nodding his head to your answer, clearly having witnessed that side of Changbin before. “Wait till Chan comes. At least he’ll support me.”

At the unfamiliar name, you furrow your brows and the name in the form of a question tumbles out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Chan?”

“He’s not here yet,” Minho addresses your confusion, having heard your little slip up. “He had to oversee the training for the upcoming soccer match, being the captain and all, and apparently he had a tutoring session after. He should be here soon though.”

That explains the empty chair beside you.

“Oh, he needs to get tutored after training?” You ask, feeling bad for the unknown boy. Having to absorb information after physical activities is torture. You couldn’t even focus after 40 minutes of gym. “That’s rough.”

At your assumption, a cat-like smirk spreads across Minho’s face. “Oh no, darling. He tutors after his training.”

There’s no way you’re to be blamed for the first thought that pops into your head after discovering that said Chan was responsible and smart. You’ve seen people struggling with just one extracurricular, and begging teachers for extra credits because of poor time management.

So, it’s really not your fault that the first words that enter your head is, that’s hot.

Just then, the bell situated above the door rings, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. You’re not bothered by it, until Felix’s deep voice fills your ear.

“Chan!”

It’s almost comical how slowly you turn towards the sound, blush threatening to fill your cheeks at your first impression of Chan, without even meeting him. And as Giovanni Torriano has once said:

Talk of the Devil, and he's presently at your elbow.

Your eyes follow the figure of the devilishly breathtaking boy walking towards your table. He’s still dressed in what you assume was his soccer jersey, black hair tousled from the wind and practice. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of that inappropriate thought and opt to stare at the bowl of radish that looked the most interesting to you.

“Hey guys!” Chan smiles widely at the group of friends, as a few of them immediately get up from their seats to greet him with their usual bro hug. He sets his things down beside Minho, and is taking his seat when he spots you. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looks around the table, silently asking for an explanation as to what a stranger was doing at their usual table.

You realise his staring and try to introduce yourself, but you find yourself unable to form sentences as the reality of who Chan was hits you.

The star swimmer of your high school’s swimming team, and the top student of every single year. He was the epitome of popular. Everyone knew his name, and apparently he had never missed one day of lessons or training. On top of that, he used to regularly tutor in the library.

“Oh, this is my friend Y/n!” Changbin pipes up, slinging an arm around you. “Same high school as us, and my roommate now.”

At this, the confusion clouding Chan’s hazel eyes clears up, and he turns to face you, extending a hand. “The one who used to carry thick books everywhere and helped out in the library right? I’m Chan!”

Being the complete opposite of your best friend, you’re sure no one has ever noticed you in the library. You blend in perfectly with the shadows and shelves, and you didn’t usually help the students out, opting to arrange the books in the storeroom—the one small thing you could do to help out the aged librarian who brought you mouth-watering brownies every Thursday.

The thick books, in your defense, was your attempt at trying to finish the Harry Potter series whenever you had the spare time. You never had to explain yourself because you never expected anyone to notice. Especially not the most popular guy in school who had a million other friends.

But there he was, in all his glory, eyes crinkled into crescents as he waits for you to shake his hand, seemingly remembering you when nobody else did.

A small nudge to your side from Changbin breaks you out of your reverie and you grab his hand, silently noting how soft they were. “Nice to meet you.”

Smiling at you, he gently shakes your hand before turning to the other boys, immediately making jokes and laughing along.

“What was that about?” Changbin whispers harshly, eyeing you and Chan suspiciously.

“What was what?”

“Chan remembering you! You’ve never even met before.”

Looking at your best friend, you shrug before reaching out for another piece of meat. “Beats me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to interrogate you more, when he’s successfully cut off by Seungmin.

“Y/n! Tell us more about yourself! I’m bored of hearing about these idiots.”

Jeers sound from around the table as you let out a nervous chuckle, aware of how everyone’s attention was on you. “Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself for extra confirmation.

Yea!” Seungmin replies, nodding vigorously. “What are you doing now, and how was high school for you, and just everything!”

Noting your hesitation, Changbin is about to step in to save you, but your hand on his thigh stops him. Looking at you curiously, he realises from your expression that you’re finally about to do what he had been nagging at you to do since day one of becoming your friend.

iv.

‘Is it possible for a stomach to burst from too much laughing?’ is what runs through your head as tears stream down your face from laughing uncontrollably at another joke Jisung was saying.

“Wait, I remember Changbin telling me that people used to refer to you as Baby Photos when you all played at the school shows,” you ask after you had recovered from your laughing fit, curiosity piquing. “What’s that all about?”

At the mention of the familiar name, the boys let out groans and Hyunjin starts hitting Jisung. “It’s all Jisung’s fault!”

“Basically, he somehow got ahold of all our baby photos and submitted it to the administration on behalf of us,” Changbin explains, rolling his eyes at the memory. “So if you see our yearbook, all eight of us have our baby photos instead of the actual photo we were supposed to submit.”

How is that even possible?!

“We still don’t know how he managed to do that.” Chan answers your unasked question, shaking his head fondly at the ridiculous memory.

At this, Jisung pipes up. “Everything is possible when you’re charming and handsome. You lot won’t be able to relate!”

And you finally agree that the beating Jisung gets after was well deserved.

“Restaurant’s closing in ten!”

The owner of the restaurant, a nice old lady who had a soft spot for the boys, calls out from the back. She had already let all of you stay past her usually closing time, and even gave you some free side dishes, together with a loving chide about how the boys don’t come and visit her anymore.

The screech of the chairs fill the place as everyone gets up, stomach and heart full from the meal and company. You smile to yourself, glad that you let yourself be convinced to follow Changbin because you had one of the best days in your life.

“Did you have fun today?” Your best friend asks with a smug smile, already knowing the answer.

“Shut up,” is all you can say—a clear sign that you were admitting defeat. “It was okay.”

“That wounds me,” someone speaks up from behind you, having heard your conversation with Changbin. You whip around to see Chan clutching his heart and wearing an exaggerated hurt face. “I thought we had a connection.”

“I-you, no, that’s not-what” you splutter, horrified at the thought of Changbin’s, and now apparently your, friends thinking that you didn’t have a good time with them. There was no way you could let them think as such when they had made you feel so comfortable, and have so much fun.

Your stuttering and horrified expression does it, and Chan bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry, it was a joke. But your face!”

The guilt and regret is replaced with relief and irritation, and you smack his arm out of habit, something you always did to Changbin when he was being a pain in the ass. But as soon as you do it, you’re once again filled with regret because Oh my God it’s only been two hours, you’re not supposed to just smack people.

“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Chan cuts you off, adding in a low tier insult to make you feel a bit better about your reflexes. “We’re friends now; all of us.”

Friend to friends. Now that’s an upgrade.

You’re about to say something, when you’re cut off by Changbin screeching unceremoniously as he glances at the time displayed on his lockscreen (it’s a picture of the two of you making ugly faces—he refused to change it).

“Shit, we’re going to miss the last bus that leaves from here!” He almost shouts, grabbing his and your things. “Adios bitchachos!”

A snicker or two echoes through the empty restaurant at Changbin’s farewell, together with requests of bringing you the next time they meet.

“Make sure Y/n comes for the next dinner! Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not!”

Jisung earns himself a string of vulgarities from Changbin for that, as he guffaws and hi-fives Hyunjin.

You’re barely able to say your farewell to the boys with Changbin dragging you out of the restaurant, but you manage to shout out a few words while waving. “Thank you for today! See you soon!”

The bus arrives just as you reach the bus stop, and Changbin all but collapses on one of the empty seats from the running you both did.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re foul.” You’re staring at your best friend in disgust when he starts questioning you about the dinner, nausea forgotten.

“So…” he starts, pivoting in his seat to face you, cheek leaning against his hand which rested on the seat in front of him. “For someone who was dead set on not coming, you sure looked like you had lots of fun.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you turn to face Changbin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me making more friends?”

“Of course, of course~” he drawls, smirk ever-present on his face. “And who do we have to thank for that?”

“And you ask me why I don’t listen to you or ask you for favours.” Turning your attention back to your phone, you open up Temple Run in hopes of keeping yourself occupied for the bus ride back; but Changbin had other plans.

Whining, he snatches your phone from your hands and slips it into his pocket. “Y/n! Tell me everything!”

“What do you want to know?!” you ask, exasperated. “You were there literally the whole time.”

“Yes I know, but I want to know what you think of all my friends!” Changbin claps his hands in excitement, leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, our friends now.”

You can’t help but sigh as you prepare for the long bus ride ahead—but somehow, you don’t miss the sudden warmth enveloping you as you recalled the past few hours.

“First of all, Jisung and Hyunjin are hilarious, it’s like…”

Two weeks later, and you’re knee deep in shit. Not literally, of course, but you might as well be.

It’s the infamous hell month in your university, where every student (regardless of major) has a shit ton of assignments and tests to complete, and the library is open 24 hours for poor souls like yourself.

It’s two in the morning when you’re working on your second essay of the day. There are crumpled balls of paper all over your desk and surrounding your bin, courtesy of your pathetic aim.

“You’re cleaning everything up later,” Changbin speaks up from across the dining table you both were sharing to get work done, tapping away on his equipment as he works on some new beat. “I don’t expect every ball to go in, but to miss everything? That’s some serious talent.”

“Shut your mouth, Seo.” Flipping your best friend off, you finally push yourself away from the table, stretching a bit before making your way to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of ramen in hopes of satiating the beast growling in your stomach.

As you open each shelf, you slowly come to the realisation that you were completely out of snacks and food. Even the single frozen bag of peas and empty ice cream tub stares back at you in pity as you scan the fridge.

Taking a breath to calm yourself, you slowly turn around to face your unsuspecting, so-called, best friend. Walking towards him, you knock the table a few times to get his attention.

He notices your presence, and removes his headphones to look at you quizzically, his full attention on your blank face.

“When were you going to tell me that you had consumed every single food item we have?”

It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his face, as his eyes dart all around the room, skillfully avoiding you. If it were any other situation, you would’ve definitely laughed while falling onto the floor. But this wasn’t any other situation.

This was war.

And honestly, it would have been a war that you would’ve definitely won—if not for the loud sound your stomach just produced.

Narrowing your eyes at the accused seated a few feet away from you, you walk over to the countertop with your wallet, eyes not leaving Changbin for a second.

“I will deal with you when I am back from the convenience store.”

And with the sight of Changbin gulping imprinted in your mind, you slam your apartment door behind you and make your way grumpily to the 24-hour convenience store located seven minutes away.

vi.

The electronic chime sounds throughout the store as the part-timer throws you a friendly greeting from the counter. “Welcome!”

Reciprocating with a smile of your own, you take slow steps towards the shelf with the various assorted packets of ramen, and your hand automatically reaches for your favourite one. Just as it comes into contact with the plastic, you can feel yourself salivating and your stomach growls in appreciation. It’s a myth, you think. There’s no way food like carrots and asparagus is what gets students through school. The only saving grace you have during this period is packets of ramen and chocolate milk. Countless numbers of assignments and tests are already torturous enough; healthy, tasteless food on top of that? No, thanks.

Clutching the ramen packet in your hands like it was the treasure of your life, you walk towards the milk section to complete your meal with your favourite carton of chocolate milk. There was something about the combination of milk that combats the spice from the ramen, and you’re about to drop onto your knees right there and then to worship the people who invented ramen and chocolate milk, when you see the last carton being taken away right in front of your eyes.

Without any second thoughts, you rush towards the person and grab their arm, already getting ready to pull out the sob story of how you absolutely need the chocolate milk to survive. Surprised by the sudden contact, the man holding the carton whips his head towards you, eyes wide.

There’s a fleeting sense of familiarity that passes through you when you see the hazel peeking out from above the mask that covered the rest of his face, but you’re too preoccupied to dwell on the thought. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg, you’re cut off by an all too familiar voice.

“Y/n?”

Huh?

You stare at each other for a few seconds before the realisation of who you were holding, no, clinging onto dawns on you.

“C-Chan?”

In a lively city that thrived at night, there were a thousand other 24-hour convenience stores scattered all around in every corner. It also wasn’t everyday that you decided to go to the convenience store for food, opting to go to the grocery stores instead. So, if you calculated correctly, the chance of you bumping into Chan at 2:30 a.m. at that very particular store should be close to never.

Yet, there he was standing right in front of you, chocolate milk clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh I came here to water my plants.”

Plants?

You’re more than confused, till you hear the soft snicker that escapes his mouth. Narrowing your eyes at his antics, you decide to bite back with a “Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… Are you planning to hold onto me forever?” Chan teases you, eyes gesturing to your hand that was still clutching onto him, before looking back at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

With the whole bumping-into-Chan thing that happened, it had completely slipped your mind that you were still holding onto him. You snatch your hand away in horror, eyes widening as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry.” And before you could stop yourself, you also continue to spill why you had grabbed his arm in the first place. “I was just craving for chocolate milk, and the one you took was the last carton left.”

Looking back and forth at you and the carton, you start to feel like an absolute idiot, until he reaches out and pushes the carton into your hands. “You can have it then,” he says, and walks away. “Stay right there, let me grab some ramen and we can have supper together!”

You stare at the carton for a few seconds, the droplets of water that formed on the outside cool against your fingers. On a normal day, you would have refused the milk vehemently, telling the other person not to worry and to have the last carton. But today wasn’t any other day.

And Chan wasn’t any other person.

We’re friends, after all, is what echoes in your mind as you look up at the boy walking towards you, two packets of ramen in his hand and a carton of strawberry milk. Smiling at him, you finally express your gratitude for his kind sacrifice.

“Thanks for this,” you say, waving the carton in front of him. “I don’t think I would have made it through the night without it.”

Nodding with a smile, he tears his two packets of ramen open and pours in the hot water that was situated at the back of the store, grabbing yours from you in the process. “What brings you here at this hour? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be craving ramen and chocolate milk in the middle of the night on any other day.”

“You’re right about that,” you reply dejectedly, recalling the big pile of assignments waiting for you back at the apartment. “It’s hell month in school, and I’m drowning in work. On top of that, Changbin exhausted every single food source we have at home!”

Chan does his very best to hold back his laughter at your expression; he knew you were angry, but you looked as threatening as a kitten. And thankfully he succeeds, because he really did not want to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Although, he thinks, you really are not going to be able to do much damage.

“How dare he,” Chan agrees, finally taking a seat beside you, the steam from the ramen warming his face up. “Hey but, if he hadn’t done that we wouldn’t have bumped into each other here.”

You nod your head in agreement, thinking about how to start a casual conversation, when you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you knew essentially nothing about Chan. You didn’t know what university he went to, what he majored in, and what he was doing in the convenience store that late at night too.

One question at a time, you decide.

“What are you doing out this late anyway?” you ask, slurping the noodles and breathing out in relief at the taste of the ramen against your tongue.

“I come here often,” is what he replies, before taking a sip of his milk. “My uni’s about fifteen minutes from here, and I usually work the best at this time. Being a music production major, there aren’t very strict deadlines, but I’ve still got to get my shit done.”

Oh. That’s all your questions answered.

You know the trouble of trying to get questions out, especially for you, who has never really made the effort in going the extra mile in interacting with people. It’s annoying and nerve-wrecking, and probably the biggest reason why you refused making new friends. The whole process was just painful. So, when Chan answers your unasked questions, you feel the hypothetical weight lifting off your shoulder, and you open your mouth to express your gratitude. At least, that’s what you had planned to do.

“Are you a mind reader?” you blurt out, before immediately clamping your mouth shut and facepalming. “Ugh, sorry. I have a really bad habit of blurting out whatever comes to my mind.” You groan at your inconvenient habit, and Chan pats the top of your hand in hopes of comforting you.

“I just meant to say that I was thinking of asking you those questions and you answered them even before I asked.” Chan looks at you with a smile, intrigued by your personality. You clearly didn’t have any other friends other than Changbin—but you never looked as if you were upset about it. It was also clear that you were content with not interacting with people, but when you did, you were never rude about it and you really did try your best. Never in a million years would he have thought that the student scurrying around the library with tons of books would turn out to be someone like you.

“At least that means you’re an honest person!” Chan says, beaming at you. “C’mon, learn to look at the brighter side of things.”

Shrugging your shoulders with a tired smile on your face, you turn back to your ramen, which has now gone soggy due to your little chit-chat with the boy beside you.

There’s a comfortable silence that hangs between the two of you, until Chan speaks up again. “What’s your major? I realised I never asked.”

At the mention of school, you pull an automatic stank face before replying. “English Lit with a minor in Philosophy. The worst decision of my life.”

“And why’s that?”

“I never knew there’d be this much essay writing!” you cry out, throwing your head against the table. The rest of your words come out muffled, but somehow Chan manages to catch it. “I mean, I knew there was going to be lots of essays. But not this much.”

“In the major’s defense, that’s kind of a dumb move on your part, Y/n.”

“Yes, I know. Please don’t remind me of my idiocy.” You finally sit up, before sadly chewing on your noodles. “At least I have ramen and chocolate milk to keep me going.”

And as the night went on, both of you continued the conversation back and forth, you learning more about him and him about you. You talk about your assignments, how annoying some of your professors were, and how living with Changbin was. All the times you had to chase him to clean up after himself, or all the times he stayed up with you until ungodly hours just because you had procrastinated too much and was rushing an assignment in the last hour. You also learnt more about Chan; how he was studying music production because that was his dream since he was young, and how he actually roomed with Jisung, who was equally as messy as Changbin. The only difference was that Chan couldn’t be bothered about the mess.

“Changbin, Jisung, and I actually used to make tracks and post them on Soundcloud,” Chan says, smiling as he recalls the three high schoolers cooped up in his room with the bare minimum equipment that wiped out half their savings. “We even had rapper names.”

“Ooooo~” you tease, nudging his shoulder as his ears start to turn a bright red. “What was yours?”

“What’s in the past should stay in the past, Y/n. Let bygones be bygones. No point talking about it now.”

“Awww, c’mon!” You plead, fidgeting in your seat. “Was it something embarrassing like Cheminem, or something?”

“I can’t help but feel more relaxed when your standards are that low,” Chan says, with some form of relief in his voice. “Uh, mine was CB97.”

“Don’t tell me…” you mutter, eyes wide as the laughter threatens to escape your lips. “Did you really just use your initials and your birth year? Talk about bare minimum!”

“Hey! It’s better than Meminen, or Cheminem, or whatever you said earlier.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you decide to probe further. “What were Jisung’s and Changbin’s?”

Chan stares at you with wide eyes, your mischievous eyes giving away your evil plans. “No. Changbin will kill me.”

“Don’t be a party pooper! I’ll treat you to ramen next time if you tell me.” You try tempting Chan with food, with no hopes that it would work. But somehow, you see his resolve crumbling, and realise that you just needed one final push.

“I’ll get you chocolate milk and two packets of ramen.”

At that point, Chan regrets telling you his habit of eating two packets of ramen with chocolate milk almost every night when he stays up. “You shouldn’t have given me the milk then!” is what you said while chiding him, and he just claimed that “you looked like you needed it more than me” while saying that he really wasn’t picky about the flavour of milk.

So when you tempt him with his cravings, he has no choice but to give in.

Twenty minutes later, you walk into your shared apartment, a mysterious smile playing on your lips as you drop the keys into the little holder by the door. It was made by yours truly during a random pottery workshop you signed up for. The shape was slightly off, and the colour wasn’t bright or vibrant—but it worked and that’s what mattered.

At the sound of the keys clinking in the holder, Changbin’s head shoots up to gauge your mood from your expression. Surely you would be at least a little less angry after your little run to the convenience store, he thought.

But instead of seeing a blank expression, or even an angry one, he sees the smile on your face and his heart drops. Why were you smiling? The fact that you were smiling made him feel a hundred times worse, and he had already started saying his prayers.

“So, Changbin…” you start, leaning against one of the chairs at the dining table. You weren’t even angry about the empty shelves anymore, but you just could not pass on the opportunity of teasing your best friend. “Or should I say, SpearB?”

And you’re more than content with the way his face morphs into that of horror, as he grips the edges of the table. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper; one would think that the whole world had found out about his darkest secret from the way he was reacting.

Shrugging playfully, you go back to your seat and sort out the papers scattered around the table, grabbing your laptop to start working on your assignment again with a full and happy stomach. “Who knows~”

“Y/n, tell me,” he starts to whine, making his way to you on his roller chair. “No one knows other than the boys-”

And the realisation of who the culprit was hits him.

“It was Chan, right?” he asks, already reaching for his phone to scold the older boy. “You must have met him when you went to the store—he’s always getting ramen there.” Typing furiously on his phone, he pauses to look up and whine again. “I can’t believe you two gossiped about me! And it was me who made you both become friends. The disrespect!”

Finally the laughter you had been holding in breaks out and floods the living room, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I can’t believe,” you start, trying to catch your breath as you continue laughing. “SpearB! What do you do? Impale people with your sharp flow and rhyme?”

“Just shut up, please,” Changbin pleads, plugging his ears with his fingers. “La la la, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He rolls back to his side of the table and grabs the headphones, shoving it over his head to drown out your laughter.

Your laugh fest is cut off by your phone vibrating, signalling that you had a new text message. Grabbing it, you tap your phone a few times to open up the messages page.

chan: can’t believe you outed me to changbin chan: traitor y/n: drama queen y/n: i said nth, he figured it out on his own chan: ఠ_ಠ

Giggling at the emoticon Chan used, you unconsciously lean back in your seat as you search your gallery for an emoticon to reply with, assignments forgotten.

“Who’re you texting?” Changbin asks, having heard you giggle at your phone. He’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you knew it was better to answer him, because a curious Changbin is a dangerous Changbin, and he’ll probably stomp over and snatch your phone to see who you were texting anyway. “It’s Chan.”

“When did you two exchange numbers?!”

“Earlier, when we met at the convenience store.”

It was right before the both of you parted ways; when Chan had proposed something that was pretty much impossible to turn down.

“I had fun today,” he said, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other swung the plastic bag containing some chocolates to add to his secret sweet stash. “You said you’re having hell month, right? Hit me up whenever you need an emergency ramen run.” And with that, he pushed his phone into your hands, signalling for you to do the same.

Smiling to yourself, you keyed in your number into the phone clutched in your hand, saving yourself as “Y/n”, and before you could regret your decision, you quickly added a smiley after your name and tossed the phone back to Chan. “Here you go.”

The cool metal is being pressed into your hands, and before you know it, you’ve said your farewell to Chan and were on your way back home.

“Look at you socialising out of your own will,” Changbin states proudly, wiping an imaginary tear as he gives you a fatherly (or what he thinks is fatherly) smile. “Albeit, at the expense of my shame, but if it means my little Y/n making more friends then why not!”

“Please stop, you’re an embarrassment to me, yourself, and literally everyone around us,” you deadpan, clearing your side of the table up. It was time to call it a night, because God knows you’re not going to be able to do anymore work. “Besides, it’s really not that big of a deal. I doubt we’ll continue talking after tonight. It’s probably a one-off thing.”

“Hmmm I wouldn’t be too sure,” Changbin muses. “I feel like there’s something that’ll come out of this.”

vii.

Seo Changbin isn’t a lot of things.

He isn’t tidy, opting to throw his clothes all around his room instead of folding it; he isn’t patient, always screaming at you to “Hurry your ass!” when he had been waiting barely three minutes; and last but not least, he definitely isn’t punctual. “Changbin is my name, and being late is my game” is something you’ve heard way too often from him that it was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him yet.

Changbin isn’t a lot of things—but what he somehow is, is intuitive when it comes to you.

So when you find yourself back at the convenience store at 12:30 a.m., ramen and chocolate milk in front of you as you laugh over some stupid story Chan was saying, you can’t help but curse at how right your best friend was.

You were reaching the end of your hell month, which also indicated it being four weeks since you and Chan had developed the routine of pigging out at the convenience store at terrible hours.

“... and he just fell off the tree!” Chan concludes his story of how Hyunjin fell off a tree in high school, words coming out breathless due to how much the both of you were laughing. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

“I can’t believe I never talked to you guys more then,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It would’ve been hilarious.”

“Someone was too busy with Voldemort,” Chan teases, pushing his nose down flat in what you could only describe as a Voldemort impression. Laughing, you swat his hand away while rolling your eyes at the boy you’ve grown so fond of in a span of four weeks. “Why’d you never talk to us?”

Thinking back to high school, you ask yourself. Why didn’t you ever bother talking to them?

“I guess it’s just cause I already had Changbin,” you start, pausing to think back to the past few years. “As much as I complain about him, he’s really one of the greatest best friends anyone could ask for.”

It was true; Changbin was there for you during high school like no one else had been, and for that you were eternally grateful for him.

“So you were scared to take any other chances since you already got the best?”

People always asked you why you didn’t make more friends in high school. Hell, even your mother kept asking, when other parents struggled to keep their children at home just because they were spending too much time out with friends. But the answer to that question was something you never thought about, and you can’t stop the feeling of shock spreading through your body at what the boy in front of you had just so casually uttered.

You were scared.

“I-I…” you stutter, eyes wide as you stare at the boy in front of you. Chan can’t help the worry that seeps into his face at his words, and he’s starting to wonder if he said anything wrong. “I’ve never ever thought about it. But, oh my God, that makes so much sense.”

After years of waving everyone who asked you why you never made any other friends away just because you yourself didn’t have the answer to the question, you’re hit with a huge realisation of just why you didn’t want to find more friends. And it wasn’t even you who figured it out.

This boy sitting leisurely in front of you, skin pale and soft, with messy black hair framing his face that he never bothered brushing away. This boy, who was as kind as he was hardworking, always willing to help out anyone, even with his own responsibilities. This boy who had been readily there for you at the devil hours for almost every day in the past four weeks, always checking up on you to make sure that you were surviving.

Never in a million years would you have expected someone to figure out something that was locked away so deep inside of your heart, and for it to be Chan, out of everyone. The thought makes your heart race a little, but you decide to blame it on the conversation the both of you were having. It was definitely not because of the boy seated beside you.

“Shocking, huh,” Chan starts, laughing slightly as the worry he had felt earlier replaced with something he could only describe as fondness. “It’s a pity though.”

You look at him questioningly, and what he says next makes you realise a few things that maybe you were better off not realising.

“We would’ve been much happier in high school with you there. I would’ve been much happier.”

As much as you regretted not befriending the other seven boys in high school, you were starting to regret bumping into Chan that very first night even more. If you hadn’t bumped into him, you would’ve never spent so much time with him, never realised how great of a person he was, and lastly, you would’ve never started falling for Bang Chan.

viii.

It’s like déjà vu.

With your exams and assignments completed, you find yourself watching the latest season of Haikyuu when Changbin enters the room, waltzing towards your reclined figure.

“Y/n~” Changbin starts, poking your shoulder to get your attention. “Whatever your annoying ass needs now, it’s a no,” you say without even turning to look at the boy beside you.

“Oh? Even if it was an invitation to dinner with the boys later tonight?”

And when your head whips to the side to look at your best friend, you’re so tempted to just wipe that smirk clean off his face, because the bitch knew you would have said yes.

“I fucking hate you,” is what you can mutter, before switching the television and throwing the remote to the side, choosing to ignore Changbin as you walk towards your room to pick an outfit. But you’re forced to stop in your tracks when Changbin casually utters the next few words.

“Chan’s especially excited to see you.”

You’re not sure what Changbin means by that, but there’s no denying the increase in your heart rate at the mention of the dimpled boy.

“What?” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as you could, hoping that your best friend wouldn’t pick up the slight quiver in your voice. But, of course, he wasn’t your best friend for nothing.

“I said, your little boyfriend’s excited to see you.” Changbin smirks at your expression, stretching his legs out to rest it on the coffee table in front of your sofa. “And it looks like you’re just as excited.”

Red travels up your neck and spreads across your face, as you sputter at your best friend’s preposterous words. “W-what are you- I- Huh-”

Realising that your little breakdown wasn’t helping your case at all, you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before speaking to the insolent brat in front of you. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and the first instinct you have is to play dumb. “O-of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“I will pretend like I did not hear that pathetic attempt of you trying to act dumb,” Changbin states robotically, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Y/n. It’s obvious. So stop pretending and just fess up. It’ll be easier for the both of us.”

You had two choices now: Either fess up and prepare yourself for at least a thousand years of teasing, or just completely deny it till your deathbed.

Clearly, the second option was much more appealing.

“No, Changbin,” you snap with as much conviction as you could. “I do not have a crush on Chan. He’s just a really good friend.”

The knowing look on his face wavers, and you know that you’re seconds away from success. It’s not that you did not trust your best friend with the information of you having a crush on one of his friends. You just did not want to say it out loud—saying it out loud would mean that you were confirming it, and there will be no going back. And that scared you.

You were scared of liking someone who was way too perfect, and who probably would never like you back.

So the best solution was to keep your little crush hidden away in the depths of your heart, and slowly get over it as soon as you could. It was as easy as it could get.

ix.

Apparently, you realise, it wasn’t at all easy to get over a simple crush.

The smell of meat fills your nostrils as the eight boys chatter loudly over the sound of the sizzling of the food. You’re back at the same restaurant, with the same boys, except it wasn’t exactly the same as the last time.

This time, you had a raging crush on the boy who insisted on sitting beside you, leg brushing against yours every few seconds as he piles the food on your plate instead of his.

It definitely didn’t help that every time your hands brushed while reaching out for the side dishes around the table, you pulled your hand back as if you had just been burned, ears immediately heating up.

“Did you know Chan told Y/n about 3RACHA?” Changbin whines to Jisung, making him stop his actions mid-way, meat hanging from the chopsticks just a few inches away from his mouth. “All I heard the past few weeks was ‘SpearB, help me’, ‘SpearB, go there’. It was torture.”

The table goes silent at the new information Changbin had revealed, and all you can do is smile sheepishly as your friends stare at the both of you.

“These two have been meeting almost everyday the past few weeks to get ramen at weird timings, and I’m pretty sure Y/n has lots of quality dirt on us now,” Changbin says pointedly, completely ignoring the way your eyes widened because why would he just say that?

It already wasn’t easy keeping Changbin in check with his little fantasies every time you went out to meet Chan, and now it was going to be worse because you just knew that the six other boys were going to question you from their expressions.

You turn to look at Chan, expecting to see the same ‘busted’ expression on his face, but all you see is a guilty smile, before he opens his mouth to speak. “In my defense, I was bribed.”

“Yes but, you never told us your 3RACHA names even after we kept begging you for weeks,” Hyunjin speaks up, eyes wide in disbelief. “We had to bribe you with a new game for your console, but you just told Y/n after two packets of ramen and chocolate milk?”

Your heart rate picks up speed just a fraction after hearing Hyunjin’s words, and you can’t help but feel a little special that Chan was comfortable enough to tell you things he refused to tell others. There’s a small smile playing at your lips as you look at the boy beside you, who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried his best to defend himself from the accusations that were now pouring out from all his friends.

Unbeknownst to you, your own best friend was watching the both of you since the night started, a glint in his eye as he catches the way you threw small glances at his friend, blushing every time your hands brushed or when Chan purposely picked out the meat that was grilled best to put on your plate.

He also didn’t miss the soft smile playing at Chan’s lips every time you laughed at another stupid joke Jisung cracked, head thrown back slightly as you clutched your stomach, or the way his eyes widened every time you leaned a little too close to him to reach for a side dish.

Fools, is what he thinks when he eyes his two best friends. Fools in love.

The night goes on, and it’s Changbin who proposes a game of who can finish a bottle of soju the fastest to make things more exciting. You already know how it was going to end when you see the soju bottles crowding the table, all screaming the obvious outcome of the night.

“Rule’s simple. We’ll have two people against each other, and the one that loses has to pay their opponent’s share for tonight’s dinner.”

You notice Changbin avoiding your eyes as he speaks and distributes the bottle, which could be attributed to the very scary death glare you were throwing right at him.

Here’s the thing—your alcohol tolerance was shit. And Changbin knew that, making you wonder what he had planned up his sleeve.

“Right, here’s the lineup,” he announces, making it seem as if the lot of you were in some world championship of sorts. “Hyunjin and Jisung”—there’s a loud ‘Die, bitch!’ that resounds from Jisung as they both get ready to win against each other—“Seungmin and Felix, Minho and Jeongin, and Chan and Y/n!”

You were going to kill that idiot.

Changbin starts off the game with a recap of the rules, and makes sure that everyone has their own bottle of alcohol. Disaster is the only word flashing in your mind, and you’re on the verge of ditching your friends to return to the comfort of your room.

“Jisung and Hyunjin first!” Changbin instructs, to which the two boys grab their bottles and have a stare-down with each other.

“I’m gonna win so hard, your ancestors are gonna feel it.”

“Let’s see you try, pretty boy.”

On Changbin’s cue, the two boys start gulping down the alcohol, and you visibly cringe at the ghost feeling of the taste on your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Chan whispers from beside you, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a stupid game. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

There’s a grateful smile on your face as you shake your head, letting the boy know you were okay. “I’m fine. Just worried because my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good, and I don’t want to inconvenience all of you.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Chan mutters softly, staring right into your eyes. The smile slowly drops from your face as your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words and the way he was looking at you. You so badly wanted to look away, not being used to such eye contact, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes it almost impossible for you to tear your gaze away from his twinkling eyes.

The sound of a bottle being slammed onto the table snaps you out of your little moment with Chan, and you immediately turn away to look at what was happening at the table, taking deep, cleansing breaths to calm yourself.

On the other side of the table, you realise that Hyunjin was the one who finished his bottle first, now having the time of his life teasing Jisung, who had about one quarter of the bottle left.

All the boys, except Chan and Felix, were laughing their asses off—Felix was the only one comforting Jisung, while Chan was staring at the table, an unreadable expression on his face.

“There, there. It’s okay, Sung,” Felix coos, patting Jisung’s hair, as the latter sulks at his loss.

The next two rounds proceed quickly, with Seungmin and Jeongin emerging as the winners. Everyone stares shell shocked, as Jeongin gulps down the liquid with vigour and speed, and slams his bottle down onto the table with a grin.

“There’s no way! I can’t believe Minho lost to a baby!”

“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he’s a baby, Changbin.” Seungmin deadpans, swiftly moving the empty bottles to the side of the table. “And how come you’re not participating?”

“Someone needs to bring Y/n back,” Changbin shrugs, passing the bottles to Chan and you with a guilty smile in return to your scowl. “And I’d rather stay sober when taking care of drunk children.”

You turn to pass the bottle to Chan, quickly avoiding his gaze when he looks at you. You’re not confident in your abilities to keep the blush down if he was going to look at you the way he did before.

“Okay,” Changbin cues, making sure both of you were ready with the bottle caps off. “Ready, set… Go!”

You didn’t mind paying for Chan’s share for dinner, you really didn’t. But if there was something about you that was both your downfall and pride, it was your competitiveness. You were competitive to the point where you tended to disregard the consequences of your actions.

So, your brain doesn’t register the painful consequences of your actions as you gulp down the bottle of alcohol like your life depended on it. You weren’t the best drinker out there, but you were going to try your very damn best because it was a competition.

With no expectation of winning, you swallow the last drop of soju and slam the bottle back onto the table, when you realise that everyone was staring at the two of you with their mouths open—specifically at Chan.

Following their gaze, your eyes widen in surprise as you see the boy holding an almost half-full bottle of soju, clearly indicating that you were the winner of your little game.

It’s like a dam breaks, and suddenly everyone’s shouting at the unexpected outcome. Hyunjin and Jisung scream while looking back and forth the bottle and Chan, while Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sit with wide eyes and open mouths, unable to process that Chan just lost to you.

On the other hand, Changbin watches Chan with a smirk, which slowly drops when he realises that Minho, who was sitting beside him, was staring at him with raised eyebrows, clearly asking the question ‘What the fuck just happened?’.

Just as he’s about to pull Changbin to the side to question him, you shoot up from your seat, stumbling around almost immediately because of the sudden bout of dizziness that hit you. You fall back onto your seat as fast you had gotten up, and Chan wraps an arm around you almost instinctively, making sure you didn’t fall off your seat.

The table is back to having their own conversations a few minutes later, as if they weren't just screaming over your victory, with Hyunjin and Jisung having a rock-paper-scissors tournament between themselves, proposed by Jisung who was still sore about losing to Hyunjin.

Alcohol clouds your mind as your head lols back and forth, with soft giggles spilling from your lips. In your drunken state, you register the arm wrapped around you, and you turn your head to look for the owner of said arm.

Chan looks at you with the fondest smile as he tries to hold back his own chuckles at how cute your giggles were, at the same time being extremely conscious of the way you fit perfectly around his arms. He thanks his lucky stars that you were drunk as he held you, assuring him that there was no way you were going to hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Oh?” you drawl, squinting at the boy beside you. “Who might you be?”

And at that very moment, Chan hopes with all his heart that there is no one else who will get to witness what he was seeing right in front of him.

There are strands of hair covering your face, cheeks red from the alcohol (and from the close proximity to him, but he doesn’t need to know that) and eyes drooping from the oncoming sleepiness. Yet, to him, you were still the most beautiful in that moment.

“I’m Chan,” he replies sweetly, hesitating for a moment before adding more to the sentence. “Your friend.”

An exaggerated gasp escapes you as your eyes widen comically. Words tumble from your mouth, with hiccups disrupting your sentences every now and then. “Chan? Bang Chan? From high school? The really, um-" hiccup "-cute boy who tutored in the library? The super popular dude? You’re my-" hiccup "friend?”

There’s a light pink flush dusting his cheeks at your words, but he laughs nonetheless while nodding, finger reaching out to tap your nose. “Yes, I am.”

Scrunching your nose at the contact, you continue giggling when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the little exchange you and Chan were having. Chan turns to face his friends, and immediately starts coughing when he realises that they had been watching the whole scene with amused expressions. He awkwardly retracts his arm from around your waist, only for you to get up and stumble over to where Changbin was sitting, arms reaching out towards him while making grabby hands. “Changbinnnn~”

You plop yourself onto his lap, arms encircling his neck as you pull his ear closer to your mouth. Used to your drunk antics, he concedes, knowing that he’ll end up with more damage if he didn’t listen to you when you were drunk.

When he is close enough, you cup your hands around your mouth and whisper into his ears. At least, you thought you were whispering.

“You have really cute friends, Changbin.”

The whole table erupts into cheers at your words, and you immediately cover your mouth with a horrified expression. “Did everyone hear that?”

“You weren’t very quiet, darling,” Changbin snorts, pulling you up with him as he stands. “How are all of you getting back?”

“We’re all crashing at Felix’s place,” Seungmin speaks up, tapping away on his phone. “The uber’s about to arrive… right now.”

Grabbing their things, everyone except Minho, Chan, Changbin, and you, make their way out of the restaurant, shouting out hurried farewells and promises of ‘I’ll wire the money to you when I get back!’ to Changbin.

“Okay, Minho and I will go settle the bill,” Changbin says, readjusting his grip on you. “Chan, can you look after Y/n for a bit?”

“Sure,” Chan replies, looping your arm around his neck as his snakes around your waist. “We’ll be out at the front.”

The moment Chan leaves their sight with you by his side, Minho turns to bombard Changbin with all the questions that had been bothering him the whole night.

“What was that?” Minho asks in bewilderment, pointing to the door that Chan and you had exited from. “How on earth did Chan lose that game when he’s the best drinker amongst all of us?!”

“It’s called being in love,” Changbin scoffs, shaking his head at his two friends. “Disgusting.”

The distressed look on Minho’s face dissolves, and is replaced by what one could describe as enlightenment. “No fucking way. I was wondering why he kept smiling at them like an idiot. That explains so much! Have they confessed?”

“You think?” Changbin rolls his eyes, knowing that there was no way either of you had the courage to confess first. “The only way either of them will confess is if they are drunk.”

“But Y/n is dru-” Minho starts in confusion, when he stops mid-sentence, realising what Changbin had just done. “You evil genius.”

“What can I say,” Changbin states proudly, brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on outside,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.

On the other side of the door, Chan finally succeeds in getting you to sit down with him on a curb, his jacket folded neatly under your bottom to make sure that you were not sitting on the hard cement. “I’m tired,” you whine, head dropping onto the warm shoulder beside you.

Chan tenses up at the sudden contact, staring at the top of your head, when you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. At the feeling of your cheek against his shoulder, he relaxes, and positions himself such that you didn’t have to strain your neck.

There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you, until you decide to break it by asking Chan a very obvious question.

“We’re close friends right?”

You lift your head from Chan’s shoulder, almost whining out loud at the loss of comfort, but you decide that asking him that question was more important. Clearly, drunk you had very different priorities.

Chan just nods and replies with a soft “Of course”, wondering why you were suddenly asking that question. “Why?”

“Since we’re close friends, can I tell you a secret?” The last few words are spoken in a hushed whisper, as you reach out and grasp Chan’s soft and warm hands. His larger hands clasps yours, as he chuckles at your question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/n. You’re drunk, and you might regret telling me when you sober up.”

“No!” You almost shout, alarming Chan who looks around to make sure no one heard your exclamation. You continue in a softer tone, to Chan’s relief. “You’re my close friend! So I won’t regret it.”

And the wide smile you show Chan almost makes him want to kiss you right there and then. Almost.

“Alright then,” Chan agrees, rubbing circles into the skin on your hand. “Go ahead, tell me your secret.”

Giggling, you use your free hand to beckon him closer, your face moving closer to his at the same time. Just as his ear is close enough to you, you whisper out the words that make his heart stop.

“I think I like you.”

He freezes in place, eyes staring at the black tar road ahead of him as his heart hammers against his ribcage because of your nonchalant words. He gulps before slowly turning to face you, the person he had grown to like more than he could ever imagine coming into his view. He takes quick, shallow breaths as he continues to stare at you, unsure of what to say.

Luckily (or unluckily, for Chan), you decide to continue talking, baring your heart and soul to him.

“It’s like...” you start, trailing off after your first two words, before finding the right words to continue. “It’s like I was always happy in life, but you made me realise that it was possible for me to be happier when you are there with me.”

And the smile you give Chan, accompanied with the words you had just uttered, makes him want to protect you from the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he loves you, but what he’s sure about is that all he wants to do is hug you and never let go, to be there for you every minute, every second. And he thinks that’s enough.

That’s enough reason to hold onto you and never let go.

Opening his mouth, Chan is about to reply to your drunk confession, when the sound of soft snores fill his ears.

Leaning against the light pole that was situated very conveniently behind you, you had fallen asleep in the split second Chan had taken to make his move. Your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, and Chan can’t help but breath out a laugh at your timing.

There’s always tomorrow, he thinks.

There’s white noise playing in your ear as you stare up at your ceiling.

Changbin is seated at the edge of your bed saying something important, you assume. You aren’t listening; your brain cells have decided to go on a strike and replay the scene from yesterday on loop.

I think I like you.

You want to scream. You want to scream and murder the boy sitting beside you so bad. After all, it was his fault that you ingested that goddamn devil liquid that made you spill more than your guts.

It was a wonder that you were able to find a friend as precious as Chan, and there you lay in despair, all thoughts of facing Chan again slowly slipping away from your fingertips. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to see him after the stunt you pulled yesterday.

“Y/n, are you listening?!”

“No.”

A hand wraps around your arm and you feel yourself being pulled up, coming face-to-face with your distressed best friend. “Stop being stubborn. Calm down and listen to what I have to say.”

And that’s when you snap.

“Stubborn!?” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair. “I just confessed to your friend, Seo Changbin. I was drunk, and I confessed my very large and real crush to the person I am crushing on. I have ruined any chance at friendship with him, so don’t tell me to stop being stubborn and to calm down!”

Taking a deep breath, Changbin pulls you towards him, both his hands resting against your cheeks. “Listen here. Stop being a wuss. Yes, you confessed when you were drunk. Yes, it’s embarrassing as fuck. But get over it. You know Chan. Is he the kind of asshole who drops friendship over small things like rejection?”

There’s a pout playing at your lips as you shake your head, partly due to the way Changbin was squishing your cheeks, and the other half because you knew he was right.

“But I still don’t want to face him yet,” you whine, pushing his hands away from your face and diving back into your covers. “I just want to wallow in self pity, and hopefully waste away on this bed so that I’ll never have to face anyone ever again.”

Changbin knows that there was no convincing you otherwise, so he settles for sighing and getting up from your bed.

“Don’t stay in bed for too long. I’ll order us food for later.”

Muttering something under your breath, you roll over and bury your face into your pillow, sighing as you think about the boy whose smile gave you more warmth than the sun could ever provide.

You’re in the midst of imagining how different today would’ve been if you hadn’t opened your dumb mouth when your phone rings and cuts off your thoughts. Reaching out for it, your mouth runs dry when you see the name displayed on your screen.

“Chan :)”

Your finger presses the decline button and your phone clatters against your bedside table as you decide that you are not ready to talk to Chan yet. And you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to talk to him, let alone face him.

A minute after declining the call, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and you shout out a “Go away!”, not wanting to hear anything related to Chan and how you need to stop being a coward. But as the knocking continues, getting louder as time passes, you start getting annoying and realise you have no choice but to open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, Chang-”

You cut yourself off as you take in the person standing in front of you with wide eyes, looking as handsome as ever even with the furious look painted on his face.

The silence is thick with tension, and you can’t help but avert your eyes, choosing to look at anything but the boy in front of you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Chan asks, voice quiet and flat. “I’ve been calling and texting you all morning.”

“Um, I-” you start, not knowing how to answer his question. You imagined your day going various ways, but this definitely wasn’t in your plans. “Did Changbin call you?”

“I asked,” he starts, walking towards you. You take a few steps a back, and continue walking backwards until your hands come into contact with your dresser. You were trapped. “Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?”

You blink rapidly, not used to this closed-off version of Chan. The usual warmth and softness in his eyes were missing, and instead all you saw was disappointment and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t easy to get the words out.

“Was it funny messing with me?” Chan continues, not breaking eye contact with you once. “To just get my hopes up and disappear like it all meant nothing?”

“W-what?”

“How was it so easy for you to just start ignoring me?”

“No I-”

“Is that all I mean to you?” And instead of the disappointment and anger, you see pure, unfiltered hurt, and that was enough for your walls to come crashing down. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the boy in front of you, and it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry.” Sobs wreck your body as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. “I-I’m so fucking sorry, Chan. I was scared.”

“Scared because you just said that in the spur of moment and you don’t actually mean it?”

“No, I was scared because I like you too fucking much!”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, and you continue staring at the floor, vision blur with stubborn tears that refuse to fall. And that’s when you hear it.

A chuckle.

It’s soft, and you would’ve missed it if not for the pin drop silence in the room.

You slowly lift your head up to confirm if you actually heard what you heard, or if you were hallucinating, when you see it.

Chan was smiling.

“Can’t believe it worked.”

What on earth did that mean?

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, sniffing softly.

“This was Changbin’s idea. For the record, I was against it.” Chan’s hands come up to rest on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears on your cheeks as he smiles softly at you. “I mean, of course I was hurt and worried. But I just wanted to come over and talk it over like a normal person.”

His smile widens as one hand continues cupping your face, while the other reaches to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He said you’ll never admit things unless I, uh, scared you a little.

You stare at Chan as the gears work in your head, putting the pieces of information. The moment the last piece clicks in place, you stare in shock at the boy standing in front of you with a sheepish smile.

“What the fuck?!” you yell, equal parts of relief and anger taking over your mind. “I fucking hate you!”

And with that you storm off towards your door, Chan chasing after you with apologies spilling from his mouth. But the both of you knew that you weren’t actually upset, which can be seen by the giggles accompanying every apology.

Just as you’re about to leave your room, you’re pulled back into warm arms, and you fight every urge to melt right into his embrace. His arms wrap around your frame tightly, but gently. You feel his strong heartbeat against your back, and it’s enough to make you shiver, goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“Do you hate me?” Chan asks, chin resting on your shoulder as you feel his breath tickle your neck.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Chan asks in amusement, lips against your ears and voice just above a whisper. “That’s a pity then. Because I like you too fucking much too.”

He whispers the last part of the sentence, making your knees go weak and your heartbeat pick up its pace as it usually does whenever the boy who stole your heart was involved.

You turn around in his arms to face him, sighing contentedly at how things ended up turning out. “I’m really sorry about the ghosting.”

“It’s okay, love,” Chan assures you, the pet name inducing butterflies in your stomach. “I would’ve been embarrassed too, if I had confessed to you when I was drunk.”

“I would’ve loved to see that.” You whine at the unfortunate circumstance of you confessing instead of Chan. “I probably looked like an idiot while confessing.”

“Since I’m your boyfriend, can I tell you a secret?” Chan teases, repeating what you said the night before with a little twist. Smacking his arm lightly for the jab, you nod with a laugh, ignoring the way your face heats up when he refers to himself as your boyfriend.

“I really wanted to kiss you when you were confessing.” There’s mirth in Chan’s eyes as he gazes at you the same way he did back at the restaurant. The only difference was that you knew he liked you back. And you had never been happier.

“Go for it.”

And that’s all the confirmation that Chan needs to lean down and press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss, as your hands rest on his chest, appreciating the strong beat his heart was playing.

You part a few seconds later, eyes still closed as a smile plays on both your lips, before you’re pulled for another kiss, this one more forceful than the one before. His lips press against yours harder, and his arms pull you closer—as close as you could be. You respond with equal fervor, pouring every emotion you have into the kiss, when you’re interrupted by a loud cough.

“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to bleach my eyes every time I see the two of you.”

Oh.

It completely slipped your mind that Changbin was just a few steps away from your room, and you want to crawl under your bed and befriend the monster there when you see the haughty smile on your best friend’s face.

“I think a thanks is in order.”

Removing yourself from Chan’s arms, you walk over to Changbin, who smiles wider when he realises you are walking towards him. Opening his arms to welcome you in for a hug, he can’t help but shriek when you start punching him everywhere possible.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!”

“That’s what you get for coming up with stupid ideas to get me to talk!” you snap at your best friend with words that carry no real bite. “Were you that desperate?”

“Clearly!” Changbin replies, exasperated. “It was getting depressing. He wouldn’t stop calling me because he was worried, and you were being a stubborn bitch!”

At his words, there’s a tinge of guilt that pinches at you when you realise the trouble you had put your best friend through.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say with a pout, burying your face into Changbin’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Changbin says with a soft smile. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but seeing his best friend who meant the world to him end up with someone who just as much deserved nothing but the best made him eternally grateful. “Now go smooch your boyfriend. We don’t want him becoming too jealous of the attention you’re giving me.”

“Oh, shut up,” is what Changbin gets in return, as Chan intertwines his hand with yours. Just as Changbin walks out of sight back to his room, Chan turns to you with the biggest smile.

“Now then, shall we go on a date to celebrate our first day?”

“Absolutely.”

And as you and Chan sit on the beach that evening, surrounded by sand and accompanied by the sound of the waves and the soft breeze with a orange hue enveloping you, you think:

Life had never been sweeter.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshot #skz x reader #skz fluff #chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #dee scribbles

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Mickey apologizes to one of their neighbours for something that clearly wasn't his fault just to make Ian(who's in his people pleaser mode) happy. Later, Ian realises how Mickey was right all along and feels bad about the whole thing and they talk. Basically them having a mature convo at the end

Ian heard the shouting as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. Mickey had come down earlier to take a quick dip, and Ian was hoping to join him and relax together for a while.

But based on the way his husband and one of their neighbors were yelling right then, that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Ian sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. Was it really too much to ask that Mickey get along with the people in their building? He didn't even have to make friends, he just had to not be an asshole to everyone he met.

A particularly loud shout--something about children, and language, and have some common decency--forced Ian out of his reflections and toward the apparent catastrophe that was Mickey in public.

“Dammit, Mickey,” he muttered under his breath as he rounded the last corner and brought the pool into view.

Sure enough, Mickey was there. He stood at the edge of the shallow end of the pool, like he had just hoisted himself out, water droplets still lingering on his sculpted arms and chest. His arms were raised and held out to the side in challenge as he blustered on about public space, and freedom of speech, and I’ll do you one worse lady, just you watch just inches away from a middle-aged woman that looked like she had stepped out of a lululemon ad.

Ian was pretty sure it was the same woman who had stopped him at the elevators last week to ask him to “keep it down up there”. They really didn’t need to cause more trouble with her; Mickey had them on thin ice already when his response to Ian relaying that request was to play loud, bass-thumping music while riding Ian into the floor for effect.

She hadn't met his eyes since.

"What's going on here?" Ian interrupted, coming up behind Mickey and settling a hand on the back of his husband's neck.

"This lady was tryin to--" Mickey cut off when Ian squeezed and released that hand in warning. Mickey glowered at him, but shut his mouth.

"Your husband," the woman said with a glare at Mickey, "was setting a bad example for my nephew."

Looking around for the aforementioned child, Ian sighed when he saw a little boy staring at them all from a pool lounger with wide eyes.

"We're sorry, Mrs...," he trailed off, but she didn't bother to fill in the blank for him, instead just raising her eyebrows and tapping her sandaled foot expectantly.

"Uh, anyway, it won't happen again," Ian finished awkwardly. "Right, Mick?"

"Are you kidding me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, incredulous.

"I expect a direct apology from your husband," the woman demanded at the same time.

Ian raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gave Mickey a little shake when the other man didn't speak up.

"Come on, Mick, just do it," Ian muttered.

After a tense moment, Mickey did.

"Fucking fine," he hissed at Ian, ignoring their neighbor's sharp intake of breath at the curse. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?," he directed at her, before pulling out of Ian's hold to face him.

"You happy now?" he asked, before turning and stomping off to go inside.

The effect was dampened by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, leaving behind wet marks on the concrete. Ian and the woman watched him go with drastically different expressions: one with disgust, and one with concern.

"I do hope you'll keep your man in line better in the future," the woman groused at Ian, but he wasn't really listening.

"Yeah, sure," he answered absently. "Excuse me, I just gotta..."

And then he was scooping up the towel and shoes Mickey had left behind, and hurrying after his husband.

---

"Mickey?" Ian called out hesitantly as he entered their apartment. Other than a couple of damp patches on the floor, there was no sign of Mickey anywhere.

Then Ian heard the shower start, and set Mickey's things down next the door to follow the sound.

Mickey's wet trunks were pooled on the cold tile floor, the shower curtain pulled tight from wall to wall. The splash of water bouncing from flesh to the acrylic tub echoed through the room.

"Mickey?" Ian asked softly, taking a step past the open door. "Mick, you in here?"

He heard a snort over the sound of the water, the curtain moving as Mickey's arm jostled it from inside.

"No, it's your other husband, Sherlock," Mickey answered, an odd tone in his voice. "You know, the one you listen to before you take some random bitch's side."

Ian winced. Okay, Mickey was mad, then.

Moving further into the room, Ian closed the lid of the toilet and turned to sit on it, elbows on knees.

"Sorry," he offered briefly. "But she had a point Mick, there are kids here--"

The water stopped abruptly, and the curtain pulled back to reveal Mickey’s face. His hair flopped wetly over his forehead, water still sluicing down the middle of his face, and he scowled as he brushed it away with the back of a dripping hand.

“Kid, huh?” he questioned “So I need to go get my fucking tattoos removed because some random kid might see ‘em?”

Ian blinked.

“Wait,” he said slowly, mind trying to figure out what he was missing. “What?” then scoffed when Ian just watched him.

Mickey just scoffed.

“You don’t even know what she was yellin’ about, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I didn’t say a damn word to her or that sniveling brat she brought with her,” he revealed. “They took one fucking look at me, saw the words on my knuckles, and off she went on her little fucking tirade.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started, but Mickey wasn’t done.

“Don’t you act like it matters,” he growled. “You care more about playing nice than payin’ attention, and don’t pretend that after all these years you don’t still assume I’m always the fuckin’ problem.”

Fuck. Ian had really screwed this one up.

“Mickey,” he repeated, more firmly, standing and stepping closer to the shower. Ian took the shower curtain in one hand and tugged it further to the side. Mickey shivered in the influx of cool air, looking more like a disgruntled cat mid-bath than an angry man.

“Mickey,” Ian said again, softer, and stepped over the lip of the tub so that nothing was between them. He took Mickey into his arms, his husband putting up a token resistance before settling against him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered into his wet hair, ignoring the patches of water soaking through his clothes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mickey hummed into his chest, not looking up. “You kind of did, though,” he mutters. “Every time somebody’s got a problem with me, you act like it’s my fault.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Yeah,” Ian finally agreed, stroking a hand down Mickey’s bare back. “Yeah, I need to work on that.”

He pulled back, made Mickey meet his eyes. Mickey was no longer glaring, and his eyes were dry, but there was still something off about the way he met Ian’s gaze.

“You know I don’t really think that, though, right?” Ian asked, disheartened when Mickey didn’t offer a response.

“I don’t, Mickey,” he said earnestly. “I love you, and you’ve been trying so hard--”

“Shouldn’t fuckin’ have to try,” Mickey murmured, and oh.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Ian rephrased. “And I’m sorry I’m always making you feel like you do, too.”

Mickey moved back farther, and Ian’s arms dropped loosely back to his sides. His fingers itched to reach out again, but he got the feeling Mickey needed some space.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Get outa here so I can finish.”

Ina obeyed, stepping out of the tub and moving toward the door, but he turned back before he left the room.

“When you’re done, come into the bedroom, alright?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got an idea to get back at that asshole woman.”

“Apology or not,” Mickey said wryly, “I don’t think I’m on the mood to fuck you right now, Ian.”

Ian just smirked.

“Not what I had in mind,” he said. “Now hurry it up, I think you’re gonna like my plan.”

---

About twenty minutes later, after the shower had started and stopped again and Mickey had had a moment to gather himself and get dressed, Mickey walked into the bedroom and stopped still.

Ian was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, but that wasn’t what had Mickey startled. No, it was the fact that right in front of him was a huge stereo with old school speakers, the ones that used to be downstairs in the communal lounge area, with Ian’s phone sitting right on top.

“What’s all this?” Mickey asked, and Ian grinned.

“So she doesn’t like profanity, huh?” he said. “Well I found a favorite new song.”

Mickey started to grin himself as he caught on to the plan. Ian stood and pushed one of the speakers a little closer to the vents in their floor, angling it so the sound would bounce right down into the apartment below. Then he tapped a few things on his phone, cranked the volume, and let harsh base and more expletives than Mickey had ever heard in a piece of music fill the room.

Mickey laughed. Ian held out a hand, like he was asking for a dance, and turned the music up even louder.

Shaking his head at his husband’s antics, Mickey took the proffered hand, and let Ian spin him to the sound of their bitchy neighbor losing her mind below them.

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #misunderstandings #fight and make up

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atinydise · 3 years

Text

Ateez arguing with their s/o in a middle of a make out session (part 2)

❦ Genre: Fluff & Suggestive.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 3K.

❦ Requested: Heck yes lol, thank you! 🦋

❦ A/N Note: ⚠️Since I took again an eternity to post it, I advice to read the first part again (or for the first time)! Thank you for liking the 1st one tho! hehe

HONGJOONG

Jongho called the leader once again, even waved in front of his face but still nothing. "Is he ignoring me?" He asked San. His friends shrugged. "He's lost in his thoughts. And he's probably really far away from here." "HYUNG!" Yelled Jongho in the leader's ear. His brain finally reconnected to the reality. "The hell-" "It's been 2 minutes since I'm trying to get your attention." Said Jongho, a bit pissed. "What's going on?" He grabbed his phone, hoping to see any notification. "We need to go back practicing." "Ah.... then I'll join in 2 minutes. I need to call someone." He said, leaving the room. "What on the earth is going on with him?" Whispered San. "No idea." Replied the maknae. Hongjoong went to the restroom, the most far away from the practice room, just to be sure that nobody will bother him. "Okay, please babe pick up." He begged quietly plugging his Air Pods on. [“Hello, it’s the girl who always chosen after her boyfriend’s career. What can I do for you?”] At least you didn’t lose your humor sense.

[“Babe I’m sorry.”] Apologized Hongjoong. [“You are sorry for what exactly?”] [“For ruining the intimate moment, we were about to share.”] [“And?”] Hongjoong rolled his eyes. Good thing for him you weren’t able to see it. [“And to always let my career pass before you.”] [“And?”] You repeated. Your boyfriend was confused for a second. He ignored for what he needed to apologize. [“And... and...”] he stuttered. [“I don’t know.”] He heard a long and heavy growl coming from your side. [“Well. I guess it’s already more than fine.”] You claimed. [“What do you wanted me to say?”] He asked curiously. [“I don’t know... maybe something like ‘to apologize, I’m coming right now and for sure tomorrow you won’t be able to walk’.”] You said, imitating his voice. [“Are you on your period?”] Asked Hongjoong. He knew you so well that he immediately understands when you dirty talked to him, without even a simple stutter. You let a quick silence settle before finally say: [“Yeah.”] [“Then let’s wait a little bit longer then.”] He sneered. [“Coward.”] You replied. [“Love you too.”] [“Me too.”] [“So, we are good?”] He asked. [“Give me at least a hug and we will be good.”] You replied. [“See you tonight then.”] He smiled.

SEONGHWA

[“Hello! You are on Y/N’s voicemail I’m not av-”] Seonghwa growled and let his phone fall on the couch. “She’s not answering I guess.” Claimed Mingi. “No.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “She’s ghosting me since... 2 days now.” “Did you try to meet her at school?” “Yeah. I’ve waited 3 hours there. To finally remember that she’s on spring break.” “And at her apartment?” Asked Mingi. “Of course, Sherlock. But nothing.” Sighed Seonghwa. “It’s like she disappeared.” Mingi raised a brow. “She’s probably doing her own life.” The eldest member was suddenly hit by the reality. “Mingi you are a genius!” “Yeah, I know but why?” “We are Thursday!” Claimed Seonghwa, putting his shoes on. “Yeah and?” “Y/N is doing her laundry every Thursday evening! She might be there.” Seonghwa left the dorm so quickly that Mingi was still processing what just happened. “The beck is wrong with him...” Your boyfriend ran to the laundry shop which you are used to go. He prayed the whole way, that you would be sitting there, reading a book or watching a ton of TikTok while your clothes were washing. His heart missed a beat when he spotted you there. As fast as possible, he opened the door. “Babe!” “Hwa?” You raised a brow. “You came here to tell me how to wash my stuff?” Seonghwa ignored your question and turned around. He saw a cute grandma tidying her clothes. “Excuse me ma’am. But I will need you to leave quickly because I’m about to take my girlfriend, right here and right now.” “Seonghwa!” You yelled, outrageously. “Oh, it’s okay darling. I was young too.” Giggled the old lady. You grabbed your boyfriend by the wrist and guided him outside. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked, mad. “I want to apologize!” “Do you think it’s the right way to do it?” “I want to prove you that nothing can bother me to have sex with you now. Not a stain and not even an old grandma.” “And the CCTV?” You pointed at the camera fixed where you were standing 2 minutes ago. “I don’t mind having public.” He smirked. “You are unbelievable.” You sneered. “Does it mean you are forgiving me?” “Maybe.” You replied cockily while entering back inside. “Grr. I love when you play hard-to-get.” “What the hell happened to you Park Seonghwa.” You laughed happily.

YUNHO

Yunho was tormented. It was 3AM and he didn’t close his eyes for a second. He was staring at the white ceiling, trying to know how to resolve this situation. You didn’t talk to him after the little incident. Yunho understood why you were mad. He didn’t tell you the truth and the real reason behind his shyness. He glanced at you. The sheet was barely covering your back. He was about to put it right, but the little voice in his head claimed that it was a bad idea. So, he stared at the big spec between both of you. For sure, you could put a third person in the middle. Yunho sighed. What could you to be less mad? The reason of why he decided to stop earlier was because of the stress, not because you weren’t attractive enough. It was the opposite actually. He truly believes that you will think that is too dumb. Just because he’s scared of doing something wrong. Or worse hurting you. But more he was thinking, more it started to be overwhelming for him. “Y/N.” He whispered. “Hm?” You muttered sleepily. “Y/N.” “What? It’s 3AM.” You grunted, still not facing him. “I’m sorry for what happened this evening. I was terrified. I don’t want to do anything wrong with you.” He continued. “I really find you attractive. Even too much sometimes but... I want to have sex with you of course.” You couldn’t help but to smile secretly. His words were well chosen. All the insecurities you had earlier were vanished. Yunho stayed quiet for few seconds, waiting for you to say something, but instead you handed your hand, still facing the wall. He understood that it was an invitation to cuddle. “So, we are good now?” He asked, positioning behind you. “Yeah.” You replied, rubbing his hand which was resting on your stomach. “Cool.” He whispered, finally relaxing. “Thank you for telling me.” You said. “So... do you want to try it right now?” He shyly asked. “I’m tired Yunho.” You declined. “Sure. Okay. No problem.” He replied. “But can we change our position because you are waking up the ‘beast’?” You laughed when you felt his boner pocking on your butt. “Told you... you were too much attractive sometimes.” He giggled, blushing a bit.

YEOSANG

A new notification. But not coming from you. Yeosang was waiting for you to send a message like you usually do in the morning. But the next day after your little and stupid argument, you were remaining silent. “She should have sent a message already. It’s 10AM.” Said Yeosang, frustrated. “Just let her breath.” Sighed Jongho, playing PlayStation on the upper bed. “I didn’t send a text to her yet. She should be the one apologizing.” “Why?” “We are 2 making love. So? She can buy condoms for me too!” “You right.” Started Jongho. “But you should always have a pack or at least one, on you.” “On which side are you?” Growled Yeosang. “None. Your intimacy isn’t my business. But I just admitted that both of you are wrong.” Declared the maknae. “Since when are you so mature?” Sighed his friend. “I need someone who can tell that I’m right.” Jongho stayed quiet. He would never say something like this when knew he was 100% right. “And she would never buy one because she would be ashamed of it.” Added Yeosang. “The cashier doesn’t care. You are not the only one in the earth to buy one.” Replied Jongho. “We are going to see if you have the same speech when you’ll buy for yourself.” “I do already.” “W-wait what?” Just when Yeosang was getting curious, you entered the room like a storm. “Kang Yeosang!” You threw the plastic bag on him. “What th- ouch!” “Jongho, I will ask you to leave the room for an hour. Or 2.” You removed your jacket. Yeosang opened the bag and threw everything on the bed. His eyes widened when he saw a dozen condoms’ pack. “The hell Y/N-” “I bought exactly 12 packs to show that you don’t need to be ashamed about it and that no one cares.” Jongho exited the room completely flustered, but with a bigger esteem for you. “Okay now remove your pants.” You ordered, pulling out your hoodie. “Like? Right now? Not even a make out-” “It’s been 10 hours that I’m waiting.” “O-Okay.” Yeosang was a bit taken a back, but it was fast forgotten when you unclasped your bra.

SAN

You rolled on your bed once again. You were so frustrated and mad at San. The vein on your forehead couldn't stop popping out every time you remembered him picking up his phone. Angrily, you covered your entire face with a pillow. Desperately, you tried to erase of these thoughts. Just when you were finally finding some peace, the fire alarm resonated in your apartment. You jumped out of your bed and went straight to the kitchen. Instead of seeing a big fire, you saw San opening the window as wide as he could. "What is going on?!" You claimed, grabbing a chair. San was panicked as you, or even more. He was trying to push the smoke out of the room while wondering what you were doing. On your tippytoe, you pushed the button to stop this annoying and loud noise. "Thanks God." Sighed San, relieved. "The heck you are trying to do. Burn my apartment?" You turned off the stove. "I wanted to prepare a royal breakfast for you." He pouted, disappointed that his surprise failed. You looked around you, now that the smoke was slowly disappearing, you could see the entire mess in the kitchen. Flour was spread on every parcel of the counter, one or two eggs were smashed on the floor, milk was spilled on cupboard and an incredible number of dishes were stacked in the sink. "Yeah, that's the first time I make pancakes by myself." He scratched his head. "Choi San..." "I want to apologize for yesterday! But I wanted to do it right!" "Oh nice. So, you said 'to apologize to Y/N because I've completely ghosted her to talk with my teammate that I can see every day, I'll burn her apartment'?" "Babe! I'm really sorry." He apologized once again. "I will do everything you want for a week." "Everything?" You raised a brow, curious. "Yeah." "Okay, then start by cleaning your mess." You pointed at the counter. "After that let's clean the entire apartment." "Sure." He nodded. "After that... we will eat at our favorite restaurant. And you are going to pay." "Wow. Sex must be really important for you." Declared San, when the list didn't stop. "Never stop a horny woman." You warned him.

MINGI

["I'm parked in front of your building. Let's talk really quick."] You read this text message at least 10 times to be sure you understood well. It's been 2 days since the practice room accident. You only exchanged few messages but nothing more. You didn't mind giving him a proper answer. You just put your hoodie back on, and of course by "your" it means "his", and left the dorm, without warning your roommates. But honestly, by the way you went out, dressed like this, they could only assume that you were about to meet Mingi. Just when you got out of the building, you spotted your boyfriend's car, as he said, right in front of the door. You hesitated a second, but finally hoped in. "You should have wear something warmer. It's cold outside." He said instantly, when he saw your bare legs. "Good evening to you too Mingi." You greeted him sarcastically. "Do you drove here, just to scold me about my outfit?" "No, of course no." He whispered, looking right at the street in front of him. Since, a big and awkward silence settled. None of you wanted to say something, too afraid to tell something risky and lead one of you to be mad. It felt like walking on a really straight and thin line. You played nervously with the hem of the hoodie, which was barely covering your legs, you noticed. That's probably why he scolded you. For your own good. As always. "I'm sorry." You both apologized at the same time. You glanced at each other, surprised and giggled cutely. "I'm sorry." Insisted Mingi, grabbing your hand. "Me too." You smiled to him. "Sorry for almost crushing you with my weight." He added. "You did." "And sorry for almost make you bald." "You did it too." Mingi pinched your leg gently, happy to see that you were still bratty sometimes. "Ooookay! I'm kidding! I'm sorry for what I've said too. That's wasn't really nice." "Yeah, it wasn't." "Song Mingi-" "Soo..." you didn't have enough time to say anything that he started the car. "Where are we going?" You asked enthusiastically, putting your seatbelt. "Just want to bring you somewhere. So, we can talk about these 2 terrible days." "Oh, I thought you wanted to go in a Love Hotel." You joked. "That's the plan too." "I-"

WOOYOUNG

2 weeks since your argument but 4 weeks since you shared an intimate moment. You needed to admit that even a flick on your forehead would turn you on. You were so needy. But no way Wooyoung could know it. You tried your best to stay far away from him when sleeping, so you wouldn't end by griding your butt on him, desperately. Usually, Wooyoung was really touchy, and he would initiate a make out session the first one, but surprisingly, he only exchanged a peck or a hug from time to time. You spotted him covering his manhood, with a blanket sometimes. He would always pretext that he is cold. But you are not dumb. He takes shower way much longer than usual tooo. On his side, Wooyoung was really struggling to not give up the first one. He was barely looking at you. He knew that with only one shorty or croc-top, it was over for him. In conclusion, you were 2 idiots trying to suppress their arousal for each other, just because of an argument. "Do you want to watch a movie?" Offered Wooyoung. "Sure, and I know how much you like movies." You smirked. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes and ignored your comment. Instead of insisting on the subject again, he played the first movie that appeared. It was a really nice and chill one until the main actress discovered the wild side of college. It started by a scene and then other one. Followed by 3 more. Inside Wooyoung was hoping that you wouldn't notice the form on his sweatpants. "What a movie huh." He laughed nervously. "Yeah." You nodded. "They are really getting it huh." "They are really liking these scenes." "They are really well made." He replied dumbly. "Maybe that's what they want." "Of course, everyone wants that." "Yeah. Everyone." You repeated. "Everyone." "You exchanged a quick glance. Wooyoung was finally the first one to give up. "Do you-" "Heck yes!" You replied. "You should have told me!" "No, I was too mad at you!" "Do you really want to argue again? Right now?" He asked. "No." "Okay then go because I'm going to explode!"

JONGHO

"I still don't understand how you ended here, right in front of my college." You raised a brow at Seonghwa and Yeosang. "We were just having a cool walk and unconsciously ended here." Replied Seonghwa, the most natural possible. "The campus is 30 minutes away from KQ Quarter. And 30 minutes with a car." "We had a pretty long walk, okay?" Replied Yeosang, nervously and almost aggressively. "Okay okay... relax dude." You rolled your eyes. "You should come with us a bit." Started Seonghwa. "There's a park next to the campus. Let's talk there few minutes." Added Yeosang. "You guys... are acting really strangely." You claimed. Without asking your authorization, they each picked your arm and brought you to the park. You could fight or ask them to leave you alone, they wouldn't. Seonghwa almost needed oo ask people to not all the police. "What the heck guys? I really need to study and-" You stopped right when you saw your boyfriend sitting peacefully in front of you. A big blanket and a bunch of food were cautiously set on the grass. "Hi babe." Smiled Jongho. "What is this?" You asked. "You prepared all of this?" "Yeah." He scratched his head. "I hope you like it." "And we helped." Whispered Yeosang. "Are you doing this because you said your coach's name when we were making out." "You what?" Almost chocked Yeosang. "Eeew, this is disgusting!" Added Seonghwa. "It was an accident!" He rolled his eyes. "An accident." You crossed your arms on your chest. "I'm really sorry baby. I swear it was only because I've worked with her few hours ago." Explained Jongho. "Anyway, it's not like she's sexy. She's 60 years old and so strict and rude." Said Seonghwa. "She is sexy." Said Yeosang. All of you stared at him. "I'm joking. Relax." He sighed. "Y'all ready need to chill sometimes..." "So do you want to spend an afternoon with me?" Asked the maknae. "Of course." You accepted happily. "Cool! Then sit here." He pointed at the comfy place settled between pillows. "Thank you, Mark." "Mark?" "I'm kidding!" You giggled. "1 point for me now." "Unbelievable." Smiled Jongho.

#ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez suggestive #ateez imagines #ateez writings #ateez #ateez kpop #ateez cute

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

I've Got You Under My Skin Part 2

Author's note: Can you tell I'm inspired? A double fic post who is she? Dedicated to @serxeins because I know I can always count on you to read and comment and give me some good vibes.

Summary: She's not jealous.

He's not there the next day and it puts her in another foul mood, honestly who was he to invade her life like this and then leave as he pleased? She would be the one to send him away not the other way around, she was the one in control here.

She goes all the way to his house after work to inform him of this, slightly more prepared for his state of dress- he's only wearing a thin white shirt and flowy pants, both made of soft looking cotton.

"No wonder you're still sick. Look at you're wearing." She rolls her eyes at him not waiting to be invited in, he never waits for her and ignores her when she tells him to go away. It's their thing. Blatant disregard.

"That's shaming, that's no way to speak to a sick person. What medical school did you go to?"

"One that taught me to prioritize honesty over niceties."

She has more porridge but it's her mom's recipe the one she used to make when she was feeling sick and it was hard to keep anything down. She had suddenly remembered it the night before and woke up early to prepare it from sensory memory alone, she was hardly a chef but this was the only meal she could make without fail. If her eyes had prickled with instead tears as she stirred the pot that was no one's business but her own. She hadn't been able to make it for years now but for some reason she couldn't stop herself this morning.

"What's this?" He asks curious over her shoulder, his chin barely grazing her skin. She doesn't move away ignoring the thrumming his closeness elicits.

"Porridge."

"It smells good. It doesn't look like grandma's porridge. Where did you get it?"

"I made it." It's embarrassing admitting that she made anything for him, she feels like she's showing her hand far too much but can't get her mouth to stop revealing her heart.

"You're full of surprises. Let's heat it up."

He looks better now, no longer flushed and sweaty. The fever must have broken over night, he looks rejuvenated scooping the food into a pot and warming it up.

His house looks a bit cleaner today as well, the windows are open allowing a wonderful breeze to fill the space and sweep away the stench of sick in the air. She walks aimlessly until she sees a bit of material on the floor, bending to pick it up she glares at the material in her hand. It's a light pink scarf, thin and almost sheer. He has an eclectic style but this is indubitably a woman's scarf, she almost throws it on the ground in a fit.

"What are you doing?" He breaks her from her shock, walking towards her with twin bowls in his hands.

She almost hides the scarf away feeling ashamed of the searing hotness that rips through her chest like a current. But foolishly she swings her hand up presenting the offending item instead, narrowing her eyes as she peers at him.

"What's this?" She challenges, a voice in the back of her mind begs her to shut the fuck up but her anger pushes her forward recklessly.

He tilts his head looking intensely at the item before pursing his lips and answering, "I think it's a scarf."

No fucking shit Sherlock.

She looks at him unimpressed and unamused not quite understanding why she cares so much that there's a scarf- a feminine nother scarf in his house.

"I had a guest earlier. She probably left it." He replies lightly sitting their food down on the table and she follows him briskly still not satisfied with his answers.

"Give me back my porridge." She says childishly snatching away his bowl just as he's about to eat, the look of annoyance on his face brings her nothing but pure joy.

"What's your problem now?" He argues reaching for the bowl but she tugs it further out of his reach. With a long suffering sigh he stands up, stepping closer to retrieve the bowl but that move brings them chest to chest and she stares up at his bright eyes.

Bringing his hands up he touches the scarf in her hand, she drops it abruptly not wanting him to touch it at all now.

"Don't."

He stares at her long and hard, Adam's apple bobbing as their eyes lock. He shakes his head a tight smile on his face now and she wants to kiss that smug look right off his face. Wait.

What. What am I thinking?

The sound of his doorbell chiming breaks them free of this heated staring match, but not immediately he looks at her puzzled and is that something hotter, before slowly turning and walking towards the door.

"Hey, I think I left my scarf--"

A decidedly female voice sounds from the door and before she can second guess herself she grabs the discarded scarf from the ground and sashays over to the door. He looks completely surprised to see her walking over but barely reacts when she barrels next time, pulling the door open wider to see who's here to see them.

It's the new teacher that just moved into town, she hadn't yet been introduced to her but she'd heard nothing but bad things from the landlord. She was supposedly a man stealer.

"Oh! I didn't know you had a guest." The woman's gentle voice lifts in awe at her sudden arrival at the door.

"Here's your scarf." She thrusts the item fiercely at her, watching as the other woman jolts in surprise.

Du-sik looks curiously between the two seeming to feel the weird energy surging in the air.

"Miss Yoon this is--"

"Was that all you needed? We were in the middle of eating. He needs to regain his energy." She cuts him off, having no desire to be introduced to the other woman. The school teacher glances between the two of them being nodding slowly as if realizing something.

"Yes that was all. I'll leave you to your meals."

She watches as the school teacher disappears from sight, turning to walk back to the table.

"That was rude. Do you two have a problem with each other?"

Shrugging non-committally she pushes his porridge back across the space already digging into her own.

"Your meal will get cold. Stop saying nonsense and come eat."

He stares at her for a long time before retaking his seat and tasting the thick broth, she tries not to watch and wait for his reaction but it's probably a failure.

"It's delicious. I can't believe you made this."

Overlooking the backhanded compliment she hides her smile behind her spoon before looking up with a glare, "I'll never make it for you again." But it's an empty threat because she already made three containers worth in case he falls ill again.

"I'll turn off your electricity until you do."

She guffaws at the threat, grabbing the closest thing (a pen) and throwing it at him. It pings off his forehead and falls to the ground.

"Ow. That hurt."

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, no doubt her roommate asking about her whereabouts she had just suddenly disappeared out of nowhere after running out of the office. Swiping to open the phone she prepares for the onslaught of messages.

"---kiss it better."

She freezes at the words, dragging her eyes from the phone back up to his steady gaze. He's staring brazenly seemingly unashamed but the tint of red on his ears give him away, he's not at confident as he's pretending to be.

"What did you say?"

"I.....said you should kiss it better."

She has no clue what he's talking about but instinctively her eyes move down to his lips, blush pink and tempting they stand out on his pale skin. She wonders how they would feel under her own, if they would pucker up and press or bloom open giving her their sweet nectar. She wonders how many women he's kissed and if he's ever thought about kissing her.

"My forehead. I meant my forehead... because of the pen. I was just joking." He looks dazed now, still under her appraising gaze and she coughs swiftly moving her eyes and staring out the window.

"Mi-seon's looking for me. I should go."

Thankfully he doesn't comment on her running away again, he merely nods and collects their bowls.

"Thank you for the meal." She nods in response, her voice lost at the moment terrified of why she keeps coming here, what could she possibly want?

He walks her to the door, both of them dragging their feet and taking their sweet time.

"That was the worst part about not having parents."

She halts at his sudden confession, squeezing her fists tightly as she glances over at him.

"Not having anyone who cared when I was sick. It was never clearer how alone I was until those fleeting moments, there was no one to pat my back or bring me food or tell me I would be okay."

It's an ache she's used up, the ache of wanting something she'll never have. Years spent pretending she didn't miss her mother everyday. His honesty forces her own to the surface.

"That porridge was the one my mom used to make for me. I haven't made it since she...."

She doesn't finish her sentence but the look in his eyes tell her that she doesn't need to, he understands loud and clear.

"Thank you for making it for me. I'm honored." There is reverence in his voice as if he's never meant anything more in his life, it makes her heart tremble.

They don't speak anymore as she puts on her shoes and lays her bag across her body, reaching behind her he tugs the door open for her.

With a solemn nod she turns around ready to leave but a moment of temporary insanity makes her turn back and grab his shoulder for support, there's a look of genuine shock of his face before she leans onto the tips of her toes and presses her lips against his forehead.

Her cheeks are on fire as she draws back and his face looks painful from his red it is.

"You're going to be alright." With her last strand of courage she wraps her arm around and pats him on the back in comfort, his eyes are glossy and he looks years younger.

"I'm going."

She's aching to run but she walks away calmly until she's out of sight, throwing herself to the ground as soon as she turns the corner grabbing handfuls of her hair.

So much for being in control. Fuck.

#hometown cha cha cha #me again #i might be a bit obsessed #y'all know I love a little jelly cee #it gets the blood running #hong du shik #yoon hye jin

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.

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