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Like an Arrow

5k • teen • ShinTodo

“Excitement looks good on you.” “You really want to tease me right now?” Shouto clapped back. “When I’m armed and dangerous?” Shinsou stepped around to his backside. “Yes.”

Olympic archer! Shouto stumbles into a kyudo demonstration; Shinsou teaches Shouto how to draw his bow.

[Read the fic on AO3]

Hippity-Hop into Your Heart

Summary: Usahara is all too happy to play the role of boyfriend so you can shake off a creep, but of course, the night ends with him developing an all too real crush. 4.1 k A/N: Art from Gaku Kaze! Usahara Tobikichi/F!Reader. I have a soft spot for this dumb bunny and I think he needs more love. Enjoy! TW: Stalking, cursing (mostly for reader getting called a b*tch by said stalker).

Usahara’s drunk. Again. 

The night has hardly begun and he keeps slumping over the table, cheeks flushed and eyes bleary while he struggles to sit upright. “I wish I was funny.”

“I wish you were sober.” Uramichi slides another glass of water, moving aside the collection of empty shot glasses. “I thought we were only doing beer.”

“We should order motsu nikomi for him.” Kumatani suggests; he’s only on his third beer. 

They did start a bit later than expected for a weeknight. There’s hardly anyone else at the tables around them; hopefully Usahara doesn’t end up getting them kicked out for disturbing the peace. A server comes around with their next round of beers and Kumatani speaks up to request more water while they look over their options for food.

“I want gyoza!” Usahara slurs. “And a girlfriend. Ugh. I really want a girlfriend.” 

“You can have one of those things.” Kumatani glances at the paper menu. “Seeing as how gyoza’s on the menu and you’re a degenerate, let’s keep this based in reality.”

“I’m not a general!”

“Let’s leave him here.” Uramichi whispers, leaning over to Kumatani on his left. “He’ll pass out soon enough.”

“I’m drunk, not deaf.” Usahara grumbles; he sighs and sheds his jacket. “It’s hot. Can we get ice cream?”

“Why do you drink so much when you know you can’t handle booze?” Kumatani rests his chin on his hand. “If you think I’m paying your tab, you’ve got another thing-”

“Honey! There you are, sorry I’m late, I was stuck at the office.”

Usahara raises his head up; there’s a girl sliding into the booth seat next to him. For a split second, he thinks he might be having a hallucination, but you scoot closer and touch his arm with a strained smile. Not to mention Uramichi and Kumatani are also staring at him and you, visibly taken aback at this stranger joining their table, so Usahara is 100% positive the alcohol isn’t making him see things.

“I’m sorry.” You’re leaning in to whisper in his ear, still smiling but now your voice is considerably less cheerful. “A man’s been following me since I left my job.”

“What?” Usahara straightens up and stares at you, bewildered, trying to keep his tone low. “Did he come in?”

“He followed every time I changed directions.” You pretend to look at Uramichi and Kumatani but you’re actually sneaking a peek at the entrance. “He’s outside in the smoking area. I think he’s waiting.”

Usahara glances at the door; there is a man outside. It’s not easy to make his features out, but he can see him turn his head to look into the bar. 

“I’m sorry to intrude.” You drop your fake smile. “This place is the closest building with people and I thought he would keep following me if I sat down by myself. Could I wait here until he leaves? I’ll pay for your next round.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Uramichi frowns. “Do you want to call the police?”

“No, I mean, what could they do?” You release your grip on Usahara’s arm and give him some space. “He could just say he’s going the same way as me. I just didn’t want him to know where I live.”

“I’m going out there.” Kumatani stands up. 

“Oh please don’t!” You say hurriedly. “You really don’t have to get involved.”

“Scum like that need to have their asses kicked before they get the message. He looks weak.” Kumatani glares over at the door. “I’m not gonna be intimidated by some gross stalker.”

“But he could have a knife.” You say worriedly. “Even if he doesn’t, you’ll get in trouble for making things physical. Please, um…”

“Kumatani.” Usahara supplies. “He’s Kumatani, I’m Usahara, and that sad sack over there is Uramichi-”

“Kumantani, let’s use this drunk as a human shield.” Uramichi addresses the still standing Kumatani but his cold eyes are directly on Usahara’s. “If the creep has a knife, you’ll do your part as a concerned citizen, right?”

You glance around at the three of them. “Look, I already feel bad to bother you guys. I can get a ride; I doubt he’ll chase after a car, you know? I just,” you swallow hard; the last thing you want to do is start crying, not now in front of these strangers you had basically forced to be involved in this. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, okay?”

“Alright.” Kumatani finally takes his seat. “You’ve got a good point.”

“You must have been scared.” Uramichi looks at you with some sympathy. “I’m not eager to do any heroics myself and I don’t blame you for not wanting to stir the pot. How far away is your work?”

“About ten minutes. I work for a family, well, a few different families in the area.” You explain; your teeth have stopped chattering and your heart has stopped pounding. “I actually do babysitting and cleaning jobs. Today the parents went out for a date: they offered to drive me home, but they had a few drinks at dinner and I didn’t want to spend money on a ride share app when my place is so close. I actually come here every now and then to wind down after work…I didn’t think I’d be coming in tonight to escape that asshole.”

“Uh, so,"  Usahara clears his throat. “Why did you sit next to me? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Dude.”

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Usahara holds up his hands as if to block himself from the death glares being shot his way. “Just curious!”

“The seat next to you was empty.” You answer honestly. “Why else would I?”

“Because I’m…cute?” Usahara grins but it fades as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Sorry. Okay, no more joking: are you hungry? You might as well eat something, my treat.”

“I thought you were broke?” Kumatani snips. “I told you, I’m not covering your tab.” he turns to you. “Order what you want.”

“Ice cold.” Usahara crosses his arms. “I just so happen to have some extra funds. I helped my folks in their store earlier, so they floated me a few bucks.” he winks at you. “Since I’m playing your boyfriend, I should treat my girl to something nice.”

“You made your poor parents pay you for helping them?” Uramichi shakes his head somberly. “I didn’t think you could sink lower.”

“They insisted! I’m not gonna turn down money in this economy.”

“Don’t blame the economy for your piss poor spending habits.”

“They’re so mean.” Usahara pouts to you. “Aren’t you going to stand up for your boyfriend?”

You look at him for a moment before your face breaks out into a smile, a real one. Before you can stop, a laugh escapes you and you keep laughing until you start wheezing slightly. 

“Wow, I think you broke her psyche.” Uramichi comments lightly. 

“I’m so-sorry, really, I don’t mean to laugh at you!” Your voice cracks as you press your hands to your mouth. “Usahara? I’m sorry, you’ve all been so great to help me out.”

“I’m glad.” Usahara smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his head; he realizes he must seem hilariously pathetic, but hey, it’s not like this is a real date. “If you’re laughing, it means you’re feeling better, yeah?”

Your giggles die off and you wipe your eyes. “I am.” with a deep sigh, you’re able to calm down and breathe normally. “I was really scared. Thank you. I feel better mostly.”

“You need a good laugh, I’m your guy.” Usahara hands you his untouched glass of water. “Here, it’s just plain water. Do you want a beer or something?”

“You know what? I could use a drink.” You confess tiredly. “So, what brings you guys here?”

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

Nearly two hours pass in the blink of an eye; Usahara plays his role well. He pours you drinks, stays close, but not too close to you, and even hand fed you a couple of snacks. To the casual observer, the four of you would never know you were all strangers.

Despite the cordial mood, Usahara kept up the charade, just in case the man outside was still lurking around, though they haven’t seen his profile in the window for some time now. It’s an unfortunate truth that some men will only back off if they know a girl already has a boyfriend who can potentially beat them up. Usahara, although not quite as intimidating looking in comparison to his friends, is the tallest and he does spend a good amount of time training on his own. He’s confident that if nothing else, all three of them are more than enough to take down one shady weirdo. 

It’s too bad though. Usahara can't smother the twinge of bit guilt he feels at how much fun he’s having; there’s no need for him to put up a front or try to play it cool since this is very much not a date. There’s no pressure to look good in front of you, so Usahara can relax and not think about what he says too much or how he holds himself. 

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s awesome!” You tell him excitedly, hands grabbing onto his arm as if to shake sense into him. “An absolute classic, how the heck have you never heard of Killer Clowns from Another Dimension? Do you even watch movies?”

“Sometimes” Usahara sips a new glass of water you made him order. “I can’t believe you’re judging me.”

“I saw it.” Kumatani raises his hand. “The effects are next level.”

“A man of culture.” You give him a thumbs up. “This guy knows. Uramichi, make Usahara apologize.”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Uramichi drones. “I don’t get what any of you are saying.”

“Now who needs to watch more movies.” 

“I saw one recently.” Uramichi cocks his head to the side. “It was a comedy; some idiot didn’t know when to stop running his mouth so his co worker buries him alive.”

“That’s a horror movie! If I go missing, you’re gonna be the first one the cops talk to.” Usahara clings to your arm. “Babe, tell him to leave me alone.”

“If you coddle him, he’ll never learn to shut his trap.”

“There, there, honey bunny.” You pat Usahara’s head lightly. “I promise to light a candle for you until they find the body.”

“You won’t even look for me?!”

“I think it’s more likely you’ll be disposed of by some loan sharks.” Kumatani deadpans but even he has a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Keep up the gambling and you’ll be found in a river instead of a shallow grave.”

“You guys are terrible and when I hit the jackpot none of you are seeing a cent.” Usahara tells them before leaning his head on your shoulder, sticking his tongue out at the both of them. “She’s been way nice to me and we only just met.”

“Because she doesn’t know how insufferable you are yet.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You glance down at Usahara as he gives you puppy eyes. “He’s doing a pretty good job of letting me know.”

“Babe, not cool.” 

“Sorry, honey.” You giggle and poke his flushed cheek; it’s funny how comfortable you feel right now and you don’t think it’s because of the beers. Maybe it’s because Usahara has no filter; you were so tense before, yet now you’re joking and chatting like this was the plan, to show up and hang out with these odd characters. “So, what would you do if you won the lottery?”

“Hm…”

“You should pay your rent on time.” Uramichi remarks; he’s eating his own plate of mackerel, sashimi style. “It would be nice to never have to get up for work again.”

“I want to take time off and buy a boat.” Kumatani closes his eyes. “Just floating out to sea, nice and quiet, fresh saltwater air.”

“Lame.”

“Usahara.” You smack his shoulder lightly. “Knock it off.”

“Hey why are you defending that jerk?” 

“This jerk is going to leave you to pay for all our food and drinks if you keep running your mouth.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” You shake your head somberly in disapproval as Usahara sulks. “Apologize or you’re sleeping on the couch, mister.”

“You sound more like a naggy wife than a cute girlfriend…”

“What’s that?”

“Sorry.” Usahara bows his head. “Sorry, Kumatani.”

“Good one.” Kumantani reaches over to refill your glass with a fresh pour of beer. “I’ll lend you the Man-Eating Salmon boxset if you can keep him quiet for the rest of the night.”

Usahara sips his water as you grin at Kumatani; oh well. He gets it. On paper, Kumatani makes sense: even he admits, it was pretty cool how Kumatani was going to go out there and take on that creep head on. It’s not Usahara’s style; he’s scared to get beat up and can barely throw a punch. Sue him. Still, it stings that even on this pretend date, Kumatani is still showing him up. 

“Hey guys?” It’s Uramichi that breaks the silence. “I think that creep got tired of waiting.”

They all look to the door; it’s not clear at first, but from your shaken expression, it’s apparent the man who’s made his way inside the bar is the same one who was stalking you. The smile is gone from your face; he’s approaching the table with an almost apologetic smile. He looks like a fairly normal person, to Usahara’s slight surprise, not like a thug or anything. Hell, he looks more intimidating. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to get your number?” 

“What?” You sink into your seat. “That’s why you followed me?”

“Followed? I didn’t do anything like that.” The man looks surprised. “I go here all the time. I just saw you, thought I’d shoot my shot, you know? Besides, I don’t need anyone’s permission to come inside and have a drink-”

“Excuse me, but we’re trying to have dinner.” Usahara stares at the man blankly. “We saw you out there. If you just came to eat here coincidentally, why were you lurking outside?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Cut the bullshit.” Kumatani glares at the man, grip tightening on his mug like he wants to smash it against the offending stranger’s head. “Get the hint already, asshole.”

“You’re making everyone uncomfortable.” A dark look crosses Uramichi’s face; he’s poised as though he’s about to rise from his chair. “I think you ought to leave. She’s not interested.”

“Let her tell me herself-”

“She shouldn’t have to talk to some freak hounding her in the dark.” Usahara takes his jacket and drapes it over your shaking shoulders; he puts his arm around you. “You’re bothering my girlfriend; who do you think you are? She doesn’t owe you shit.” he forces himself to temper his anger and speaks to you gently. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything, okay babe? You haven’t done anything; it’s not your fault this loser is bugging you.”

“Fuck you.” The man snaps, posture rigid; he’s shaking, but he doesn’t move any closer. “I didn’t do anything, this bitch-”

“Don’t call her that!” Usahara stands up, but doesn’t try to attack the man; he stands in front of you, arms out slightly to obscure you from the stranger’s eyes. “You can either get your ass handed to you by my buddies-”

“Really? What are we, you bodyguards?”

Usahara ignores Kumantani’s dry stare. “-or leave in handcuffs.” he makes sure you’re blocked from view. “Your choice.”

“Go to hell.” 

But the confrontation ends there. With a sneer, the man storms out of the bar, rather quickly in fact; one of the staff members comes out from behind the counter with a concerned frown and asks if she needs to call the cops. Kumatani explains the situation and Uramichi actually goes himself to check if the man is just hiding around the corner of the bar. Usahara stays with you; despite how relieved you are, tears come to your eyes, dripping down your face.

“It’s okay.” Usahara hands you some napkins. “Do you need these?”

“Thank you.” You sniff and blow your nose into the offered napkins, but the tears aren’t stopping. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t even tell that asshole off, it was like I couldn’t even speak. I feel so dumb for being scared.”

“Not gonna lie, I was kinda scared too; Uramichi still has him beat in the dead eyed stare competition though.” Usahara chuckles; he tentatively holds one of your hands; your palm is clammy and your fingers are cold. “Sorry you had to go through that. I really thought he had left; I think the owner’s gonna call the cops anyway, dude seemed unhinged.”

“Oh, your jacket,”

“You can hold onto it. Your hand’s freezing.” Usahara ignores the slight chill he feels as you squeeze his hand. “You want me to get you a hot tea or something? Sorry, I have no clue what to do for these kinds of situations.”

“You’ve done more than enough.” You smile at him; your cheeks and eyes are red and puffy. “Thank you; the only reason I was able to feel okay at all is because of you guys being so kind. I’m so sorry for all this.”

Usahara feels bad for your gratitude; he’s also angry. He’s half tempted to go outside himself and chase after that creep, but more than that, he could cry himself from how sad you look, how you actually felt like you had to apologize for someone else's horrible actions.

“Don’t apologize. Hell, I didn’t do anything.” Usahara has to stop himself from trapping you in a big bear (bunny?) hug. “Look, do you want one of us to take you home? It’s past midnight and sometimes you get creepy drivers on that app if you request a ride this late at night.” Usahara averts his eyes to the table, trying to sound assuring despite the pit forming in his stomach. “Kumatani seems grumpy, but you won’t find anyone more reliable and Uramichi is a decent guy, even if he mopes a lot. They’ll keep you safe on your way home.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

You look nervous. “I trust you…of course, you’ve already helped me so much. I can walk home alone, I’ll pretend to be on the phone.”

“No, not at all!” Usahara scrambles to talk. “I’d be totally okay walking you home! Just leave it to Tobikichi Usahara, you won’t have anything to worry about!”

“Are you trying a stand up routine?” Uramichi reenters the booth, unmoved by Usahara’s objections. “Anyway, I think he’s really gone this time, but the owner’s still going to call the police and have them take a look around. I guess this isn’t the first time they’ve had a problem, she’s pretty sure it’s the same guy too. With any luck, he won’t be bothering anyone again.”

“I hope so.” You wipe your eyes. “Thank you, Uramichi; where’s Kumatani?”

“Settling your tab.”

“What?!” You gap at him, almost expecting this to be a joke. “That’s way too much, I was going to pay for you guys-”

“Give it a rest.”

“Uramichi!” Usahara is scandalized. “This is why girls don’t talk to you.Would it kill you to show a little tact? She's upset.”

“Are you seriously telling me that? Who asked you anyway? Look, I’m just saying, it’s no trouble.” Uramichi’s eyes soften a smidge as he looks at you. “Don’t get me wrong, I really hope this never happens again, but tonight was almost fun.”

Kumatani approaches the table, tucking away what you assume is a receipt in his wallet. “Let’s finish up and call it a night: Usahara, you owe me half the tab.”

“Saw that coming.” Usahara shrugs and manages a weak smile. “Fair enough; but I’m only paying for her and my stuff.”

“Okay.” Kumatani chuckles. “I expected you to put up a fuss like usual. We should invite your girlfriend out every time we get drinks.”

“Dude!” Usahara’s already flushed face turns bright red. “Jokes on you, I’m never inviting you guys out with us.” he sends you a lopsided grin. “If I win the jackpot, it’ll be dinner for two, wherever you want to eat.”

“Actually,” You fiddle with the sleeve of his jacket. “I was hoping we could all do this again sometime; you know, without the looming threat of being stalked. Is that weird?”

“You want to put up with us again?” Kumatani asks, but you can tell he’s mostly teasing. 

“I guess.” Uramichi concedes. “It’s nice to have a buffer.”

“Buffer? What, so you can ignore me and get drunk in peace?” Usahara sighs dramatically. “Well, that’s fine with me; having another person around makes your mood swings less stressful-ow, ow, ow! I’m sorry, I give up, you’re not moody!”

Uramichi stops grinding his fists on either side of Usahara’s temples. “Just take her home already and try not to fall over in the street.”

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

“So, that’s us.” Usahara laughs somewhat embarrassed. “Did you really have fun tonight?”

“Yeah.” You say honestly; you’re leading the way to your apartment, walking slow. “You’re looking pale; do you always drink that much?”

“....yeah…” Usahara admits reluctantly. “I know, I know, I’m a mess.”

“Without a doubt.” 

“So mean…”

“But you’re very nice.” You offer him with a half smile. “And brave.”

“Me?”

“Uh huh.”

Usahara stares at you from the corner of his eye; the street lights overhead shine a dim glow on your hair and face. You’re still wearing his smelly old jacket, a grease stain on the front from dropping fried chicken on himself the other day. It looks better on you.

“Uh oh.” Usahara could slap himself. “Dude, not cool. She’s been through enough tonight. You were pretending so she could feel safe. It’s not like she actually wants to date you. Don’t let yourself get caught up in the moment. She’s a nice girl who needed your help and as it stands, she doesn’t think you’re a complete loser. Let’s keep it that way and call this a win.”

“This is me.” You come to a stop in front of a complex Usahara has gone past quite a few times before. “I’d invite you in for tea, but I should be going to bed. Can I give you my number? If you want to hang out again sometime.”

“Sure thing.” Usahara switches phones with you. “Call, text, whatever; let me know when you’re free.”

“I’ll do that.” You nod and hand him back his cellphone. “Wait, don’t go yet.”

Usahara was about to leave. “Is everything alright? I can wait until you get inside to-”

“You’re sweet.” You take off his jacket, putting it around his shoulders; you peck his jaw, not quite able to reach his cheek. “Next time, maybe we can go on a real date?”

“Am I passed out at the bar?” Usahara touches the spot where you had pressed your soft lips against his skin. “Sorry, let me get this straight: you want to see me again? Me, Usahara, specifically? For a date? Like a ‘date-date’?” he frowns, examines your face carefully. “Are you drunk? I don’t want to take advantage, I mean, you might have second thoughts later, which is totally okay, I-I don’t mind just being friends-!”

“I am a bit tipsy, but I don’t think that’s affecting anything.” You smile a little. “Maybe you should text me first thing in the morning? Just to make sure.”

“I’ll probably be super hungover.” Usahara looks at you like you’re too good to be real. “I usually go to this breakfast place, if you’re interested. It’s a cheap spot but the food’s good. Sorry, I-”

“Are you treating?”

“Yes! And I’ll pick you up?” Usahara is on pins and needles, utterly failing to reign in his excitement. “I have a spare helmet, if you don’t mind riding on a motorcycle. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“It’s a date.” You start to walk away. “Tell the guys I said thank you, again. Do you think they’ll want to get breakfast too?”

“NO!” Usahara hates how his voice pitches so high in panic; he looks down at the ground, a little ashamed of himself, but not enough to be unselfish. He really is shameless. “At least for this time, I want it to be just us. You can see for yourself if I’m worth your time; I swear, you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m holding you to that.” You smile playfully. “Honey bunny.”

Usahara blushes so much he thinks his face might be on fire, waving in a daze as you disappear into your apartment. 

“Oh crap." It almost hurts how hard Usahara's smiling as he thinks about seeing you again. "I'm so screwed.”

Message in a Bottle

An AU where Bedelia refuses to be Hannibal's therapist. When he insists, she educates him on the benefits of journaling. That very night Hannibal writes his first message, rolls it up, ties it with a ribbon, places it into a bottle, and flings it into the sea during his morning run. Then he just so happens to do it the next night, and the night after. What's the drawback to a little self-therapy? Besides, who else would spend the better half of their weekends cracking a World War Ally code? Especially one with Hannibal's own twist?

Chapter 1: Sunday Mournings

Chapter 2: I Can't Buoy-It

Imagine Your Otp

Person A is sitting alone when...

Person B: “Is this seat taken?

Person A: (Looks up to them with surprise but then just expecting them to take it and leave) “No, you can take it.” (Only for Person B to sit down.)

Person B: (Replies with a charming smile) “Thank you~”

Person A: “N-no problem!”

They then begin a conversation and continue having a lovely time in each others company.

Bonus: If after this wonderful first encounter they exchange contacts and set another ‘date’ to meet again.

The origin of one of my fave couples!! Too damn cute we Stan them

foresight (myg)

It all started with a bad joke and a bottle of Tanqueray.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot / Prequel to darksided (no. 2) & blindsided (no. 3,) but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 11.3K 😳 Content: SPICY FLUFF (18+ or else - oral (m receiving) and penetrative, protected sex (p in v)); strangers to lovers au; POV switches; discussion of anxiety and negative self-talk; alcohol consumption (primary setting is a bar); tteokbokki; and just the cutest fucking duo. ft. Seokjn and a surprise cameo by reader's cat. A/N: The origin story for my beloved babies, which takes place in 2016 (and uses Korean age, fyi.) I found this photo after I finished writing and nearly fell tf over because this was the Yoongi in my brain; jacket and all, omfg. My actual note (and tags) will be at the end! 💕 Listen to the playlist here. Read Interlude: Sunrise drabble here.

Min Yoongi wanted it on record that he tried.

When Seokjin pushed, and pushed, and pushed Yoongi to ask out that girl, he did. She was someone Seokjin knew from somewhere, and she seemed nice enough. All Yoongi really knew about her was that she was pretty, though he hoped to learn that this was the least interesting thing about her.

If nothing else, Yoongi proceeded out of spite. He wanted nothing more than to shove it in Seokjin’s face that he was capable of being a normal, twenty-four-year-old man. He wanted to prove to Seokjin — and to himself, if he were being honest — that he wasn’t a borderline-reclusive workaholic.

Or, at the very least, he wasn’t exclusively a borderline-reclusive workaholic. He did want to get out and meet new people; just in negligible and infrequent doses.

It had been so long since Yoongi last went on a date that three (3) generations of iPhones had come and gone. Children who hadn’t yet been born were now entering pre-kindergarten, making macaroni art with the motor skills they’d obtained during his romantic sabbatical. It was embarrassing; it was depressing; and it all piled up at his doorstep, barricading him inside his apartment.

There was a vicious cycle at play, making matters worse. It casted Yoongi as the lone sock, swirling and drowning inside his washing machine brain. The plot was as stupid as it was repetitive:

Relentless schedule aside, Yoongi didn’t date because it made him anxious. Then, he’d become more anxious because he wasn’t dating. Ultimately, he’d end up too anxious about his anxiety to address the thing that caused it in the first place. And around and around and around he went.

Why the fuck did people subject themselves to this on purpose?

Asking her out was the simplest part. With a quick text and an emoji — the latter of which Yoongi deliberated over for far too long — he’d knocked the ball into her court. She’d responded within minutes, which he assumed was a good sign. Saturday night, they’d decided, at eight o’clock.

Unfortunately, no part of what came next was easy.

Yoongi had spent the four subsequent days in a tailspin. Spiraling over where to take her, what to wear, and what the fuck to talk to her about. In the few interactions they’d had before, all she seemed to do was pepper him with questions about his career. Like everyone else, she was fascinated by Yoongi: the Concept.

Whether or not she cared about Yoongi: the Person was yet to be determined.

Worse, after three years in the public eye, Yoongi worried that he’d lost track of what once made him relatable. That boy from Daegu — with a chip on his shoulder and a fire in his belly — was traded in for a luxury model. He no longer had to debate between purchasing a meal or a bus ticket home from work because he was now loaded and living in Hannam-fucking-dong.

Ugh.

People looked at him with stars in their eyes, but he could never tell if anyone truly saw him. And even if someone did, what was left to see, anyway? Yoongi doubted that he could pick himself out of a lineup now.

Eventually, after three nights of tossing and turning, Yoongi had landed on something that felt meaningful. He would take this girl to a hole-in-the-wall that he loved dearly, which sat relatively unnoticed in a lesser-traveled pocket of Seoul. It was quiet and unassuming, but had a life of its own.

As far as Yoongi could see, it was the perfect place to find the parts of himself that’d dropped on his rapid, record-breaking ascent. Decidedly unremarkable but worth it, nonetheless. There, she could get to know the person behind the persona. Maybe she’d even come to like who he actually was.

Before heading out, Yoongi had pitched his plan to Seokjin and received a thumbs up in response. Unfortunately, her reaction came from two knuckles down. Her departure followed less than sixty seconds after her arrival. She’d fled so quickly, in fact, that she managed to flag down the very same cab before it could clear the block.

Through her window, she’d shouted out her scathing review: Yoongi was cheap; she would never drink bottom-shelf liquor with him in a glorified dumpster; and she both expected and deserved better because he could access better. Yoongi had stood stunned on the sidewalk as she disappeared — likely forever — in a cloud of exhaust.

Somehow, it felt like that cab had run him over as it peeled out.

To be clear, none of this was painful because Yoongi was disappointed; he wasn’t, not in the slightest. Good fucking riddance. It was worse than that. He felt validated, and he knew exactly how fucking sad that was.

See? Told you so, he’d thought bitterly to himself. Then, immediately, Yoongi criticized himself for being too critical. Hypocrite.

So, there he stood.

If Yoongi followed his instinct and went home, he could rebuild his barricade and watch several episodes of Chopped before passing out alone in his bed. A productive night, despite its fruitless start. But then, he realized, he’d have to answer when Seokjin inevitably called to ask what the fuck went wrong.

Fuck it.

Yoongi shrugged to no one but himself. He then slipped from the sidewalk, through the dumpster’s front door, and straight to the bar. Slumping down onto a leather-topped stool, he rested his elbows against the mahogany countertop and dropped his dejected chin in his hand.

Is this rock bottom? He wondered, Drinking in a bar alone on a Saturday night?

Within seconds, there was a loud crash several meters away. Yoongi jerked his head towards the source of the sound, but he saw nothing. His brows furrowed. All was quiet until a whine erupted from the doorway to the back room.

“Shit, shit, shit!"

Upon standing, Yoongi pressed his hands against the bar and leaned forward to investigate; equal parts concerned and nosy.

On the ground in the doorway, he found shattered remnants of what was once a bottle of Tanqueray. Crouching above the pine-scented wreckage, plucking chunks of glass off the hardwood, he found you.

Yoongi immediately grimaced at your chosen method of disaster clean-up. There was already a bandage wrapped around your finger — with a Hello Kitty pattern, he noted — that confirmed your ongoing battle with clumsiness.

You didn’t need to add to that collection and he couldn’t watch in good conscience while you made that outcome more and more likely.

Mind made up, he crossed quickly to the side of the bar he had no authorization to be on. As soon as Yoongi reached you, he saw the nearby bucket labeled “broken shit.” Then, he clocked the small hand-brush and dustpan resting against it. Wasting no time, he grabbed all three; and without a word, you allowed him to carefully usher you out of the way.

Crouching down the way you had, he began to sweep the broken shit into the dustpan. Too preoccupied to glance up, he asked without looking, “Are you okay?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, Yoongi’s eyes quickly rose to find you with strawberry-pink cheeks and wide, vaguely horrified eyes, and —Shit, was he staring?

Say something. Say anything. For fuck’s sake, Yoongi, at least smile so she knows you’re not angry.

What he landed on looked more like a grimace, he was sure of it, and it didn’t seem to fix that look on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you squeaked once he finished dumping the glass into its designated receptacle.

You didn’t give him a chance to tell you that an apology wasn’t necessary, opting instead to rattle off your perceived sins at an alarming rate:

“I think I’m the only bartender in Seoul that’s this bad at tending bar. I mean, I didn’t even know anyone else was here — because I wasn’t paying attention — and now you, the patron I’m supposed to be serving, are cleaning up after me. It’s definitely supposed to be the other way around —“

A smile was twitching at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t prevent. Without a door into the so far one-sided conversation, Yoongi had to jump through the window you created when you finally drew a breath. “Have you got a mop?”

Based on the way your eyebrows knit together, you’d been thrown entirely for a loop. You re-opened your mouth, likely to apologize for not following the sudden twist. Yoongi refused to allow further self-flagellation, though.

Classic Yoongi: demonstrating more compassion for strangers than he ever shows himself.

“For the gin,” He chuckled softly as he gestured down to the puddle at his feet. Suddenly and baselessly bold, he shot you a playful look and tacked on, “And for all the words you just spilled.”

The aforementioned eyebrows shot up as your jaw dropped further. Thankfully, it was amusement and not offense glittering in your eyes. Pretty. As you crossed your arms over your chest, you tilted your head and sized him up with a quick glance.

If this was a test, he was determined to pass.

“Maybe,” you hummed.

Yoongi wanted to volley your nonchalant tone, but he couldn’t swallow the laughter bubbling up from his chest. He was grinning like an idiot; there was no denying it. “Maybe?”

Your eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, the perfect overture to the mischief on your lips. When you replied, that microscopic smirk never faltered: “Let’s say, for arguments’ sake, that there is a mop.”

A manicured finger was held up to stop Yoongi from interjecting.

Mystified, his poor brain tried to crunch the numbers. Statically, it made no sense that — out of the thousands of people he’d met in his life — he’d never come across someone quite like you. In a matter of minutes, you’d pirouetted from adorable, to self-depreciating, to coy and confident.

All-encompassing, all electric, you moved through tone shifts far more gracefully than you did through the bar.

And if he’d done the math right, this was the first interaction he’d had in recent memory that didn’t deplete his energy. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Gazing at you, Yoongi began to wonder if this was how extroverts got to feel as they moved through the world. Like it gave back more than it took. Lucky bastards.

Once Yoongi was thoroughly disarmed, you continued breezily, “Hypothetically speaking, would you let me be the one to use said mop? After all, it’s both my job and my mess.”

“Hypothetically?” He repeated, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Your eyes narrowed further as he paused to formulate a counterpoint. Meanwhile, Yoongi’s involuntary smile spread in a straight line across his face.

You’re a goddamn delight, full stop.

“Assuming, for the sake of this argument, that I do concede the mop in question —” Yoongi raised an eyebrow, “— How could I be sure that you wouldn’t hurt yourself? After all, you did just try to clean up broken glass with your hands.”

If this had been a gun fight and not banter behind a bar, you would’ve shot him dead. Like lightning, you quickly unraveled your arms and held your hands at the ready. That effervescent grin of yours might be his undoing instead.

Eyes alight, you threw down the gauntlet: “Gawi, bawi, bo?”

Never before in your life had you played rock, paper, scissors, and lost at every single turn. You’d also never requested a rematch for every loss before, continuing the game into perpetuity; but you had a hypothesis to prove and a perfectly unique smile to make wider.

No matter what you threw, he’d offered a gesture to counter it. If his eyes hadn’t gotten wider and wider with shock as it just — kept — happening, you would’ve simply decided that he was psychic. A mind-reader, predicting your every move before you’d even settled on it yourself.

Spooky.

At the start, his amusement had been more or less concealed. Withheld, even, like it was dangerous to grin with every single one of his teeth. Eventually, though, his shoulders shook the way yours did; and mirth pooled in the corners of his eyes as he wheezed through laughter with you.

You didn’t know him, but still, you couldn’t help thinking: there he is.

At some point during your unending match, he doubled over to catch his breath. Seizing the element of surprise, you’d darted into the storage room before he could’ve stopped you. When you reappeared with a mop and bucket in tow, you’d immediately begun to address the mess you made. It took a few moments of buffering for him to realize what you’d done.

That time around, he hadn’t shouldered your burden for you and thank god for that. First impressions were never your strong suit, and you were already starting from behind. Always too much, you couldn’t be useless, too.

Instead, he’d simply resigned himself to swapped names and spiked blood pressure as you struggled — stubbornly and independently — to dump the contents of that yellow, wheeled mop bucket into the utility sink. Standing quietly out of your way, Yoongi had looked close to proud when you managed to do it all without spilling a drop.

See, you’d thought, I’m verifiably Not Useless!

Once the evidence of your clumsy crime had been disposed of, you’d returned the cleaning supplies to their rightful space in the storage room’s closet. Similarly, you and your patron returned to your rightful places: him on his stool at the front of the bar; you, finally fixing him a drink behind it.

Ardbeg, single malt, neat.

After sliding the glass across the mahagony to his waiting hand, you glanced towards the front entrance. As usual, there were no pedestrians wandering this way; no cars on the street, either. The only quiet part of Seoul — especially on a Saturday night.

The bar routinely bordered on empty, but it had some magical quality to it: Nobody you saw inside for the first time seemed to be there for the first time. This was especially odd because it wasn’t a place anyone went to, just a place they ended up. Nobody’s first choice, it was a last resort only visible to people who knew where to look for it.

Yoongi was the first one to speak, unknowingly putting an end to your mythologizing. You just barely flinched at the surprise of his voice, but he managed to catch it. Then, he conducted a brief yet careful study of your face to determine whether you were simply jumpy, or experiencing some sort of medical event.

A gesture like that, done in passing, shouldn’t have meant so much to you. Really, all he did was look at you. It felt like more than that, though, because it was the second-kindest thing anyone had done for you in months — and it occurred merely twenty minutes after the first-place winner.

Now, that’s depressing.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” He hummed, “I only ever run into Yang Daehyun-nim, though it’s been a minute. Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s still around. You know him?”

“Yes, absolutely. He’s my husband.” You deadpanned and Yoongi nearly choked to death on his drink.

You were, of course, fucking with him. The man in question was swiftly approaching ninety, but he looked twice as old. You successfully maintained your ruse until Yoongi’s tongue breached the barrier of his lips and gathered his runaway whiskey.

Where am I? Who am I? Is that legal?

Yoongi simultaneously picked up the joke and his glass. He raised both with pure amusement on his face, “Cheers to the happy couple, then.”

Never one to raise a toast empty-handed, you quickly dumped what little remained of a nearby soju bottle into a shot glass. His eyes sparkled as he watched you race to catch up; even more so when you leaned in to clink your glass against his.

Oh, so he’s pretty pretty.

“To the happy couple,” you echoed.

With both of your drinks dispatched, you grabbed the bottle of Ardbeg to top him up. Expensive taste, you noted, not the low-rent version you were destined for.

If Yoongi hadn’t shown up to order it, that bottle would’ve continued to gather dust on the top shelf. Like you, none of your regulars had the capital to even glance that high. Granted, the sample size was abysmally small at only three (3) people, but the point still stood.

Until Yoongi mentioned Daehyun, you couldn’t think of a single reason why your employer bothered to keep anything like that in stock. Now, that piece seemed to fit. Still, you were puzzled as to why Yoongi would come to a dive like this to drink liquor like that.

Clearly, the man sitting in front of you contained multitudes.

At the exact moment you asked how long he’d been coming here, Yoongi wondered when you joined the staff. Your respective answers came simultaneously, too. His six years easily dwarfed your eight months.

True to form, you joked that he was more qualified to tend bar here than you were. He said his only relevant skill was cleaning broken glass.

It made you sad in some stupid way to realize that you could’ve met a hundred times over by now. Had more conversations like this, haunted the joint jointly rather than on your own. Truthfully, though, you were at least semi-soothed by the timing.

You were a horrible bartender now, but you’d been even worse before. He might not have survived this long.

Once again, Yoongi set your runaway train-of-thought back on track. “Eight months ago.” He took a sip, then he asked, “Is that when you moved to Korea?”

It was a simple question, certainly not an offensive one. The reason it nearly bowled you over was that no one had ever bothered to ask. Nobody seemed to notice the non-native accent that occasionally appeared when you spoke — not unless you referenced its existence first, that is.

Even then, people forgot. You wished you were confident that they simply got used to it, but you had the sneaking suspicion that nobody really listened when you spoke. After all, no one had a reason to give a shit about you, so long as you kept their glasses full.

The weight of your curiosity caused your head to tilt to the side. You allowed a tiny smile to spread as you asked, “What gave me away?”

“Don’t get me wrong —” He held up his hands to prevent a reaction you’d never dream of giving. “It’s not obvious. You’ve got a better grasp than some of my friends do — which is kind of sad, actually. They’ve lived here their whole lives.”

He gifted you a reassuring smile, then came the true prize: he licked his lips absently before speaking again. You had to clench every single muscle in your body to keep from swooning.

That cannot be legal.

“I noticed it earlier, but you were already embarrassed. I didn’t want to risk making it worse.” Yoongi still looked like he was afraid to hurt your feelings. “When you word-vomit — like you did earlier — your consonants sound like they would in English.”

This linguistic assessment didn’t surprise you; it was dead-on. It didn’t embarrass you, either, but you blushed nonetheless. Without thinking, you mused, “Makes sense that you’re the first to say something. You spend more time overseas than most, right?”

For a split second, you swore you saw Yoongi frown. A little twinge, one you would’ve missed if you weren’t so fixated on his every micro-expression. If you could have, you would’ve hit the rewind button and reverted back thirty seconds.

Was it off-limits, finally acknowledging that you knew who you were dealing with? Did it bother him that you did know, and proceeded to speak to him like the glaring disparity between the two of you didn’t matter? Did it matter?

“You mean to tell me —” He started quietly with a flex of his eyebrow. You feared the worst, even though Yoongi didn’t strike you as the type to make your failure to fawn a problem. “— That the place you lived before wasn’t under a rock?”

As soon as he saw your expression morph from panic to blatant relief, his eyes crinkled until every one of his facial features contributed to his smile. It was difficult to process how an expression that gentle hit you like a punch, but it did, and you felt a bit dizzy.

Professionalism be damned, you cracked open another bottle of soju and filled not one, but two glasses. Yoongi smirked — likely unsurprised by your willingness to drink with him on the clock — and easily accepted the shot you slid his way.

“To the worst bartender in Seoul,” You cheered as you raised it.

He rolled his eyes at your self-depreciation, but followed your lead without any meaningful resistance. Like it was choreographed, you both downed your shots in unison. Straight, no chaser. Just the slight burn in the back of your throat and the very first thing your scrambled brain could think to say:

“Do you want to hear a joke?”

Yoongi was clearly stunned by your sudden maneuver, but you didn’t wait for him to co-sign your antics. You cleared your throat like you were about to say something worth hearing, then you warbled, “Knock, knock!”

You expected him to pause again; or worse, to leave you hanging entirely. It was, frankly, stupid how much of an effect the latter always had on you. You were a demented scientist and your bad joke was a litmus test, ready to reveal on the front-end what kind of person Yoongi really was.

Translation: Tell me now if I’m too much. I’m always too much.

“Who’s there?”

He didn’t hesitate. There was no blink of an eye, no breath taken in between your call and his response. This time, it was you who needed a split-second to buffer.

When your brain finally reloaded, you peeped, “Cargo.”

“Cargo who?” Yoongi asked slowly, growing visibly suspicious about where this stupid, stupid road was leading. Somehow, he looked as amused by you as he did continually bewildered.

Springing the trap, you accentuated your shitty punchline with a sing-song tone and pantomime for emphasis, “Car go beep beep!”

Nobody had ever — ever — looked at you the way Yoongi did when you concluded your comedy routine. As if your teary-eyed grin and raucous laughter were something beautiful; and your presence alone wasn’t killing off one, sorry brain cell for every minute that passed.

“Knock, knock,” Yoongi volleyed with a soft chuckle, and without breaking eye contact.

As if you weren’t too much.

Yoongi needed a minute to take inventory.

When he left his apartment at a quarter-til-eight, he was headed out for his first date in a long damn time. It was Seokjin’s setup and that girl’s letdown. For Yoongi, it was another drop in the bucket; one final reason to commit to life as a hermit.

Troll that he was, Yoongi was ready to crawl back under his bridge; emerging only to pose impossible riddles to passersby who didn’t know to stay away.

His brain had given him an out, but for once, he didn’t take it. So, what did he end up with instead?

You, sitting on the bar, going shot-for-shot with him; and telling your self-titled villain origin story with award-worthy narration.

Equally as enthralling as the story itself was the tangential webs you weaved along the way. As he’d already learned to expect, you apologized frequently for the way one thought trailed off in a direction you didn’t intend. He wished you didn’t; he had no trouble following wherever your mind led you.

You, born here but not raised here, returning to claim a master’s degree in photography and to reclaim what you felt you missed out on. Yoongi loved your foreign take on local foods, even if you hadn’t yet acquired a taste for pickled vegetables.

We’ll get you there, he’d promised.

You, gesturing with hand movements so impassioned they nearly knocked you off balance; right off the bar. He was down to listen to you talk about whatever — for any amount of time — because he could feel how much you cared about — well, everything.

Animated, fully alive, and so fucking refreshing.

Him, with one hand on his drink and the other hovering on the bar top near your hip — just in case your full-body laugh did, in fact, provoke a fall.

Yoongi, who do you think you’re fooling?

So, maybe it was never exclusively about concern for your safety — even though you’d demonstrated from the jump that it was warranted. Yoongi was quickly coming to realize that, when it came down to it, he simply liked having you close. He liked you, full stop.

Every now and then, you’d wiggle where you sat, and the denim of your jeans would brush against his knuckles. It was as innocent as contact could be, but for someone so secretly touch-starved, it was bliss. Is this the kind of feeling he gave up, locked away in his tower? It sure as shit made leaving feel worth it.

He was buzzed, sure, but not drunk enough to blame the warmth he was feeling on the liquor. Any flush on his cheeks would only be partly genetic. The rest of it was all you — and the way you talked with your whole body, and that giggle.

Seriously, what the fuck is that giggle? A wind-chime made out of stars?

“Yoongi?”

It didn’t dawn on him that he was staring until you called his name. Then, it dawned on him that he didn’t care if he’d been caught — not even a little bit. Red-handed, all Yoongi could do was smile up at you as you blinked down at him.

He’d thought it before and now he was thinking it again: You are goddamn delight.

You threw your head back and laughed. Maybe it was the soju, or how fucking obvious he made it that he was infatuated with you. Whatever the cause, the effect was music to his ears. He’d record it, if he could, and play it on loop to appease the butterflies going wild in his stomach.

Unfortunately, he was accurate in his prediction. The sudden movement of your laughter sent you reeling, but before you could fall, Yoongi was quick to intervene. He stood abruptly from his stool to secure you; one hand on your hip and the other — unintentionally — on your thigh.

“Shit — Sorry,” Yoongi muttered, though he was very much still holding you. Oh, fuck, his brain screamed as he glanced down at his hand on your thigh. Heart pounding, his gaze flitted from his touch to your face.

Your mouth was still slightly open, but that could’ve easily been attributed to the fact that you’d so narrowly avoided launching yourself headfirst at the ground. If it wasn’t that, then you were looking for the words to yell to get him to back off.

Those were the only possible explanations; and any minute now, his hand would accept his brain’s signal to pull away.

Any minute now. Any —

Yoongi watched it all happen in slow motion and he still couldn’t believe it when you leaned in. Or when your hair slipped over your shoulder and brushed against his. Or when you kissed him quick and pulled back just to smile from mere centimeters away.

“Impressive reflexes.” You were breathless but you still managed to sigh. Have you had freckles this whole time? “What’s that saying? Not all heroes wear Lewis Leathers?”

Your playful tug at his jacket had no force behind it, but even with his feet firmly planted, Yoongi knew that he was falling. His stomach fluttered from the pinnacle of that emotional rollercoaster and, for once, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He’d kiss you again and follow that thrill all the way down.

Or, he would have, if the bell above the door didn’t chime.

Just as quickly as you’d kissed him, you spun around and prepared to dismount from your perch on the bar. Yoongi’s hand still seemed to vibrate, even when you slipped out from underneath. It was absolutely ridiculous that his body missed you already — automatically — but he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

He wasn’t a violent person by any means, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to throw the incoming patron out on their ass and lock the door behind them.

The audacity. Who does this clown think they are, coming into a place of business during their business hours? For fuck’s —

“Finally!” You squeaked as you stuck your landing. Then, you skipped around the edge of the bar and continued on your way towards the door.

Jesus Christ. Even the way you walk is cute.

Yoongi was initially too preoccupied with watching you to notice the intruder, but when he did, he couldn’t force the exasperated look off his face. That is, until he saw the panicked look on the prepubescent face of the delivery boy.

The poor kid’s eyes bugged out at Yoongi from under the brim of his uniform cap. Immediately, Yoongi felt inclined to atone, to bow. Instead, he offered a mildly apologetic grimace for the heart attack he didn’t mean to cause.

You accepted the bags of food into your arms, beaming like the fucking sun as you glanced over your shoulder to Yoongi. “You said you liked Hongdae Dakgalbi, right?”

Yes. Yes, he did. But his brain was spinning its wheels in the mud because —

What he finally said wasn’t a question, but it certainly sounded like one: “You ordered food.”

Clearly, Yoongi was missing something. He glanced around and confirmed that there was, in fact, an operational kitchen still situated at the far end of the room. He pointed to the small window carved out for taking and producing orders. “What about —?”

“Binna called off,” you shrugged through your explanation. Then, you tilted your head with a coy smile, “Were we supposed to starve?”

Yoongi had questions. A lot of them.

First and foremost: When did you summon takeout and how did you manage to go unnoticed in the process? He was certainly staring at you for long enough to catch it. Or maybe his heart-eyes were getting foggy with age.

Also, we? As in, you ordered food with the intention of sharing it with him? And you paid for it?

When his broken brain snapped back to attention, it registered the fact that you’d settled on top of the stool next to his. You either didn’t notice the smoke flying out of Yoongi’s ears, or you accepted his brain damage for what it was. Either way, you were too excited about the piping hot tteokbokki in front of you to notice the way he still lingered by the door.

The delivery boy was long gone by now; he took the first opportunity to get as much distance between himself and the visibly annoyed person he’d interrupted. Looking at it now, Yoongi’s fingers twitched with a desire to engage the deadbolt. But he didn’t — he, a coward, wouldn’t — so he simply reclaimed the spot next to you.

You immediately held up a pair of chopsticks as you fished out napkins with your other hand. Yoongi stared at them for too long, prompting you to look quizzically up at him. You asked no questions, and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he said it, but he blurted out:

“I’m supposed to be on a date.”

Unfazed by the lack of context, you gently tucked that pair of chopsticks into his useless hand. Yoongi blinked down at them like he didn’t know what to do with them. You went back to unpacking your takeout.

“And I’m supposed to be working,” You chirped, as if what he just said — unprompted — wasn’t completely idiotic. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Yoongi shook his head, praying it would knock his trapped thoughts loose. “I meant that I was supposed to be the one buying dinner.” He frowned down at the spread you’d provided. “If I knew you were hungry, I would’ve —“

“Taken a bite by now?” You teased with wiggling eyebrows. “Come on, Min Yoongi, you know the rules. The eldest eats first.”

Stunned wasn’t adequate. Entranced? His mouth hung open, primed to speak, without a single, coherent response on the horizon. Mystified, at the very least. You were always one step ahead of Yoongi, dancing off in a brand new direction.

How on Earth did you do it so easily? How were you so effortlessly bold when he couldn’t even blink without deliberating over the idea for days?

Yoongi wasn’t even jealous the way he would’ve expected to be, meeting his non-neurotic foil. He didn’t want to steal that spark for himself, or try to mimic your fearlessness. If he could just continue to witness it, that would be enough.

You threw him off again when you plucked a small piece of tteokbokki from one of the cardboard containers below and gently maneuvered it into his unwitting, waiting mouth.

Game over. Min Yoongi is done for.

“There we go,” You cooed with a smirk. Then, those chopsticks grabbed a piece of tteokbokki of your very own. You smiled adoringly down at it, winked up at him, and said, “Now we’re off to the races.”

After several minutes of deeply contented, quiet chewing, you turned slightly to gaze at him. You didn’t say anything at first; you simply watched and let your lips curve slightly into an understated smile. Yoongi didn’t care if that was all you did because — for once — he felt seen.

Eventually, you did speak. Your voice was soft, barely casting a ripple through the silence. “Can I ask?”

Your eyes scanned over his face for permission. Yoongi had no idea what your question was, but he doubted that he was capable of saying no to you. Fire at will.

“About the date you’re not on,” You clarified.

The one I was supposed to be on, or the one I might be on instead?

“Why aren’t you on it?”

He didn’t know how to explain any of it without sounding pathetic. He knew he’d rather die than have to relay his earlier misfortune to Seokjin; somehow, though, Yoongi didn’t hesitate to respond to you. Like everything else about the past few hours, it felt laughably easy.

“She’s a friend of a friend,” He began as soon as he wiped excess gochujang from the corner of his mouth.

“He basically harassed me into asking her out because I, uh — I don’t get out much. And I know a lot of people say that, but I really do mean it. You can probably guess as much from my frighteningly translucent complexion.”

Your mouth hitched up at the corner when he joked, but you didn’t laugh. In some odd way, he was grateful that you didn’t — not just because you didn’t enable his self-depreciation, but because you seemed too invested in what he was saying to interrupt him.

Nobody had ever looked at him quite like that before.

He cleared his throat, then he pressed on, “So, I did — and that part was fine. After that, though, I don’t think I slept at all. For, like, days. Now, I think I was just dreading the whole thing, but while it was happening, I figured I was nervous. Rusty, you know?”

Yoongi looked down at his hands, which fidgeted autonomously with his chopsticks. “I put way too much thought into the whole thing — I always do — even though I had this feeling that nothing was going to happen the way I planned.”

He paused, poked mindlessly at a lump of rice, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t intentionally held. Nothing had happened the way he planned, but if it did, who would’ve hand-fed him tteokbokki because they were too impatient to wait?

You dropped your chin in your hand as you continued to watch him. Wordlessly, you reached out with your other hand. Yoongi noticed just in time as you gently removed a piece of lint that had stuck to the tip of his jacket collar. Your eyes followed it as it floated off towards the floor.

Yoongi couldn’t see anything but you.

“You picked this place,” you murmured. Slowly, your eyes drifted back up to his face; he froze solid. The only thing moving was the pounding heart in his chest. “Must mean a lot to you.”

He wanted to be brave and tell you that it meant even more now. He wasn’t brave, though, so he swallowed that thought down with a mouthful of soju.

“She was not a fan, as it turns out. Hated it so much, just from the sidewalk, that she jumped right back in her taxi — yelled at me through the window that she deserved better than to drink bottom-shelf liquor in a dumpster with me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and he wondered which part of that statement bothered you the most. Having your place of employment referred to as a dumpster would be a reasonable sore spot; one he probably should’ve avoided. Fuck. Could he rewind thirty seconds and omit that part?

“Well,” you frowned, “Joke’s on her. This dumpster has exactly one bottle on its top shelf, and it was apparently reserved just for you.”

He could kiss you. He really, really could.

You shifted on your stool, though, and stared out into the middle-distance at nothing in particular. Deep in thought, too, judging by the way your frown curved even further.

“It’s kind of funny, in a shitty sort of way. She more or less told you that you’re not enough, and people love to tell me that I’m too much.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to frown. Who in their right mind could look at you, experience the goddamn magnet that you are, and willingly detach themselves from you? The thought alone made his jaw clench.

There hadn’t been a single second since he met you — albeit, not that long ago — where he didn’t want to see and know more of you. Where he didn’t beg those seconds to slow the fuck down because the night kept moving faster than he wanted it to.

So far, no amount of time felt like enough.

“You’d think it would be nice, being everyone’s favorite new toy,” You laughed, to Yoongi’s surprise.

Looking genuinely amused, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “And I guess, for a minute, it really is. You do your silly song and dance; and everyone loves you — until they don’t anymore. Eventually, your tricks get boring; you burn them out; then they take out your batteries. You get shelved pretty quickly.”

There was a flicker of genuine hurt in your eyes, but you were smiling when you picked your glass up off the bar and raised it. “To always being the wrong amount!” You giggled.

“Nah.” Yoongi shook his head. He grabbed his drink, touched his glass to yours, and winked, “To being just right.”

One way or another, you spent most nights watching the clock, holding your breath, and waiting for midnight.

On New Year’s Eve, it was hope that bloomed bright in your chest like fireworks. When those final seconds dissolved, it meant closing one chapter and opening another. Something bigger, something better, something blank for you to fill in. A year in fresh white paper, with every color at your disposal.

Ten — nine —

For the rest of your midnights, it was relief that finally allowed you to unclench your jaw and drop your stiff shoulders. Closing time. Freedom to clean up, clear out, and drag your tired, little body back up to your apartment.

Thankfully, when your work hours were over, there were only three flights of stairs separating you from your bed, your cat, and your Netflix subscription.

Eight — seven —

Tonight was an outlier, a statistical anomaly. As the short hand inched closer and closer to twelve, your pulse picked up its pace. For once, it wasn’t relief and it certainly wasn’t hope. It was distinctively dread forming a pit in your stomach.

Even more than that, it was a telepathic plea shooting out from your brain that begged, and begged, and begged for more time. Five more minutes, just five more minutes.

Six — five —

You felt stupid, of course, because you knew that neither of you would turn into a pumpkin when the clock struck midnight. There was no spell, just two strangers who happened to be in the same bar at the same time, with bad jokes and a bottle of Tanqueray.

No bomb would detonate, no one would drop dead. When it was over, you’d simply go home, and Yoongi would go home and then…

Four —

That “and then what?” had you frantic. What if this moment ended and nothing followed? What if the magic didn’t survive the night?

You couldn’t take that disappointment; you knew that much. Gripping tight to your last first night, you tore your eyes away from the clock and looked at Yoongi.

He didn’t notice you staring because he had also become fixated on the clock ahead. His brow furrowed just slightly as he observed it, and you wondered what it meant.

Three —

You knew what you hoped it meant.

For all you knew, though, he might’ve been begging that hand to move faster. The end all, be all of justifications to say goodnight and go. To drop the moment in the bin with the spent, citrus garnishes on the way out; and then crawl back into that bed he spoke so fondly of.

The way you did whenever four zeroes lined up in a row like cartoon cherries on a slot machine. A personal jackpot any other midnight, but the farthest thing from a prize now.

Two —

No. You refused to believe that.

In the reality you’d chosen, he was strapped into that rollercoaster car beside you. He felt his stomach flip the way yours did as you stared down at the path ahead. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you were sure that you weren’t up there alone.

So, when the countdown was over, you took a deep breath and stated, “I’m calling a time-out.”

In actuality, it was more than a statement. It was a shout and it startled him so badly that he flinched.

As soon as he resettled on his stool, Yoongi’s neck could’ve snapped with how quickly he turned to look at you. His eyes were wider than you’d seen them at any point in the last four hours. Those once-knitted brows shot up to kiss the blonde strands brushing against his forehead.

You envied them, as stupid as that was.

“You’re — what?” He peeped.

Even louder than before, you blurted out your explanation. “I’m stopping the clock!”

You might’ve been the sole American in the entire neighborhood, but you could guarantee that you still knew less about football than Yoongi did. Knowing all of that didn’t stop you from making your worst attempt at a metaphor, or throwing your hand out to mime your way through it.

“Flag on the play — or whatever, I don’t know.”

At first, his expression didn’t change and you began to panic. Maybe you could duck down behind the bar and he’d eventually forget that you were hiding there. Then he wouldn’t see how pink your cheeks were; how the hope in your eyes bordered on desperate.

Shockingly, you weren’t delusional. You’d simply underestimated him.

Yoongi glanced down at his watch — already two minutes into Sunday — and then back to you. “Wow. Would you look at that? Only a minute til midnight.”

You could kiss him; you really, really could.

“Do you want to, uh, hang out? With me? Like, not here?”

Yoongi was smirking slightly at your stammering, just enough for you to notice, but you didn’t faint the way your body wanted you to. Instead, you doubled down.

“I live in the apartment upstairs, and this isn’t a proposition — it’s also not, not a proposition — but I need to lock-up here, and I still want you with me when I’m done.”

He blinked rapidly like you’d once again shook him off your tail. You watched in slow motion as his smirk dropped, and his brows dipped back into thoughtful wrinkles at the lowest part of his forehead. It hurt, physically somehow, that there was something to consider.

Were you really this egregiously wrong in your conclusions, or had he finally hit his quota with you and decided that you — this — were too much, too soon?

You wanted to explain yourself, to say that you were just offering for him to come up and sit on your couch with you. Because you wanted to keep this night alive and keep talking for as long as you could. Because this was something and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to do so, but he was the quicker draw.

Yoongi looked genuinely conflicted and you believed him when he said, “I don’t think I can. I have to be up in four hours to —”

“It’s okay!” You chirped. Stupid little bird, flying headlong into a window. You smiled and prayed it looked genuine, but Yoongi didn’t look convinced. Still, you breezed, “Raincheck, then — maybe.”

Maybe when you take the trash out later, you can heave yourself into the dumpster with it.

Deciding that your disappointment shouldn’t be his burden, you grabbed the takeout containers from the counter and whisked yourself over to the trash bin to discard them.

In a magnificent showing of restraint, you didn’t stuff yourself inside it, too. Instead, your tidy tornado kept spinning, picking up every glass you encountered and shoving them hurriedly into the dishwasher below the bar.

Are you suddenly Employee of the Month? Why is this the moment you choose to actually do your job?

With your hip, you nudged the dishwasher door closed much more clumsily than usual. Then, you began wiping down the counter at warp speed; damn near scrubbing a hole straight though the wood.

Why are you so frazzled? Are you really this sensitive after being politely turned down by someone you just met? This is what they mean when they say you’re “too much,” and you know what? They’re right.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yoongi asked because he was lovely.

You were, as it turned out, as bad an actor as you were a bartender. Your reassuring smile was more unsettling than anything else, but you hoped that — maybe — the shake of your head was enough to dispel the concern from his face.

In case it wasn’t, you quipped, “You’ve already done more than your fair share of cleaning tonight, I think. Thanks again for that, by the way. I ran out bandages, so…”

Your sentence petered out when you finally looked up and locked eyes with Yoongi. His expression was indecipherable and, only for a moment, it made your hurried hands stop moving.

“So, I’m glad you came in,” You finished through an exhale, quiet to the point that it was hardly audible. You hoped he heard you, though, as loudly and clearly as you meant it.

Straightening up, you dropped your bar rag into the “dirty shit” bucket underneath the counter. You quickly wiped your hands against your jeans, laughed with no real joy behind it, and hid your wobbling voice behind a poorly imitated French accent, “Et voilà.”

Yoongi was still staring, still unreadable. For a few moments, you simply looked at one another. Neither one of you made a sound — at least, nobody spoke. There were gears grinding in his head, judging by the look on his face, and you swore you could hear them from across the bar.

“I guess I should — um,” Yoongi eventually muttered as he gestured to the door. He briefly glanced at it, but you doubted that he registered what he was looking at.

Oddly, it wasn’t awkwardness that seemed to have him short-circuiting — not as far as you could tell. It was like his brain was moving faster than it could form words, leaving his mouth open with nothing to say.

You nodded. You knew where he was going with this, and you didn’t want to prolong whatever he was so visibly toiling with.

“Yeah, of course,” You squeaked. Somewhere, the world’s tiniest violin began to play as the corner of your mouth hitched up. “I’ll see you around, I hope?”

Then, Yoongi’s gaze dropped to the phone in his hand. If he heard your question, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, deep in thought, he mumbled, “I need to — fuck, okay —” Urgently, he looked back up at you and said firmly, “I’ll call.”

He dashed out the door before you realized the problem with his plan: he had no way to call you.

You’d been so caught up in each other that you never thought to exchange phone numbers. Not only was he now gone, but he hadn’t actually said goodbye.

Seems kind of fitting that yours is the only fairytale without a happy ending, huh?

You occupied the borderline between being a hopeless romantic and a masochist, so you immediately decided that, if you ran, you might catch him before he was truly gone.

Kiss him or kick him, it didn’t matter — you just couldn’t let it end like this.

You skirted around the bar and darted to the door, throwing it open and shocking the bell above it. You were already out on the sidewalk before it had the chance to chime. It was the only sound, and it echoed through otherwise dead air.

Similarly, you were the only person on the street. Judging by the dark windows lining the road, you were the only proof of life in that little corner of Seoul. The lack of visible stars was likely due to light pollution, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they dipped out on you, too.

No matter how many times you looked up and down the street, Yoongi didn’t appear. So, you closed your eyes like an idiot, and wished on a star you couldn’t see that he’d be there when you re-opened them. Standing on the other side of the street, laughing, and asking how you’d missed him on your thirty previous scans.

But he wasn’t.

Yoongi had disappeared like smoke right through your fingers; exiting your night as abruptly as he’d entered it.

You weren’t inclined to stand on the sidewalk all night, stunned by your complete failure to see the plot for what it was. You slipped from the sidewalk, through the front door, and locked it behind you. And once you did, you stood there with your hand on the deadbolt for several moments — just in case.

When no one came to knock, you turned all the lights out and flipped the sign in the front window from open to closed. From there, you made your way to the back of the storage room. Finally reaching the stairwell door in the far corner, you unlocked it slowly like the wait would make a difference.

As you climbed the three flights to your apartment’s entrance, the night’s events formed a whirlpool in your mind. The playback settled it: there was simply no way that you were this wrong — not about this.

Clearly, you weren’t clairvoyant to the extent that Yoongi seemed to be. You hadn’t seen it coming when you nearly fell backwards off the bar, but he did. He’d kept his hand close all night like he sensed you’d need it. Just like he sensed every rock, paper, and scissor.

Even still, it felt like a premonition every time you turned to look at him at the same time he did; and you couldn’t put a finger on it.

That something was more than simply chatting with a person stuck in your close proximity — more than commiserating and drinking simultaneously. That was the nature of your job: circumstantial friendship. Not uncommon, not designed to last beyond last call.

This, though? Cosmic interfere or craziness, maybe, but not nothing. You weren’t superstitious and you didn’t necessarily believe in fate, but the odds of all of this had to be shockingly low.

It felt cinematic, in a way, or straight out of a dream. You would have believed it either way if the pinch of your fingers on your forearm didn’t debunk both theories. It was all too perfectly timed to be a coincidence, though, you knew that much.

Out of all the nights you’d worked at this bar — and all the years he’d been a customer — this was the one time your paths had crossed. And when they finally did, he found you right when you needed him. The same, you hoped, could be said for him.

Too Much meeting Not Enough, proving perfect balance. It was just right, but the ending didn’t fit.

Sure, he knew where to find you — but that was assuming he wanted to. With his quick and wordless departure, your confidence in that assumption wavered as you unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside.

The ball’s over, Cinderella. Sorry about your shoe.

When his third call went to voicemail, Yoongi was ready to launch his phone down the alley.  

There was no fucking way that Seokjin — of all people — was asleep already. This could not be the night that he turned off whatever game he was playing and went to bed at a reasonable hour. Seokjin was rarely reasonable. As it turned out, he wasn’t reachable, either. 

Yoongi growled, kicking the nearby dumpster. He thought that some explosion of physical activity might take the focus off his anxiety, but it didn’t — it just made his foot hurt. 

“Fuck!”

He didn’t even want to make the plans he was now trying desperately to reschedule. He didn’t like fishing; he liked his friend, and his friend liked fishing. So, Yoongi agreed to share the cost of renting a boat that he would have to leave at five o’clock in the morning to catch.

If it's 00:17 now, I have three hours and forty-three minutes until —

The unexpected chiming of his phone stopped Yoongi’s pacing before he could wear a trench into the concrete. “Finally!” 

“Do you always yell at people instead of greeting them?” Seokjin scoffed. As expected, Yoongi could hear some sort of video game blaring in the background.

Typical.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry, but I'm not going to make it back in time. Can we re-schedule this fishing thing?”

Yoongi felt awful for having to ask in the first place, but he felt even worse as he anticipated Seokjin’s reaction. Yoongi swallowed disappointment and stewed in it. Seokjin was quite the opposite, and Yoongi didn’t want to ruin his night. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, he did not get yelled at the way he expected to. Instead, he got Seokjin’s juvenile, sing-song voice directed right into his ear, “Ooh, staying with Hyunjoo, are we?” 

Yoongi, having completely lost the plot, paused for a moment before asking, “Who?” 

“What?” 

Oh, fuck, was that her name? It’d slid out of his brain the second that abuse slid out of her mouth.

Quick to avoid that conversation, Yoongi sputtered, “I’ll give you the story tomorrow, hyung, but I really need to go. Can we push the fishing thing to another day?"

“Oh, I forgot to book the boat, so don’t worry about it!” Seokjin cheered and Yoongi was this close to following through with chucking his phone like a grenade. “Have fun with —” 

Not inclined to wait another second, Yoongi hung up and turned to sprint up the alley towards the bar’s entrance. When he reached it and found the lights out, he skidded to a stop so forcefully that he almost fell over. What the fuck? He tugged at the door handle just to make sure he wasn’t missing something. 

Didn’t he tell you he was going to make a phone call? 

Fuck! He'd said I'll call. He didn't say that he was going to call Seokjin, and he sure as shit hadn't clarified that he was going to do so right that second. There'd been no explanation, no “please wait because I promise I’m coming right back for you" — just a mad dash out the door to get rid of the only thing standing between him and more time with you. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Yoongi never indulged in unadulterated rage because he decided a long time ago that it took more effort than it was worth. In that moment, though, he felt the overwhelming urge to punch himself right in the face. How did he fuck it all up this badly?

Instead, Yoongi scrubbed his hands over his face and begged his brain to figure out a better plan. He couldn’t just call you because he was too busy making googly eyes at you to ask for your number. He couldn’t pick the lock because it was illegal — and because he didn’t know how.

Unable to do anything else, Yoongi threw his head back with every intention of screaming at the sky. But before he could let his frustration rip out of his mouth, he saw it: his saving grace. 

Mere moments after he sprinted up the alley, Yoongi was tearing back down it like his life depended on it. The end of the iron emergency ladder sat too high off the ground for him to comfortably reach it, but — thankfully — he had garbage at his disposal. Without a second thought, he stacked whatever semi-sturdy trash he could find to bridge the gap between him and your fire escape. 

With all the strength and recklessness of a lovestruck teenager, Yoongi threw his twenty-four-year-old body upwards and grabbed hold of the nearest rung.

Maybe you overestimated that strength a little bit, eh, Yoongi?

He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up enough to swing a leg up, too. Groaning triumphantly, he hooked the bottom of his shoe on the lowest rung. 

From there, it was easy enough to reach the first landing. When it came time for Yoongi to tackle the other two, he picked up the pace — and he didn’t give a shit about how sore he’d be tomorrow. 

Finally, finally, finally, he reached his destination. Unfortunately, that fleeting moment of relief was replaced by fear as he stooped down to knock on your window. Staring back at him through the darkness was a pair of big, yellow eyes.

Yoongi shouted as he stumbled away from the window. He knocked over a planter on his way down, landing on his ass with a crash and a grunt. Adding insult to injury, that black cat looked positively smug as it stared down at him.  

It was quiet when you called out — in English — from another room. “Toph, did you break something? I thought we talked about this, bub." As your voice grew closer, you switched to Korean, "You can't ruin my stuff until you start contributing to this household.”

What's the incubation period for lovesickness?

Yoongi heard footsteps headed towards whatever room he’d failed to break and enter. He saw the light as it flicked on, and then he saw you — wearing a fluffy, tan headband with little, round ears at the top —with a bare face glistening as if you’d just finished tending to it.

Oh, fuck. Is lovesickness terminal? 

If your eyes opened any wider, they might’ve fallen right out of your skull. They would’ve landed where Yoongi did — in the mass grave of pepper sprouts he’d just outright annihilated. But they stayed beautiful where they belonged, and you simply gawked at each other. 

Yoongi spoke first despite not thinking first. “Toph? Like, Beifong?” 

Your shock gave way to the biggest, brightest smile and Yoongi was thankful it didn’t blind him. If it did, he would’ve missed the way your cheeks went pink to match the tips of your ears. Whatever the shade, it was his new favorite color.

Just bury me in this potting soil, doll. I'm dead. 

“Yoongi,” You started with a giggle that turned into a hum when you pursed your lips and tilted your head. Your eyes narrowed and then you asked, “Any reason why you chose the fire escape over the door?” 

The what? 

Sensing his confusion, you leaned out the window and pointed. Yoongi’s eyes followed the invisible line from your fingertip until they located an awning, which sat mere meters away from his impromptu stepstool made of trash.  

Inwardly, he winced. Outwardly, he turned to you with a lopsided smile. “I was checking out your little garden."

Yoongi cleared his throat, now wincing outwardly, “And, uh — then I killed it, a little bit. I promise I’ll replace everything as soon as the shops open. I am so —” 

“Cold? I bet,” You interrupted with a smirk, “Come inside then, Min Yoongi. Just don’t break the window too, alright?” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice.

Immediately, he was on his feet, furiously dusting potting soil off the back of his legs. When he suspected that he’d gotten it all, Yoongi turned around and glanced at you over his shoulder. Even without a question, you knew what he was asking; you signaled okay with your fingers and a giggle. 

With more care than he’d ever shown in his life, Yoongi crawled through the gap you created when you ducked back through the window. Once he had his feet underneath him again, he quickly toed off his shoes and plucked them off the tile.

As soon as he was upright again, you took his wrist in your hand — oh god, your skin is so criminally soft — and led him through your kitchen to the living room. 

Gently, you set his shoes down on the mat beside your front door. Then, you turned back around to gaze up at him. Looking at that face of yours, Yoongi forgot every word he’d ever learned. It was just his hammering heart beating in time with yours, until: 

“So, this is where I live.”

You were close enough that Yoongi could smell the toothpaste on your breath when you spoke, but still too far. You must’ve thought so, too, because you shifted your weight to your other foot and wound up slightly nearer to him. 

Yoongi hummed in reply, though he could barely hear it over his pulse pounding in his ears, “It’s nice.”

He didn’t actually know if that was the case because he’d spent every second so far staring at you, but he had faith that you’d prove him right.

More quiet, more anticipation disguised as quickening breaths.

Like a magnet, you drew him in. Yoongi echoed every tiny move you made towards him until the distance was gone; and he could feel the heat of your body mere centimeters from his.

This close, he could see flecks of gold in your irises that he hadn’t noticed before. Yoongi knew he shouldn't have been surprised. If he'd learned a single thing tonight it was that hidden treasures were par for the course with you.

“Yoongi.” 

It was baffling how you could sound so shy, even with desire blowing your pupils wide. Just as confounding was the fact that Yoongi knew, without question, that you felt it, too — that this new and perfect something was the start of everything.

“Please, just kiss me already.” 

That wasn’t an opportunity he’d ever expect to turn down. 

You were already breathless, weightless, and floating in fucking space when you finally crossed over the threshold into your bedroom.

Because, fuck, that man took your oxygen with him whenever his lips left yours. Without even trying, he’d fashioned himself into a ventilator that you really might suffocate without.  

Thankfully, whenever he pulled away, he didn’t stray far. Even as you both stumbled towards your unmade bed, tripping over obstacles — up to and including Toph, whose favorite spot was between your ankles — there was always one hand on your hip and another lacing fingers through your hair. 

As you moved, you couldn’t help thinking of the leftovers you’d brought home from work before. All single-use encounters, wastes of time that you normally didn’t care to recall. Though he may end up being the last, Yoongi wasn’t the first person to have you in this position.

He was, however, the only person to rescind his tongue just to comment on the tiny, design details of your shit-box apartment. 

“How did you —” He paused to moan into your mouth when your teeth gently claimed his bottom lip. “Find a place with — oh, fuck, you taste like spearmint – original crown-molding in this —” The back of his knees bumped into the edge of your mattress and suddenly, he was sitting. “Neighborhood?” 

There was no way you could ever explain Min Yoongi’s duality. He was unequivocally, fatally hot — and simultaneously, he was the most endearing, grandfatherly person you’d ever encountered. Somehow, this mind-boggling man turned architectural factoids into dirty talk.

You might orgasm on the spot if he brought up your built-ins, and you didn’t know or care what that said about you as a person. 

“I’ll show you the blueprints later if you want,” you giggled while Yoongi ‘s cheeks flushed. Before he could find a reason to feel embarrassed, you tilted his chin up in order to kiss him properly. As you did, you murmured against his lips, “But if you take those jeans off, there’s something else I’d like to show you first.” 

Your little finger was near to his throat as you held his chin captive, so you felt it when it when he growled. Against your knuckle, in your chest, and in that growing ache in between your thighs. There was roughness in him that you’d only seen snippets of, but you’d bet that you could pull it out if you tried.  

Maybe not now while you were both masking nerves, but eventually. 

When Yoongi made to stand, you backed up to give him room to do so. You were already on your knees when his belt came off, unbuttoning his jeans before the leather even hit the floor. As you pulled that zipper down — slowly and carefully — you glanced up at him from under your lashes and watched the breath catch in his chest. 

It wasn’t the first time you noticed how fucking beautiful he was; in fact, that thought had been looping through your mind all night. But there was something new in his expression as he observed you taking his cock into your hand.

Something reverent, like he believed he should be the one on their knees.

A few languid, kitten licks at the tip, and his eyelids fluttered. They screwed shut entirely as you ran the flat of your tongue along the vein underneath. When your mouth finally enveloped him fully, his head drooped backwards as he groaned. 

Your name would never sound better than it did exhaled from Yoongi’s chest. 

More often than not, fellatio felt like an obligation. A quid pro quo, you always figured, though none of them kept up their end of the deal. But with Yoongi buried in the wet heat of your mouth, it was a gift you might never get tired of giving. Every breathy moan and involuntary twitch felt like a prize — and still, neither came close to the way it felt when he looked at you. 

In those fleeting moments when he could focus, of course. 

“I’m fucking dreaming,” Yoongi groaned, bringing his hands up and scrubbing them over his face. “Shit. Perfect figment of my imagination, that’s the only explanation for you. Where the fuck have you been my whole life?” 

You hummed as you let him slip out of your mouth. In turn, it prompted a flurry of expletives to slip out of his. Tracing a feather-light line from hilt to head, you smirked up at him, “Waiting at a bar for you to show up, Min Yoongi. You sure did take your time.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” He laughed, “I already plan to regret that for the next — I don't know — forever?”

He dropped his hands from over his eyes and held them out to you. “Come here, angel. You’re too far away.” 

As soon as you were back on your feet, Yoongi enveloped you in the warmth of his arms. You were halfway to melting when he kissed you; dead and gone when he laid you back against the mattress; and downright astral projecting when the weight of his body was added to yours.  

Not to be dramatic, but is heaven a place on Earth? 

With your head resting comfortably on the pillow, you gazed up at Yoongi as he addressed the tied waistband of your sweatpants. It wasn’t until that knot came undone that you realized: if he’d come home with you earlier — before you’d swapped out your street clothes for shapeless knits — he would’ve had a prettier present to unwrap.  

Lace over your hip bones instead of cotton briefs. A black, balconette bra that made your tits into something worth looking at; not lackluster bareness that barely registered under your paint-stained t-shirt.  

Unintentionally mimicking him, you covered your face with your hands to conceal the way you were blushing. You didn’t even dare to peek through your fingers at him while he dragged your sweatpants down over your legs.

That is, not until you heard the world’s softest chuckle and it hit you like a bus. 

“Pretty girl,” Yoongi hummed. He left a chaste kiss on the top of your left thigh, and you whimpered. So sweet, so brief that your skin still tingled when he moved to mirror that kiss on your right thigh. “Where’d you go, baby?” 

Baby.  

That settled it. Min Yoongi was trying to kill you.

Nobody kissed you that carefully, not ever. No man, no woman, no one in between or beyond spoke to you that softly; turned you to putty in their hands with gentleness alone. Not like he did.

You were going to love him — you already knew it — and that stupid, four-letter word just sealed your fate. There wasn’t a single thing that you could do to prevent it, even if you wanted to. So, your options were limited to one:

Leaning into the fall. 

You reached out with the hand that once covered your face and grabbed him by the shirt to pull him closer. Once he was within range, with the tip of his nose bumping into yours, you stared him dead in the eye and told him just how badly you needed him inside of you. 

It took no time at all for the two of you to cast aside what remained of your clothing. Hand-me-downs mingled with designer items that exceeded the cost of your rent, and you didn’t give a fuck. You discarded your inhibitions in that heap, too, sitting up on your knees as he rolled a condom down his length. 

Yoongi’s return to you was marked by his hands cupping your face. He kissed you until you were no longer breathless, until you felt the rush of air filling your lungs. You followed his lead back down to the mattress where he rested on his side; and without any need for instruction, you draped your right leg over his hip. 

It was the closet you’d been to him, but it still wasn’t close enough 

“Is this okay?” Yoongi broke the kiss just to look at you.  

The fondness in his eyes was competing with concern, but that didn’t surprise you. Considerate to a fault, he’d no doubt been thrown for a loop when you went from zero to one hundred in merely half a second. “I can —” 

Oh, I bet you can.  

But you couldn’t wait. Impatient, through and through — and thoroughly dripping — you shook your head.

Your hand left its place on his bare bicep and dipped down to wrap around his cock. There were two individual heartbeats hammering in sync as you guided him to your cunt, though it sounded a lot like one. 

“Like you said earlier,” You sighed as he pushed into you. “Just right.” 

Six years later...

tagging: @mgthecat @jihopesjoint @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @yoongiphoria @sstarryoong @xcherrywaltz @btschimeyplanet @persphonesorchid @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @goodsoop @jkoofier (couldn't tag)

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likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

a/n: holy shit. just, holy shit. i've spent less time on literal thesis papers than i did on this. i'm so thankful for everyone who blew up darksided and blindsided — i really hope this provides context for how these two got together, and how tf they love each other that much. i will not apologize for the sexual cliffhanger because this smut wasn't going to be included, initially! this was going to end at the bar, lol.

also, this is an ode to those very special (very impermanent) nights with someone new that feel like perfect lifetimes in just the span of a few hours. in my experience, they never went anywhere (which i think made them more special, in hindsight) but i wanted to write a fic where things didn't stop there.

anyways, i'm very tired of writing words now, so please enjoy and let me know what you think 🫶🏻

Prompt 24

!!!SPOILERS FOR SECONDARY QUEST FROM BLOOD AND WINE (WITCHER 3 GAME DLC)!!!

There's a curse inspired by a quest (The Warble of a Smitten Knight) from Witcher 3 B&W so I put a spoiler just in case you don't want any of it spoiled <3 The curse is surprisingly a very small part of the actual quest, but like,,, I don't wanna take any chances! I'm using the curse as my base (ALL PICTURES ARE FROM THE WIKIPEDIA PAGE FOR THE GAME) I see two ways of this starting. EITHER Geralt arrives in a town only to overhear some hushed comments in a tavern about how awful the bard playing is, and how they miss the one that went missing ever since he went into the forest a few years back, followed by the other man at the table chiming in with the fact more men have disappeared in that exact same forest or Geralt is riding through a forest only to find a note that has hastily written "HELP - REDWOOD FOREST" on it, either stuck in a tree branch, on the ground, or attached to the foot of a bird. Geralt meanders around the woods, and no matter which way he learns of the danger, he comes across a huge tree, with a home carved into it. He enters the home and finds it has many floors. Geralt hears someone singing. He climbs the steps for quite frankly an annoying amount of time, before he comes across what appears to be some sort of... Witchy labratory. Note that I'm also heavily inspired by Auntie Ethel from Baldur's Gate 3 so I'm kinda thinking of some sort of hag-witch-thing like her as the villain, but you can change it into pretty much anything with magic and a bad attitude. Geralt sees beakers and flasks and bibs and bobs and an abnormal amount of bone jewelry and furniture, and in the corner of the room is a large birdcage, holding a chained man inside. The man, upon noticing Geralt is there, beams and begins explaining how he always knew help would come for him. The witch (or whatever else) kills anything she deems has "trespassed" too close to her home or too long in the forest in of itself. Jaskier is the only survivor, as she heard his singing and decided she wanted to keep him. To make it harder for him to escape, she has cursed him to have the likeness of the very songbird she likened his singing to. It's songbird of your choice, really. He could look like a lark, a nightingale, orioles like in the original quest, a literal songbird, it's all up to you.

I however like to imagine Jaskier has two large wings on his back, and maybe even bird feet. Now I don't fuck with her "can only live seven more years" or "give some of the curse to another person" outcomes, I like to think that that if Geralt cures Jaskier, he can keep his wings at the least, and there isn't any bad consequences. Perhaps maybe still thinking sticks would be great in his bed or something funny like that lmfao If Geralt can't cure Jaskier, he can just protect him from townsfolk, poachers, and creatures alike. Perhaps they get a glamour spell enchanted item from a sorcerer or something for him to appear human so he can play music for crowds. If he does get cured, perhaps this can be a way they hide his wings!

Prompt 40

In a modern world, Geralt has been chatting online with a man named "Dandelion" for about four weeks now. They finally worked up the mutual courage to go out for a date... I R L... (shocked gasps from the imaginary audience)

Only, Geralt has been sat alone at the restaurant they agreed upon for about an hour and a half now. All his messages to Dandelion have been ignored. He doesn't want to hope something bad happened to him, but he also doesn't want to hope the man is fine and just decided to blow off Geralt and their date. But then he finally gets a call from Dandelion. "Hi! Geralt! Geralt, Right? I hit the right number? Listen- Um- I locked my keys in the car. I know it sounds like an excuse but it isn't! And the car fixer men can't come until tomorrow, so I was just going to hire an uber, but I can't find my wallet, and I doubt I have the money for it, for see, my darling white wolf, I may have splurged all my money on quite a lovely bouquet to bring you- Um- It's on my kitchen table-" (the sounds of a man clambering and stumbling through his own apartment) "-And so i was going to do the very embarrassing act of asking you to pay for my uber, even though you were already generous enough to offer to pay for the entire meal, and so I decided I'd think on it and try and find my wallet again after my shower, but see then I fell in the shower, and I- Well, to be honest, I think I might have broken my arm, um- I think I need a raincheck? And can I borrow money for an uber to the hospital? I'll pay it back, I swear!" Long story short, Geralt's first date with this 'Dandelion' guy he's had a massive crush on for weeks, is driving him to the hospital and checking him in. The worst part of it all is that Jaskier (Dandelion's real name*) is so charming, that Geralt can't even be upset about the whole situation. *Geralt soon learns that "Julian" is Jaskier's 'real' real name, when he ends up helping Jaskier write out his medical forms, but this is all just semantics.

Prompt 127

In place of August Fifteenth, Promptapalooza 8/ Geralt is exhausted after a contract. Covered in blood, mud, and who-knows-what-else he collapse into the bed of his room at the inn. Or at least, what he thought was his room. Turns out it wasn't. As merely an hour later, a bard walks into his room after a set, and turns to face his bed only to shriek. Oh my gods, someone put a body in here! If someone finds this- He'll be framed for it! He'll be imprisoned! Hanged! Before he even takes off as a bard!!! Thus a bard desperately trying to drag the body out of the inn late, late at night. He gets him outside the building, and is currently pacing back and forth over how to truly dispose of it, when the body sits up. Jaskier screams bloody murder, and chucks a few rocks at the zombie, before the zombie explains he's not a zombie, he's just a man who mistook Jaskier's room for his own. "And what's with the blood!?" "It's not mine!" "That's worse!"

so that’s how till mid 20s, I am still single. My introvert, socially anxious ass never goes out, how will I ever find anyone. My hypothetical other half is not going to suddenly teleport in my room.

Might remain single forever with the way it is going. Not even one date till now, let alone a relationship.

And look at me rant, as if I am going to so easily say yes if that hypothetical person came.

If You Should Fall Into My Arms.

a vds one shot. you can find more on my ao3.

( @ apolloswords )

feel free to comment/message me any suggestions for one shot ideas!

It's the '80's and Jens finds himself tagging along with Sander and Robbe to a David Bowie concert. The feeling of being a third wheel weighs him down a little bit, until he feels somebody tap him shyly on the shoulder.

This was going to be the best night of his life.

Jens didn’t know how Sander was going to be able to move around and jump with his heavy Doc Martens on his feet, but after knowing Sander for a couple months now, he decided not to question it. Him, Sander and Robbe had managed to snag tickets for the David Bowie concert in Amsterdam, making it a weekend visit away from Antwerp. A part of him did wish Aaron and Moyo could’ve came, but Aaron couldn’t take time off work and Moyo had some sort of dance rehearsal. Even though Jens would end up being the third wheel, he hardly recalled that issue as the three of them trudged around the area.

Not only had they scored tickets to see Bowie, but they had even scored pit seats. Jens wouldn’t admit it, but he would be willing to third wheel multiple disgustingly in love couples if it meant getting these tickets. He also would never admit being a big fan of Bowie, though not bigger than Sander. Overall, the adrenaline was rushing through his veins and he couldn’t help but bounce with every single step.

“I can’t wait, I think my heart is going to jump out of my chest.” Sander exclaimed excitedly, as Robbe looked up him fondly. “I hope you guys at least know some lyrics, we’re so close there’s no way I’m having you guys look like posers.”

“Hey, you’ve made me practice the entire set list and the lyrics for two weeks now.” Robbe gently reminded. “I almost know the songs as well as you.”

“Almost. That’s the key word there.” Sander reminded, tapping Robbe’s nose gently. Robbe only wrinkled it but gave him a wide grin, the crinkles of his eyes so very bright. Sander grinned at him, before turning his head to look at Jens and raise his brow. “And you?”

Jens only smirked at him, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in attempt to look as smug as ever. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and clicked his tongue.

“No need to worry about me. You won’t embarrass yourself in front of them man himself.” He replied, his answer still vague enough to hide his inner excitement for the concert.

There was a glint in Sander’s eye, which seemed very knowing. Jens gave him a slight nod, as a way to confirm the unspoken assumption running through Sander’s head.

“No way, you’re a Bowie fan aren’t you?” Robbe groaned, as he studied the way his boyfriend and best friend were looking at each other. “I thought you were more into the Rolling Stones.”

The smirk on Jens’ face only grew wider, and he stood up straighter. If there was one thing Jens was always sure of, it was his great abundance of confidence. Robbe looked at him rather unamused, knowing he was only going to gain another smug response.

“I was, until I saw Mick Jagger and Bowie getting close. I just had to see who this guy was.” Jens replied.

“You do realized Bowie has been around just as long as the Rolling Stones right? Maybe a little later but still.” Sander snorted.

“Okay, I said I knew his lyrics not his life story.” Jens rolled his eyes playfully.

The three of them let out a few small laughs, and it wasn’t until Jens felt his body calm down a bit that he realized how packed the place was. Almost every seat was filled up, the entire arena packed to the brim. The space in the pit was starting to close in on him, and he was thankful for just wearing his thin black t-shirt to avoid literally passing out from the heat and general overwhelming feeling. Taking the front fabric of his shirt, he pinched it and flapped it against his chest, an attempt to cool him down.

By now, Robbe and Sander had wandered into their own conversation, as well as a few kisses on cheeks. Jens had no idea what they could be talking about, and not wanting to third wheel that conversation, he decided to scan out the area.

The place was starting to get a little packed, with blurs of brightly coloured tops filling his vision. Maybe he should've went for a more colourful outfit, after all, it was a Bowie concert. But to be fair, Robbe was really the only one with the most colour. Between him and Sander, with palettes of denim jeans, a white shirt and a black shirt, Robbe's bright green button down was probably the most eccentric thing between them.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked to the side a bit, but noticed Sander and Robbe were still heavily lost within each others' eyes. Which, meant, it was neither of them who tapped his shoulder. Still confused, he turned around into his other direction, tilting his head down to look at what was calling his attention. When his mind finally registered, he had to bite the inside of his chin from dropping his jaw.

In front of him was possibly the most eccentric thing. Or, person.

The boy who tapped on his shoulder had a rather shy look in his eyes, but it wasn't the shyness that lured him in.

This boy may have had the bluest eyes he's ever seen. And by the way his shirt was striped with multiple colours only brought out the blue even more. Jens let his tongue swipe the bottom of his lip again as he eyed the boy a little more. He was very easy on the eyes, and Jens couldn't help the smirk grow back onto his face.

"Can I help you?" He asked, rather confidently.

The other boy still looked a little shy, but the way he was biting his lip to conceal a small smile had Jens feeling like there was a little spark between them. The boy ran a hand through the loose curls falling near his face as his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink.

"Uhm," The boy began to say. His voice was a little muffled, due to the crowd around them, so Jens leaned down a little to hear him better. The boy gave a small smile at the gesture and began to scratch the back of his head awkwardly.

"Sorry, this might be a little awkward." He began to say, and Jens could sense the nervousness in his voice. Trying to assure him, he shook his head lightly and smiled softly.

"Don't be, it's okay. I'm Jens, by the way." He asked, his voice a little less cocky and more gentle.

The boy's small smile grew a little wider and he let out his hand for Jens to shake. "I'm Lucas."

"So Lucas, what was it you needed?"

"Uhm, listen, sorry, I'm not usually this nervous." He apologized. "I was just wondering if there was a chance that maybe I could squeeze in a little bit in front of you. You're a little tall and I can't exactly see over your head."

It wasn't until now that Jens realized that Lucas was shorter than him. Not by much, and he was still taller than Robbe, but he was still fairly small and Jens did have some height leverage over him. He probably should've figured this out when he had to lean down a little to hear him.

Of course, Jens was never one to let someone stand in front of him. He knew this could potentially end up pushing him towards the back of the pit, and from where they were standing, that would be a complete misfortune. If he did end up saying yes, this could imply to the rest of Lucas' friends that they could move in front of him.

Until, he realized that there was nobody else paying much attention to Lucas. He was kind of standing on his own, not even a Sander or Robbe to keep him company.

Maybe that was better.

Jens snapped his finger and pointed at Lucas, raising his eyebrow curiously. "Are you alone?"

"Uhm," Lucas mumbled again, looking around him for a few seconds and back at Jens. "Well, I am now. My two friends saw some cute girls and ran off to go sit with them."

This only left Jens with more curiosity, as pursed his lips in thought.

"They ditched you?" He asked.

"No, no, no, they're not shitty friends. Just a little girl crazy."

"And you're not?" Jens asked again, this time feeling his heart race a bit, and this time it wasn't just from the pre-concert adrenaline.

"I, I," Lucas mumbled and Jens wished it wasn't so loud so he didn't have to keep leaning down to listen to his words.

"I'm not exactly like that." Lucas continued, leaning in as if he was whispering and dropping his voice to a lower active. "I'm not crazy for girls."

The implication in his words sounded like music to his ears. Probably even than the better music that was about to play. Jens whipped around quickly, noticing that the concert was about to start. He looked over to his friends, who had finally stopped gazing into each others' eyes and remembering his existence. They eyed Lucas beside him, and gave suggestive eyebrow wiggles and cheeky smirks. Jens wrinkled his nose at them, before finally turning them to look back at Lucas.

His blue eyes were still staring at Jens, but they looked a little less shy now. They were even sparkling, and Jens knew there was no way he could say no to such a beautiful boy.

It wasn't like he was going to anyway.

He stepped aside to give Lucas a little bit of room to squeeze in front of him. Lucas smiled at him gratefully as he slipped through the little space. Jens felt him brush by, feeling even more sparks.

When Lucas settled into the little spot in front of Jens, he turned around and gave him the biggest smile of the night. Jens gave him a smile back, still marvelling at the way his eyes sparkled, even as the lights began to dim and the spotlights began to take control.

"Ready for the show now pretty boy?" Jens asked, winking before Lucas would lose his attention for him. If there was one guy Jens was fine with loosing Lucas' attention to, Bowie filled that role.

And maybe, Mick Jagger.

Lucas only winked back, as he flashed Jens an eccentric grin. The boy was a radiant blur of colours, and now, he was the only one filling up Jens' vision.

-

The concert was only becoming livelier by the second, as Jens cried out the lyrics to the songs while making sure to steal small glances at Lucas from time to time. He would never have imagined that at a Bowie concert, his attention was not solely focused on the man on stage. He also would never have imagined it would be on a boy who was looking like an angel in heaven as he also screamed out the lyrics.

"Everybody, I want you all the be able to get up and dance to the next song, as that's what it is all about!" Bowie announced to the entire audience. He gave one of his famous winks, which had more than half of the audience instantly swooning over. "Let's dance!"

The few notes of Let's Dance began to fill the arena, automatically sending a swaying rhythm to Jens' body. Sure, he may not be the best dancer out there, but he did manage to move without looking like an awkward worm slithering through the ground. His attention was diverted to Sander and Robbe, who were dancing together, Sander's arms around Robbe as Robbe pressed his back close towards him. After a few series of beats, Sander took ahold of Robbe's hand, spun him away from his body and pulled him back in. Robbe threw his head back, his fluffy brown hair falling with the dip, and the smile on his face happier than ever. Jens didn't like to admit it, but sometimes when he watched them, he felt a little envious. Not in a greedy way, more like he couldn't wait to find someone who made him feel the way Sander and Robbe made each other feel.

That was until he remembered the earlier encounter of the night. Smiling, he turned away from the general direction of his friends towards Lucas. Lucas, who was by far a better dancer than Jens, was moving to the music with smooth movements and a playful bounce to his rhythm.

Jens was about to reach out to him, to mimic the actions from earlier and to tap on his shoulder, but just before he was about to lift his hand up from his side, he someone on Lucas' side accidentally jerk into a much bolder dance move. While the move did look cool, a mix between some jazz hands, a dramatic sway and some extravagant foot work, and was much more advanced than Lucas' and his skills combined, the person unfortunately was too close to Lucas to be pulling a move like that. Poor Lucas was knocked off balance, and he began to stumble towards a fall.

Acting swiftly, Jens leaned forward and brought his hands out, quickly catching him. It wasn't until sudden weight of Lucas' body landed in Jens arms that he noticed he was holding Lucas extremely close to him. Lucas and his familiar blue eyes widened in surprise as well, probably just realizing that he had fallen into Jens’ arms and had his own arm swung over Jens' shoulder as an attempt to catch himself.

Neither boy knew what to say right away, and despite the crowd and music around them being extremely caught up in the performance, their exuberance atmosphere, there was this sense of calm and ease swirling around them. Jens gave out a small huff of laughter, almost in pure disbelief that he was holding Lucas in his arms.

Lucas scrambled back onto his feet, while Jens helped him balance by having a soft grip onto his waist. He watched as Lucas' blue eyes took in his hand gripping at the colourful stripe shirt of his, and huffed out a laugh as well.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall on top of you like that." Lucas apologized shyly, rubbing his hands on his jeans. Jens noticed the way he ducked his head, trying to bite back the grin on his face and the bright pink blush on his cheeks.

He waited for Lucas to look back up at him before he replied. When he did, he was met with the blue eyes again, and he realized they were starting to become the most eccentric thing in the entire world.

Next to David Bowie, of course.

"It's no problem." Jens assured, smiling widely at him. "Actually, I was just about to get your attention. I wanted to ask if you'd maybe want to dance."

At this point, the grin Lucas was trying to hold back was too wide to be contained. Lucas took a step closer, and Jens took it as his cue to unbunch the fabric of Lucas' shirt and actually place his hand properly on his waist.

"Well, I wouldn't want to go against what the man has to say." Lucas said with the most confidence Jens has heard him with all night. "So in the words of Bowie himself, let's dance!"

The sudden confidence made Jens feel much more of an adrenaline rush through his body. Him and Lucas winked at each other, and Jens placed his hand in his, and began spinning him out and pulling him back in constantly. The both of them twirled around, giggling at each other as their bodies got lost in a rhythm of their own.

If anyone else were to watch the way they moved together, you would've thought they had known each other since forever to be able to move both their bodies like one. Their synced up movements danced about, complimenting each spin, sway and dip. When Jens dipped Lucas over, he admired the way his curls fell back with his head, as the bright boy began to giggle a little more each time.

As they moved along to the sound, Lucas shook his head to sing along to the lyrics. The light brown curls on his head flowed around him, like an angel's halo with a dance of its own.

"Because my love for you," He sang out, as Jens spun him out. "Would break my heart into two."

"If you should fall into my arms," Jens continued singing. "And tremble like a flower."

"Let's dance!" They both cried out together, as Lucas was back in Jens' arms, doing a simple side by side step to keep the rhythmic motion.

Jens could feel his broad back against his chest, and when Lucas tilted his head back like he did to sing the lyrics, the soft curls grazed the side of Jens' neck. They were a little bit tickling, and he couldn't help laughing a bit, sending vibrations throughout both of their bodies.

-

Eventually, the concert ended and the later hours of the night had begun to take reign of the day. Sander and Robbe gave Jens some more teasing looks when they noticed Lucas standing behind him, only the his head being able to peek out from behind Jens' shoulder. Both of them gave him and Lucas a wink, and also gestured that they would meet them out in the lobby in case they got lost when the crowds dispersed.

He nodded back indicating he understood what they meant. They waved quickly, and headed off, quickly getting lost in the blur of the crowd.

Turning towards the boy, Jens grinned.

"So, your friends, do you see them anywhere?" He asked.

Lucas shook his head. "No, I told them I'd meet them at the lobby as well. When the concert finished." He let out a loose laugh and shrugged, like he was in disbelief. "Can you believe they ditched me for some girls? I didn't think they could be any more girl crazy, we literally had pit seats."

Jens shrugged as well, though a little more cooly. "I think it would be a bit unfortunate if they did stick around. I mean, would you have tapped me on the shoulder if they were here?"

The blush on Lucas' face turned the most vibrant it had been all night. His blue eyes were once again widened, and the swarm of colours within them were so entrancing.

"No, there's no way I would have tried talking to you if they were around. Let alone dance with you." He bit his lip and leaned forward a bit, just so Jens was the only one who could hear him.

"They would definitely make fun of me for talking to a cute boy with you." Lucas admitted.

Jens grinned, feeling the most happiest he's felt this whole night. It just kept getting better and better. At this point, he didn't think anything could top this. Knowing that Lucas thought he was cute.

"Well, my friends are not going to let me hear the end of this either pretty boy." He replied. "How about we get this thing over with? We'll meet both our friends in the lobby and we can endure their teasing together, rather than alone."

"Alright, but I can't lose you to this crowd. I may be able to see you through it, but I don't think I'll be able to avoid being pushed around into different directions."

He moved a little bit, creating a little space for Lucas to slip and squeeze through. Jens made a motion with his hands to gestured Lucas moved in front of him, like the same gesture he had done earlier.

"Go in front of me, that way I can keep an eye on you and I'll follow you." He suggested, only to be faced with Lucas grinning and shaking his head in disagreement. Raising a brow, he gave him a confused look on why Lucas was disagreeing to this.

"I have a better idea." Lucas said instead.

Still confused, Jens tilted his head to indicate his puzzlement. Lucas only winked and slipped his hand into Jens', squeezing it tightly. Jens quickly understood the implication. As long as their hands were intertwined with each others' and Jens led him through the crowd, there was no way they would lose each other.

So when Lucas squeezed his hand back one more time, and Jens gave him a smile one more time before turning around, he realized that he was wrong about earlier.

The night had managed to get even better.

The Cute Flower Boy.

a vds one shot. you can find more on my ao3.

( @ apolloswords )

feel free to comment/message me any suggestions for one shot ideas!

Three times Jens attempts to make a move on the cute boy from the gardens and the one time he finally succeeds.

Great, just what I needed. Jens thought to himself.

Checking the time on his phone, he groaned to himself. The battery was dead and seeing the depressing image of a dead battery show up on his screen just screamed helplessness. It had probably been about ten minutes of aimless wandering around and he still had not been able to find the Broerrs. He didn't even know how he managed to stray away from the group or how the group may have strayed away from him, but after being surrounded by the abundance of tulips, daffodils and roses, the pathway must have split into two, resulting in him heading the wrong way. And it didn't help that there was no way he could contact them within this maze of a garden.

At this point, it probably would have been best to just stay put. It would probably easier for the Broerrs to find him if he wasn't moving around so much. But even the thought of staying still made him feel rather antsy and he didn't like waiting around, bored out of his mind. He almost considered counting all the tulips arranged in front of him, but it would probably take him to about twenty tulips before he went out of his mind.

Sighing, he figured he would try retracing his steps, until he realized he had wandered way too far from the last time he saw them. And the pathways were a literal maze. He didn't even have a map on hand so he had absolutely no direction. The only option he did have was probably asking one of the employees for directions, but the thought of admitting he was lost was also unbearable to him. Jens knew he was being irrational right now, and probably way too dramatic for someone who was down to only one choice. But he was going to hold onto the last single speckle of his stubbornness and dignity until he had to endure the endless teasing of his friends when he eventually found them.

Until he spotted a boy his age, dressed up in a the garden's employee uniform and attending to some of the pink flowers a few feet away. His hair was rather curly and looked like it was glistening under the rays of the summer sun, and he looked like he just belonged in a place like this. Jens could only make out his side profile, but based on the lithe jawline, soft pink lips and blush, he was already feeling absolutely smitten.

However, Jens would rather admit being lost to himself rather than going up to this particularly cute flower boy and admit he was lost to him. But at this point, he was utterly helpless and he couldn't be picky; he needed to find his friends and possibly a charger for his phone.

Trying to muster up the courage to walk up to him, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and held his breath. After silently counting to three, he took a deep breath and felt a surge of energy to walk up to the boy.

Except, he was suddenly startled when he felt a tap on his shoulder. After shaking his head and trying to look like he hadn't just freaked out, he whipped his head around was surprised to see Robbe standing behind him.

"Found you." Robbe said with a light smirk. "Were you trying to get rid of us?"

"It worked for a bit." Jens snorted. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart as he awkwardly laughed. "I figured you guys would eventually find me."

Robbe rolled his eyes. "I didn't know we were playing a game of hide and seek. Come on, we're going to head to the cafe and have something to eat before we have to catch the train."

"Sure." Jens agreed, even though he was feeling a little disappointed he wouldn't be able to talk to the cute flower boy from earlier.

Nodding his head, Robbe pivoted on his heels and headed back where he had come from. Since his back was turned to Jens, he decided to take a quick look over his shoulder to see if he could take one last longing look at the boy.

But instead he found himself frowning. Just as quickly as he had appeared, the boy had vanished and was probably never to be seen again.

Great, just what I needed. Jens thought to himself again.

-

"You're an absolute dumbass for getting lost." Moyo teased as they sat at a little table eating some sandwiches and cookies while enjoying a few drinks under the summer sun. The cafe was fairly crowded with all the tourists, but they had managed to find a table near the display of baked goods, which looked too good to just be on display.

Snorting, Jens took a sip of his Italian soda and tried to ignore the relentless teasing he had been the target of for the last twenty minutes. Turns out they had thought leaving him for a minute would be funny to see him panic, but they didn't realize he hadn't noticed he was left alone until he had wandered too far off. And since his phone was dead, the amount of calls by them were left unanswered.

"Maybe we shouldn't have left the dumbass on his own." Aaron teased back.

Suddenly, Jens felt himself choke on his drink. After sputtering for a few seconds and Robbe gently whacking his back, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he slowly opened them, he felt his heart begin to race upon realizing what he just saw was not a figment of his imagination.

Or at least who he just saw.

It was the cute flower boy.

"Jens you okay?" Robbe asked and when Jens didn't reply, since he was too stunned to speak, Moyo studied his reaction curiously.

Slowly, Jens watched as he turned around to try and see what had caused Jens to suddenly spasm and loose control over himself. When his eyes also landed on the boy in line at the cafe, he turned back around with a smirk on his face.

"You think he's cute huh?" He said, his voice low.

"Me?" Robbe said in surprise. "I don't think I've thought anyone was cute after meeting Sander."

"Well clearly." Moyo snorted. "You weren't the one who just choked on a drink upon seeing a cute boy."

"Cute boy? Where?" Robbe asked, looking around as his patting on Jens' back came to a slow.

"Who thinks there's a cute boy?" Aaron piped up, once again catching onto the conversation a second slower than everyone else.

Feeling his second defeat for today, Jens scoffed and mumbled. "I think there's a cute boy."

"Is it the one in line?" Robbe whispered. "The one with light brown curly hair and seems to work here?"

"Yes." Jens admitted through clenched teeth. He lowered his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring or attention drawn to them, since the boy was only a few feet away.

"Yeah, he's cute." Robbe agreed with a wink.

Placing his head in his hands, Jens groaned. The boys were obviously more than amused as they began laughing and teasing him some more. He felt Robbe poke his side and he dropped his hands and gave him a soft glare.

"Talk to him." He said softly, with his typical Bambi like expression.

"Quick!" Aaron said. "Before he gets his drink and leaves."

But the second after Aaron had said that, the barista handed the boy his coffee with a smile. They spoke a few words to each other, probably indicating some sort of familiarity between them. Considering they both worked here, he was probably at the cafe during his breaks. The boy waved at him, his curls bouncing with his movements before he headed out of the cafe. The Broerrs, including Jens, watched his leave, heading back into the direction of the gardens. Soon enough, he was gone again, out of sight and out of the chances Jens could've made.

It was probably for the best anyway. They were just on a small vacation, and who knew how things could even work out between them?

"Looks like he's a lot like Jens." Moyo said, wiggling his brows.

"What do you mean by that?" Jens asked, his brows furrowed and feeling extremely confused.

"He's the one that got away." Moyo snickered.

-

After eating a bit more baked goods that they could manage and spending an hour at the gift shop to pick up a few gifts they could bring home, the Broerrs started to head out and make their way to the train station. Jens tapped his foot on the ground, as he tried to tune out some of the conversation.

But that didn't work.

"You guys do know the way to the Air BnB right?" Aaron asked, looking at the posted schedule for all the trains' arrivals and departures.

Scrunching his nose, Jens scoffed. "I thought you were the one with directions?"

"To be honest, even if he did have the directions, I wouldn't trust them." Robbe laughed. "I'm sure it's just the next train coming."

"Yeah but what stop do we get off at?" Aaron asked.

"The one that says the name of our street?" Moyo asked, as if it wasn't the most obvious answer.

In the midst of their bickering, Jens let his eyes wander around the rest of the train station. Other tourists stood around, holding large bags from the garden gift shop and other groups of friends stood around waiting, the hours of the summer day slowly coming to an end.

Almost instantly, he felt a tug towards a certain direction. But just before he could let his eyes figure out what exactly was pulling him, he felt somebody grab ahold of the sleeve of his shirt and literally pull him into the other direction.

"Jens, come on, stop day dreaming. You're going to miss the train!" Robbe cried out, almost practically pushing his entire body onto the train cart.

Luckily they all managed to make it on and found some seats. When Jens settled into one, he felt the familiar tug again and perked his head up, trying to find out where it was coming from. His eyes dawned onto a boy standing near the train's exit, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. This time, it didn't even take him a second to realize who it was.

It was the cute flower boy.

Although he was out of his work uniform and had a relaxed blue crewneck on, he still looked just as cute as ever. And, absolutely radiating. Jens could feel his mouth practically go dry as he continued to stare at the boy.

Until he felt a gentle hit to his cheek and he glared at Moyo from beside him.

"What was that for?" He mumbled, pretending to rub the spot on his cheek as if it actually hurt.

"Close your mouth I think you're going to drool." Moyo snickered while wiggling his brows.

Snorting, Jens rolled his eyes "I don't know what you're talking about." He lied.

Nobody but the lie and instead continued to snicker at each other. Aaron and Robbe had their backs turned against the boy, but there was no deny they knew exactly who was behind them. Jens secretly prayed that they wouldn't do anything stupid or embarrassing, especially when this would probably be the first and last impression the boy would have of him.

That was, if any of them either did anything.

"You should go up to him." Aaron whispered. "Maybe get his number."

Jens wrinkled his nose. "Why would I even do that?"

"To talk to him?" Aaron replied, as if that was the most obvious answer.

"Okay but we're only here for vacation." Jens reminded. "It's not like he would be super willing to do long distance with some random person he met on the train."

"Yeah, but you never know." Robbe said with hope and a romantic gaze in his eyes. "Maybe he would be down for one."

"Plus, Amsterdam isn't that far. And we are here for a bit, maybe it can be a summer love." Moyo added.

Nodding, he tried to internally take in their suggestions. On one hand, the boy was extremely cute and he probably wouldn't mind spending a few moments of the summer with him. On the other hand, a few moments would eventually come to the end and then he would have to remember he was leaving him behind.

But he figured maybe something could happen out of it. Taking a look at his friends once again, they gave him supportive smiles and thumbs up. Jens took a deep breath, wipe his clammy hands on his jeans and tried to push back the second thoughts running through his head.

Just as he was about to get up and make his way, the train halted to a stop and the exit door opened wide. Without a pause or hesitation, Jens watched as the boy stepped off the train and onto the platform. Before he knew it, the boy was once again walking away. The train began to head off and once again, he had missed his chance. The boy once again was gone from his sight and he let out a heavy sigh.

Neither of the Broerrs had to say it, they were all thinking the same thing. Jens just slumped against his seat and tried to ignore how this was possibly the last chance of seeing the cute flower boy in his entire life.

Possibly.

-

This has to be the stupidest idea ever. Jens thought to himself.

It was a few days later and the boys had stumbled upon a tattoo shop that had really good reviews. Since it was their first trip together, they wanted to tribute it by getting their first tattoos. At first, they debated on getting matching tattoos based on the trip, but after realizing that seemed a little too cheesy for their liking, they all decided to settle on just getting whatever small tattoo they wanted.

Jens never really thought about what he would like permanently sketched onto his body, but at the same time, he didn’t really think tattoos had to hold significant meaning. If he liked how they looked like and they looked cool, he didn’t really have much hesitation in getting them.

Which is why when they had found this local shop with highly recommended artists and accepted walk ins, they were more than ecstatic to make their way over. The shop wasn’t very busy, and the tattoo artist Kes was really chill and friendly.

He was sitting on a chair, scrolling on his phone as he was waiting for Aaron to finish up his tattoo. Robbe still had to get his done and Moyo was admiring his tattoo in the mirror, as if he wasn’t the first one who had gotten it done.

“It looks sick!” Moyo kept saying, showing off the tiger he had gotten on his calf.

Jens nodded, agreeing. Kes was a really skilled artist, and he helped Jens pick out exactly what he wanted. It was a simple flower done in a traditional style, placed right above his elbow. The darkness of the ink made it very bold but it was completely blotchy or too crazy to look at. He didn’t even really know why he wanted a flower, but after seeing some of Kes’ designs, he figured that’s what he should go for.

Their little ensemble got interrupted when they heard the chime of a bell, alerting the shop of a new customer. Jens turned his head to look and almost dropped his jaw.

It was the cute flower boy.

He didn’t seem surprised to see customers in the shop, just surprised to see a bunch of fresh out of high school teens. The boy had a wide smile on his face, his cheeks pink as ever and he looked like he had some exciting news to tell. Since this was the closest he’s ever been to Jens, he could feel goosebumps on his skin and even make out some distinct facial features that weren’t so prominent from afar.

One of those features being his striking blue eyes, which Jens stated at in disbelief. He could hardly believe such a colour existed.

The boy quickly strode into the Kes’ studio, after calling out his name. Robbe, Moyo and Jens all exchanged looks at each other, completely surprised to see him here. Jens gave them a questioning look, wondering if he should do anything about it.

“You have to talk to him.” Robbe whisper-yelled. “The universe just gave you one more chance!”

“Not in front of you guys.” Jens whisper-yelled back. “That’s going to be so awkward.”

Moyo shook his hands in front of him. “Listen, it’ll be just fine. I’ll take care of it when Aaron gets out.”

As if on cue, Aaron wandered out, followed by Kes and the boy. Kes nodded his head toward Robbe.

“Robbe, it’s your turn.” He called out. Turning his head towards the boy, he lowered his voice a bit. “I should be done in about an hour or so. Just sit tight here and we can hang Luc.”

Luc, Jens thought. What a lovely name.

Luc nodded and made his way to the waiting area as well, where Jens was. Aaron gave Jens a surprised look, just now realizing who this boy was. Jens narrowed his eyes, trying to tell him to be a little less obvious and then darted his eyes towards Moyo, telling him to get Aaron out of the room.

Nodding, Moyo let out an awkward cough. “Aaron, you need to call Amber.”

Confused, Arron wrinkled his brows. “She didn’t call me?”

“Well she called me to tell you to call her.” Moyo said quickly. Lowering his voice and gritting his teeth, he shot a look from Aaron to Jens. “And you may want to take it outside.”

It took a few seconds but Aaron’s eyes lit up and he registered what Moyo was replying. Nodding quickly, he looked at Jens and spoke loudly, as if he was making an announcement.

“Oh you are right Moyo.” He said, in a very obvious tone. “I shall go outside and call Amber.”

Grimacing at his lack of subtly, Aaron gave Jens a thumbs up from behind Luc’s head and Jens had to resist the urge from glaring at him. At least Luc had his head down and was on his phone, so he didn’t really notice all the commotion around him.

Coughing again after Aaron had waltzed out the door, Moyo darted his eyes at Jens.

“Bathroom.” He simply said, before quickly heading off without any other explanation.

While his friends had good intentions, they definitely had to work on being a little less obvious. Figuring this was his only chance with Luc, Jens pocketed his phone into his back pocket and coughed, grabbing his attention. Luc looked up at him, his blue eyes sparkling so brightly, Jens thought they held some sort of treasure within.

“Hi.” He managed to say awkwardly. “I’m Jens.”

Luc looked confused at first but managed to smile widely. “I’m Lucas, though most people call me Luc.”

Something about him was just so comforting, Jens didn’t know why he felt so nervous those other times he could’ve said something. Realizing it was his turn to reply, Jens gave him a half hearted smile and a low chuckle. Running a hand through his hair, he tried not to let the faint blush on his cheeks turn extra red or even spread all over his face.”

“Uhm, listen.” He began to say, trying to get past all the awkwardness. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you and I’ve been trying to approach you for a while now.”

Still smiling but looking a bit confused, Lucas tilted his head. “Really? When did you see me?”

“At the gardens a few days ago.” Jens admitted. “I was about to approach you because I was lost. Then I saw you at the cafe and on the train and each time I wanted to say something, but then you would leave and I figured I’d just never see you again.”

Letting out a light laugh, which made his heart leap, Lucas threw his head back amused. He looked back at Jens, his smile even wider.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He mentioned. “I thought maybe I had just been envisioning your face those other times and now was just the first time I actually saw you.”

Smirking, Jens shook his head in amusement. “No, definitely not just envisioning. Now is the first time I’m actually talking to you though.”

“So what is it that you wanted to ask me?” Lucas asked, leaning forward. His elbows were on his knees as he raised his brows at Jens, almost too excited to just sit still.

“Uhm, well, I wanted to ask for your number. I thought you were rather cute and wanted to see if I could maybe get a date with you or something while I’m here in Amsterdam.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Another week. We’re from Belgium and just came here for a summer getaway.”

Lucas nodded. He checked the time on his phone and got up, gesturing for Jens to do the same. Confused, Jens got up but gave him a questioning look.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Grinning, Lucas gave him a shrug. “I figure we’re wasting precious time just sitting around. I have an hour to kill before I head out with Kes and I wouldn’t mind going on that date now.”

“Oh really?” Jens said with a smirk. Lucas blushed instantly and tried to hide his face.

“Yeah, and probably a few more dates after this one.” He admitted, still blushing a vibrant pink.

Reaching out to pinch his cheeks, Jens leaned down towards him and lowered his voice.

“Only if I can definitely get your number afterwards.” He teased.

A fit of giggles escaped the flower boy as he nodded quickly. “Of course you can get my number.”

“Then let’s go on this date.” Jens said. “Do you know any nearby cafe’s?”

“In fact I do.” Lucas replied, pushing the door of the shop open.

As the exited out, Aaron spotted them and widened his eyes. He must’ve figured the plan was successful, because he gave him a wide grin and a not-so-subtle wink. Jens wanted to bury his face in embarrassment since he was sure Lucas noticed.

“I’ll be back.” He told Aaron, as they walked by him. Aaron nodded quickly and sprinted back jnto the shop where they heard him yell.

“Jens finally got the cute flower boy!” They heard him cry.

“Not so bad.” — Hong Joshua

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . romantic . meet cute

⋆ pairings : joshua x f!reader ⋆ warning : none (let me know if there is ^^) ⋆ wc : 1.5k [✉️] · despite being constantly pestered by your parents to attend a blind date, you always found them pointless, until now.

⋆ - note : I wrote this long ago but wanted to post other members before this so here it is 🥰‼️ I'm in love with this idea and I MIGHT continue this as a series ^^

Maybe it was not so bad.

If nothing else, you have your parents' word that this will be the last one.

"You got it! Everything should go planned, okay? But unless the man is actually hot..." your bestfriend, Sera, on the phone teased while you rubbed your temples and scoffed.

"Sera, I swear to g-" "Okay, I gotta go, bye! love you!" The beep signaling the end of the call quickly followed the voice.

With a sigh, you took one last look around, admiring the trees that surrounded the restaurant as the sky cleared and showed no signs of impending rain. Then, you took large, but measured, steps toward the entrance.

It was going to be simple, the same old plan. Just sit there and show no interest so that the blind date will leave you alone.

For now, all that mattered was you, regardless of whether it made you appear strange and awful in their eyes. Simply put, you were not interested in going on a blind date to meet new people.

As the staff led you to your reserved table, you sighed with relief to see that your seat was right next to a window. At the very least, there was something to keep you entertained while you waited for your blind date to arrive because you were stupid enough to forget to charge your phone before leaving, and it was now only at 6%.

And to your surprise, your date showed up rather quickly. As your gaze moved to the door, you saw a stunning man walking toward your table. He was dressed in a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was perfectly falling over his face. And the cherry on top? His sweet smile.

He was so breathtakingly beautiful that it took everything within you not to freak out. You gulped and kept your eyes fixed on him, wide open. You were so engrossed in admiring him that you were oblivious to him speaking.

"Y/n, right?" With a mild grin still grazing his lips, the man stood before you, gazing down at you through those breathtakingly beautiful eyes. Although he already knew it was you, it does not hurt to double check. Not more than being embarrassed later, at least.

Noticing your gaze on him, he raises an eyebrow, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Is there something on my face?" He chuckled.

You blink and quickly shake your head, snapping out your thoughts. "N-no," you awkwardly smile, "Please take a seat."

And he does. "I'm Joshua Hong," he said, his smile never leaving as he reached into his jeans pocket to pull out his business card, which he then handed to you. "Please just call me Joshua, I don't prefer formal addressings." You flash a soft smile, nodding.

God, he was handsome. So handsome. And not only that, he was a CEO of a multi millionaire company. Speak of perfection.

When your eyes meet his, you can not help but feel a tiny warmth creep up your cheeks.

"I'm Y/n, I'm sure you know." Trying not to sound nervous, you say.

With a hum, Joshua moved the menu gently in your direction on the table and then turned to face you. "Should we order first?" Given that you had been waiting for a while, he inquired. You hesitate, but eventually nod because the growing sensation of hunger in your stomach was too strong to ignore.

Hours pass by, and you couldn't care less. The conversation lasted hours, and for the first time, you found yourself drawn to someone your parents had chosen for a blind date.

You glance at your watch, eyes widening as you realize four hours had already past. "It's sudden, but," you began, smiling sheepishly. "It's getting late, don't you think?"

With an eyebrow raised, Joshua took a quick look at his watch. He held back a gasp, surprised to see that it was past 10 P.M.

"Ah, I'm so sorry. I should've kept track of time..." Joshua apologized, sighing.

You suddenly widen your eyes, shake your head, and wave your hand in response to his apology, which takes you by surprise. "No, no! It's not your fault."

Joshua chuckles and flashes the familiar gentle smile. "You're so sweet."

Your heart gave a little thud at that, and you hastily raised your hand to shield your blushing cheeks.

"Let me drop you home, it's too late."

"Oh, it's okay," you reassure. "I can just call my friend to pick me up, don't worry."

Joshua nodded, getting up from his seat as you do too. "Alright, get home safely."

"You too."

As you both made your way out of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice how flawless his side profile was. Just how perfect can someone be?

Just outside the restaurant, you two came to a stop and faced one another.

"It was," he began, smiling rather shyly. "Nice talking to you, Y/N."

Glancing away, you smiled shyly back. "You too, Joshua."

You pulled out your phone from your handbag and opened it, only to gasp as it read '1% battery remaining.'

You hurriedly looked through the call app, whispering to yourself, "Please don't turn off, please." But, to make matters worse, your phone turned off at the last minute, and you could not help but groan with frustration.

Joshua, on the other hand, stood by patiently until you called your friend because it definitely wasn't ideal to leave you alone, at this late hour. And the way you were panicking didn't go unnoticed by him.

"What's wrong?" He slightly leaned down, observing as you glanced at him nervously.

"Oh, uhm..." You chuckled sheepishly. "It's nothing,"

Joshua parted his lips to respond, but you were faster. "Why don't you leave first? I'll take a cab." He frowned, leaning back. "A cab?" he asked, confused. "Is your friend not available?"

You sigh, biting your lower lip as you gazed back at him. "My phone..." you began, embarrassed and waved your phone. "It's dead,"

Joshua tilted his head, his eyebrows raised as he held in a chuckle. "Oh, I see," he smiled.

"You can go, I'll take a cab." you assure, smiling in a sheepish manner.

He slid a hand in his pocket and took out his phone before handing it over to you. "Here, use mine."

You shoot up your gaze at him, blinking. "...can I?" you ask, just to confirm. Earning a nod from Joshua, you smile and gently take his phone before thanking him. You dial Sera, your bestfriend's number and internally thank god as she picks up the call.

"Sera, it's me, Y/N." you say, glancing back at Joshua who is looking around the area, patiently waiting for you to finish.

"Y/N? Whose phone are you-"

"I'll explain everything later, okay? Can you come pick me up fast? I'll send the address."

"Huh?-"

"Please. It's urgent."

"Ah, got it. Send me the address."

And you do, before handing the phone for Joshua to take. "Thanks."

But Joshua just looks at the phone and stays silent, looking hesitant. He clears his throat before choosing his words carefully. "Well," he began, smiling nervously. "Since we're got to know eachother, and maybe in the future we may meet again, why don't we..." he trails off, turning his gaze on you. "Exchange.. numbers?"

Maybe it was too early, but you didn't even think twice before agreeing. And as you both exchange numbers, Joshua couldn't help but feel so giddy at the thought of finally have met someone he was actually interested in, besides work.

Your bestfriend, Sera, arrived and spotted you. You turn to face Joshua for the last time, clearing your throat to get his attention.

"I hope we," you paused, searching for the right words. "I hope we can meet again, someday."

With a warm smile, he averted his gaze to meet yours. "I hope so too,"

And he definitely noticed the way your face lit up at his words, making his face soften.

"I'll get going now, have a goodnight,"

Joshua nods, pulling his hands out of his jeans pocket. "You too." he smiles.

As you made your way to Sera's car, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of leaving. Nearing towards the car, you turn around one last time to see Joshua still standing there with a smile on his face. You wave him bye as he returns it gratefully.

And you wouldn't have thought about it, but he was feeling the same disappointment as he watched you leave.

With a sigh, he made his way to his car and took out his car keys once you were completely out of sight.

Never in your life did you think your parents' choice would be this good. You never liked the idea of blind dates despite being a hopeless romantic, until now. And it was as if you both were written and meant to be for eachother, it was the same situation with him aswell. If his parents never forced him to go to the blind date, he would've probably never met you, and he was grateful he did go that day.

You both couldn't help but smile at the thought of eachother. "Maybe it was not so bad."

And maybe fate would bring you both together again, or even forever.

— do we want a second part??!?!?? 😼

“Not so bad.” — Hong Joshua

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . romantic . meet cute

⋆ pairings : joshua x f!reader ⋆ warning : none (let me know if there is ^^) ⋆ wc : 1.5k [✉️] · despite being constantly pestered by your parents to attend a blind date, you always found them pointless, until now.

⋆ - note : I wrote this long ago but wanted to post other members before this so here it is 🥰‼️ I'm in love with this idea and I MIGHT continue this as a series ^^

Maybe it was not so bad.

If nothing else, you have your parents' word that this will be the last one.

"You got it! Everything should go planned, okay? But unless the man is actually hot..." your bestfriend, Sera, on the phone teased while you rubbed your temples and scoffed.

"Sera, I swear to g-" "Okay, I gotta go, bye! love you!" The beep signaling the end of the call quickly followed the voice.

With a sigh, you took one last look around, admiring the trees that surrounded the restaurant as the sky cleared and showed no signs of impending rain. Then, you took large, but measured, steps toward the entrance.

It was going to be simple, the same old plan. Just sit there and show no interest so that the blind date will leave you alone.

For now, all that mattered was you, regardless of whether it made you appear strange and awful in their eyes. Simply put, you were not interested in going on a blind date to meet new people.

As the staff led you to your reserved table, you sighed with relief to see that your seat was right next to a window. At the very least, there was something to keep you entertained while you waited for your blind date to arrive because you were stupid enough to forget to charge your phone before leaving, and it was now only at 6%.

And to your surprise, your date showed up rather quickly. As your gaze moved to the door, you saw a stunning man walking toward your table. He was dressed in a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was perfectly falling over his face. And the cherry on top? His sweet smile.

He was so breathtakingly beautiful that it took everything within you not to freak out. You gulped and kept your eyes fixed on him, wide open. You were so engrossed in admiring him that you were oblivious to him speaking.

"Y/n, right?" With a mild grin still grazing his lips, the man stood before you, gazing down at you through those breathtakingly beautiful eyes. Although he already knew it was you, it does not hurt to double check. Not more than being embarrassed later, at least.

Noticing your gaze on him, he raises an eyebrow, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Is there something on my face?" He chuckled.

You blink and quickly shake your head, snapping out your thoughts. "N-no," you awkwardly smile, "Please take a seat."

And he does. "I'm Joshua Hong," he said, his smile never leaving as he reached into his jeans pocket to pull out his business card, which he then handed to you. "Please just call me Joshua, I don't prefer formal addressings." You flash a soft smile, nodding.

God, he was handsome. So handsome. And not only that, he was a CEO of a multi millionaire company. Speak of perfection.

When your eyes meet his, you can not help but feel a tiny warmth creep up your cheeks.

"I'm Y/n, I'm sure you know." Trying not to sound nervous, you say.

With a hum, Joshua moved the menu gently in your direction on the table and then turned to face you. "Should we order first?" Given that you had been waiting for a while, he inquired. You hesitate, but eventually nod because the growing sensation of hunger in your stomach was too strong to ignore.

Hours pass by, and you couldn't care less. The conversation lasted hours, and for the first time, you found yourself drawn to someone your parents had chosen for a blind date.

You glance at your watch, eyes widening as you realize four hours had already past. "It's sudden, but," you began, smiling sheepishly. "It's getting late, don't you think?"

With an eyebrow raised, Joshua took a quick look at his watch. He held back a gasp, surprised to see that it was past 10 P.M.

"Ah, I'm so sorry. I should've kept track of time..." Joshua apologized, sighing.

You suddenly widen your eyes, shake your head, and wave your hand in response to his apology, which takes you by surprise. "No, no! It's not your fault."

Joshua chuckles and flashes the familiar gentle smile. "You're so sweet."

Your heart gave a little thud at that, and you hastily raised your hand to shield your blushing cheeks.

"Let me drop you home, it's too late."

"Oh, it's okay," you reassure. "I can just call my friend to pick me up, don't worry."

Joshua nodded, getting up from his seat as you do too. "Alright, get home safely."

"You too."

As you both made your way out of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice how flawless his side profile was. Just how perfect can someone be?

Just outside the restaurant, you two came to a stop and faced one another.

"It was," he began, smiling rather shyly. "Nice talking to you, Y/N."

Glancing away, you smiled shyly back. "You too, Joshua."

You pulled out your phone from your handbag and opened it, only to gasp as it read '1% battery remaining.'

You hurriedly looked through the call app, whispering to yourself, "Please don't turn off, please." But, to make matters worse, your phone turned off at the last minute, and you could not help but groan with frustration.

Joshua, on the other hand, stood by patiently until you called your friend because it definitely wasn't ideal to leave you alone, at this late hour. And the way you were panicking didn't go unnoticed by him.

"What's wrong?" He slightly leaned down, observing as you glanced at him nervously.

"Oh, uhm..." You chuckled sheepishly. "It's nothing,"

Joshua parted his lips to respond, but you were faster. "Why don't you leave first? I'll take a cab." He frowned, leaning back. "A cab?" he asked, confused. "Is your friend not available?"

You sigh, biting your lower lip as you gazed back at him. "My phone..." you began, embarrassed and waved your phone. "It's dead,"

Joshua tilted his head, his eyebrows raised as he held in a chuckle. "Oh, I see," he smiled.

"You can go, I'll take a cab." you assure, smiling in a sheepish manner.

He slid a hand in his pocket and took out his phone before handing it over to you. "Here, use mine."

You shoot up your gaze at him, blinking. "...can I?" you ask, just to confirm. Earning a nod from Joshua, you smile and gently take his phone before thanking him. You dial Sera, your bestfriend's number and internally thank god as she picks up the call.

"Sera, it's me, Y/N." you say, glancing back at Joshua who is looking around the area, patiently waiting for you to finish.

"Y/N? Whose phone are you-"

"I'll explain everything later, okay? Can you come pick me up fast? I'll send the address."

"Huh?-"

"Please. It's urgent."

"Ah, got it. Send me the address."

And you do, before handing the phone for Joshua to take. "Thanks."

But Joshua just looks at the phone and stays silent, looking hesitant. He clears his throat before choosing his words carefully. "Well," he began, smiling nervously. "Since we're got to know eachother, and maybe in the future we may meet again, why don't we..." he trails off, turning his gaze on you. "Exchange.. numbers?"

Maybe it was too early, but you didn't even think twice before agreeing. And as you both exchange numbers, Joshua couldn't help but feel so giddy at the thought of finally have met someone he was actually interested in, besides work.

Your bestfriend, Sera, arrived and spotted you. You turn to face Joshua for the last time, clearing your throat to get his attention.

"I hope we," you paused, searching for the right words. "I hope we can meet again, someday."

With a warm smile, he averted his gaze to meet yours. "I hope so too,"

And he definitely noticed the way your face lit up at his words, making his face soften.

"I'll get going now, have a goodnight,"

Joshua nods, pulling his hands out of his jeans pocket. "You too." he smiles.

As you made your way to Sera's car, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of leaving. Nearing towards the car, you turn around one last time to see Joshua still standing there with a smile on his face. You wave him bye as he returns it gratefully.

And you wouldn't have thought about it, but he was feeling the same disappointment as he watched you leave.

With a sigh, he made his way to his car and took out his car keys once you were completely out of sight.

Never in your life did you think your parents' choice would be this good. You never liked the idea of blind dates despite being a hopeless romantic, until now. And it was as if you both were written and meant to be for eachother, it was the same situation with him aswell. If his parents never forced him to go to the blind date, he would've probably never met you, and he was grateful he did go that day.

You both couldn't help but smile at the thought of eachother. "Maybe it was not so bad."

And maybe fate would bring you both together again, or even forever.

Wow. It's been a hot minute since I've updated this but Yeah, here's your update with yours truly.

Hot stuff disappeared for like a week and then he came back.

And then I saw him at my uni. I would have thought he was like a science major or something but no. He's a french major.

Oh my Lord in the heavens above. What just happened 😶😶

I'm in my room, alright? Alright. And from my bed, I can see through the huge window that's in my room. Directly in my line of view, there's a new apartment complex and I've been stalker-ish enough to know that a family moved in a few weeks ago.

So you're probably wondering "wtf is up with this girl?"

I'm going to tell you what the absolute fuck is up with this girl.

Basically, they can see into my room but I can only see the terrasse because most of the time the window leading to the room is closed but I suspect it's the room of this boy, who's around my age.

SO WHAT HAPPENED IS THAT I, as the very late and procrastinating writer that I am, was working, as I should, and Taylor Swift came on my playlist. So naturally, I started dancing because, how could I ignore Taylor swift? So disrespectful. AND THE BOY, WAS LEANING AGAINST THE TERRASSE AND WATCHING ME AND SMILING????

So I looked at him. And he looked at me.

And my first instinct was to fall down to the ground. And now I'm hiding.

What in the Wattpad story did I just live???

uhtred being normal about alfred since day 1

Can I Call You Tonight?

got this silly idea from a reel, so I'm in silly neighbor ghost mood

summary: you watered simon's dying plants.

wc: 1,2k

warnings: pure fluff, ghost x f!reader

Simon was always working, either buried in paperwork or fighting for his dear life. He couldn’t complain, though, it was the life he chose to have. He’d rented this apartment because it was near his work and as he said, he could always go walking. It didn’t cost much to live in that area, and he believed he didn’t need more than that apartment could offer.

The relatively low cost was exactly the reason you chose this building, it could use some renovation but you were happy to be starting a new cycle of your life. Finally moving out, finally living alone, it was all you could’ve asked for.

Living there was great, you loved it. It was so chill it was almost boring, so when you found this silly thing to do, it became your favorite activity.

Looking diagonally down from your balcony, a neighbor of yours had a few sad-looking plants that could really use some water. That being said, you could give a little hand for them to come back to life. You grabbed your squeeze water bottle and poured down some water on the plants, trying not to wet his entire balcony as you did so.

It became your silly little thing, watering that person’s plant like you were taking care of a child, but watching as it slowly came to life again was priceless. 

And Simon, well, he did notice something was different. As he smoked his cigarette, late at night on the balcony after arriving from his three week duty, he noticed the plant coming back to life again.

“Well, this is odd.”  He said, grabbing his phone from the pocket and taking a picture of it.

“Why did you send me a photo of your plant?” Johnny called as soon as he saw the picture.

“It was dead when I left.” He said.

“Ok?”

“I didn’t water it while I was gone.”

“Ok… so, someone watered it for you?” Johnny chuckled.

“Negative. No one has my keys.” Simon said in a low tone.

“Maybe it revived on its own.” If Johnny could see him right now, he’d laugh at his deadpan.

“I don’t- why did I even text you. Someone could’ve broken in.” 

“And what? Water your plants everyday and leave your stuff behind? Seems unusual.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Go rest, Lt, you deserve it.”

Simon stood there for a while, contemplating the events and then deciding he was overreacting. It wasn’t until he woke up in the morning, having slept on his couch, and heard the noise of water running. He jumped on his feet to check if he didn’t leave the sink open, but as he came back to his living room, he was able to see a small stream of water from his balcony.

“Ay, ay.” He opened the door, looking at where the water was coming; your apartment. Your cheeks immediately flushed as you noticed you’d spilled water in not only his plants, but him. You’d been on the phone, leaning on the balcony and holding the water bottle as you scrolled on your social media, and him yelling made you lose balance and drop your phone, and the chain of events unfolded way too fast.

You quickly let go of the water bottle and ran downstairs, only to meet him in his wet shirt, looking at your fucked up phone on the concrete. “I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, turning to face you. “Simon.” He gave you his hand.

“Y/n.” You said with a pout, shaking his hand. You crouched, grabbing your now obviously dead phone and analyzing it. “I’m sorry for… well, for this.” You pointed at the wet patch on his shirt and he smiled.

“It’s nothing, it’ll dry off.” He said, watching as you almost finger punched your clearly not working phone. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on?” He chuckled, following you back to the building. 

“Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes at him, but ended up laughing along. “Have you tried putting your shirt on rice?”

“Good one.” He smiled. He was so… handsome. Where was he the whole time you’ve been living there? You two got in the elevator, and he pressed the buttons of his and yours floors. “So it’s you who’s been watering my plants.”

“They were dehydrated. You’re a bad parent.” You said.

“I was at work.” He quickly said, and you mumbled a small ‘oh’. “Anyway, thank you. I was going to throw them out. They look good.”

“No, it’s fine.” You smiled.

“So, give me your number so I can let you know when I get your new phone.” He said as the elevator came to a stop. “Oh, you don’t have one.” He laughed as he watched your expressionless face. “Wanna come to my place to talk about it?”

He held the door open, waiting for your reaction, and immediately smiled as you walked out of the elevator with him. He opened his door for you, letting you step inside, then got in and closed it behind him.

“Make yourself at home.” He said as he passed in front of you, taking his shirt off. Oh, bloody hell.

Oh, fuckfuckfuck. Shit. He was so fine. No, fine was an understatement. His body was definitely sculpted by gods, definitely. He was absolutely breathtaking, he was ripped and toned in all the right places, and the scars on his torso only enhanced his attractiveness. He was the living embodiment of attractiveness.

You blinked desperately, trying to look away.

“Wow, this… this is not-” you choked out.

“What’s wrong with ‘ya?” He asked, coming back with a new shirt in hands and a really, really wide grin. Something about him playing innocent was flipping something inside of you. He made sure to stay right in front of you as he put a dry shirt on.

You looked away in embarrassment, you must’ve been overthinking.

“Want some tea?” He asked, snapping you back to reality. You nodded, and he went to the kitchen. 

You sat on his couch, looking around his apartment, finding a few pictures of people in the army. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” You asked as he came back with two mugs in his hand.

“What makes you think that?” He handed you a mug.

You pointed at the dusty frame and he walked to your side, picking it up. “Where’s you?” 

“Who do you think it’s me?” He chuckled. There was a man in a skull mask, holding a dog to his shoulder, and your little frown was adorable to his eyes. He pointed towards him, and you made an unsurprised ‘ah’.

“I knew it, the tattoos gave it away.” You smiled, watching as he put the frame down again.

“Yes, they did.” He mumbled, chuckling his way to the couch, where he gestured for you to sit.

“I have to say, you look better without the mask, by the way.” 

“Thanks. It’s uncomfortable to wear it.”

“I believe…”

The next minutes passed with an awkward silence until he finally spoke again.

“So, I don’t know a lot about phones. I suggest we go out together to get you a new one.”

That smooth bastard.

“Like a date.” You said.

“Like me taking you out to get a new phone.”

“A date.” You laughed.

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Yes, a date.”

Book log 3

Our heroine met Jesus. And what a gorgeous meet-cute it was. Along with him she also met a longing she’d never had before. One of a different kind of love. Of it she says, “I loved others but not in this way, not with ache and sweetness and flame. Not more than I loved words. Jesus had put his hand to the latch and I was flung open.”

Uffff.

This book is a heroine’s journey and our beautiful heroine, Ana, right now, is akin more to a fangirl than the usual heroine, the superheroine or the Disney princess. It just got me thinking about fangirls (this Ted video about how amazing they (we) are). More fangirl appreciation coming soon.

Beautiful sentences are still abound and beautiful questions too - “How can we know the ways of god?” I’m afraid of finishing this book too quickly. I don’t want to reveal the plot here but let me know if you’d like some description of the story as I read ahead.

Please go buy this book - The Book of Longings - & read the story of a girl not unlike all of us, who want to be free and love and most of all raise their voice.

bro can anyone help me find this gojo fanfic, it was x reader, it was a meet cute, like reader was babysitting a kid and was at a cafe, gojo had like a type of eye disability that required a service dog and he was Megumi and Tsumiki’s temporary guardian, it was so cute i just wanna read it again please help 🙏🏼