You may call me Lamia~ she/they ･ﾟ:*21*:･ﾟ 𐐪𐑂 ☆ 𐐪𐑂 Personal Blog and Occasional Fic Recommendations˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ Mobile only so I hope the formatting is ok
it makes me so happy and it actually matches my irl aesthetic unlike my old theme !!
I can’t copy and paste my bio for some reason but if u can’t read th text it basically jst says: my name is Lamia :D I’m 21, my pronouns are she/they though I don’t mind he/him either, this is a personal blog but I occasionally reblog fics I recommend, and I’m on mobile only so hopefully my formatting isn’t god awful :3
ʚ☆ MEET LAMIA ☆𐑂
here’s some other random things one might wanna know abt me (◕▿◕✿) 
☆ You can also call me Maimon or Lami if u would like :3
☆ I am suuuper chatty~ once I start talking about anything that interests me I prob won’t stop,, I’m also prone to writing a lot~ I reaally struggle to shorten my thoughts down~
☆ I’m also just generally very “ditzy” and have a bubbly personality ꒰⌯'▾'⌯꒱
☆ I use primarily she/they pronouns since that’s how I feel like 85% of the time but I do also use he/him, I’d consider myself to be genderfluid although genderqueer might be a better label :3
☆ I’m pansexual!!
☆ I’m an enfp-t!! but I have social anxiety so I can come across as being introverted sometimes lol
☆ I’m in the kawaii/jfashion community!! I specifically wear yumekawaii and gyaru- leaning more towards himegyaru (I also wear other fashion styles as long as they’re pastel hehe- like k-style n stuff)
☆ I’m part of monster lover, kpop, anime, cookie run, lookism, and genshin communities/fandoms so don’t get whiplash if i’m posting one thing one day and a complete different thing the next lolol~
☆ I swear a lot~ my aesthetic and writing style are verryy different to the way I talk regularly and my personality so if you don’t like it don’t interact
☆ I do art sometimes, probably wont post most of it though as I mostly post that stuff on my other accounts~ ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱
☆ Might eventually maybe write fics or headcanons~ I dunno if I will, but I’m in a lotta fandoms~
ʚ☆ DNI ☆𐑂
☆ People who post primarily yandere dni, that trope makes me uncomfortable personally <3
☆ People who mix kink with fashion and misuse fashion tags for your kink posts, dni~ particularly in fashion communities where there are minors (This ones just cos I’m in the kawaii community and oh my god there’s such a problem with people tryna mix kink with like- lolita fashion and other jfashion styles and and not trying to be careful with what tags they use despite a large amount of the community being minors like,, stoppp ๑˃̶͈̀Ⱉ˂̶͈́๑)
☆ If you write nsfw about characters that are literally minors, dni cos that shits weird- primarily when they don’t ever become adults in the media they’re from
☆ If you write nsfw abt real people like kpop idols or anything like tht, dni- idk it feels like such a breech of personal space and boundaries and all tht,, I would be so uncomfy if someone wrote som shit like tht abt me so I can imagine how content creators or celebrities feel having tht shit actually happen like idk, unless the person specifically said that stuff is okay im not comfortable with it personally
☆ Also just like the obvious things like no homophobes, transphobes, racists, etc
☆ Fatphobia is also not tolerated!! I am a thicker girlie irl, though i’m no longer chubby it isn’t tolerated here
☆ If your acc looks like a bot acc it’ll be an immediate block (no banner, no posts, th bio jst like- looking sus yk? pfp tht looks like it was stolen from some random person’s ig or facebook etc)
TWs: Descriptions of blood, death, & alcohol (nothing too crazy)
He really didn't mean to get caught up like this. Too focused on his studies, he had neglected to think of how many times he told himself, “just another hour.” Shuffling like a mindless idiot between his study and cold storage, he didn’t even notice he had run low on food until he was groping uselessly at the empty cooler. Now, he was stumbling through this populated human city like a drunk, starved out of his mind.
It was demeaning, truly. Clutching the filthy brick exterior of some building like it were a lifeline, he could feel the mortar crumbling under the strength of his nails alone. Despite his careful adherence to the cover of the shadow, he still ran into individuals who felt the pathetic need to converse with him. Relegating himself to just the alleyways, as a result, he was overwhelmed by the stench of rotting food, garbage, and mildew. It didn’t help that the occasional hoots and hollers of drunken pedestrians bounced off the close-set buildings like some sort of personal torture chamber.
He despised the city, despised the people, but what other choice did he have?
Feeling the pulse of music beneath his palm, he knew he had found himself at a club of some sort. Likely spilling with tourists, he didn’t even need to go inside to sense the delectable thump of fast heartbeats and rushing blood. At this time of the night, he was sure most of them had been long since corrupted by the bitter charms of alcohol, but he was hardly in a state to be picky right now.
With a shaky breath, he raised his head and steeled himself to leave his makeshift safe-haven. He would only need to step into the light for a moment to draw the attention of some passerby. It would be easy to compel them into the dark before anyone noticed their disappearance. The thought of fresh blood on his tongue had his stomach twisting in anticipation, but he couldn’t be too hasty. He was far too starved to handle the intricacies of a dead body. Once he felt that telltale slowing of the pulse, he’d abandon his catch just as their eyelids fluttered shut. With just a little prompting, they’d be easily picked up by one of the lingering club bouncers and both would walk off assuming the issue had simply been one too many drinks.
It was far from a representation of his real genius, but it would be adequate for now. As soon as he got something in his system, he could come up with a strategy far less juvenile.
Then, of course, you came right for him.
"Hey," the voice echoed unpleasantly in his ears, "Are you alright?"
How you managed to see him despite his elaborate positioning was a mystery he would remain unaware of. All too quickly, you were approaching him. Your scent invaded his every thought, sweet but unmistakably diluted by alcohol. He couldn't miss the drunken lilt to your kind words with that in mind. Your speech intoxicating in its own way, it sent a shiver down his spine. Though, the pleasure of the moment was quickly ripped away by the brush of fingertips against his clothed shoulder.
The unexpected touch seized him like an electric jolt. Whirling around to look at you, he was met by the sight of an average partygoer. Your clothing was far from professional, perhaps immodest if he still concerned himself with the beauty standards of times past.
"Do you need me to call someone for you?" You mimicked the gesture of picking up a phone as though he was unable to understand your words.
Ordinarily, the assumption that he was incompetent would enrage him. Though, there was something about the hint of concern in your eyes-- surely, it was just his hunger. Shooting out from his side, he wrapped a hand easily around your wrist. Your pulse beating underneath his fingertips was sinfully tempting. He should have sunk his teeth in right then and there, not bothered himself with the useless pleasantry of talk. Yet, the words slipped from his tongue as though it were second nature.
"I'm fine." He spoke sharply, the response accented as he attempted to accommodate your language.
At first, he received no response. Your pulse quickened momentarily, perhaps the surprise of his touch or perhaps something else. Your eyes fell instantly to his hand, examining its undertones of death and the sharp, clawed nails that threatened to dig into your flesh. As he spoke, your gaze moved to his lips. Your intrigue caused him to question if he had foolishly abandoned his well-practiced mouth posture and speaking mannerisms-- revealing his fangs. He would never truly know as it was all washed over by your look of recognition.
"Ah." The sound seemed like an involuntary expression from you.
It was your continued speech that shocked him more, "You can go ahead. I'll be fine."
Bending your wrist in his grip, you raised it slightly to present your awaiting veins. Was he drooling? It didn't matter anymore. Pulling you closer to his form, he ignored your offered limb in favor of sinking his teeth straight into your far more desirable neck.
Like a five course meal, the blood that bubbled from your skin and seeped onto his tongue was divine. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted blood warmed so exquisitely like this. Not only that, the taste was unique to any that he had tasted from a human before. The cheap blood alcohol he usually found himself disgusted by like a fine wine pairing. Lost in the pure ecstasy of the moment, he didn’t even notice when you fell limp in his hold.
Only when your blood began to flow less readily into his awaiting mouth did he think to finally pull away from you. Surprised by how quickly your body began to fall backwards, he only barely managed to steady a hand on your waist and shoulder before you crashed into the ground below. Looking down at you, it would be generous to call you unconscious; you were downright deceased.
“Damnit!” He hissed
Angry bruising had formed on your neck, though it was already beginning to lack that fleshy tone it should have embodied. He didn’t need to touch the pulse point to tell that the gentle beating of life had stopped. Cursing himself for yet another mistake tonight, he felt himself finally regathering his previously abandoned wits.
He needed to do something with your body and fast. The easiest solution would be to bury you, perhaps where no one would check until it was far too late to properly discern what had caused your end. Maybe, he could even try to pass this off as another, messy vampire’s doing. Surely there was a location somewhere around here that could be deemed as a hotspot. Though, looking down at your placid features, the thought of leaving you in such a way left him feeling a little undignified— perhaps the hunger was still getting to him.
Gently laying your body against the ground, he grimaced at the sight of your hair sprawled across the filthy cobble. It only served to remind him of the way his own clothing dirtied as he kneeled beside you. Why in God’s name was he even doing this?
Examining your form, he managed to locate your mobile device. Not sure what he could do with the information it held, he investigated it anyway just in case. Struggling to activate the device, he chastised himself for not keeping up with the rapid advancements of the tech age. With his attention turned there, he hardly noticed as your body began to gain life once more. The soft thump of your heart was practically just a background noise, until of course you were sitting up like the living dead.
“Fuck.” He damn near shrieked at the sound of your voice.
Having risen quite quickly, you paused to grip your head. Not fully recovered from the effects of such severe blood loss, a pulsing pain reverberated in your skull from the harsh awakening. Eyes fluttering open, you were thankful to not be met by any harsh lighting, though it did pull you to question where you had ended up exactly.
The vampire man beside you had to do a double take to make sure he hadn’t just entirely lost his mind. Though, as your eyes met, you seemed entirely unperturbed.
“Oh yeah!” Recognition flashed over your features, “You feeling any better now?”
He gaped at the casual tone. You were acting as though he were the one having sustained grave injury.
“You were dead.” He noted incredulously.
“Yeah, it happens sometimes,” Your nonchalance would be infuriating if he wasn’t so relieved, “Just give me a minute and I’ll be good.”
He sputtered for a few moments, unsure of where to go from here but feeling the need to say something else, “You… what are you?”
The question lacked all his usual decorum, but you seemed endeared by it anyways, “Oh, I’m only immortal— nothing special.”
Nothing special? He could only scoff at such a ridiculous claim, “Humans… your type are not typically immortal.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a long story,” You replied, eyes falling to your phone in his hand, “Thanks for getting that, would be annoying if it broke or something.”
He wasn’t going to correct your assumption as you plucked the device from his hands. He had expected you to elaborate further on this supposed long story, but you instead turned your attention to the contraption.
“Looks like my friends are at a bar nearby too! I bet I can get a few more drinks in, huh?” He found it unnecessary for you to try to include him in such a decision, especially such a stupid one.
“No,” He protested quickly, “You should not be drinking. You need to return home.”
“Come on, it’s still early!” You turned the blindingly bright phone screen to him as though it would influence his opinion in any way.
“Besides, I’m fine!” To further try to prove your point, you quickly assumed a standing position.
Once again, he only barely managed to move into action before you stumbled back onto the pavement below, “Ok… maybe not.”
“I will walk you home.” He insisted.
Such words felt foreign on his lips. He never fraternized with anyone willingly, much less humans. However, he supposed there was a bit of an exception to your situation which posed itself as more intriguing than the average human. In all of his supernatural studies, he had almost rarely come across a case of an immortal human. His mind itched to know what had allowed you to reach such a state, and, perhaps, he also felt a gut-wrenching guilt at having indulged in your blood like some sort of glutton.
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman!” You placed your hands against his upper arm, as though you two were a romantic couple, and he couldn’t find himself minding the touch.
“Lead the way!” You declared.
“I’m not aware of where your home is.” He reminded you awkwardly.
“Oh right. Sorry, muscle memory,” He didn’t want to question what you meant by such an explanation, “I’ll lead the way!”
Surging forward, you shakily led the two of you out of the alleyway and down the winding, night streets.
(SPACER)
A/N: Very different from my usual content, but if this does well I’m considering expanding to some more monster fucker writing
I’m an optimist through and through so I believe everything will turn out ok but in case it doesn’t I’m not being nice to y’all who encouraged people not to vote or vote third party this time around, I’m not letting y’all “be mad at the people who voted trump, not me!” your way out of accountability like you did in 2016
Could I ask for a Vin jin fic?? Or hudson pleaseeee, I prefer fluff but even if it's smut I'd appreciate it🙏🙏
make it with you
ft. vin jin & hudson ahn x reader [separate]
details: fluff, established relationship
A/N: i'm doing both because why not also–WE NEED MORE HUDSON FICS WE NEED TO APPRECIATE HIM MORE!!!
ᯓ★—VIN JIN
The cool evening air brushes over the playground, a soft breeze rustling the leaves. It’s quiet—the only sounds are distant crickets and the gentle creak of the swing set. You’re seated on the swing, leaning back slightly, while Vin Jin stands behind you. He casually pushes you forward with his foot in a lazy, steady rhythm.
Above you, the stars are scattered across the sky, twinkling like little diamonds. "You see those stars over there?" you ask, pointing toward a bright constellation. Vin scoffs lightly, but his gaze lingers longer than usual. “Yeah, yeah, I see it. It’s just a bunch of dots,” he mutters, nudging the swing again with his foot. His movements are gentle, precise, and you can’t help but smile at how careful he’s being.
You chuckle, leaning your head back to catch his expression, noting the way he’s wearing a slightly lighter pair of shades tonight. “You never change, do you?” you tease, and he smirks, giving the swing a sharper push that makes you glare at him.
“Why should I?” he shoots back, trying to sound indifferent, but his tone is softer than usual. He keeps pushing you, his foot giving the occasional nudge when you start to slow down. Despite his grumbling, he’s careful with each push.
The swing gradually comes to a stop, and Vin moves to stand next to you. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his posture awkwardly stiff as if unsure what to do next. He glances up at the starry sky, the tension in his shoulders lessening just a little. “It’s... nice out here,” he admits, almost reluctantly that is, but you still smile.
You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him closer. He stiffens for a second but doesn’t pull away, his fingers curling around yours. He turns his gaze to the side, clearly trying to mask the small blush on his face, but you can feel the way his hand tightens around yours—the quiet acknowledgment of your presence.
He’s silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the stars, before he finally mutters, “I like it better when you’re around... but don’t tell anyone I said that.” His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you can tell he’s still trying to maintain his usual bravado. You smile, squeezing his hand gently. “Can I tell Mary?” You tease.
“No.” He scoffs, giving you a small nudge with his hand. “She wouldn't stop teasing if she knew.” He says. But to be honest? He wouldn't mind Mary knowing, he wouldn't mind anyone knowing.
It’d just be another chance to flex how he's yours and you're his.
ᯓ★—HUDSON
The night is calm, a blanket of stars stretching across the quiet hillside. You’re sitting together on a grassy spot, far enough from the city lights that the stars shine brightly above you. A cool breeze drifts by, and you instinctively shiver, rubbing your arms for warmth.
Hudson notices immediately. Without a word, he takes off his coat—the one with the familiar fur collar that he always wears. You know how important it is to him; a gift from Ma Tae-soo, it’s something he never goes without nowadays. Yet he doesn’t hesitate, draping it over your shoulders with a careful touch.
“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” he asks, his tone holding a hint of exasperation. There’s no real frustration in his voice, though, just a quiet concern. His brow furrows slightly as he settles back beside you, his eyes linger on you as if to make sure you’re okay.
“I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” you admit sheepishly, snuggling deeper into his coat. It’s warm, and the scent of him surrounds you, making you feel safe. Hudson just sighs softly, shaking his head, but there’s a faint fondness in the way he watches you, his expression softening.
“Next time, bring a jacket,” he says, the words more of a gentle command than a suggestion. His hand reaches up briefly to brush a stray hair away from your face, the touch light and fleeting. “I don’t want you getting sick.”
You smile at his words, feeling the warmth behind his light scolding. “Alright, alright, I promise,” you reply, leaning your head against his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts just enough to let you settle comfortably and even wraps an arm around your shoulders.
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, your head resting against him as you both look up at the stars. Occasionally, you point out a constellation, and Hudson listens quietly, his gaze steady and attentive. Even though he’s not much of a talker, his presence says everything.
At one point, you catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, and though he doesn’t smile, there’s a quiet warmth there, something that softens his usually stoic features. What you don't catch is how a small smile tugs at his lips when he knows you're not paying attention to him anymore.
He reaches for your hand, holding it gently, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a subtle, comforting gesture.
The night stretches on, the cool breeze making you grateful for the warmth of his coat, and Hudson stays by your side, solid and unwavering.
It was the definition of passion. Lineman has always thought they embodied the passion of Big Deal. So when he started crushing on you, he thought your eyes were the most enchanting. Especially when you see something you like, he swears it sparkles and it’s the hypnotic.
To him, your eyes sparkle the most when you’re around Jake. Because of that, Lineman assumed you had feelings for Jake. You were always around him, having been there since the beginning of Big Deal and being a person he could trust most. He can’t blame you - Jake does have an amazing butt.
He thought it would be best to write his feelings out.
-
You picked up the letter on your desk. Seeing that it was addressed to you, you read the contents. It was a note addressing someone’s affections for you.
You smile, you knew who it was just by looking at the handwriting. As Big Deal’s book keeper, you recognize each person’s handwriting almost immediately.
Lineman always had an interesting habit of writing some words from the bottom up. You teased about him serval times but he just never stopped writing in that way.
He was a stubborn and persistent man. It’s one of the reasons you found him so endearing.
-
“Lineman, I found this love letter on my desk. Who do you think gave me this?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. You hold up the pink letter, with an added heart sticker to make it more dramatic.
You watched as pink over took his face. A look of panic visible and you can only grin in response. You always found Lineman amusing whenever he’s lost for words due to you. Really, he should be used to it by now.
“I-have-no-idea… Jake isn’t here and I need to do something for him.” Lineman shutter out, the panic look even more evident. You only looked at him with a false sadness and disappointment.
“Jake only left me a task.”
Lineman looked around, trying to think of more excuses to take out of this situation. Mumbling something about Jerry being scared a mouse named Tom and other nonsense. You had enough and put your index finger on his lip, effectively shutting him up.
“So for lying to me….” You put your thumb under your chin, looking forward as if seriously thinking. “You could either do 100 push ups…. Or kiss me.”
“Okay, I w-“ Lineman replied, depressed at the prospect of push ups. “-wait. Kiss you?” He turned his head quickly towards you, face painted with shock.
“Yep. Or should I? Mr. Love Letter?”
You smirked as his speech suddenly disappeared again, face turned the reddest of reds. Turning tomato is an understatement, you were somewhat afraid he might pass out.
You sigh, tying to hide away your amusement. “Guess you’ll just have to do the push ups then.”
“I- no! Wait.” You complied, sitting still. After an awkward second or two, he finally kissed you.
It was after that, Lineman realized what real sparkles in your eyes looked like.
I’m just realizing how bad i am at writing fluff 😭 my background is in writing angst (send in your angst thoughts to me hehe) so fluff is so difficult
Scowling at Johan, you smack his hand away with a spatula.
He gives you a frown of his own in return, recoiling sharply, nursing the offending hand, acting as if that hit was the worst thing he has ever endured.
It hasn't even turned red, for god's sake.
"It's for your mom," you say, not like it's any surprise to him. You've been perfecting a cake recipe all week, Johan being the happy and compliant guinea pig.
He had moaned, at first, before he was unleashed on all the baked treats. But how could you turn up to see Mrs. Seong with nothing, not even a gift. It's your first time meeting her. What must she think of you if you showed up empty handed?
"She doesn't care," Johan told you, rolling his eyes, crumbs around his mouth after your first batch.
What he doesn't tell you is that she's already over the moon to meet you. To know there's someone else out there looking after her Johan and making him as happy as he sounds on the phone.
Either way, it's the principle of it. You want to make a good first impression. "I care."
.
.
"Mrs Seong!" You greet Johan's mom with a wide smile and a bow.
"Y/N, it's so nice to finally meet you. Johan has been talking about you nonstop."
Her arms encircle you in a tight hug.
Over her shoulder you give Johan a funny look. You thought they had only started to talk again recently, how much have they actually talked - and about you?
Blood already rushing to his cheeks, he refuses to meet your eyes. Chooses to squat down, cake tin in one hand and fuss over Eden and Miro which tells you enough.
"All good I hope!"
"Of course. I've never heard my boy so serious about anything. The other day, he said the sweetest thing about you-"
Johan springs up, eyes blown wide in panic. How could she snitch on him, embarrass him like this.
"MOM-"
The pups, sensing their owners distress start barking.
"Ignore them," you give a sweet smile to Mrs. Seong, one hand latched onto Johan's arm and holding him firmly in place and other slapped to his mouth, muffling his complaints. "I want to hear all about it."
8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope).
You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.
You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.
What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.
You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.
And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.
Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.
Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.
"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.
"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.
And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.
.
.
The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!
You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing.
Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-
Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.
Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang.
You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.
"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.
Bedsheets rustle behind you.
"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.
You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.
Now all you feel is extreme irritation.
"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.
For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-
You roll your eyes.
"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.
DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"
If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.
Whatever.
"Hurry up."
.
.
DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.
He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.
Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.
Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.
He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.
In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.
Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.
...Except-
What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.
Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.
Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.
.
.
DG has a stash of candy in the car.
Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.
If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.
You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.
It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.
And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.
Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.
The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.
DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.
Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-
Instead, he laughs.
It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.
What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.
So. You digress.
The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.
However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.
(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)
Ever.
In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.
Until-
"Here."
"Huh?"
Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.
Three things happen in quick succession.
The burst of sugar hits your tongue.
You nearly choke.
You narrowly avoid swerving.
"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.
Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.
.
.
That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.
You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.
It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.
You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.
You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.
Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.
.
.
And DG too.
Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.
The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.
You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.
But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.
It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.
Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.
How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.
"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.
He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.
It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.
As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.
"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.
"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.
.
.
With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.
But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.
Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong.
The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.
His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest.
Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.
.
.
Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.
Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.
"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.
A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.
You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.
DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.
"Aren't you staying?"
"What?" You double take at the question.
DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one.
He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.
(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)
Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.
You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-
"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it
All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.
.
.
Almost.
No, you were wrong.
Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.
His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.
All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.
He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.
You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.
And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.
You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this.
You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.
.
.
Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.
To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.
Ok, so this one is your fault.
The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.
Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.
Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.
Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.
You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.
By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-
And see it in the middle of being compounded.
You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.
Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.
You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.
.
.
A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.
DG does the opposite. Sort of.
He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.
Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.
Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.
Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.
This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime.
Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.
.
.
Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.
The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.
.
.
Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.
Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.
The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.
There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.
Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.
It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.
DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.
He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.
As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.
"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.
Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.
You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.
(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence).
"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.
DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.
You don’t get home until past 4am that night.
At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda.
As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.
You don’t get home until past 4am that night-
With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.
.
.
DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.
You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.
And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”
Diego.
.
.
Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.
You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.
You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world.
Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.
“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”
"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.
"What?"
"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."
DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.
Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.
"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.
"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”
.
.
“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night.
How peculiar.
“James, James, James.”
.
.
Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.
DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.
What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.
This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing.
With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.
Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide.
However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.
DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.
There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.
You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes.
Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.
DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?
Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.
He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.
Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.
It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.
Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.
Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.
.
.
You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.
.
.
Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.
To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time.
You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks.
You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.
"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.
You look up at him, brows furrowed.
Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."
"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.
It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.
Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.
Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.
.
.
You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.
The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.
The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.
DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.
There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.
He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.
.
.
“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.
And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.
(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)
You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth.
Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain.
It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.
For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked.
(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)
Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.
Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.
Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.
“Hurry up, DG.”
You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now.
…On time.
…On time if the traffic was in your favour.
…Late, but not terribly so.
…Fashionably late.
… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.
Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-
Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.
He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him.
“You’re late.”
It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.
Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.
“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath.
You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.
“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.
.
.
Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.
He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?
Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!
Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.
.
.
Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.
Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-
Hold on.
DG frowns at himself.
Damn.
.
.
James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.
He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).
People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with.
Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.
But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.
.
.
Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.
You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.
And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.
.
.
Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.
It's another night in together.
These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.
Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.
Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.
"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.
"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.
Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."
Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.
You think you might never breathe normally again.
.
.
No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.
You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself.
It’s not working.
“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.
Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.
And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery?
Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?
“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name.
You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”
Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.
“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.
Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.
“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”
DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”
The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.
“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.
“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”
“Fuck!”
.
.
If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.
“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.
For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.
(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.
He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.
If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)
Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.
.
.
When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.
When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.
Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.
Such is the criminal justice system.
Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.
He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks
You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious.
You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.
As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.
In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”
The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.
“I’m staying for a while.”
“According to who?”
You barge past him anyway with a grin.
.
.
The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.
You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.
The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.
Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.
“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.
.
.
Peace doesn’t last.
Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.
Headlines scream with leading questions.
“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”
“How a Manager seduced their Idol.”
“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”
Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times.
Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect.
In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.
And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.
More pictures unveil themselves.
A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.
You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.
You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.
His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.
Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)
Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.
Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them.
Simply unhinged.
.
.
The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.
To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.
He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.
To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.
It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case.
Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply -
Your hand in his.
.
.
Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.
You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.
This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.
“Hi.”
A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”
“Um...”
“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”
You open your mouth to argue-
“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”
A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”
“Are you two together? Romantically?”
“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.
“Is that a no? Or-”
“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”
You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.
.
.
DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.
Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.
He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.
DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes.
Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.
He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.
“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.
He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.
How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?
If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do.
There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.
Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.
“What is it?”
“...”
“Diego-”
“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”
You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”
“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.
You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”
“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”
“I am your manager.”
“But you are interested in me.”
It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-
What.
You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”
“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”
“...”
“So. What do you think?”
“Of what?”
“Us.”
You take a step back. “...”
“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”
Another step. “...”
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
And your back hits the wall with an oomph.
DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”
“...”
You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”
“...”
Fuck. Fuck!
How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.
With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.
The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.
His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.
And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.
Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.
Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.
Damn it all.
“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.
He shifts.
Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin.
He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.
Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.
Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.
"I was reading about Paris today." You say, breaking the silence and poking the fire with a stick.
Yeonji continues to stare into the flames, you think he might not have heard or is just ignoring your small talk until a full minute later, he asks if that's in Europe.
"Yep, France. It's meant to be really romantic. I wanna see it for myself."
You feel his eyes turning to you at your comment and your face flushing when he tilts his head, trying to work you out.
.
.
"Apparently nothing prepares you for the scale of the Grand Canyon," you mention during another night. This time with the full company of the Cheonliang gang.
"It would be cool to visit." You add, as Mary gives you a questioning look before her gaze then flickers to Yeonji.
"Sounds boring as shit." Vin snorts.
You snap "Nobody asked you!" at the same time as Yeonji responds with "I don't think so."
.
.
"Do you think we would make it all the way across the Great Wall of China?"
Seongji momentarily pauses skewering the fruit, his prep for tanghulu, to consider your question.
"I don't see why not."
.
.
"What do you think about Jeju Island?" You ask as Seongji prepares kimchi, surrounded by tubs of cabbage and seasoning paste.
He looks up and gives you a small shrug, "I don't."
You roll your eyes at his answer. "Well, do you want to visit together one day?"
It's the first time you've asked him directly.
All your talk about other countries and sights is fanciful at best and delusional at worst. But somewhere like Jeju is much closer to home. Somewhere penniless students and dropouts are more likely to make a reality instead of it being wishful thinking and hypotheticals.
Yeonji doesn't answer you straight away, there's very few things he answers straight away.
You know he's considering his life in Cheonliang, the home he has made for himself on the mountain. How difficult escaping this wretched place would be and how sweet freedom would taste.
Daunting, however.
Overwhelming to think of an entire world outside of this cult.
He settles on asking you a question back, "Is that where you want to go?"
You think of lush greenery, beautiful beaches, sand between your toes and eating delicious tangerines with Seongji by your side.
It sounds like heaven.
"Well I'd go anywhere with you," you avoid looking at his face with your admission, "but Jeju would be nice."
Oh.
Oh.
Seongji feels his heart pounding, and it’s nothing like when he has to calm himself down with a cocktail of pills to prevent himself from losing control.
There’s a warmth that spreads from his chest, a fluttering in his stomach.
He wants to grab your hand but focuses on his task instead.
"Ok."
Nevertheless, you catch a small smile settling over his face as he rubs the kimchi paste into the leaves.
"Ok." You agree, beaming.
Maybe visiting this summer will be nice, or more realistically the next. There’s an escape you need to plan and money you need to save.
But you’re in no rush. As long as you're with Seongji, you don't mind waiting.
seongji, who's afraid of physical touch due to his trauma. the irreparable damage that the cult did to him left a permanent mark on his psyche. and yet, he finds that he wants to be vulnerable with you, to allow you to view him as is, to touch that deep spot in his heart he hasn't allowed anyone inside.
at the same time, he puts on a strong face, not wanting to look weak in front of you. he wants to be dependable in every sense of the word that he doesn't allow himself to even act like he's hurt when you're around.
only when your hands are wrapped around him, as you tell him 'it's okay' and whispering sweet words of comfort to him does he permit tears to run down that beautiful face of his.
G/N. 5.2k. Childhood friends to lovers, sorta canon compliant.
The first time you meet Jake, you are the right person at the right place.
Almost.
Both precocious pre-teens and families already intertwined.
Your father does something with his father, but that always seems to be the case, everyone knows Gapryong. Works with him in one way or another. He has all sorts of connections.
The peculiar thing though, at least to Jake's pre-pubescent mind was that he met you.
Few of his father's underlings or 'business partners' have a child that tag along. Fewer still that are seen as an equal.
Apart from being told to call him Oppa, you don't have any other formalities to follow. You stick your tongue out at him, tease him, laugh at his jokes. He in turn shares his candy and sticks of gum and saves all his best punchlines for you.
Minseong, or Auntie as you call her, always smiles at you; calling you precious and talking about how you and Jake would be a great match to join the families.
That could have been a possibility. If fate had been kinder his childhood crush could have blossomed into puppy love and everyone would have been thrilled at the development.
But before anything was allowed to flourish, fate had other plans.
Gapryong is murdered, and your and Jake's life take a different course.
You attend the wake, offering your condolences and saying all the right things in these unfortunate occasions.
Holding Auntie's hand in yours and telling her you're sorry. In the quiet of his bedroom, you wrap your arms around Jake's shaking body, rubbing circles into his back, kissing his forehead, even as he tries to hold it together.
.
.
For a brief moment of time after, you and Jake are like glue. Joined at the hips, never seen without the other.
Staying by his side as he gets his irezumi tattoos, oohing and aahing as he unveils the healed ink to you. Pouting as he shoots up like bamboo, puberty taking hold; growing tall and gangly and a full head or three taller than you. Walking each other home from middle school, him waiting for you outside your school gates. Dropping the bombshell that he has to stay behind for another year; besotted as you lecture him about his awful grades.
Eventually, time moves on.
Your family find better connections and ventures - respectable, creditable, without any of the Kim family's gangster past, and quietly and without fanfare remove themselves from the late Gapryong's inner circle.
They distance themselves, and though you ignore their request to do the same - Big Deal's boss, Sinu Han finds Jake Kim and so does Samuel Seo and the distance naturally grows.
Jake stays in the periphery of your life.
The occasional text, and rarer run-ins.
But he always keeps an ear out for you. Looks for you in every reflection. Hopes for you round every corner.
Right person at the right place but at the wrong time.
.
.
He does purposely seek you out once.
When he is on the cusp of joining Big Deal and needs someone sane to talk to.
To decipher his thoughts and feelings with the one person who knows him best.
It's you, it's always been you but-
After, he fully realised how different you both are. The trajectories you are on. You, untainted by all this gang shit, and him about to dive head first into it.
He can't marr you with this.
Wrong place, wrong time.
.
.
You sought him out once too, in the form of a letter as he serves his time in juvie.
Jake marvels at your handwriting, chicken scratch somehow turned graceful and elegant with time.
Yet-
Awkward silences punctuate the end of each sentence, and disappointment is found between the lines. Your tone is almost pleading, and there's a desperate yearning for yesteryear.
Jake chooses instead to focus on the crumbs of your life you offer. Thinks at least you're happy and safe and ignorant to the sort of life he leads now.
He keeps your letter under his pillow. Reads it over and over until he can recite it off by heart. Drafts a different reply in his mind every night though he can never bring himself to respond.
.
.
"Jake?"
The next time you see him again, he barely recognises you. Whether that was due to seasons apart or his focus on other priorities, he isn't sure.
He turns his head when you call his name, Johan Seong following suit.
"You look different," you comment and he does. Jake finally fills out his tall frame, lean muscle showing through his suit and a scar now adorns his lips.
He tilts his head, trying to place you until you frown. A familiar look of impatience, rolling your eyes-
"Y/N?" Your name feeling rusty on his tongue and his eyes widen at your appearance. How well the years have treated you, how kind puberty has been and how amazingly you clean up.
"Too important now to remember me?" You say, folding your arms but smiling.
"Me? I'm a nobody," Jake grins, relaxing in your presence as Johan mutters his agreement somewhere in the background. "What are you doing around here?"
In the end, he rejects your entrance to Club Vivi.
"Aw Jake, cmon for old time's sake!"
"You're underaged!" He says, but what he wants to tell you is this place is bad news. The further you stay away from anything to do with the Four Crews, from himself, the better.
"Shit!"
You manage to refrain from stomping your feet like a bratty child, distracted by the way that Jake smiles at you. Even with the pulsating music spilling out onto the street, the heaving queues of people, it feels just like it used to.
A wave of nostalgia hits you.
You reach out, yanking him down by his tie until he is eye level with you.
"Whatever." You thought you might be more upset with the rejection but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Not when Jake Kim is right there. "Text me, ok? I don't hear from you anymore. I miss you."
Jake's throat is suddenly dry.
How many years has it been since he's been eye to eye with you. He remembers his mother's fondness of you, your tinkling laugh in his ear. You by his side, the kisses on his cheek and soothing strokes on his back.
"I miss you t-"
Then Johan Seong clears his throat, uncomfortable at being caught up in this scene and wanting to be literally anywhere else, and Jake's eyes dart towards him.
God Dog.
One of the four gangs.
A mess of underhanded dealings involving Gun Park and Goo Kim. God Dog and Big Deal and Hostel and Workers.
The current situation draws sharply into focus, and Jake is reminded of his main goal - Sinu Han.
The spell is broken and Jake's mask as Big Deal Boss slams firmly back on.
"Sure thing," Jake straightens up again and you have no choice but to release your grip.
He doesn't plan to. Doesn't want to drag you into his mess. Swallows down any regret and feelings and offers you a wink instead.
Still the wrong place, wrong time.
.
.
Despite Jake's best intentions you are reunited.
You join Big Deal.
...Or more accurately, you find employment on Big Deal Street.
"Y/N?" Jake calls out to you and today your role is reversed.
It takes you a while to recognise your Jake dressed in his suit, a new scar across his nose and flanked by intimidating looking men. Body language serious, powerful and domineering.
Goddamn.
"...Jake?!"
"Everything ok, Boss?" Someone asks and your eyebrows quirk at 'Boss'.
"Fine, Jerry," Jake dismisses any concerns from the hulking man to his right and turns his smile on for you once more, "Just nice to see an old friend."
He lips says friend but his heart wonders if he has the privilege of calling you that anymore.
Are you barely even acquaintances? Someone you might bump into and give a polite nod to. Was he that teenager that you used to hang with once upon a time who you occasionally reminisce about? Do you ever think about him and wonder how he is doing? Do you think about the moments that you had together and the lives you could have had?
Turns out it doesn't matter anyway.
Jake catches the softness in your eyes and he sees that friend is enough.
It could be enough.
.
.
Now working part time at the restaurant Jake likes to frequent, you bump into each other time and time again. You become a regular fixture in his life once more.
Serving him extra large portions with a grin, offering up pickle juice with every stew.
"You still add this to all your jjigae, right?" You pull a face, it was never to your taste even if Jake acts like it's the most delicious thing in the world.
Jake blinks in surprise. "You remembered?"
You wipe your hands on your apron, then rest them on your hip. "Duh."
The other faces you gradually put a name to.
Jerry, Brad, Jason, Lineman, and later Lua.
You join them occasionally for the odd drink, perched at the end of the bench next to Jake and soaking up the warm atmosphere, or more likely the boys getting a telling off from Lua even as she throws you a small sly grin every so often.
Sinu and Yeonhui join the group now and then.
The latter takes a liking to you and the former gives you unsubtle glances, elbowing Jake and murmuring things in his ears that causes him to blush and bat Sinu away.
He's talking about you, that much is obvious but you wonder what it is exactly that turns Jake that cute shade of pink.
"Jake!" Yeonhui tuts, "Be careful."
"What are you saying about me?" You whisper into Jake's ear one time and he jerks sharply at your proximity. Banging his knee against the table so hard that it topples some drinks.
"Shit!"
Sinu, arm around her, just grins like a maniac.
.
.
You: Sooooo...
You: What is Sinu always whispering about?
Jake: Don't worry about it 😘
You: 😒
Jake: Sorry we didn't get to talk much today.
Jake: Hope you're ok
You: Don't worry about me!
You: I know you're super busy
You: It's just nice being around you again
Jake: Same 🙂
Jake: Are you going to get fired for giving me that free lunch?
You: You look like you needed it
Jake: I'm fine 💪
You: Nuh uh. You're tired. And stressed. I can tell
Jake: ...
Jake: Thanks for looking after me
Jake: I've missed you
You: I've missed you too
You: I've still got your jacket!
Jake: No worries I'll get it tomorrow
You: Thanks for letting me borrow it
You: and walking me home
Jake: M'lady
You: 😒
Jake: Good morning 😁
You: Too early 😪
Jake: It is. But i'm looking forward to seeing you later
You: Still can't believe you sprayed jjigae out your nose
Jake: You caught me off guard!
You: It was just an innocent comment
You: Who knew where your filthy mind went
Jake: 😒
Jake: You made Brad blush!
Jake: brad!!
You: 🤭
You: Can you ask Jerry to stop calling me ma'am?
Jake: Will do
Jake: Sorry ma'am
You: 🙄
You: Do you always train like that?
Jake: Yeah why?
You: Oh 🫣
You: Why does everyone in your crew keep bowing to me
Jake: Who knows why they do what they do
You: And EVERYONE keeps calling me Ma'am!
Jake: 🤷🏻♂️
You: Shirtless was unnecessary
Jake: 😉
You: 🙄
Jake: you try running laps around the street
You: can't put those abs away can you
Jake: not when they get so many admirers
You: 🙄
Jake: I had the weirdest dream about you last night
You. Go oooon
Jake: 🤐
You: Stop distracting me! You're going to get me fired
Jake: Who's gonna fire you?
You: Jake!
Jake: I'll speak to the owner don't worry about it
You: Jake NO
Jake: Now who's distracting who
You: Well who's gonna fire the boss?
Jake: 😒
You: Besides I didn't even do anything
Jake: That uniform cannot be regulation 🥵
You: 🤫
You: Thanks for taking me to see Auntie!
Jake: Moms so happy to see you
Jake: Found someone else to slander me with
You: It's all from a place of love
Jake: Sure 🙄
Jake: You working tonight?
You: Yeah and you better keep me company 😚
Jake: Always
.
.
During your closing shifts, when Jake is around, your boss and owner, is frequently nowhere to be seen.
You wonder if Sinu is responsible for this but you can never bring yourself to mind when Jake stays behind, offering to help.
Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as he wipes down surfaces with you, loads the dishwasher, clean the floors.
"Isn't this beneath the Big Deal leader?" You ask tonight, mopping as he clears and re-organizes the counter.
Jake shrugs, "I don't mind."
(Truth be told, Jason and Brad had given him a questionable look through the shop window once, when they were patrolling the streets at night and found their beloved boss performing menial duties.
Then they saw you grinning next to him and the way Jake looked at you.
And they got it. They, and no other Big Deal member, had questioned it since.)
You resume focus to your task at hand, wringing out the filthy water and scrubbing with earnest.
Damn, this patch of floor is dirty.
Despite pouring all your strength into this section, the mysterious grey splodge, which has likely accumulated from years of slipshod mopping, still has not shifted.
Noticing the sheen of sweat along your brow, Jake plucks a napkin from the holder and offers it to you. "Here."
"I'm fine."
"Your sweaty face says otherwise."
"Nah, I'm good."
You narrow your eyes at the stain, so absorbed in your task you don't notice his approach.
Contemplate getting on your hands and knees to examine it when Jake's hand edges forward, gripping your chin gently, and disrupts your train of thought.
"Come here." He huffs with amusement, angling your face to his.
Your eyes widen comically large and he chuckles. He brings the napkin up to your brow, dabbing attentively. Your temples and down the side of your face, the tip of your nose, before cupping your cheek.
"There."
There indeed.
You lean into his palm and sigh. A sigh built up from the depth of your being, that started from years ago, and your eyes flutter close when you feel Jake's thumb run along your bottom lip.
It's more intimate than you have ever been before but doesn't feel anywhere close to enough.
"Y/N-" he murmurs. Your name feels rusty no more.
Jake leans closer. LIke a moth to a flame, and your flame burns undying and gold.
Knuckles rap on the window, shattering the moment. You both turn and see Jerry with a solemn look on his face.
"One moment," Jake says, eyes apologetic and he exits.
The moment stretches as you watch Jake talking to Jerry outside. Both their expressions growing more fierce, exchanged more heated, by the second.
Jake sighs, and his sigh is nothing like yours only minutes ago. His eyes catch yours. He thinks he might regret this forever, wondering about the lingering what-if, but he thinks about your safety and the safety of Big Deal, and he leaves. Striding off into the night.
Jerry comes in, contrite and bows. Tells you sorry but Jake has somewhere else to be.
Leaves you even more bewildered and confused, wondering what has happened.
.
.
Workers storm the street only a few days later.
The Hunt for Big Deal peaks when Eugene, not able to get his way, calls in his favour.
Holding back the police, intrusive thoughts of his failure as a leader enter Jake's mind. The state of the street, the crew. Members of Big Deal lie bruised and bloodied around him.
The one silver lining, at least, is that you're nowhere near.
You're not tangled up in this.
.
.
Maybe it could have been the right place.
But the time cannot be more wrong.
.
.
You and Jake had left your friendship hanging at an odd place that night.
Then he never called, never texted.
(Neither did your boss, but you didn't care about that.)
You glumly scroll through your text chain with him. All the flirtatious words that you had assumed were building up to something.
You sent him one message asking if he was ok, an olive branch and permission to forget everything if it made him uncomfortable and he didn't respond.
The silence said everything you needed to hear.
You are left to wallow and mope in your gloom.
.
.
Jake is awake. Broken and bruised but alive.
Left to deal with the aftermath, the pieces of his crew, with the ever loyal Lineman by his side.
Forces himself to push on when all he wants is to curl up in a ball somewhere. Put on a brave face because what else can he do? Recollect his thoughts, rethink his strategy.
Lineman and Lightning Choi are very little comfort to Jake during these hours. Even as both their loud personalities fill in the silence, camaraderie building between them by the day, Jake feels fragile. Stretched thin and strained.
Regardless, he plasters on his plastic smile. The one he used to wear when he was looking for Sinu and trying to hold on to his sanity.
Funny how life comes full circle.
In his heart and head, he knows that all his focus should be on getting stronger, on saving his crew.
But your latest text, left on read and left hanging, haunts him.
.
.
The Wanted posters capture your attention and snap you out of your mood.
'What the...?''
Pictures of your friends pinned up in the convenience store. Bounties in stark black font show beneath their faces.
You abandon your goods, your treats and pick-me-ups mid purchase and make your way to Big Deal Street as quickly as you can.
Navigating public transport and running until you're panting and out of breath and sweat blurs your vision.
Everywhere is shuttered and closed.
.
.
Everything Jake does, tastes, drinks is tinged with bitterness.
Nevertheless, a routine forms and with each passing day he feels more like himself.
Determination returns.
He trains alongside Lineman even though Lightning Choi insists that he can't teach Jake anything.
Feels his strength returning and muscle growing. Busies himself with preparation in all forms.
“Here,” Jake sets down fresh cooked ramyeon in front of Lineman who looks up at him in surprise. “Eat up. You need it with all your training,”
Lineman wells up with gratitude, “Boss!”
It's a simple meal.
Packaged noodles Lineman has had thousands of times before but it's the best thing he has ever tasted.
.
.
In return, Lineman does something for Jake.
He's not sure it's the right thing to do at first, but anyone with eyes can see Jake moping around like a lovesick puppy.
He extends the reaches of his network.
Calls in long owed favours, reconnects to people in his old Monster Crew, people he trusts that won't spill his whereabouts. Asks everyone to keep an eye out, keep their ear to the ground.
Gold is struck when Lineman manages to locate Jerry.
Encouraged by agreement from Lua, who has stayed in contact with the No.2, that this is what the boss needs-
Lineman sets forth his plan.
.
.
“Boss?” Lineman knocks on Jake's bedroom door, a makeshift backroom full of cobwebs with a rickety sleeping cot.
Where Jake currently lies, face illuminated by his phone.
Lineman refrains from rolling his eyes. Probably going through his texts again.
The guy thought he was being subtle, but it's obvious as hell whenever he's looking at past messages with you. It's the only time a genuine smile graces his face before it inevitably turns forlorn.
“Hmm?” Jake clicks the screen off and sits up as Lineman pokes his head around.
“You got a sec?”
“Sure thing.”
“Ok.” Linemans head disappears again.
There's some minor commotion behind the door. Hushed voices squabbling and-
The door cracks open again and you step through.
.
.
When you got the call from Lineman, you leapt at the chance of seeing Jake again. To see that he's ok with your own eyes.
Give him a piece of your mind for icing you out, probably under some misguided sense of chivalry.
For not explaining a single thing to you and keeping you in the dark even as this huge shit storm rained down on him.
Worse of all, the audacity for leaving you on read.
Unfortunately, at seeing Jake-
The bruises, now mottled green and yellow, the cuts and scratches littering his skin, body bandaged and tender, the way his eyes have lost their light.
-Everything you planned to say and wanted to say goes out the window.
And you burst into tears.
Lineman, taking that as his cue, clicks the door shut.
.
.
Jake is stuck somewhere between elated and miserable.
You're here? You're really here?
But fuck. You're here.
Caught in this chaos.
When he thought he had managed to at least protect you if no one else, you show up when he's at his most powerless.
Then your lip quivers, and your nose lets out a telltale sniffle and-
Shit.
None of that matters.
Jake tries for a smile of his own but feels his own lips turning down.
“What you crying for, dummy?” Tone aiming for jovial, his own voice betrays him and cracks at the last syllable.
A small voice in your head is outraged. Who exactly is he calling a dummy, has he even seen the state of himself.
But you don't move, stay standing by the door, staring as the tears come thick and fast.
Until-
Jake opens his arm, an invitation, and you throw yourself at him.
He winces feeling your weight collide into his body and disturbing his injuries. Luckily your arms coming to hug him around the neck quickly dulls the pain.
He embraces you, one arm holding you close and other hand stroking your hair while telling you it's fine, he's fine, everything's ok.
God. He didn't even realise how much he missed you until you're here. Even the scent of your hair, the feel of your clothes.
Nevermind being able to touch you and hold you.
“Don't you dare ditch me again,” you growl into his shoulder.
Jake opens his mouth, about to argue-
Then you squeeze him tight, lips brushing along his skin and all fight leaves him.
“Ok.”
.
.
The initial reunion is sweet. Glued at the hip once more, one never seen without the other.
You forgive Jake with little drama and he is extra attentive. If he's not next to you then he seeks out your eyes in every moment, every scenario.
Quietly checking you're ok, you're happy. That this situation isn't more than you can handle.
When your eyes meet his, your face lights up and you give him a smile that melts his heart and all his defences.
“I will go with you anywhere,” you tell him one night, sitting on some dusty stairs.
“I know,” he grins.
Realistically, it's a problem. The other problem is that he always wants you with him too.
.
.
However.
The patience from others is short lived.
Lineman is pleased to have his leader back. See the bounce in Jake's step, the grin on his lips that reaches his eyes.
And who is Lightning Choi to get in the way of young love?
Watching you two laughing together, talking in hushed tones, sharing inside jokes warms his heart
Except.
You and Jake are a thorn in his side.
The incessant giggling is annoying. The constant whispering is distracting.
“Get a room!” He shouts over one day, at the end of his rope when Lineman mishears an instruction and ends up face planting.
That did the trick. Both of you avert your gaze and blush furiously.
Hmph. Young idiots in love.
.
.
“You're leaving for Gangnam tomorrow?” You ask, lying beside Jake and resting your head on his shoulder.
“The First Affiliates,” he confirms, clipped and tense.
With D-Day drawing closer, Jake has grown more on edge. Doubt creeping in if he's strong enough to infiltrate and reach Jinyoung Park. Even with the temporary alliance with Daniel Park, he's not sure if it's enough.
After all, the last team up with Charles Choi should have proved sufficient.
With 1A, Jake has given you information on a need to know basis. Kept the details light lest the worry extends to you. Despite his best efforts, you're concerned.
Although, for other selfish reasons.
You prop yourself up on your elbow and face him.
“You said you're not going to ditch me again.”
“Huh?”
“You said!” You jab at his chest with your free hand. “You said you wouldn't ditch me again. No matter what happens.”
Jake pulls a face, and it's one you recognise as regretting his words. Weighing up if being together is worth the potential danger you're put in and trying to worm his way out.
You cut off his spiralling thoughts with another jab and scowl at him. “Promise, asshole.”
His eyebrows shoot up in affront, “Who you calling asshole?”
With one swift movement, he flips you over. You lie flat on his back as he smirks down at you.
“Don't distract me, asshole.”
“It's not my fault you're getting distracted,” and the cocky little shit has the audacity to wink at you.
Ugh. You're serious and he's treating this like a joke. This position is also causing your thoughts to run away with itself.
“Jake,” your gaze dips down to his lips and you angle your face up to his.
He peers down, half-lidded and playful.
“Yes?” He inches closer.
“Stop it.”
"Stop what?” And closer.
“Promise me,” you murmur, lips gently brushing against his. Tips of your noses grazing, his hair falling out of place and breath, minty and sweet on your skin.
Jake pulls back, enough to look into your eyes. Searches. Finds what he's looking for.
“I promise.”
And he kisses you, hard. Pours everything, his heart, his hopes, fears and doubts, into the one kiss.
.
.
Jake finds Jinyoung but loses Samuel.
Finds out more than he expected about Samuel’s background. Pieces together his background with their falling out, his complexes. At least Jake is able to understand him a little more.
Jerry is safe, if not further wounded from his fight with the Fifth Affiliates - no, with Hostel.
But he's safe. So are Brad and Jason and Lua.
Overall, he considers it a success even if it's middling at best.
.
.
Jake has promised you.
Yet-
He wonders if some promises are better to break.
He thinks it would break you too. A little. In a way that you can recover from, he lies to himself.
He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Lua a favour, a huge goddamn favour. Maybe she can be the one that tells you.
Jake would be indebted to her forever. Probably get eaten alive by the guilt, but surely it's the kind thing to do.
Lua glares at him before he even gets a word out. It's the most angry she has ever looked.
Jerry is the one who responds. “Don't you dare, Jake.”
.
.
The thing is, there might never be the right place and right time. At least not in Jake's foreseeable future when there's danger lurking around every corner.
He had initially assumed you and him weren't meant to be, life destined to run on different paths. Had given up at first, when you were both just kids, then given a sliver of hope when you met again.
Except isn't that worse than having no hope at all. To get a taste, a glimpse of what he could have?
He has tried to be so good, so selfless.
A good son and a good friend and a good leader. Tried to give everything his all and come up short and weak.
But for you, it never really mattered. You didn't want him to be anything but himself. Didn't care that he was Gapryong Kim's son or Big Deal No. 1.
With you - it's painfully uncomplicated. Even as all other areas of his life crumble.
You're still the right person. Even if nothing else had been right or felt right, you did.
You do.
And in the end, isn't that all that really matters?
.
.
Jake lets his selfishness take over.
Watches you from the doorway, pacing back and forth and is surprised you haven't worn a path into the floorboards.
Reasons with himself that he deserves this, deserves you. Thinks that he would go insane if he doesn't allow himself this.
This one thing, the most precious thing.
Something he held back and repressed for years. Putting everything but himself and his happiness first.
He's weak. He's simple. He wants to, needs to give in and he wants to be happy.
“I'm back,” he calls over, and your face snap to his in shock.
You ignore his new scars and fresh bandages. It doesn't matter because he's here. He's come back to you.
Jake opens his arms, an invitation, and you take one step, two, three-
And throw yourself at him. Clinging on. Feeling his skin, his body against yours.
“I was worried.” You say, voice muffled into his t-shirt.
“I can tell,” Jake is grinning. Whenever he thinks he may never smile again, you always tease it out of him.
“Don't make fun of me,” you say, lifting your head and frowning up at him
“Sorry.” And he is. For a lot.
Jake gently grips your chin once more, angling your face towards his.
He wonders how he managed to resist for so long, impressed at his own control because how could he ever say no when you look at him like this.
(He knows he looks at you like this too. Seen pitying glances from Lua and heard sniggers from Sinu.)
Jake surges forward.
Captures your lips with his, feels your body turning stiff with surprise and then-
Feels you sag with relief, with happiness, with pleasure. Melting and leaning forward, seeking out more.
His free arm winds around your waist and pulls you close. Pressing the lengths of your body together and promising never to let go again.
.
.
During Jake's worst days, he didn't think he would have the privilege of growing old.
No family of his own. And though you were just friends, instead of a faceless partner, he would still imagine it was you by his side and the kids were the perfect mix of you and him.
Dark thoughts would turn to lamenting letting you slip through his fingers. Thinking about what could have been.
On his best days, he dreamt of growing old with you.
In time, Jake will come to know that fate will be kinder to him, his dreams will become a reality.
From the start you've always been the right person, at the right time, at the right place.
G/N. Fluffy. 4.7k. Another friends to lover with Goo falling first
You're used to Goo's melodrama. You've known him since middle school, survived to tell the tale, hung around post-Juvie and joined him in HNH Group so of course you are used to this guy.
He considers you his best friend, partner in crime. Looks at you with a wicked smile that you return before descending into whatever diabolical plans you have cooked up.
(Goo likes to joke that he's the brawn and you're the brain when he's feeling particularly kind and charitable and you counter with that he's neither.)
And of course this includes witnessing his growth spurt from ankle biter to the somewhat reasonable specimen that he is now. Though you've never looked at him that way, it's a little icky if anything, and you just nod kindly when he tells you how hot he is.
You guess it must be true to some extent. He has a lot of pretty men and women hanging off him. An ever revolving door of beautiful people that you doubt he's winning over with his charming personality.
(Sometimes you take pause and wonder why you get on so well. Maybe it says a lot about your own charming personality but you handwave away any fleeting moments of introspection.)
Objectively, you suppose, he's fine. Like you wouldn't kick him out of bed. Although that's not entirely true. You have shared a bed many times, kicked him out more than you can count when he hogs your duvet and drools on your pillow.
However. It is funny and kind of endearing to watch him wake up bleary eyed. Pillowcase wrinkles pressed into his face, blonde hair a nest, as he pats around for his glasses.
Either way, it doesn't matter. You're childhood friends. You know him better than you know yourself and you think Goo can say the same for you. But he just doesn't give you those gooey fuzzy feelings.
Never has. Never will.
Goo would definitely agree with that too.
.
.
…Except he doesn't.
Well, he doesn't like to think about it, is what it is.
For all his drama and chaotic energy, he stuffs this down and ignores it. Do you know how difficult this is for him? Of course you don't. Goo is loud and boisterous and obnoxious. So to continue to act like everything is normal, to be patient and quiet and not howl and wail about it goes against everything that he stands for.
He can't pinpoint it, ok. Has no idea what changed or when.
Maybe it was when you were kissing that guy with the terrible fashion sense who he thought was fathoms below your league.
(Thank the heavens you came to your senses a week later and ditched him. Even if it took a lot of sly insults and put-downs from Goo to help you along the way.)
Or when you said you thought Gun was pretty handsome and Goo nearly threw up in disgust.
(Goo was particularly vicious to Gun for a short while after that. Hissing at him every time, calling him all sorts of childish names and relishing how the vein in his temple twitched.)
Or it could be the way you took care of him over the years. Waiting for him at an ungodly hour in the morning when he bounced out of juvie and into his first day of freedom. Accompanied him shopping as he spent his first HNH Group paycheck. Bandaged up his many injuries, taking care of age old scars, all the while chuckling at how pathetic he is even with a wetness in your eyes.
Something blossomed for Goo.
Slowly but surely, blooming from a weak seedling and unfurling, growing into a hardy evergreen that never dies, never wilts. Kept steady and healthy by your sharp tongue and knowing eyes.
Whose roots are deeply embedded into Goo's core. That there's no way of ever untangling or removing.
.
.
So yes, Goo has an ever revolving door of distractions.
And if it's something to test the water now and then, to see if your face drops at seeing a new trophy on Goo's arm, then who can blame him for that working in his favour.
It never happens though. You're polite and courteous when you are greeted with his fling. A face you have likely seen in magazines and on the screen but will eventually forget about after their 15 seconds of fame and Goo.
Does it matter that maybe Goo should be direct and stop toying with everyone's feelings. Sure. But the odds aren't in his favour so why not have some fun. This is also Goo Kim you're talking about.
In all honesty, he's still a bit- a lot of an asshole.
.
.
"Why do I even like you," Goo mutters under his breath when he sees you dripping sauce down your top for the N-th time in so many minutes.
Your current hand eye coordination leaves a lot to be desired, and your table manners are atrocious. Goo sits and sighs, hand resting on his palm, watching you trying to clean yourself up when you're only working the stain into your shirt harder.
"Fuck, this is going stain forever isn't it." You frown at the brown splodge across your chest.
"No shit."
"Damnit."
"Let's go shopping after," Goo says, and what he means is I'll buy you a new shirt because you're an idiot and I'm not walking around with you looking like that.
"Again?!" You pull a face, and what you mean is thanks for taking care of me.
.
.
Goo has a theory. One he doesn't want to test or be proven wrong but he thinks about it all the time nevertheless.
Like right now. When you're rifling through the racks picking out clean clothing and he has time on his hands to think.
His theory is that you like him too.
He can imagine you scoffing when you hear that, rolling your eyes and accusing him of being delusional. Which ok, he admits he is. But he's not that out of touch. Even he knows how it sounds.
He has realised the way you feel about him from the way you look at him, how you seek him out, the way you brighten seeing his handsome face even if you don't realise it yourself. You're just too stubborn to admit it.
There is no way on earth he can force this, and he is oh so very used to brute forcing his way through things with unscrupulous methods, so he waits for you to come to the realisation on your own and eventually bat your eyelashes at him and announce your own feelings.
Except it's taking a good while, and hasn't he already mentioned he's not the patient kind? You're not doing either of those things, nowhere close.
In fact, you're actually exiting the changing rooms in a new outfit that is far too flattering and spinning around for Goo to observe.
"Looking good, Sweetheart," he tells you, leaning back to take in the view with a cat smile. "You should get it."
And you do. Fishing out the credit card that Goo pays off every month to complete the transaction.
.
.
If Goo is someone that keeps count, and he absolutely is despite playful appearances, then he would know it's been years since the feelings have crept up on him.
And if he were to consider when his theory started, it would probably be around two years ago.
Yes, you do spend some nights together. Usually due to running errands from Charles Choi and it's more convenient, or more often because of Goo hanging around too long and too late in your home then refusing to leave.
But he reckons the turning point might have been two years ago when you were the one that stayed at his penthouse. Goo was riddled with some deadly disease (a cold actually, but it was a pretty bad cold to be fair) and you sort of unwillingly took on the role of caretaker.
How could you not?
No-one else likes him half as much as you do. He's got more enemies than he knows what to do with who would rob him in his state then kill him without so much as a second glance.
You’re sure even Gun and Crystal and Kouji would finish him off then throw a party about it.
For that week, Goo’s usual quips and sharp edges were nowhere to be seen although he definitely did more than his usual share of moaning and whining.
But he was adorable. Pink cheeked and red nosed, hair in disarray, wallowing in his comfiest sweatpants and hoodie. A million miles away from his suited and booted, meticulously styled persona. Half lucid, curled around you or with his head in your lap looking absolutely weak and pathetic.
It's your fondest memory of Goo Kim.
You saw him at his worst, all soft and squishy and vulnerable and it did something to your heart ever since.
Goo knows this. The way you act around him, how you look at him, hasn't been the same since that week.
There's a softness, affection, that wasn't there before. It's just a shame you're too ignorant to your own feelings and any flirtatious behaviour from Goo is just seen as him being his usual fun self.
So he waits and waits, even as he loses grip of his sanity and falls more for you with each passing day.
.
.
Kindness is often repaid, and your kindness comes full circle in the present day when you're the one that falls ill.
It's a rare thing for something to knock you off your feet as much as this has. It started with a sniffly nose and Goo recoiling in horror when an unexpected sneeze crept up and you sprayed spittle in his car.
A cough also accompanied the snot a few days later. Goo rubbing circles into your back turned into thumping and you shoving him away from you, sputtering and hacking in his direction for good measure.
You continued to work, with Goo's stares growing more concerned and exasperated by the day. Likely making yourself much worse and prolonging any recovery until-
You're bedridden. Switching between hot flush and cold shivers and feeling worse than death.
"You only have yourself to blame," Goo mother hens around you, feeling smug. "I told you so."
In your delirium, you can hardly make out the words but a part of your brain, refined after spending so many years in Goo’s presence feels a surge of annoyance.
A hand reaches out to feel your forehead. "Ew, clammy" and you try to bat it away without success.
You're given pills and medicine over the next couple days. Water and herbal teas carefully tipped down your throat and spoonfed hearty meals in your delirious state. Idle chit chat passes through one ear and out the other. You flutter somewhere between half awake and passed out.
At some point, you become lucid enough to poke the body next to you and ask, "Why aren't you at work?"
Goo, burrito-ed in your duvet after you kicked it off for being too warm, and snoozing happily moments ago, turns and glares at you. Wants to point out that it's currently 4am so please shut the fuck up.
Instead, he looks into your eyes that are sort of looking at him but looking through him; notices the sheen of sweat across your brow and laboured breathing. He decides to be nice, for now.
Voice groggy, he says "Go back to sleep," and gives you a pat on the head to send you on your way.
There's no work for Goo today at 4am. There's no work for him for the last few days either or for the foreseeable. Concludes it better for you to come to your own realisation that he took the time off so he could look after you.
There is no work, no other priorities for him, when you're like this.
Goo sighs and grumbles as he falls back to sleep. About making less money, about having to put up with Gun complaining when he's back.
Still, as he feels you curling your body around his back, your arm slung across his hips - he guesses he doesn't mind, if he can have this.
.
.
Your fever breaks on a Thursday. Lucky for you, it coincides with your medicine running out. Nonetheless, Goo insists on a supply run.
"But I'm fine," you whine, despite being completely not fine and stumbling out of bed.
Goo mutters something about the 'state of you', pushes you back into bed with one hand and cackles when you fall back with an 'oomph!' and minimal force.
"I'm going out." Goo states with no room for argument.
Something in you clicks at hearing such a no nonsense, authoritative tone.
The bratty side of you insists on at least joining him. It's been days since you left your home, left your bed. You're going stir crazy. Fresh air will do you good.
Goo rolls his eyes as your reasons spill out in a jumble. Lips quirking, he gives in. "Fine."
You hate to admit this, but Goo is right. You'll never tell him though, lest his ego is inflated further.
But the bright noon sun, the city crowd, and the fluorescent lights of the pharmacy are overwhelming.
Has Goo always walked so quick, been so sure in his strides? Cutting easily through the throngs of people.
You trail him, struggling to keep up.
Goo glances over his shoulder, sees you looking bewildered and falling behind. He slows, stretches his hand out to yours and intertwines your fingers with his.
Leaning into your ear, he murmurs "Stay with me."
Something else inside you clicks at his breath ghosting over your skin and the sight of your hands joined together.
The pharmacy is a labyrinth. Aisles and aisles of medicine and toiletries and whatever else overwhelms your delicate senses.
Only the view of Goo's broad back and your hand in his keeps you steady. He winds this way and that, foot sure in where he's going but pace slowing to match yours.
"Here we are," Goo stops, arriving at the destination, untangling your hands and you slam into him.
"Careful sweetheart," he gives you a quick toothy grin before examining the rows and rows of packaged pills and bottled syrups.
Hands now in pocket, he bends at the waist, getting a closer look. Frown creeping over his face when his brand of choice is nowhere to be seen.
"Shit. C'mon, let's find someone to see if they have it in stock." He tilts his head and signals you to follow.
Or at least you try to. One moment he was in front of you, his bleached hair and tall lean physique within reach.
The next, he turned the corner and so did you. Except he vanishes. Completely into thin air.
Fuck.
If you were feeling like yourself, you would know that this pharmacy is only a block away from your home. You've been here a million times. You can wait for him outside if you have to.
But you don't feel like yourself. You feel like a kid lost in a sea of people. Suffocating between bodies and bright shiny plastic crap. Too small to know where to go or find the exit and your one lifeline, Goo, is nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," you look around, check behind you and down more aisles. "Shit shit shit."
The panic lodges itself into your chest and your stomach sinks. More faceless nobodies get in your way, blocking your view and your path, moving too quick for you to cut a route through.
"Where the fuck is he-"
A hand rests on your hip, stops you moving further and you feel a chest lightly pressed against your back.
Anyone else and you would have spiralled further, but you already recognise who it is.
"Didn't I tell you to stay with me," Goo growls lowly into your ear.
It cuts through your fever induced haze, your sickness induced panic. It shoots into the pit of your stomach and travels like a lightning bolt straight to your groin.
When you turn your head, milimetres away from Goo's own, see an eyebrow arched, the amusement in his eyes and the smirk on his lips-
Your own desire is reflected in his glasses.
The final piece clicks into place.
.
.
Life moves on.
You get better, and you both return to work. You have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and Goo has to put up with Gun once more.
However. Goo now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his theory is correct. He also knows that the realisation is starting to sink in for you too.
He's seen the look in your eyes, it's blatant as hell. Somewhere between the pharmacy and the walk home you looked at him like he was a new person. Eyes greedy and roving all over his body (which did wonderful things to his ego, by the way).
You could hardly keep track of conversation, eyes always dipping to stare at his lips. And sure, Goo knows he has very sexy lips, but with the way you eyeball him... He actually feels… exposed. Objectified.
That doesn't mean he doesn't like it.
It's just...
Unusual.
That's not even considering the flirtatious banter that returned full force once you were well enough to appreciate it. You've had years and years and years of it. Never batted an eyelid at Goo's innuendos and indecent words. Except now-
You're kneeling down on the floor, rifling through your bag for your wallet you've either left at home or in Goo's office. Neither of which are appealing options.
Goo continues to ramble, as he does. You're feeling around for the familiar touch of leather, holding eye contact with him as he mentions something about a new manga chapter-
But then a salacious smile spreads over his face as he realises the compromising position you're in. On your knees, at head height with his crotch and staring directly into his eyes. It's really a very intimate scene. Easy for minds to wander.
"Get off your knees, Sweetheart. Seeing you at this angle is killing me."
Goo pours all his dirty thoughts into that sentence, and you jolt like you've been struck. You can feel the heat under your collar spreading to your face and the tips of your ears.
Goo notices too, because he glances at your crimson ears and his grin only stretches further.
You are 100% certain that sentence changed your brain chemistry forever. You’ve thought about what it could mean every night since.
.
.
With each passing day, Goo knows you are also losing grip of your sanity too. He hit that point a long time ago and his chest swells with pride knowing you're following in his footsteps.
But Goo is an eternal little shit. He thinks where's the fun in confessing straight away. Why put an end to this game that has lasted so long. He's having the time of his life and frankly, you're so much fun to mess with.
He couldn't believe he went so long without knowing what a pretty shade you turn when you flush. How much your pupil blows open when you're looking at him and thinking your own obscene thoughts. The way you now flinch at his touch but lean in almost straight away.
And the nights. Oh the delicious nights. He spends more time playing sleepover with you than is healthy.
Even if he deprives himself of his own sleep, it's simply so much fun hearing you tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning. You can’t fall asleep knowing that he is next to you, that you want to touch him and hold him but can't. You're on edge, imagination running wild, but unable to do anything about it.
You're sporting matching bags under your eyes but Goo can't bring himself to mind. He is having the best time.
The revolving door of arm candy also stops. It was never serious in the first place, and now that Goo knows you reciprocate his feelings, even he isn't that mean. There's no-one else he needs as a distraction because there's nothing to distract himself from.
Still, if he name-drops a couple made up people in conversation with you, a few fibs and tall tales to make you jealous, see your nostrils flare and your lips thin then who has to know.
.
.
The first bit of doubt presents itself late that night, when Goo is surprisingly in his own bed and you are miles away.
What if you try to distract your own feelings with other people? Sure you're not the type but what if?
You probably feeling a bit unhinged with all your newfound feelings. Goo is doing nothing to help with his own silly game playing, so what if you develop your own revolving door of nobodies to distract you?
What if one of these nobodies turn into somebody?
Shit.
Goo doesn't sleep a wink.
As dawn breaks, he decides that the early bird gets the worm, or the early Goo gets you (Goo cackles to himself at his wit) and thinks today is as good a day as any.
Before anyone with their grimy mitts swoop in and steal you from right under him.
Maybe he only had himself to blame and he was a touch mean playing around with your feelings, but it's a small price to pay for how you have made him feel for years.
It's settled. You and him. Today. No-one is getting in the way of that.
.
.
The day starts off as normal.
Despite the lack of sleep, the alarm for work rings and Goo leaps out of bed with a bounce in his step. Whistles cheerily as he takes his morning shower, lathering himself in luxurious body washes and styling his hair with expensive products.
He chooses a suit that you picked out with him, knots a tie that he recalls you placing around his neck and selects a cologne that you know is your favourite - every time he wears it, you drift a touch closer.
He drives fast and like a madman, grinning at everyone that flips him off or honks him and navigates to your block.
You’re already waiting outside, two drinks in hand and smiling cutely when you see his car even if other drivers are still throwing him dirty looks.
“Morning,” You say, climbing in and handing him his coffee. Triple shot with triple syrup and whipped cream, sweet and sickly just like Goo himself.
“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He beams, reaching over to pat your thigh for thanks and enjoying the way you blush and squirm, taking a sip of your own drink to take your mind off the way your skin sears with his touch.
Goo mimics you, takes a gulp of his sugary concoction and finds it extra delicious on this fine morning and smacks his lips in delight.
“You-” You glance over and giggle.
“What?”
You gesture to your upper lip and Goo flips down his visor, examining his whipped cream moustache.
“Maybe I’m saving it for later.”
“Idiot.”
“You’re the idiot.”
Goo leaves the whipped cream. He doesn’t wipe it off. He doesn’t wipe it off when he smacks your hand away from changing the music, he doesn’t wipe it off as he drives to the office, nor when he parks up and unclips his seatbelt.
“Goo,” you say, exasperated at the state of him.
“Y/N,” he says, mocking and matching your tone.
“Wipe your face.”
“No.”
“You look a mess.”
“So do you.”
“You-” Goddamn. You make a split decision. “Fuck it.”
Goo doesn’t move as he sees your hand coming towards him, doesn’t move when you swipe at his upper lip, cleaning the cream off his face, doesn’t move when you lift your thumb to your mouth.
Doesn’t move, can’t; doesn’t breathe, forgets how to, when you suckle on your thumb and lick all remnants away.
Fuck it indeed. That’s Goo’s plans blown to shit.
Thing is, he had this whole scenario planned out. More flirtation and Goo being Goo and you being you until it comes to a head this evening and he confesses.
Perhaps after he has pissed you off so much for one reason or another and you tell him to get out of your home and he shuts you up with a kiss; or maybe after he has teased you so much you’re a wreck and he finally takes pity and breaks the tension with a well timed smooch.
But goddamn, what a move. He’s supremely impressed and he really has been uncharacteristically patient for so very long, for so many years and he thinks that he deserves this.
“That was really hot,” he grins and he chuckles at the shock on your face.
“My turn-” Goo, voice dropping to barely a whisper, leans over the centre console and crosses into your space.
If he were more of a romantic, he would have wanted your first kiss to be anywhere other than the HNH Group parking lot where it’s dingy and grey, and the lights are flickering.
But you’re both in a fragile bubble. In the privacy of his car, and too wrapped up in the moment to really care about the when or where or how.
Goo closes the gap and kisses you.
It’s minty and barely a peck, your eyes flutter close and you can feel him smiling through it.
He kisses you. And there’s something so Goo and so right about it that you can’t think about anything else except that it is happening. That something really did click when you were ill, and afterwards you had a newfound clarity and a newfound headache because Goo was all you could think about for weeks and weeks.
When he pulls away, you subconsciously move forward, trying to chase his lips with yours.
“How was that, sweetheart?”
You open your eyes, the reality of kissing Goo sinking in, and let out a squeak, “What was that?”
You slam your mouth shut because that was definitely not the tone you meant.
The damage is already done when uncertainty flickers across Goo’s face and he snaps, “What do you mean what was that.”
“I meant what was that!” You get the mad urge to giggle. That even though you don’t mind this turn of events at all, the ridiculousness of Goo Kim kissing you makes you unwell. In the best way possible.
“It was-!” Goo’s jaw tenses, he flinches as if he had been punched and he had grossly misread the room. He crosses his arm defensively and backs away.
“No!” You surge forward, grabbing Goo by the tie and yanking him close to you, “I meant-” you bring your voice down a few decibels, “It was good. I liked it.”
“Thought you would, idiot.” Goo pouts, side eyeing you but letting you hold on to him.
“I can’t believe you kissed me.”
“Well you’ve been making it obvious.”
You want to smack him. Instead, you catch his bottom lip still jutting out and you think you would prefer to bite him.
You do just that. Yanking Goo forward as he braces himself for another kiss but you nip, harsh and leaving a mark, on his lip instead.
“Asshole.” He says but he’s grinning and reaching over the console for your hand. Lacing your fingers together and squeezing.
“Sorry,” you say and you don’t really feel sorry at all. You feel like you’re floating.
You can’t believe how long it’s taken to get here. You can’t believe you’re here at all. But now that it’s happened, you’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner.
“Are we…?”
“I’m all yours, Sweetheart.” Goo smiles, wide and toothy, squeezing your hand to seal the deal.
You yank him by his tie once more, and he follows obediently, across the console and into your space, and kisses you over and over.
G/N but F leaning. Let's pretend Vin has a spare and you are given a present.
It smells musty. Faintly of mothballs. Like it has been shoved into a forgotten corner of the closet somewhere.
How it looks though, is a different thing entirely.
Pristine. Perfect.
You hold up the jacket. Study the stripes along the shoulder and arms. Peeks of red in the design. Cheonliang written boldly down the right side and on the back.
Hugging the jacket protectively to your body and peering at Vin with puppy eyes, you ask, "Really?"
He averts your gaze, ignores the heat rising from his collar and gives you a nonchalant shrug.
Mary sighs, considers slapping him upside the head. Settles on a side eye instead and responds for him with a nod.
"Oh my god!"
"Vin insisted." The man in question pretends he's not a part of this conversation. That Mary, that bitch, isn't airing all his cringiness for you to hear.
"Really?"
"Yeah he knew he had a spare jacket somewhere and was digging around for it for ages." The attempt to ignore the conversation isn't working. Beneath those glasses, Vin is glaring daggers at her.
"Aww Vin..."
"He threatened to take mine off me if I didn't help."
You opt to bury your face in the jacket to hide your blush, touched by how sweet this gesture is. Beneath the mustiness, you think you catch faint whiffs of Vin's scent, woody and dark and spicy.
"Tore his room apart for days looking for it. It's adorable how much he loves you-"
He gives her a rough shove, cutting her off. "Shut it, hag!"
WHACK! The long awaited and very well deserved smack arrives, hitting Vin in the back of the head.
He tries to grab Mary into a headlock, but she pips him to the post and he is the one trapped and floundering. It devolves into a mess of squabbles and pinches (courtesy of Mary) and squeals (courtesy of Vin). Bickering and swearing, insults and slander. The usual.
You ignore them, too captivated with your honorary jacket. Decide there's no time like the present and shrug it on, checking the size and fit.
It's oversized. The length easily reaches your thighs and sleeves cover your hands. It's cosy, comfortable. Like having Vin wrapped around you all the time.
"It looks good on you!" Mary grins, untangling herself from Vin.
Vin coughs out an agreement. It really does. Seeing you in his clothes always does funny things to him. What's more, the idea of this being a couple outfit makes him feel all mushy inside.
...Assuming Mary not also going to third wheel and wear hers at the same time, completely ruining the vibe and his plans. He gives Mary another dirty look at this.
"Thank you guys!"
"Don't thank her, it's my spare jacket."
"Well I appreciate Mary anyway for helping and smacking you-" Mary gives you a smirk and a salute, "-And thank you for the jacket."
You reach up on your toes, and press a kiss to Vin's cheek.
He pretends it's embarrassing, you slobbering all over him in public, that he only allows it because you like it.
Without you asking, he leans down for you anyway. Angles his head so you miss his cheek, and graze his lips instead.
G/N. Fluffy drabbles. Still feeling things for this pathetic guy.
Ryuhei, with all his eccentricities (to put it nicely), is the most loyal man you have ever seen.
You thought his nickname, Rabid Attack Dog, was a moniker born from violence.
What you didn't know, and didn't guess, was that the Dog part also came with utmost loyalty. Man's best friend, if you were to be on the nose about it.
Sure, he likes to follow you around like a curious, needy little puppy. You knew that side of him before you got together.
You also knew about his reputation - with other women then with Mitsuki. His obsessive, sex pest tendencies. Nevertheless, it was always supposed to be very low stakes for you.
Casual. No strings attached.
And you had assumed it was the same for him too, but the first bit of attention you gave him, the first flirtation you responded to, he was yours.
You catch him staring at you, soft smile on his face more often than not. It changes to teasing with a waggle of the eyebrows when you catch him but you don't miss the tenderness in his eyes.
The way he craves your touch, cuddling up to you like a touch-starved stray as soon as you give him permission. Always wanting to be in touching distance but never having the opportunity before.
The excitement when he notices you, eyes always finding yours no matter when and where. How his face lights up, the goofy grin that spreads and his hurried strides towards you.
You're not even sure if he has looked at other people since you, if he has even batted an eyelid.
At some point, he had decided you are his human, his person. The only one that matters and his forever home.
