#<- I won’t hide your prev tags from the world

[giselles-dumping-hat]

LEAVE ME ALONEEE 💔💔💔

autistic artists b like "this is my favourite media" "and this is my favourite media if it was my little pony"

[seabirdtxt]

.Irminsul Push/Pull

You, the Creator, experience your first day with the world's weirdest roommates. [< prev] [Blog tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. mild swearing. very gentle puppet bullying, it's probably the cain instinct or smth. all relationships are currently platonic!

WC. 1.8k

----- ⚘ -----

You’re not super sure what you thought telepathic communication was going to feel like, probably assuming you would hear the voice of the other person saying their message out loud in your head.

In reality, it ends up being more like receiving a text message. In all caps. In your head.

GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.

You sit up in your bed with a frown when the message suddenly crosses your mind. You check outside the mansion’s window, deeming it to be relatively early in the morning. Curious, you slide out from under the covers and shuffle your way downstairs.

Your curiosity quickly turns to irritation as you hear the sound of tools being thrown and voices arguing coming from the direction of Kabukimono’s room, the only currently inhabited room on the ground floor. 

You slowly push open the unlatched door and quickly duck to avoid a flying object—what is that? a pair of tongs?—that was aimed somewhere in the vicinity of your head. 

“- told you you can’t cook on the forge!” Kabukimono shouts, whiny and furiously stomping around, tossing loose tools around the room. Scaramouche is standing a little ways away from him, holding a bowl of ingredients with a bored look on his face.

“It’s a heat source, isn’t it?” The Balladeer asks, rolling his eyes. “If I can light it on fire, it can cook things.”

“No you can’t! I have to keep it way too hot to cook things,” Kabukimono scolds him, brandishing a metal poker in his direction. “And if you get food crumbs and oil in it, it might affect the quality of the metal! I won’t let you use it, and that’s final!”

“What else am I supposed to use, then?” Scaramouche growls, gesturing widely. “It’s not like this genius Creator of yours, in their boundless wisdom, made a kitchen.”

Whoops. Your eyes scan the room, surveying the damage, until your gaze lands on a terrified Cuppy hiding under a coat rack behind you, close to the door.

“Hey, buddy,” you whisper, inching closer to him. “D’you think you can turn one of the ground floor rooms into a kitchen really quick?”

The little teacup spirit nods frantically and disappears in a puff of smoke, presumably to fulfill your request as fast as possible. 

You look around the room again and spot Wanderer hovering above the other two, one leg crossed over the other in a pose hilariously similar to Ei when she’d been meditating in the Plane of Euthymia. You wave to catch his attention, and he looks over at you with a wry expression before zooming over to where you are.

“About time you got here,” he snarks, landing delicately beside you. “These idiots have been going at it for about twenty minutes now.” 

“I just asked Cuppy to make one of the rooms a kitchen,” you tell him. “I totally forgot about that, I don’t usually make a kitchen inside the Traveler’s teapot, so…”

“Yeah, you use the outdoor one, right?” 

You nod, having briefly forgotten that Wanderer had seen your layout of the Traveler’s realm before. As you’re musing on this, Wanderer darts forward and smacks the underside of Scaramouche’s bowl, causing it to escape the Balladeer’s grasp and sending ingredients flying in all directions, much to Kabukimono’s displeasure. 

“What the- why would you do that?!” Kabukimono wails, his argument interrupted. “Look at this mess! Niwa would have a heart attack if he saw this!” 

“Half of this garbage is yours,” Scaramouche points out, expression thunderous as he picks up one of the smaller prongs on the ground and uses it to take a swing at Wanderer, who takes to the air and floats out of reach with a smirk. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Wanderer says with a shrug. “I was just getting so sick of hearing you guys whining like babies for no reason.” 

“Okay, and you needed to waste perfectly good ingredients, why?” Scaramouche snaps, bending to pick up his now empty bowl and waving it at Wanderer threateningly, visibly restraining himself from flying off the handle.

“Because it’s not like you were gonna actually use them,” Wanderer snaps back. “I am you, and I know for a fact that you can barely make cup noodles if someone else did the preparation for you.” 

Scaramouche quickly turns red in the face as Kabukimono laughs at him, so you step in before another argument can break out.

“Guys, come on, I think Cuppy finished making a kitchen,” you say placatingly, hands outstretched and palms up. The three puppets look at you with varying levels of skepticism. 

You lead the way out of the trashed room, picking one of the other doors at random and hoping that it’s the one Cuppy chose. Mentally keeping your fingers crossed, you turn the knob and open the door, and freeze in the doorway, prompting at least two of the puppets to peer over your shoulder at the scene inside.

Cuppy did, indeed, choose this room. It’s one of the Mondstat-themed bedrooms, and what the teacup spirit did was put a single stove in the middle of the room and replace the bookshelves with jars and cupboards. Everything else about the decor, including the bed, carpet, and wardrobe, is the exact same.

Wanderer can’t seem to help himself about this, either, and bursts out laughing. 

“You call this a kitchen?” Scaramouche asks, pointing at the lonely stove sitting beside the Mond-style bed frame. 

“I think he did a great job,” you try, covering your mouth with one hand to hide your amused grin. Thankfully, it seems Cuppy made his escape as soon as he renovated, because he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“I don’t get it,” Kabukimono says, and you can feel him pushing someone (Scaramouche) behind you to see the rest of the room, to the person’s (Scaramouche’s) protests. “What’s so funny? A good stove and a well-stocked pantry is more than okay.” 

“And,” you interject through your repressed giggles, eager to defend your little teacup spirit. “Having a bed nearby just means you can lay back and relax while you wait for your food to cook!” 

“Are you serious right now? It’s just a stove in the middle of a bedroom!” Scaramouche protests, pushing you aside and stomping into the room. He points at the stove, and then at the carpet it’s sitting on. “This cannot be safe, right? This breaks all kinds of safety regulations.” 

“We’ll just move it aside, it’s fine,” you say, hoping to diffuse the situation. 

“It’s understandable,” Kabukimono agrees. “It’s not like he’s seen a proper kitchen before, right?”

Even Wanderer stops laughing as the three of you stare owlishly at Kabukimono, who shuffles nervously under the attention.

“What?” Kabukimono asks defensively. 

“I actually hadn’t thought of that,” you mutter, hands on your hips as you survey the room with new consideration. “He is pretty small, and who knows if he ventured outside of the realm before…” 

The other two remain silent, seemingly contemplating Kabukimono’s words but not voicing their opinions on it.

IS IT BAD THAT I FEEL BAD FOR LAUGHING?

You hide your flinch well, the sudden message scaring you out of your own thoughts. You steal a glance at Wanderer out of the corner of your eye, where he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look you in the eye, instead pretending to be very interested with the shelf of ingredients near him.

‘I think that's just normal’ you think, hoping he somehow receives your thoughts as well. ‘I didn’t think of it either, so we’re all kinda wrong…’

While you’re distracted, Scaramouche has already started lighting the stove, having kicked aside the offending carpet, and browses the shelves for ingredients. He knocks on a few of the jars with a frown.

“... These are all empty.” He finally evaluates. 

“Yeah, that tracks, I don’t actually own anything yet,” you nod. “Everything I’ve ever collected is probably still with the Traveler.”

“Presumably they’d be willing to part with some of their stash,” Wanderer adds sarcastically. “I don’t think they really need several thousand of each ingredient they own.” 

“I mean, you never know, right?” You chuckle nervously, thinking of all the bag space your farming must have taken up. How does the Traveler’s inventory work outside of a game-mechanic perspective? You suppose you’re going to find out soon enough. 

“If you’re going out to get stuff, I’m coming with you,” Scaramouche declares, crossing his arms as if daring you to refuse his company. “No way am I staying in here with these guys.” 

You shrug, and Wanderer doesn’t protest either. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. I’ll head out now so we have time to sort and put everything away before lunch.” 

“Bold of you to assume we’re going to get anything done before lunch,” Wanderer mutters, herding Kabukimono out of the ‘kitchen’, promising the other puppet to help him clean up the mess in his room. 

“Are you ready to head out?” You ask Scaramouche, ignoring the jibe. You hold out your hand, which the Balladeer reluctantly takes, and you will yourselves out of the teapot realm.

You materialize in one of the alcoves of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, briefly disoriented by the change in location until you see Nahida and Aranyani sitting on the central dais, seemingly having a quiet conversation. Nahida spots you first, waving cheerfully at you both.

“Your Grace! Balladeer! Apologies for relocating you, but we decided that the chamber of Irminsul should remain uninhabited for now,” she explains, hands clasped together. “After all, it’s too easy to stumble and damage one of the branches of information, and I would hate for any of you to blame yourselves if that kind of accident were to happen.” 

“That’s fair, thanks for doing that for us!” you smile at her thoughtfulness. Still holding Scaramouche’s hand, you lead the two of you down to the central part of the chamber. “Do you know where the Traveler is? We wanted to ask if they could spare some of the materials I had collected from before I came here.” 

“Yes, we saw the Traveler earlier, but they went to fetch some people that Nahida recommended,” Aranyani says, picking up Nahida under her arms and putting the small god in her lap. Nahida doesn’t react, still smiling as Aranyani begins to play with her hair.

“Recommended for what?” Scaramouche asks before you get the chance to. You elbow him subtly, a warning to watch his tone. 

“To help us figure out how and why you’ve descended to Teyvat, Your Grace!” Nahida claps her hands together. “It will be good to know in case you need to go back home, or if you wish to return here from your world!”

You nod, grateful at the prospect of having that option. “Who did you call in for this?”

Aranyani cheerfully answers this for you: “The General Mahamatra, and a scholar named Alhaitham!” 

You share a quick look with Scaramouche.

“The linguistics guy, and the cop…?” You ask, with a slight wince.

“I don’t think you’re figuring this one out anytime soon.”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 4.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Still far from home and far from well.

Master List / Prev Chapter

Warning: 18+ (fairly tame chapter, but stands for entire series)

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Tumblr is being weird with links, and I'm not sure how to fix it. Had an extremely rough month really working on a piece about school safety... enough said. And I've been sick. So. Ya'll mean the world, thank you for your continued support!

4.

You’re drowning in a sea of hands.

They push and pull like ocean currents, and you’re as helpless in their merciless grip as a swimmer in a riptide, tumbling so deep you can’t remember which way is up. There’s air, but an arm around your neck presses on your trachea. Suffocating you. No matter how much you claw and wheeze, it only tightens, slow and inextricable. The worst kind of promise building in the pressure.

Thousands of strangers’ fingers paint you with intent, sweaty and slick. Each hand wants something. Maybe they’re working in chorus, or maybe each one is out for itself. It’s impossible to tell by the way they paw, snare, and grab at you. Whatever they want is inside. Deep in your belly or hiding in your spine, some key or secret blunt nails work to pry out. They won’t be satisfied until you’re swallowed, torn apart, and sorted into pieces.

The dark smells like old carpets, bird shit, and rust.

Waves of touch tug you in opposite directions, twisting your arm behind your back and your foot over your head. It’s chaos. And it hurts. But they’re all moving you, hauling you into a hell that sounds like war. You’ve never heard gunfire like this. Only three clean shots from a distant sniper rifle. But the cacophony ricochets with dozens of automatic weapons, and the hands scratch and dig into your skin, greedy for your fear as you sink into the echoes…

And wake with the gunfire still in your ears.

Sharp, jolting breaths lift your shoulder, punching through your chest with a salty aftertaste from the tears and mucus trickling down the back of your throat. Everything else locks in place. Your legs are too achy to move. Your eyelids stick open, drinking in shadows. Lying on your side, you not only hear but feel your pulse beating in your ears, and it takes several minutes of wading through too many confusing sensations before you know where you are and why everything’s stiff and sore.

The room is dark. Only a crack of light spills under the door. It’s proper country dark outside, too, pressing black against the window.

It’s raining.

No gunfire. No danger. It’s only precipitation battering against the glass. You are as safe as you can be, given the situation, and the men downstairs would be shouting and kicking in the door if something had gone wrong. Bullets would pierce the walls, shatter the window.

Even though you know it’s just the weather, you’re half convinced a dozen soldiers have opened fire on the room.

You try waiting it out.

Maybe it will stop or you’ll remember you aren’t afraid of the rain.

But it doesn’t, and you can’t bear it, so you get up and head for the glow behind the door. Hopefully the rain isn’t so loud downstairs.

The hall light bathes the space yellow in a way your shattered internal clock reads as daylight. Open doors to the bathroom and the second bedroom loom dark in contrast, like caves along a hiking trail, and the stairs will challenge you as much as a mountainside when you work up the nerve to descend. First you take time to wipe the salt track off your face with cool tap water. The pillow should keep those secrets. You don’t need to wear the evidence.

The adrenaline rush fucked off some time ago, and even after the nightmare you’re left with nothing but clinging paranoia. That doesn’t make you calm. Your anxiety feels like breath on the back of your neck, or eyes squinting through hidden peepholes, prickling over your skin with the assurance that something, somewhere is off, and you shouldn’t leave yourself exposed.

Logically, the men downstairs are no threat. Quite the opposite. You don’t feel logical. Your collection of hurts urge you to hide under a bed. In a closet. To stay out of sight as you lick your wounds.

The soldiers have your life in their hands, and that requires inordinate amounts of trust. There’s a gap you can’t cross. You’ve known them for a few hours. They killed people, and then they stopped your bleeding and sent you to bed. That’s too much and not enough for friendship.

You’re also, on a much shallower level, wildly aware that you’re the odd one out. The only woman. The only stranger. The only civilian.

It’s like standing in the cafeteria on the first day at a new school and wondering where the hell you’re supposed to sit.

Studiously avoiding your reflection, you leave the bathroom and begin your hike downstairs. Each step is a mile. You count them, congratulating yourself on your progress as you balance with your hand on the wall. In yesterday’s – today’s? – struggle, you used muscle groups you didn’t know you had and used known muscles in new and interesting ways they disapprove of. Everything is a little harder, and every step a little wobbly, and thankfully no one pops around the corner to see your tremorous pace.

Shadow creep over the lower steps where the hall light can’t quite reach, but a bright puddle spills out from the kitchen, and you follow it like a little moth.

Rain patters against the windows here, too, but the drumming on the roof doesn’t reach through the upper floor.

You’ll take it.

The kitchen opens around you as you step through, and your eyes flick up from your feet as a figure moves in your peripheral.

“You’re up.”

It’s the Scot. He’s divested himself of the tac vest, though a handgun peaks out from a holster under his jacket. It’s a good sign that he’s less armed than this morning, though. It gives you hope. A step towards de-escalation and a normal state of being where locked doors mean something and you get to sleep in your own bed.

The kitchen’s a little chilly, and your arms fold of their own volition. You stuff your hands out of sight, hiding your most obvious injury as you wince out a smile and try not to make things awkward.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t ask if you slept well. You appreciate it. Instead he fills the electric kettle and pops down the tab before even asking, “Tea?”

Since it’s already too late to say no, you nod, taking a seat at the table to spare your shaky fawn legs. “Thanks.”

The clock over the sink reads 9:07, so it hasn’t been dark for long. You’ve slept away the day, and now you have a long night of worry and stilted conversation ahead. What the fuck are you supposed to talk about with these people? Or are you supposed to converse with them at all beyond basic pleasantries?

Tea might make everything better, or the caffeine may make everything just a little worse. A warm drink does sound nice, though.

A heavy jacket still flush with body heat drops over your shoulders, and you freeze like a cat suddenly trapped under a blanket.

You feel your eyes go big and know you’ve made the moment weird as you peer up at the burly Scot. The fabric’s heavier than it looks, and it smells like the man. Something sweet hidden under whiskey and aftershave. The weighted warmth feels like security made cloth, and the comfort tangles with the acidic terror still hissing in your belly.

The man beams. Chortling, clearly delighted with himself, he rearranges the collar to sit right around your neck without pressing on the bruises.

“Dreich weather,” he says, stepping away to throw a tea bag in a chipped white mug. “Need to keep warm.”

Your fingers lift to the worn seems along the zip, pulling it just a little closer, like folding yourself into a cocoon. He’s given you a hug, you realize, without invading your personal space. It’s shockingly considerate, and you swim through treacle-thick thoughts for the right words of thanks, but they roll back down your throat before you can express yourself as you look back up to an eyeful of distraction.

Without the jacket the soldier’s a walking gun show, and you aren’t thinking about the weapon clipped to his belt. His snug, dun t-shirt showcases his broad shoulders and the sculpted trunks he calls arms without clinging to his tapered waist. His golden tan practically shines against the dull cloth and muted colors of the kitchen. Veiled muscles roll along his back as he reaches into an upper cabinet for a couple more mugs, and you flick your eyes down to the places the varnish has cracked off the table so he doesn’t catch you staring.

It's patently unfair that such an attractive man is paying so much attention to you when you’re too sick with shock and fear to do anything about it.

He slides the tea into your line of sight, and manage to mumble, “Thank you,” without imploding, exploding, or falling into a heap of embarrassed chunks.

“Ye’re welcome.”

He’s added sugar. Did you miss him asking how you took your tea? Doesn’t matter.

You only just notice the soft footsteps approaching from the open doorway leading to the living room before a shadow cuts through the yellow kitchen lights to your left. The captain nods down at you as he heads towards the half-steeped cups waiting by the sink, greeting his sergeant with a rumble. With cup in hand, he turns, propping a hip against the counter as he pulls you into a conversation.

“Was plannin’ on sending Gaz to check on you in another hour, make sure you were alright.” He speaks as he sips his tea, leaving his voice a little muffled, indirect in a way that suggests awareness of things better left half-acknowledged.

Taking your cue from the leader, you hide behind your mug.

“No need now.”

The tea’s very nice, actually. The warmth soothes your aching throat and pairs well with the gentle warmth of Soap’s jacket. A hug inside to complement the hug outside.

The captain lifts his eyebrows, pausing between sips. “And are you?”

Despite his careful tone, the question hits with a sharp edge, slicing between the plates of armor you assembled over the bathroom sink before braving the soldiers’ company. Are you alright? You flinch setting down your mug, and the drink sloshes up to the rim. Just shy of a spill.

Washed face of no, you must look awful. Your eyes always go red and puffy after too much crying, and you can’t banish every trace of your little breakdown, no matter how hard you try.

“I thought I’d spare us all the awkwardness of a bunch of soldiers trying to handle a crying woman.” Make it a joke. Make it light. Maybe it will float away and take those probing questions with it. You desperately need a distraction, something to pull the focus off your welfare and back to things these men are equipped to handle.

“What happens now?” you ask.

Soap scoffs into the third cup. “Try not to die.” The captain swats him over the head, grazing the mohawk, and the Scot chokes, spluttering tea out his nose as he hastily adds, “Of boredom.”

“Laswell called while you were asleep. She has things in hand. In another day or two she’ll have enough free resources to help us handle the cell here without drawing the wrong attention. Until then we sit tight.” He smiles with his eyes and the shape of his face. The mustache hides most of his mouth when he angles his head down to meet your eye, but there’s no mistaking his expression. “Keep you safe.”

He’s as bad as subordinate.

The military issue clothes reveal enough of his shape to spark your interest in any other situation, and he moves with confidence you’d like to reach out and taste. Those smiles of his don’t help.

As you sit stewing in your own flatfooted frustration, your stomach decides you haven’t done enough to humiliate yourself and kicks off with a growl.

You press a hand flat to your gut. Soap laughs as your face heats, and if you weren’t on the verge of starving you might’ve sprinted back up the stairs to hide in the room Gaz said is more or less yours.

“How long since you ate?” the captain asks.

Too long ago. This is a military man, though, and they like specifics. You think back, leaping from abduction to fleeing to the club lights and blood. “More than a day. Day and a half, I think.” That sounds right. The last meal you remember is lunch the day prior.

Huffing, the Scot turns back to the cabinets, rustling through a collection of tins and boxes. Nonperishables. Of course. A safehouse wouldn’t stock anything liable to spoil in the months or years between visits. At least you don’t see any MREs lurking in the depths. The past twenty-four hours have seen enough horrors.

Squinting at the expiration date on a can, Soap asks, “How do you feel about beans?”

[izzabeean]

Chapter 9 : Anticipation

SUMMARY

Ushijima makes an appearance at your group outing, and you try to ignore his presence. But, of course, it’s easier said than done in this case.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,344

content : profanity, mild violence, depiction of injuries

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : Is the world so small that Y/N keeps running into Ushijima? Perhaps in this story, yes. This week has been a bit slow creatively for me, I don't feel my writing is the strongest in this chapter. But here we are, things are heating up and I'm happy to provide.

Post Thursday evenings PST, if not latest by Friday.

masterlist

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Everything feels so surreal as you lock eyes with Ushijima from across the table. He doesn’t smile or say anything, he just looks at you with his empty gaze like this is the first time meeting. Ever. Your heartbeat starts to thump faster conjuring up a lump in your throat that cannot be swallowed. Your breathing is shallow and your hands start to sweat as you dig your nails into your legs.

Why didn’t you turn around when your instincts told you to?

Why did you talk yourself into thinking this was a good idea?

However, for some reason, here you are. The sequence of events leading up to this point doesn’t make any sense. Even when you were dating, you wouldn’t run into him this much, so why now? Why all these dumb coincidences? There’s no room for you to heal when you keep seeing him like this.

“Hi,” you squeal, temporarily incapacitated by the confused looks from your other groupmates.

But your high pitch voice produces shockwaves through Oikawa’s system as you quickly introduce him and Iwaizumi to which Sara introduces Ushijima to all three of you. Then it becomes apparent that Ushijima hasn't said anything to Sara about you.

It’s sublime how quickly you push down the devastation bubbling at the surface and you wonder how it is even possible for you to force a smile in Sara’s direction. Clearing your throat you take a seat. Ushijima has stopped staring now and takes a swig of the chilled beer sitting in front of him. Your mouth feels dry from the nerves that are trying to drag your spirits down. If you were going to survive this torture, you’re most definitely not going to be sober. Grabbing the waiter's attention, you order yourself a beer as you feel yourself on the brink of a heart attack.

“You ok?” Oikawa mumbles knowing well that turning to your least favorite drink is a bad sign. It’s very clear to him this evening isn't going to go very well, seeing as you are already on edge from Ushijima’s surprise appearance.

“Mhm,” you hum shooting him a smile. “I’m fine. Totally chill.”

“You know, we can leave,” Oikawa whispers. “You’re not obligated to be here.”

And let him win? you think. I don’t think so.

“No, I’m fine,” you lie, biting your lip. It’s no time for you to concede, you just gotta ride this one out, show him how much better you’re doing without him. It’s the only thing to get back at him for everything so grossly unforgivable that he’s done.

The waiter returns with your drink placing it down in front of you. Nothing has looked so relieving and thirst-quenching before; the cold and crisp-looking glass filled to the top of light amber liquid with a dollop of airy foam. You pick it up and throw it back, chugging the heavy and sour alcohol. Then you think, maybe you shouldn’t have done that as you strike the glass down on the table. Licking your lips, you notice the startled looks everyone gives you at your uncharacteristic action.

“Should we order food,” Sara interrupts the weird tension which segues everyone back to talking amongst themselves.

Your stomach starts to swirl as you’ve come to realize that drinking that beer was probably the worst thing you could do while it’s empty. But as you study the menu, nothing seems to scream appetizing. Not when you can see in your peripheral Ushijima and Sara sharing a menu while discussing what they want to order. It makes you sick.

The restaurant is loud, but your thoughts are louder as you sit there wondering if anyone else can hear them. It hurts to see him here in front of you beside her. She most definitely doesn’t know about your history with Ushijima just by the way she’s acting around him. Sara doesn’t seem maniacal enough to do something so disrespectful to someone she barely knows. For god's sake, she invited you here. Why would she want you here if she knew? To rub it in that she’s Ushijima’s girlfriend. Doubtful.

Maybe Oikawa was right all along about Ushijima not being how you perceived him to be. Maybe, just maybe you honestly, you were blinded the entire time. And now you were finally seeing him for who he truly is.

You were scared to admit it. That if you did, your year together means nothing when it still meant so much to you. But in this case, actions speak louder than words and most definitely Ushijima’s actions are very clear.

“I'm going to step out for a smoke. Do you need some fresh air?” Iwaizumi asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” you reply looking at Oikawa sitting beside you who's chatting with one of your group members. "No, I better not."

"Alright, I'll be right back," he says sliding out of his seat.

You try to hide your face behind the menu so no one talks to you and your plan almost succeeded except for the open opportunity it gave Sara to sit beside you. Your face pales as she leans in to rasp, "I'm glad you could make it."

"Yeah," you exclaim a bit put off by how close she is.

"I honestly thought you weren't going to show."

It's hard for you to not flash a bitter smile, but you force yourself to continue the conversation, "It took some convincing but bringing Oikawa and Iwaizumi helped."

The silence stretches between the two of you as Oikawa's laugh fills the air. You take a glimpse at him, noticing one of your group members flirting with him. You roll your eyes while looking back at Sara who is enthralled in his aura.

"He seems really nice,” she compliments. "How long have you two been together?"

"Hmm?" It takes you a moment to realize what she’s asking as you realize she's subtly gesturing to Oikawa. And when it clicks you are filled with laughter. “Oh my god, did you just say that out loud?”

The thought of you and Oikawa remotely appearing to look more than friends from an external perspective makes you nearly piss yourself.

"Oh, I just thought, you'd both make a cute couple," she corrects herself with puzzlement written across her face.

When you realize she’s being serious, you pause. “No, we’ve just been friends for a while.”

"Oooh," Sara taunts giving you a very mischievous look. "You know that saying, love is friendship set on fire."

"It's not like that," you nervously chuckle at her comment.

"Alright, I won't pry," she jokes. "But seriously, I'm happy you're here!"

She gets up from her seat and walks back over to sit next to Ushijima. Your feelings are honestly a bit mixed from that conversation. You really wanted to hate her, but she just seemed so genuine.

------

You’re a couple more drinks in and feel a bit of a buzz as Sara goes into grave detail as to why she transferred to the university now . But you can’t force yourself to listen. Your attention shifts to Ushijima smiling softly at the way Sara bubbles with warmth. It’s funny to think that someone else can make him smile like that besides you because you know how hard it is to do so. But it seems so effortless for Sara.

The memory of meeting Ushijima for the first time flashes in your head. To the time in the library where he reaches over your head to grab the book, you were trying to get on the top shelf. Now you can barely remember as the image of Sara takes your place to retrieve the book from Ushijima's hands. She's the new you.

You know you're overanalyzing every single movement Ushijima makes. From where his eyes linger to where his hands are placed, you cannot stop looking as you stay in suspense to what he will do next. You’re close to being consumed by the sudden urge to lash out or cry. It feels like he’s trying to push your buttons as he leans over toward Sara. You're waiting for him to kiss her. Waiting for it to break you. And it makes you sick.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your knee and turn to Iwaizumi who is looking down at you with a soft gaze. It’s odd but you somehow feel this tension between the two of you. You should have known better in that moment, but your mind feels a bit hazy from feeling vulnerable and also the alcohol.

“Is everything ok?”

You feel anticipation fill your chest and you swallow thickly seeing as this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You look at his hand for a moment, at his long fingers gently grip the top of your knee. You immediately remind yourself of his words the other day, wondering if he intended to friendzone you like that.

You nod, smiling.

“Let me know when you want to leave,” Iwaizumi whispers squeezing your leg.

His face dips down slightly and you don’t know why you do it and don’t know how you had the courage to. But you’re so caught up in your internal frustrations, you don’t think before you act. You lean in closer to Iwaizumi and plant a kiss on his cheek uttering a thank you.

As you pull back, his eyes widen. It takes you a second to process exactly what you’ve done.

“Um, sorry,” you say to Iwaizumi, you need to get out of there before you die of embarrassment. Quickly you excuse yourself from the table as you rush to the bathroom and you can still feel Iwaizumi watching you.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

But you find the bathrooms have a long line up and turn a corner as you burst through a door to outside. The cool air hits you making it much easier to breathe. Finally, you’re by yourself. Screaming wouldn’t even be able to help you let out the confusion you feel. This was definitely something you didn’t want to have happened. But here you are regretting your capacity to understand a situation. Honestly, you were definitely feeling vulnerable. This entire evening you were caught off guard and something it makes you do weird things.

“Can we talk?

Turning around, you see Ushijima standing in front of you. He gazes down at you with his unreadable stare that makes you want to cry.

“No,” you say a little unnerved walking away from him. But you’re stopped by him grabbing your wrist, the same wrist the creep outside the club grabbed you with. Still a bit bruised and weak from his grip. You let out a yelp, “Let go of me!”

“Just let me explain,” he begs.

But you’re not listening as you try to wiggle your wrist away-- it’s not a tight hold, but it’s enough that it still hurts.

“Please, let me go,” you express firmly.

He stares at you for a moment and with a deep breath exhales letting go.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you yell, grabbing your wrist. “Moved on already, what the fuck is your problem?”

“It’s not--”

“No, let me finish. You’ve already done enough. I can’t believe you. You could’ve just told me you found someone else, instead, I see you with her all cute and cuddly and now I have to fucking work with her? This is such a--”

But as you’re about to continue your rant, you’re interrupted by a voice.

“What’s going on here?” Oikawa asks, noticing Ushijima standing before you. He studies your face filled with rage while you’re clutching your wrist. “Did you hurt her?”

“What?” Ushijima replies confused.

Then Oikawa’s eyes turn dark, a look you’ve never seen before. And you never imagined what comes next. He grabs a fist full of Ushijima’s shirt pulling him close enough that they were inches apart, barely touching noses. You had to stop them before it went too far but you couldn’t move your body.

“After all you’ve been through this is how you treat her?” Oikawa yells.

“You don’t even know the whole story,” Ushijima booms, forcibly removing Oikawa’s grip from his shirt causing Oikawa to make an aching face.

“I know enough to see that you’re a complete dick. But we both know, I’ve known that from the start,” Oikawa hisses. His eyes are fixed on Ushijima shooting him a scowl while your hand is clasped to your shirt.

“Stop it,” you say, but they both ignore you.

“I think you need to get your facts straight,” Ushijima says staying calm and collected while Oikawa explodes with rage.

“Why don't act more like a man,” Oikawa protests.

Then time moves so quick you couldn’t even see Oikawa raise his fist to hit Ushijima square in the face. Because not even seconds after Ushijima retaliates. You rush over forcing yourself between the two men before a fight breaks, pushing your hands against their chest yelling at them to stop. Ushijima is the first to back away as Oikawa stays resistant trying to push by you. But you take both your hands and press them against him as Ushijima exits back into the restaurant.

"Why are you trying to protect him?" Oikawa cries. You look up at Oikawa whose face is glistening in the moonlight as his cheek starts to swell. His dark eyes lock on you as yours start to glaze over.

"Are you stupid? He could've really hurt you," you wail, trying to hide the fact you're physically shaking.

And he sees it.

"Don't ever do that again," you barked.

Then he gives you his signature shit-eating grin, a look that is nowhere near appropriate from just getting punched in the face.

“Told you he’s a dick,” he smirks, walking towards the front of the restaurant. “Let’s go home.”

“What about Iwaizumi?”

“He’ll take care of things,” Oikawa mutters. “He’ll meet us at home. Let’s go before that blockhead comes back out.”

------

Oikawa called a cab to get back to his apartment, you felt a bit bad for leaving Iwaizumi behind. Especially since you kissed him then left.

Things seemed to grow incredibly awkward between you and Oikawa as he sat in the bathroom cleaning the cut on his cheek from Ushijima’s punch. You weren’t really sure what Oikawa was thinking, but you didn’t really want to ask.  As you gently press the cotton pad to his cheek, he squints his eyes while the burning sensation shocks him and exhales sharply through his nose.

“Sorry,” you mumble and he immediately forgives you with a smile.

He tries to pin his eyes to something that can distract the sting, but instead focuses his attention on the feel of your fingers against his skin. You’ve never been this close before and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

He’s thankful for your patience with him. Most certainly did he think you were going to be pissed, but your reaction was far from what he expected as you kept silent for most of the trip home and even patching him up. Oikawa looks at you to see your frown had deepened. “Are you mad? You look mad.”

You scoff. “No, I’m just tired.” You’re caught off guard by his uncharacteristic concern and almost recoil with the question.

Oikawa sighs, “Your face is screwed up like you’re mad.”

“Tōru,” you scolded, crossing your arm across your chest. You choke on your words before answering, “I’m tired, not mad.”

Oikawa holds his breath and continues to look at you as you continue to make that sullen look. He doesn’t believe you. The sight of you with defeat in your expression makes his heart break. He notices your bruised wrist, still purple and blue, and imagines it probably hurts after Ushijima grabbed it. Then he wonders if he could have done something better to help you in that situation. Even that night back at the club still haunts him. If only he’d answered his phone when you needed him the most then maybe things would be different than now. He can’t stand it. He can't stand that Iwaizumi was there to help you instead. And he's not stupid, he knows you like Iwaizumi. He wasn't blind when he saw you kiss him at the restaurant. Oikawa didn’t know why, but something stirred him that he never realized before and it became very unsettling.

You lay the gauze over the wound and tape it down.

“How’s your hand?” you mumble, checking if the ice pack he’s holding to his fist has subsided any bruising your swelling. The bruising was already darker by the time you got to his apartment and it definitely terrified you.

“It’s fine,” he replies.

At this point, you’ve turned away and started to clean up. There isn’t a lot of blood, but enough to make shivers go down your spine as the image of Ushijima’s fist colliding with Oikawa’s face flashes through your head.

You feel your breathing heave as you try to collect yourself from breaking down in front of Oikawa. But something stops you. Instead of your usual hiding, you feel yourself let go and come undone. One small tear rolls down your cheek.

And then another. And then another. And then another. Until you can’t urge yourself to stop them anymore.

Oikawa freezes as he hears you sniffling. This time you don’t hide behind your wide smile. This time you’re actually crying and honestly he doesn’t know what to do. His intention wasn’t to make you cry, he wanted to protect you. And now he feels guilty for even putting you in this position.

“I’m sorry,” you pant, your voice broken by stifled breaths. “It’s all my fault you got hurt. I should’ve never gone to that stupid dinner.”

There’s this nagging feeling in his head pleading to comfort you. To hug you, to tell you it’s not your fault. His consciousness is screaming at him to do something to help as he watched you come undone in front of him. But why is he so afraid to?

“You were right, you’ve always been right,” you continue. “I’m so so sorry Tōru.”

You pause wiping the tears away that tracked down your face feeling awkward from exposing your vulnerable side to Oikawa. Tearing your eyes away from the first aid kit, you turn to look at Oikawa. There’s pity written all over his face. Your hands curl into fists.

It’s painfully tense as Oikawa attempts to muster up the courage to stand up to comfort you. He doesn’t want to regret his decision but he still hesitates, considering you’re now gazing at him.

“I-- I just,” you stutter, partially because you want to fill the awkward silence someway, and partially because you’re worried you’ve scared him. “I was scared…”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your heart feels like it’s in throbbing pain under Oikawa’s gaze.

His stomach clenches as you revert to silence.

Suddenly you hear the front door unlock and Iwaizumi call out that he's arrived. You feel your face burn up as you revert eye contact and lean on the counter to see Iwaizumi in the doorway of the bathroom.

“What the fuck happened,” he yells, visibly unamused that you both ditched him at a restaurant with people he didn’t know. You look at him with glazed eyes unable to utter a single word then that’s when he notices Oikawa’s appearance. “Shit.”

Oikawa’s face turns in a smirk. “You should have seen the other guy.”

“I did!” He protests. “Not even a scratch compared to you. You’re fucking stupid.”

"He hurt Y/N," Oikawa protest.

Iwaizumi's eyes widened looking towards you.

"He didn't hurt me," you reassure. "He just grabbed my bruised wrist."

Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head. "You have to stop running off like that."

Oikawa watches the intimate interaction of indescribable energy or chemistry that lingers in the air between the two of you. He didn’t like it. Not even one bit.

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. VI

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: two swearwords

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2000

links: prev. | next  [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: there are too many zeros for namjoon to decline

“yoongi warned me about this”, namjoon says while drawing lines across his coffee mug. you roll your eyes, clearly annoyed by your therapist. of course, he connected the dots as soon as you asked for his friend’s number.

“he warned you of getting a hefty tip? maybe even playing your own mixtapes in front of the music elite? in front of the kim seokjin?”, you answer with a sarcastic bite in your voice.

now namjoon is staring at you, calculating silently in his head. after a second to think, he responds.

“no, he warned me about dj-ing at your crush’s wedding while you’re coping with your shrink on the dancefloor… slowly moving your arms in chicken wing motions.”

you laugh at his description, surprised by the accuracy.

“don’t laugh… he had a whole diorama about this.”

your laughter is growing in volume as you try to imagine how yoongi glued wings onto a paper version of you.

“so… these few zeros won’t change your mind?”, you say and slide one of jungkook’s business cards across the table. your new barista friend takes the high-quality paper with caution. but then his eyes widen at the five numbers scribbled across your best friend’s name.

“no way”, he breathes, “this could finance my whole audition tape.”

you smirk at him, glad that taehyung didn’t lie to you when you asked him about the needed budget to audition. there is some pride in your posture, pleased at your wit.

“so, i can set up a meeting?”, you wonder out loud. the mocha in front of you is getting cold and your time is running away from you by the minute.

namjoon keeps staring at his payment, not fully grasping the reality of your offer.

“turn it around, joon”, you whisper. it’s the final blow as the barista sees the phone number on the other side. seokjin’s name is scribbled underneath with a winking smiley.

you’ve got yourself a wedding dj.

**

“i don’t know why we have to get another dj. what’s wrong with jae?”, jungkook mutters as he helps you out of your jacket. the candlelight inside this restaurant is warming your skin, a much-needed warmth because of the missing sleeves of your black dress.

you can hear your best friend sucking in a deep breath, his eyes burning holes into your bare shoulders. but when you turn around to catch his eyes, jungkook is looking at the tip of your nose.

“you look beautiful, _____”, he says in a distant tone. there is no emphasis in his words, but still jungkook doesn’t lie. maybe he forgets stuff, maybe he hides some information. but jungkook never lies. he didn’t say he baked the muffins – you just… assumed.

“really, ____”, your best friend repeats and hands your jacket to the waiter next to you. you smile at him in thanks.

“right back at you, handsome”, you say cheekily and pat his suit jacket. the dark green velvet looks painted on his toned arms and you can’t help the blush coloring your face.

there is a beat of silence before a cleared throat makes you flinch.

“your second party is already here, mr. jeon.” your waiter looks at you apologetic and you try to send him a reassuring smile in return.

“lead the way, then.” jungkook’s hand rests on your lower back as he pushes you in the dining room. his fingers press against your spine and you catch yourself leaning into his touch. it’s a maddening feeling, really. you try to collect your thoughts before spotting namjoon across the room.

“because taehyung slept with them", you whisper. jungkook snorts at your confession.

“who do you mean with them?”, he asks.

“both jae and the two follow-up candidates. he just… slept through the whole list of djs”, you explain. there is the tiniest part of you that is proud of taehyung for silently sneaking behind your back.

“why would he do that?”, jungkook whines into your ear and you snort at his pained expression.

“it was some kind of test. he listened to their playlists… one thing lead to another… it wasn’t pretty.”

“how ugly was it?”, he asks.

“you don’t wanne know… one of them cried on my voice mail two nights ago. like…ugly cried.”

“i should have been more help in the last months, _____. i’m sorry.”, jungkook confesses, recognizing what you had to deal with in the last months.

you squeeze his biceps, feeling the soft velvet under your fingertips.

“nah, you’ve got a company to run, jungkook. and you’re here now.”

“_______”, namjoon greats you warmly as you stop in front of the table. the barista looks so different not surrounded by the hefty smell of coffee. his green apron is gone – now he’s dressed in a beige colored cashmere sweater and some black pants. his hair his combed neatly and the dimples flashing you are making you smile softly at him. without missing a step, you hug him. the sweater smells faintly of vanilla and you feel yourself sniffing against his chest.

“glad you could make it, namjoon.” the musician and part time barista smirks down at you. why are all men around you that much taller? you need more yoongis in your life.

“yeah… kind of afraid to get another powerpoint in my inbox.” you snort. nobody values your powerpoint skills enough.

“i adore her slides a lot”, your best friend offers from behind you. you flinch at his cold tone, not surprised to see his face matching his voice. jungkook always wears his emotions on his sleeves.

still, to see him this tense when meeting a new person worries you. taking a step away from namjoon you move closer to your past idol. jungkook takes your elbow and pushes you against his side instantly.

“why don’t you introduce us, _____?”, he orders while looking at your barista with distrust.

“of course”, you start and try to escape namjoon’s raised eyebrow at jungkook’s hands on you.

“jeon jungkook, meet kim namjoon, your newest wedding dj", you say with faked enthusiasm. only your recent therapy helps you suppress the jazz fingers you want to make as an ice breaker.

both men stare at each other in silence. you feel some curious glances at your back while your group just stands in the middle of an overpriced restaurant.

“nice to meet you, mr. jeon. congrats on your engagement”, namjoon says and bows to your friend. jungkook takes a second too long to respond, just letting the man bow in front of him. it’s a power move you don’t care for, so you use your elbow to poke him.

“ouch, ____”, he whines lowly, but bows as soon as he sees your hostile eyes.

“thank you, mr. kim.”

again, there is a tensed silence you do not understand. soon, the waiter saves the moment.

“why don’t we get you seated and then i can bring you a bottle of your favorite chardonnay on the house?”

you could kiss him right now, because both men sit down instantly as the waiter moves your seat for you.

“thank you”, you whisper and feel him smile at you reassuringly. then he is rushing away to get enough alcohol for this table.

“i didn’t know you two know each other”, jungkook says. there is accusation behind his words and you feel yourself shift on your seat. did you have plenty of times to tell him in the last two days that the newest candidate is a friend of yours? sure. did you take the easy way out and just… emailed him the info? maybe.

“it was in the folder i sent you yesterday”, you mutter. namjoon watches the two of you with interest just as jungkook nudges your shoulder.

“would have been nice for you to tell me in person, ____”, he says softly, no longer mad at you. he sees how tensed your shoulders are. jungkook doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. this joined wedding planning should be fun.

“how did you two meet?”, he asks, directed at the other male across from you.

“she went to one of my gigs”, namjoon explains and smiles at jungkook. you silently applaud his professionalism. first, he congratulated jungkook on his engagement, then the second comment leads straight to his musical work. and not a word about your shared friend, yoongi.

“you do music?”, jungkook asks, now more interested.

“remember the playlist from last weekend?”, you say and smile at the waiter filling your wine glass.

“the one during our movie night?”, jungkook asks and takes two ice cubes from the wine cooler to wordlessly mix them into your glass. he knows how much you like your white wine iced and watered. for the first few months of your friendship, you felt so out of place in jungkook’s world that you didn’t voice your preferences. then, during an outing with jimin at a grungy bar downtown, you shyly asked for extra ice. he still smiles at the memory.

“don’t call it a movie night. i haven’t seen us watch one movie in the last year”, you snort. most of the times seokjin makes a mean meal and your friends stuff themselves full of carbs. then you are all talking with rounded bellies, maybe someone demands a rematch on jungkook’s playstation.

“so, you played some of his songs last saturday?”, jungkook asks.

you nod at the memory. “yeah, it was the one where seokjin slutdropped in front of me.”

namjoon snorts at your words. “kim seokjin slutdropped to one of my songs? can i get that framed?”

now even jungkook smiles kindly at your barista. “i don’t think you need to. you’ll be able to see it with your own eyes at the wedding.”

after that the dinner is more enjoyable. you are gobbling at a hot cheese string of your lasagna when it happens:

jungkook is talking to namjoon, eyes gleaming as he tells him about the first dance.

“i really want it to be a remixed version of spring day”, he explains. “it was the first song i co-wrote for my group.” namjoon nods and scribbles a few words on his ipad.

“the remix from your third album?”, the dj asks. you are impressed by namjoon’s knowledge of bangtan. there is a fangirling part of you still feeling very protective of your favorite idols.

jungkook shakes his head. “nah man, it’s way too outdated. it was like… seven years ago. why don’t you play a bit with the sound?”

you have never seen a kid in your class as excited as namjoon right now. the barista looks like jungkook just gave him a disney all exclusive ticket. and maybe it is on the same level when a highly awarded idol lets you remix one of their song.

“you’d trust me with that?”, namjoon whispers. you munch on your cheesy treat as jungkook nods.

“obviously i’d check it out beforehand… but, your mixture sounds cool. it’s fresh. maybe you can even add some rap parts yourself?”

you push another spoonful of lasagna in your mouth while namjoon stutters in front of you. it’s like cinema without the popcorn.

“you want me to… add to your award-winning record?”, he whispers in awe at the former idol.

“why not? just try your best; if it’s not working out, we can just switch to an acoustic performance from the other members. maybe jimin can cover my high notes”, jungkook muses and looks at your full cheeks with a smile. you grin back at him, clearly happy with his trust in your friend.

“may i have yoongi help me with that?”, namjoon asks in excitement. your greasy smile drops from your lips as jungkook’s head moves back to namjoon, not noticing the dread in your face.

“huh?”

“you know, most of the times the two of us work on music together. yoongi is really, really good with lyrics.”

it’s like seeing an accident happening in slow motion. there is nothing you can do other than chew as fast as you can.

“yoongi?”, jungkook asks and the hot tomato sauce burns your throat as you swallow your food.

“yoongi, you know? _______'s plus one?”

 ______

ahhh! i wanted to do some more barista joon as well as give you some more… jk x reader action! i hope you all enjoyed this update! let me know what you think… it really helps with my motivation. thanks to everyone who supports me with a like, reblog, comment, message… it’s really instant serotonin. on another note: the horse has to leave the hospital!! all the best! stay safe, happy and hopeful! love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid  @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad​ @kimluvwoo​

[youarejesting]

Mania.10

[MASTER LIST] [Mania Master list]

Rating: Mature 18+ Pairing: BTS OT7 Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Omegaverse Words: 1.4k Blood types: Namjoon, Jhope, Jungkook, Yoongi (A) Taehyung (AB) Jin, Jimin and Yoongi (O) (Jimin in real life is an A blood type)

Summary: At eighteen everyone takes a blood test to find out their blood types. A, B, or O. Each blood type represents the person’s secondary gender Alpha, Beta or Omega and can be Dominant (+) or Recessive (-).

When small thin Yoongi receives his letter he doesn’t expect A+. There was no way he was an Alpha especially not a dominant. But as time passes he shows no Alpha nor Omega tendencies and frankly he doesn’t care. Working in his father’s electrical business helps pay the bills but Yoongi’s real passion is music.

One very hot day in the roof space of a luxury apartment that Yoongi is rewiring an intoxicatingly pleasant smell churns his insides and he finds himself in need of something to quench his thirst.

[First] [Prev] [Mania] [END]

Warning: Smut, poly sex, biting, marking. (If you notice anymore that you think should be listed let me know.)

Crying out in ecstasy Yoongi was overwhelmed by the loving hands that caressed and teased him, they were relentless. Seokjin and Jimin both helped to please Yoongi, their eyes wide with excitement to watch Yoongi being filled by his Hyung's. The omegas were exciting as their scents all mixed, “You are so pretty Yoongi-Hyung.”

“Sweet like Sugar.” Namjoon licked his lips as he took a step back, the group admiring their work.

“Sugar-Hyung,” Hoseok hummed affectionately, watching Seokjin and Jimin gently wipe Yoongi down with warm water and soft clothes.

Yoongi didn’t know exactly when the decision had been made but he was accepted into the house permanently and found himself spending most of his time snuggling on whoever's bed was free and warm. Which meant the days when Hoseok woke at ungodly hours of the morning, just so he could wash the sheets. He would be kicked out from the confines of the heavy comforter and woken from his slumber.

When this happened he found himself sneaking into Namjoon and Seokjin’s bed and the two larger men would pull him between them and cuddle him. It was quieter and less chaotic than the younger trio’s bed, whenever he found himself in their bed they had a tendency to let their hands wander.

Seokjin and Namjoon were less likely to let their hormones take over but the probability was never zero. He laid his head on Seokjin’s broad chest enjoying the soft fig and papaya scent. Pressed against his back and caging him in was the strong form of Namjoon, his thick biceps draped over the two omegas protectively. His pine and cinnamon scent, a reminder of his frequent hikes and the tiny greenhouse on the balcony.

In the midst of a rather wholesome dream, Yoongi felt a hot flush overtake him. His dream took a turn, the sweet scene turning spicy as he imagined various escapades with Hoseok. The desire swelled in his chest, as dream Hoseok took him from behind his lips pressing against Yoongi’s neck. 

Excitement and hope spiked as Yoongi felt the scrape of teeth at his nape, “Hoseok.”

“Yoongi, wake up, you are dreaming,” Namjoon whispered in his ear making Yoongi shiver awake but the disappointment set in. “You have been releasing pheromones and whining for Hoseok.”

Yoongi didn’t know why but the tears started to leak from the corners of his eyes, rolling over his nose and seeping into the pillowcase. “Hey, shh… tell Hyung what’s wrong?”

Yoongi rolled into the child's pose hiding his tears from the world, taking small gasps, his body shaking. Jungkook must have caught the scent of Yoongi’s pheromones, his mix of arousal and sorrow. Seokjin was quick to order the younger boy to carry Yoongi to Hoseok immediately. 

Yoongi was scooped up into Jungkook’s strong arms crying, Having been face first in the pillows Yoongi hadn’t seen that Jungkook was in fact shirtless, his grey sweats desperately hanging onto the young man’s hips. Jungkook’s hands were cupped on Yoongi’s ass, supporting him from slipping. The omega tried desperately to wrap his arms around Jungkook, settling instead to grip his biceps and cry into his pectorals.

Jungkook shushed him, the sound of a door opening allowed Hoseok’s voice to drift from the studio into the hall where Yoongi sniffled. He wanted to get his emotion under control so that Hoseok wouldn’t pry and hear his lame reasoning as to why he was crying so early in the morning. There was nothing more embarrassing than saying he was disappointed by a really good dream and wished Hoseok would mark him and keep him forever.

“Hey, what’s-” Hoseok’s words were cut short by the clatter of a headset on the desk, Yoongi was pulled from Jungkook’s arms. He laid the omega’s back against his chest and nuzzled his neck. Tears erupted heavier as sobs broke past Yoongi’s lips. Jungkook took his leave, letting the two have some privacy.

“My Suga, What is wrong?” Hoseok had a funny way of calling Yoongi, it sounded more like ‘shooga’ than like sugar.

“I had a dream,” Yoongi whimpered, pressing his fists into his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the tears that were betraying him. He wasn’t weak and he didn’t want Hoseok to ever think he was someone who let his emotions take control of him.

“A bad dream?” Hoseok asked, trying to turn Yoongi on his lap so Hoseok could look up at him.

“No,” Yoongi whined, protesting the idea that the dream he had could have ever been considered a nightmare. The Hoseok in his dream was affectionate and loving he didn’t hold back and made Yoongi feel so safe, he knew all of Hoseok’s intentions and the two were both in tune with each other's emotions and they didn’t have to speak to just know. Maybe it was stupid clearly the Hoseok Yoongi had conjured in his head was just that, they knew each other's thoughts and feelings inside because he had conjured this Hoseok from his own mind.

Taking a small breath, Yoongi buried his face in his hands, swamped by the soft sleeves of Hoseok’s sweater. “It’s nothing.”

“Jimin said you hold all your thoughts and emotions inside and we won’t know what the other is thinking if you don’t tell me.” Hoseok reasoned gently, rubbing Yoongi’s shoulders in an effort to make the omega relax and open up. 

“It was a good dream, we were together on the bed and you were doing everything I liked and then you marked me.” Yoongi made to stand up, “It was just a dumb dream and I am sorry for bothering you, I know we aren’t really anything I guess it’s just the omega part of me wanting to be marked by an Alpha.”

Hoseok let Yoongi walk across the room, it was short-lived as the Alpha threw him over his shoulder and carried him down the hall, and threw him onto the freshly made bed. Hoseok kicked the door shut and climbed over Yoongi kissing him with so much passion all of Yoongi’s doubts were fading away. The small lingering disappointment resting in his heart as a reminder, no matter how hard Hoseok kissed him the feeling never disappeared completely.

Hoseok was different from his usual excitable state, his hands were gentle and his moves slow and full. Rolled onto his stomach, hips lifted up, Hoseok seemed to care about Yoongi’s pleasure and neglecting his own. Yoongi noticed the Alpha wasn’t doing half the things he loved to with him. 

“Hoseok, let me help you?” Yoongi gasped trying to turn but Hoseok gently held him in place taking some deep audible breaths.

“I love you Yoongi,” He breathed, making Yoongi’s heart flutter with the words. “Do you feel the same way?”

“Uh, yes,” Yoongi whined, the pleasure was becoming too much.

“Say it.”

“I love you.” Yoongi buried his face again but he knew the red had spread to his ears and neck. Hoseok kissed his neck and whispered his hot breath brushing the shell of Yoongi’s ear.

“Would you like to stay with me forever?” Hoseok received a nod from Yoongi which made him scoff. “I need you to say it Yoongi, remember we won’t know what each other is thinking and feeling if we don’t say it.”

“Yes, I want to stay with you forever.” Yoongi cried out his body tensing as Hoseok’s lips pressed once more to the back of Yoongi’s neck. “Please.”

Teeth claimed the soft skin of Yoongi’s neck marking him forever as two equal halves of a pair and mates. Yoongi shivered as Hoseok soothed the bite with his tongue. Elation was all they felt as they slipped into their own Utopia within the soft sheets. Yoongi was finally excited to share his forever with Hoseok.

Tags: @staerryminimini​

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[tooruluv]

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 6 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,182

warnings/notes: didn’t know yall were SIMPS for kuroo... anyway here’s more angst for y’all

tag list: @afuckingunicornn​​ @maii-flowers​​ @clandestinerays​​ @brownandchill​​ @readeretal​​ @wedojustbevibin​​ @shigarakiskitten​​ @shittykawaa​​ @saeranoppa​ @srirachibi​

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“I brought the good nacho popcorn seasoning!” Kuroo told you as he rummaged around inside of his bag.

Tetsurou Kuroo had become a close friend in a short amount of time (it seems as though that was something happening to you often, these days). The “mall date” was full of conversation and laughter. You found out he was an only child, played volleyball himself and went to some camp, that he’s never had a girlfriend, and that he’s actually very funny. He grew on you.

You both sat on the couch, claiming it from your parents as you usually do on Saturday nights. This time, it was just with a different boy. Your parents didn’t mind.

Kuroo tossed the bottle to you once he found it. You caught it, and immediately started to pour it into the bowl that was full of popcorn and m&m’s.

Not too long after, the both of you had a scary movie on. You both sat on the couch, the bowl on the table in front of you. He sat with one leg tucked under his outstretched one, his arms crossed into his hoodie pockets. You sat next to him, a couple inches between so you don’t rub your leg against his. Your legs were brought to your chest.

“Are you cold?” Kuroo asked you, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

“Just a little.”

Before you could protest, he took his hoodie off and held it out for you. You were about to deny his offer when he decided to lean back and literally shove the thing onto your head.

You were giggling when you pulled your arms through. “Thank you, but I could’ve just grabbed a blanket.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He turned his attention back to the TV. Was that a blush? “You look good in red.”

You couldn’t help but smile. You moved closer to him, your body flush with his. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, something you hadn’t felt in a minute, and both of you smiled as someone got killed on screen.

Tooru Oikawa had always been your safety net. He was the one you went to for absolutely everything, even if it was a minor inconvenience. He was the one you called if you were lost, the one you exchanged looks with when the teacher would say something that could be passed as an innuendo, the one you would go to if you had a splinter or broken nail. And that safety would go both ways.

He would always show up in the middle of the night, or ask you to join him on the occasional Monday for you to watch him practice when he’s supposed to have the day off, or even facetime you just because.

Yet, this time, when you received a very drunk call from Oikawa, it didn’t feel normal.

You missed the call (it was at five in the morning), but you were left a very long voicemail from the boy.

“Nut!~” He slurred into the phone, basically directly onto the speaker. “Hello love. Hi. I drank a lot tonight. By myself. Very good. I should do this more often.”

You smiled to yourself. Oikawa hated being drunk, he would always make a point to never drink whenever he had the opportunity to. It was cute, the slurred and soft-spoken version of Oikawa you were receiving.

“I just wanted to say. I miss you. A lot. That’s why I came over the other day. I have so much I want to tell you but I…” Something muffled the speaker, and you couldn’t hear what exactly he was saying after that. Until, “Yeah, I just miss you a lot. I sleep now.”

You listened to it again.

Iwaizumi sent you a text Sunday. You were at dinner with your parents, out at some restaurant for the night. You went to the bathroom to read it (your parents had a rule: no phones at the dinner table if you’re eating as a family).

“I told my parents.” It said.

“You don’t drink.” You said to Oikawa Monday morning. You didn’t look at him, both of you at your lockers. He sent you a look.

“I don’t drink.” He repeated.

You finally shut your locker and looked up at him. The first time in a long time that you were talking. He seemed taller, thinner.

“Why were you drunk this weekend?”

Oikawa’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours. He shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

“You’re lying to me now?”

He shut his locker and started to walk down the hall. Before he could get far, you stepped in front of him and cut him off. He stopped.

“I got a voicemail from you.” You told him, and his eyes shot to yours. “I miss you, too. I don’t know why you won’t talk to me, but I miss you too.”

For a moment, it was just the both of you standing alone in the hallway. Like nothing else really mattered. He was finding the right words to say, and you waited for him to reply. Your chest was aching, and you wanted to throw the word “love” at him right then.

“I…I miss you a lot.” He finally said. You held back a smile. “But, um, can we talk? Later?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” You were too eager, you knew. “We can talk later.”

Oikawa sent you a smile, something you missed, and your eyes found his tie. Before thinking, you reached up to tighten it. He chuckled.

“Yeah, I can’t fucking get this shit right.” He told you, letting you bring him closer to push it up. “Sana’s been fixing it at breakfast but I was running late this morning so we didn’t go.”

“Good thing I’m always here, huh?”

You walked next to Iwaizumi and Matsukawa on the way to lunch (the library). They were holding hands, openly smiling and giggling and being gay. You loved it.

“What was it like?” You asked them as you sat at the usual table.

“When I told my mom that I liked guys and I think I’m bisexual, do you want to know what she said?” Iwaizumi asked you. You nodded. “She said, and I quote, “well I can’t blame you, I like guys too”. I was so nervous for nothing. My dad even told me that it was okay and he’s fine with it as long as I’m happy, he just didn’t want to hear the details.”

“Your mom is iconic.”

Tooru Oikawa was not someone who could hide in a crowd. You could always pick him out of everyone, always spot him through the human traffic. It also helped that he was tall.

That being said, you found him instantly.

He wanted to meet at a park, as he was watching his nephew and his older brother was at work. You joined, of course, and you always found his nephew adorable.

You sat on the bench next to him. The very first time you have ever felt uncomfortable enough to sit further away from him. He noticed.

“We almost kissed.” He finally said, eyes following his nephew on the playset. He seemed tense, back straight and hands clasped together.

“Yeah.” You twisted your fingers in your lap. “Almost.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” You were forgiven weeks ago.

“I do, though.” Oikawa finally looked at you. “I almost kissed you when I just became official with Sana the night before. I shouldn’t have done that. And I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t upset about you almost kissing me.” You told him, staring at him. “I was never mad at that. It’s you ignoring me and avoiding me like the plague that I don’t particularly enjoy.”

“Right.” He bit the inside of his mouth. “I just…I couldn’t really…I felt really guilty. Having enough feelings to kiss you, but standing hand in hand with Sana. I haven’t told her about it.”

“I haven’t either.”

“Yeah, you two are close.”

“She’s very nice, and good company.” You told him. “You chose a good one.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

He blinked a couple of times, like his eyes would fix what he heard. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Everything. Me and Iwa talked some shit about you.”

“I’m not surprised, I’ve been acting like a dick.”

“Ah, we prefer the word asshole.”

You both chuckled, and you ducked your head. His eyes were back on his nephew, who waved at you both from the top of the castle.

“Listen, I’m not going to push you to be my friend again.” You said. “If I make you uncomfortable or make you question your relationship, I’m not going to be mad at you.”

“Be your friend again.” He mumbled, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “I never considered us not being friends. And you would never make me uncomfortable, ever. I just…”

“I know.” You stood up. His eyes jumped to you, head tilting up. “Let me know when you figure out whatever you need to figure out. Until then, I’m still right next door and a drunk call away.”

His mouth gaped as if you offended him, but there was a smile behind it. “God damn it, nut, just delete the voicemail!”

“No, I think I’ll keep it.” You brought your phone out and played it. His drunken slur came over the speakers. “Nut! Hello love. Hi!” you mocked him as his voice played.

Oikawa stood up, face red. “Oh my god! Stop! That’s embarrassing!”

He chased you as you continued to mimic him over the voicemail. You didn’t know every word, of course, but you knew when he was going to say certain things. You laughed as he chased you onto the playground.

“Takeru! Help!” you called, holding the phone up so Oikawa couldn’t get it.

“No, Takeru!” he called for his nephew. “Give me the phone, she’s a traitor!”

“Nice try, Uncle.” Takeru grabbed your phone and shook it from his spot on the very top. “She already told me that you were the spy for the English. We must take you to jail! Thank you, Auntie, for the valuable information. We will promote you to Head Knight.”

You giggled at Oikawa’s surprised and embarrassed face. You mouthed “Head Knight” at him, pointing at yourself. He rolled his eyes, but kept smiling at you.

You wore Kuroo’s hoodie the next time you met up with him. A fun fact about Kuroo: the man loves coffee. So, you weren’t surprised when he asked to meet at a coffee shop around the corner from where you buy alcohol. You wonder what he would say if you told him about buying shit from there.

“Damn, that hoodie looks familiar.” He told you when you sat across from him.

“Yeah, it’s comfy.” You said, smiling. “A pretty cool dude let me borrow it.”

“Ah, he let you keep it.” He corrected, hands already around a warm cup of black coffee.

You raised a brow. “I guess I’ll keep it then.”

“So…” Sana threw a piece of candy into the air to catch in her mouth. “You and Kuroo?”

This time, it was Iwaizumi and Sana at your house. Your two best friends. It was a strange combo, to you, as you always separated them in your head. But they actually got along quite easily, immediately started to roast and complain about Oikawa.

The three of you were in your bedroom. You sat on your bed, Iwaizumi on the floor by the door, and Sana sat in your desk chair. You were playing a game: try to catch the candy in your mouth. So far, Iwaizumi was winning (he hadn’t missed a single one, even if your throws were trash).

“What about me and Kuroo?”

“Oh, come on,” Sana scoffed, shaking her head. “You have been spending a lot of time with him. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.” You caught a piece she threw up for you. As you chewed, “We’re very good friends. He’s cool.”

“Alright that’s it. Who is it?”

“Who is what?” you blinked.

“The other boy.”

You gulped, looking quickly at Iwaizumi. He just looked at you, wide eyed and confused.

“You told me that you’ve had a thing for another boy for a long time but he doesn’t feel the same.” Sana continued, her attention fully on you. “And he’s obviously the reason that you’re not going for Kuroo. You’re in love with someone else, and you’re throwing away a perfectly good relationship with someone who actually likes you.” She leaned forward. “So, I’ll ask again. Who is the boy?”

You didn’t say anything, your silence the only answer you could give. Iwaizumi’s eyes went back and forth between you two, staying just as silent.

“Who is it?” Sana asked again, held tilted. When you looked at the floor, it was like a rush of realization dawned on her. The air turned tense, but not negative. Like you couldn’t breathe.

“Oh.”

[seihun]

can i be your boyfriend? — a bbh social media au

ϟ prev ◂ part 15B ▸ next

ϟ pairings: byun baekhyun + oc:reader

ϟ word count: not too long, hopefully, because this is supposed to be a social media au (2.6k)

ϟ notes: hello! look at me, writing things out on this fake text blog, and updating before midnight. i don’t usually do this, but somethings are better said in incoherent paragraphs than in screenshots, plus it’s hard to convey the in-between steps of a relationship through just texts, so i hope you enjoy this insight into their budding relationship 🤗 more notes at the end!!

MONDAY.

“How exactly is it that you started working at Buzzfeed?” you question, reaching over a pillow to dip your bread in olive oil.

Baekhyun watches with amusement as you whine audibly when some runny oil drips from the bread onto your jeans. The indoor picnic he’d set up is pretty damn great if he does say so himself—blankets, pillows, and enough Italian food to feed a small army; and you, of course.

It’s another one of his many, many dates with you—or at least, he’s pretty certain they’ve been dates. Hearing you confirm that you like him was definitely a confidence booster, and reassuring, to say the least, but if Baekhyun’s being completely honest, he’s not sure where to go from here.

He likes you, he knows that much. He likes you a lot; a lot, a lot—(“You’re halfway in love with her, call it what it is,” Minseok said, before getting his ear pinched by Maize)—and he definitely loves spending time with you, and if you asked him, he’d say you’re dating casually, but would you agree?

It’s not like he would know, this is his first serious sort-of-relationship, after all. Baekhyun was never exactly the most suave kid back in high school; more clumsy and awkward than anything with anyone who wasn’t Kyungsoo. He’s not a complete novice; he’s been on dates, gone out, even had a few one night stands in his freshman year, but nothing close to this—whatever it is he has with you—so sue him for basically winging everything for these past two months.

“Honestly,” he recounts, “I did what you did. I complained publicly about one of their posts, and someone DMed, and eventually offered me a job, and here I am.”

“Wait, that’s not fair!” you whine, “Nobody wanted to pay me for my complaint tweets!”

“Well you should have tagged the VP of the company, not me.”

Baekhyun laughs while you pout, toothy smile diminishes into a closed lip one, as his eyes glaze over and flutter between your eyes and your lips. He finds himself leaning in after you, a nervous kind of excitement taking over him as you grow closer. And it’s just barely after his lips have grazed yours that you’re both interrupted by the buzzing and ringing of a cellphone.

You seem to know that it’s your phone, if the crinkling of your eyebrows and embarrassed exhale are anything to go by. Baekhyun simply chuckles, gently presses his index finger to the tip of your nose, and pulls away with a smile.

He watches you fetch your phone, and reluctantly answer the call—which, appears to be a FaceTime judging by the noise and the distance with which you hold your phone from your face.

“Chanyeol, if you’re trying to let Sehun win best friend of the year, you’re succeeding,” are your first words, and Baekhyun can’t help the audible laughter that leaves his mouth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, or Chanyeol. “Who’s laughing, are you—is it the Buzzfeed boy? Oh, is this is a date? Baekhyun are you listening! Hello! My name’s Chanyeol, and I’m—”

“I’m going to hang up on you, what do you want!” you hiss.

Baekhyun finds himself smiling throughout the rest of your conversation. He likes that you’re comfortable enough to answer Chanyeol in front of him; he thinks that if Maize or Kyungsoo or Minseok called him, he’d pick it up in front of too. He’s not too sure about Junmyeon, though, he’s more likely to embarrass him.

Baekhyun hopes he can stick around long enough to meet the rest of your friends—from what you’ve told him about them, they sound like just the kind of people he likes having around. And after hearing how long you’ve been friends with them, namely Sehun, he finds himself even more understanding of your dynamics.

Not many people get just how deep a friendship can run, so when he tells people he’s known Kyungsoo for as long as Kyungsoo’s been alive, their reactions are surface level at best. But you get it, because Sehun is your Kyungsoo; or, rather, you’re Sehun’s Kyungsoo. Baekhyun shakes his head at the thought—the point is, you’re both similar in that respect, and he likes it. He likes you.

“Anyway,” he tunes back into to hear Chanyeol sighing, “I just wanted to let you know I burned the bear, so our apartment smells like smoke, which makes Sehun and I homeless for the evening, so we’re at your place, please bring dinner.”

“What do you mean you burned it! Chan—”

“You know, as in we lit it on fire. Sehun also wanted to throw it off the roof, but Chungha stopped him, so we just did it our living room, and now she’s being a meanie and saying she can’t help refuge us because she has a ‘group project’ meeting at her place in an hour, which I think is a lie. Baekhyun, if you’re still listening, I want you to know that I’m not a pyromaniac—”

“—Debatable—”

“I’m not. Anyways, bring food when you’re done flirting, Sehun and I are hungry, and Chungs is leaving us foodless, as per usual.”

“Then buy food.”

“Do I look rich to you?”

“Yes, actually—”

“Hyung—oh, hey, is that _____?” Sehun’s voice asks, “Hey, Chanyeol finished the gummy worms, can you—”

“I’m hanging up!”

Baekhyun watches with light in his eyes as you hurriedly end the call, then sheepishly turn back to him. “I am… so sorry they’re like this,” you apologize, putting your phone back face down on the blanket and composing yourself.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “Don’t worry, my friends are much worse.”

“Your friends are smart,” you reason, “And quiet, and don’t break into my apartment at their earliest convenience.”

“Actually, Junmyeon has done that last one,” Baekhyun hums, scooting a bit closer to you, “Except, it wasn’t my apartment, he broke into Minseok’s. Let’s just say it didn’t end well for him.”

Baekhyun thinks the embarrassing anectode was worthwhile to hear you laugh, even if it was at Junmyeon’s expense. It’s fine, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“So, does Chanyeol normally light things on fire or was this a one time thing?”

“You’d be surprised by the amount of things he’s accidentally set on fire since I’ve known him, actually,” you laugh, “But no—well, you know the bear I told you about? The one, um, Jongin gave to me when I saw him on Sunday?”

Baekhyun nods. Of course.

“Well, I also told my idiot friends about it, and that’s what Chanyeol burned,” you tell him. Baekhyun bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, but the temptation is written all over his face—or, evidently, so, as you chime in with, “It’s okay, you can laugh.”

Thank god, because Baekhyun wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face (or hide his blatant happiness). He decides right there that he likes Chanyeol. You have good friends.

Admittedly, after hearing you tell him about your history with Jongin as both a friend and a boyfriend, Baekhyun can’t say that he’s exactly fond of the guy. Junmyeon tells him to never judge a book by its cover, but seeing as you gave him the summary, he thinks he can fairly conclude that Jongin isn’t… the best person in the world. And the way he treated you and your friends is enough to make Baekhyun weary about him as a person.

Still, Baekhyun doesn’t judge you for talking to him. He’s not exactly jealous; he’s confident in your feelings for him and his for you, and above all, he trusts that you’re being honest with him. Quite frankly, Baekhyun doesn’t consider your ex boyfriend to be a threat.

Baekhyun knows you clearly just want to be a good friend, or at the very least, a good person to Jongin; and after knowing him for almost a decade—even if things got a bit bumpy—Baekhyun thinks you’re more than justified in that. You clearly see something in Jongin that you think can be helped, and Baekhyun trusts your judgement; you did pick him, too, after all.

Does he like that Jongin gives you gifts, and is very clearly still into you even tho you can’t see it, and don’t want any part in it? No, not exactly. But, on the bright side, Baekhyun’s the one that has your attention, and that counts for more than something.

(Not to mention you have a couple of guys who are both rooting for him and willing to beat up your ex at moments notice, so, he’d say he’s in a pretty good boat).

The only thing Jongin has ever had that Baekhyun wants is the opportunity to call you his. But he thinks he’s getting there. Hopefully. Is it weird to ask the ex of the girl you’re interested in how he got her to be his girlfriend in the first place? Do you even want to be his girlfriend? He hopes so.

He doesn’t know if sharing cheese and crackers and pasta and bread is any indication that you want to be his girlfriend, but he’d like to think it is. Because that’s what the next half hour consists of—you and Baekhyun, sharing food over smiles and stories and endless laughter.

Baekhyun finds himself laughing so hard at a story you tell him about Chanyeol and Chungha pranking Sehun, that he might as well be laughing over you. His hand ends up on your shoulder in his fit of giggles, and yours just barely above his knee. Neither of you comment on it, but you don’t pull away, either.

He’s about to chip in with a story about his childhood self, when he’s interrupted by notification noises again. Baekhyun grins at your exasperated exhale and tightly closed eyes. “It’s fine, they’ll be fine,” you tell him, silencing the ringer, and turning back to him in an attempt to continue your conversation.

Baekhyun’s about to tell you that it’s okay, that you should check your phone in case it’s an emergency or something, but he doesn’t have to; because it starts buzzing again and again and again and eventually is back to ringing.

“Answer it,” Baekhyun smiles, “Seriously, I wouldn’t want you to have to face Sehun’s wrath for ignoring him.”

It’s silent for a minute, while you scroll through your messages, and thumb a response. Baekhyun watches as your expression changes from annoyed, to vaguely amused, to concerned, to borderline unhappy. It makes his own eyebrows draw together when he sees the frown start to form on your lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh… I don’t think so,” you sigh, locking the screen and looking up at him, “I think I gotta head home, Sehun might have broken smoke detector and Chanyeol got… something stuck to the ceiling trying to fix it.”

Baekhyun can’t help the laugh that escapes him. You have really good friends.

“Fuck, Baek, I’m so sorry, this is—you did all of this, and my idiot friends—”

Baekhyun takes one of your flailing hands into his, effectively calming your stature and forcing to you make eye contact with him. “Hey, it’s fine, I promise,” he reassures you, “Really, it’s okay. If I got stuck to the ceiling I would hope Kyungsoo would come rescue me, too.”

“You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not just saying anything,” he laughs through his words because the look on your face is nothing short of adorable, “I mean it. I had fun on our—I, I had fun, today. It’s fine, really, I promise.”

And so, you smile, demeanor significantly calmer, “I… should call a car,” you tell him, his eyes traveling down your enveloped hands, which he releases slowly, embarrassed; but then you grin again, tapping away at your phone, “I had fun on our date, too, Baekhyun.”

(So these were dates! Nice, cool, cool, keep it cool. He doesn’t; he grins like a blushing fool).

Baekhyun helps you gather your things, and moves the food around so that neither of you step on it; walks you to the door when your car says it’s arriving shortly. He waits with you on the doorstep, pretending to look out for a white sonata, when he’s really stealing glances at you through your small talk.

“Would you, uh… I mean, you’re probably already going, so,” you cut yourself off with slow exhale, turning your body towards his, “There’s this showcase, presentation type thing, for some students to, uh, present about their research coming up soon. You might already know about it, since Kyungsoo is giving one about his summer internship, I think—and it might be a little boring, and that you’re not a science guy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

Baekhyun cuts you off by calling your name, a wide smile playing on his lips. “I’d love to go,” he tells you, earnestly, “I was going to go, to see Soo anyway, but I wanna support my new favorite biochem student, too.”

“Really?” You reach out and grab his hand, an action that almost seems lost on your in your flurry of excitement or flattery—or both—but, not on Baekhyun, whose palm suddenly feels warm. You must have been able to tell you flustered him, because your eyes widen, looking down at your hands, then promptly pulling them away.

“You, I mean, I want you to come, but only if you want—”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what moves him to take a leap, step a little more into your space, and take both of your hands in his with unwavering intention, but he’s glad for it; because you don’t pull away, and the look you give him kind of makes him never want to look away.

“I want to go,” he says slowly, dipping his head down the slightest, close enough to see the rings of your irises, even in the dim lighting of his porch, “I want to be there for you.”

There’s an almost inaudible “okay,” that leaves your lips, the letters rolling off your tongue with a shy smile that Baekhyun finds himself mimicking. His eyes flutter away, just for a moment, to your hands, then back to your face, before he slowly lets them go, only to rest them against your jaw again.

Baekhyun might be using the “taking things slow” mantra as an excuse for his complete lack of experience on how to navigate a real relationship, but this, right here, he’s sure of. That he likes you, that he wants you, that he—

“Can… can I kiss you?” he asks, just above a whisper.

His eyes are frantic, looking for an answer in yours, but instead he gets them from your lips; a soft, “Yes,” accompanied by a softer nod that Baekhyun would have missed if not for having your head in his hands.

When he leans forward, you meet him halfway, lips pursed together—and Baekhyun thinks that, yeah, if being in a relationship with you meant he got to do this, all day, then he would have to figure out how to be your boyfriend sooner, rather than later.

One kiss turns into two, then three, then four with smiles, and giggles in-between, and the only thing that seems to pull you away from each other is the honking of a car horn. Flustered, Baekhyun lowers his hand, bites on his bottom lip as you fumble to check the license plates on the car to those on your phone.

“I think that’s my car,” you tell him, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he swears there’s slightest twinge of disappointment in your voice, too, “I—I had fun, Baek, really. So, thank you, again.”

“Me too,” he says, words on autopilot, brain still stuck in the moment before.

He smiles, daystruck as he walks you to the curb, before you cross the street. He’s about to wish you well again, before you turn to him, and give him the smallest, barely there peck on the lips.  

“Goodnight, Baekhyun.”

He doesn’t even know if he responds audibly, he’s processing you in fragments, watching your silhouette as you cross the street, and head into the backseat of the car. He swears he catches the smallest wave from you through the window, but for all he knows that could have been his imagination.

Your goodnight kiss lingers on his lips, on his mind, and it’s only when he’s back inside that he lets himself break out into the foolish grin he’s been hiding all night. He’s going to have to figure out how to do that boyfriend-girlfriend thing. As soon as possible.

ϟ tag list: @artfulbarnes @bat-shark-repellant @baek-byunies @baeklooming-day @bbh-kji @cosmins​ @coffee-prince-kyungsoo​ @etsjusoa @exuwu @elyxion1485 @fifiaaaaaa @haechanspudu @honeyboocal @httpschoisan​ @junkfoodwriting @just-a-sad-writer​ @j-pping @kkpoptrashhh @littleflowercrown13 @loeytingz @marina-del-rey98 @mangobaek @miraculyfe @mochahyuck @oasissehun @ohwosehun @p-polaroid @peachesyeol @peacherparker​ @penguinsoo-l @rikachusworld @sakura-uji @shesdreaminginoverdose @sekshi-namjas @smolpeyy​ @strawberrychannie​ @takoyakkun​  @to-all-the-stories-i-love @vaiva @writingindaisies @xiutingmyself @yourexotextplus

ϟ more notes: more smoochies!! they have kissed a few times (maybe once or twice) since their first kiss a few parts ago, but i had no way of showing that to you guys so here you go!! they’re in a weird stage where they kiss each other goodbye and go on dates and like each other but it’s not exactly... dating? 

i hope this gives some insight into baekhyun’s thoughts, as well. some things are harder to get across through just texts, but i wanted to show his feelings beyond his overexcited, adorable messages 🥺 he’s still a whole babie, but he has complex thoughts!! 

i’ll finish rambling now, but there is an intended part 15C (which I know, sounds like it should just be part 16 at this point, but in a perfect world, I’d have been able to fit everything into one post but i digress). maybe it’ll be part 16 anyway, but it’ll likely include some writing because the xiuchen drama is back!! 🤗

[euphoriyoongi]

✿ True Beauty ✿

✿ Summary:

Your life changes as you learn new make-up techniques. You hide behind the make-up from your hurtful past, and Seokjin also loses joy from his hurtful past. You two rely on each other, sharing secrets.

✿ Pairings: Seokjin x reader x Yoongi

✿ Word count: 1.0k

✿ Warnings: talk of suicide

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✿ Part One: Ugly truth

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It’s the ugly truth. The world doesn’t treat you well if you’re not pretty.

I would word that differently if I could but…it’s true. Whether you admit it or not.

We’re all nearly born the same right? Down to the bone, we’re all just twin skeletons. But people don’t look at it that way. They always have to look to the surface and be superficial. Oh, maybe you’d look better with shorter hair—no, that wouldn’t be me then.

But what about plastic surgery? Then you’ll be pretty.

Again, no.

I was born into a family that believed looks were all a person had. My mom wasn’t so much of a beauty to the world’s standards, but my dad definitely was. But alas, I ended up with my mothers looks. I didn’t think much of it until my family, and everyone else, began to ridicule me because of how I looked. Sure, I wasn’t the prettiest but..I really couldn’t be that ugly, right?

According to everyone else, I was. And because of how everyone perceived me, I began to believe them. As I grew older I’d look at a part of my body that I wanted to change. I was always wanting to be someone else.

I wish my nose was a bit smaller, I wish I was a bit shorter. I wish I didn’t have so much acne.

Maybe then I’ll be pretty.

But is that what defines beauty?

Beauty should be defined as someone who’s lovely right down to the heart. Someone who knows to uplift others regardless of the exterior. It’s kind of funny, almost judging a book by its cover.

How are you supposed to know what’s inside if you don’t give it a chance?

As I aged in school, kids would throw their lunches at me. They would taunt me and make jokes that I looked like a dumpling. I couldn’t catch a break, and as I grew up like that, my self esteem became an inkling thing.

The world can be harsh, huh? My brother didn’t seem to have a hard time at all, though. He’s always got the attention of my mother, and the whole family as I would be standing behind him without a word.

I dreamed of being able to live my life without worrying I’m up to par….but its really difficult when you’re living as someone you want to change. It’s impossible to love yourself at that point.

To make matters worse, my family had just moved us back to our hometown. I guess we lost the house we were living in and had to go move back into our old one. I was dreading going into a new high school, and hopefully no one would tease me. Even though that was completely unlikely. Everywhere I go, at least someone would point out my looks.

If you don’t believe pretty privilege exists, then you must be pretty to society’s standards. Cause damn, people can be rude.

With all the self hatred came along thoughts of ending it all. It seems silly to someone else…but my feelings are real. They’re true to heart. I was told all my life that I’ll go nowhere. That I won’t even be suitable for a man. That I won’t even succeed in anything that I do. I let all that talk get into my head and take over my thoughts. There was no more “happy go lucky” y/n anymore. Just a hollow shell with nothing but degrading thoughts.

I brought myself up to the top of a building. I was going to do it. I had enough of all of this. I was going to end it.

The cool breeze flew through my hair as I stood at the edge, my legs shaking beneath me, begging me not to jump. Fluorescent lights covered my body head to toe from a giant billboard that stood from behind, offering the only source of light. No matter how many times I told myself to jump, my body wouldn’t let me. It was as if I was stuck in mid air—unable to breathe.

Suddenly another large billboard lit up brightly right in front of me, as if it was a message.

It’s was a sign to commemorate former idol Jung Se-Yeon. It would’ve been his birthday had he not passed away. Wow. He would’ve been eighteen if he was …

still…living…

I can’t do this.

Just as I was about to step down, a loud voice screamed from behind.

“Don’t do it!”A boy’s voice yelled, and footsteps banged across the ground, getting louder with each second.

It was even before I could turn my head when I felt the boy’s hands grab my stomach, pulling me back and sending both of us tumbling to the ground with a thump. My glasses flew off my face and tens of floors down to the road, and the boys arms were wrapped around me tightly, not letting me go as I laid on top of him.

His heavy breaths echoed through my head, his hair a mess all over his face. I couldn’t see his features enough to know who he was since my glasses were gone, but who was he to do that? Did he know me?

“Ah.” He paused, catching his breath as he looked at me, almost angrily. “Don’t you ever think that of doing that again.” He paused, shaking his head. “You have absolutely no idea how much your family would be devastated.”

Who was this guy?

~~

Over the summer before the new school year, I couldn’t stop thinking of the boy who saved me. Well, I guess I was going to come down anyway, but still nonetheless he saved me. Who was he? And why was he angry at me?

“Why would you even think about doing this?”

“You matter, what the hell is wrong with you.”

“Think about the people you’d hurt if you did it!”

He talked to me as if he knew me his whole life. When I asked him if he knew me, his only response was a blunt “no.” And he walked away. To his surprise, the elevator was closed for cleaning. I also had no sight whatsoever, and he ended up having to carry me down over ten flights of steps. I feel bad, honestly, but he was honestly okay with it. At least that what he said. He called me Ajumma a few times and I decided not to correct him, he was helping me out.

As I kept thinking about him one night while I was on my phone, an ad for a video popped up. “New makeup tricks for the new you!” It read out, with a thumbnail of a beautiful girl holding makeup.

New me? I could go for that.

As I watched the video, I had convinced myself that I was going to be the master of makeup before the new school year. Nearly every day I��d try a new look, and fail. My brother Jimin never held his laughter back as I looked like a clown, but I tried my best to become someone I always wanted to be. And with a few hundred dollars spent and lots and lots of mess ups, I finally had perfected my makeup. I wasn’t going to be that shy, ugly girl anymore. I was going to be the one everyone wanted. It only took about three months for it to all come together. I was starting school next week, and I was going to own it.

Take that, you bullies. It’s my time to shine.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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@moonchild1

[highsviolets]

give me love (i’ll put my heart in it)

summary: you think about your relationship with Ben, musing on endings and beginnings. set in between ‘complications of time’ and ‘gingerbread cigarettes.’

pairing: lifeguard!Ben x reader 

warnings: angst-ish? I guess? Nothing crazy. Some language.  

links: prev / next / series masterlist / full masterlist 

a/n: yes hello hi I still write for Obi-Wan! Thanks to Brit, who encouraged me to post this, as well as being the fearless champion of this series. If you wanna, listen to this while reading.

give me love (i’ll put my heart in it) 

The cigarette isn’t working like it’s supposed to. There’s no burn, no squeezing in your lungs. Smoke that’s exhaled in a practiced breath lingers. Reluctant. It doesn’t want to dissipate — building blocks of nothingness can’t dissolve into their own substance, after all. Or can they? Maybe they’re just waiting for permission((letting go)).

It doesn’t matter anyway. A rock is your path, and you kick it, and you watch it travel down the sidewalk. Does it know? Does it know that its existence was a hindrance to yours?

Marlboros feel different without him around. When you haven’t stolen it from his backpack, or pocket, or right out of his hand. It doesn’t taste like heady spice, tingling tobacco. There’s an anguishing aftertaste in it wake, all metallic and slippery and….fucking hell, what’s the word? Where you miss the way things were before? Reminiscence? Nostalgia?

Ben would know. He’s good with words. The inhale is sharp, this time. From the death stick or the thought of him, you can’t say. Probably him, you decide, and pull the flannel tighter around you with your hand. He has always drawn you closer that you already were.

Ben is good with words, and he is good with cigarettes. Somehow the two things mold together, pressing and pulling: a play-doh question of eternal causality. Which came first, the cigarettes or the words? It sure as hell wasn’t you; he was already everything he is when he dragged you from crushing currents and brought you back to solid land. and you had lit his cigarette and worn his t-shirt and kissed him against the metal of his car, so hot it was cold, so hot you didn’t feel him save you from drowning just to set fire to your eyes. so hot you forgot the sensation of suffocation, his life squeezing yours in a box, a box shaped like the narrow white-and-red packs in back pocket and the metamorphosing of his books and the lewd lines in his sketches of aromatic deep blue futures ((those too that he would construct on your body, all arches and gilded strokes)). Hands are Ben’s forte: his weapon of choice. It is how he constructs you, brick by brick, and how he punches you apart, snippets and cuts and incisions through rips in paper and bleeding ink and scabs made from ashes.

He’s here and not here, as he always is. But nothing works even when it’s all the same. Ben will always linger, in crevices in dark armor that you carry shrouded and half-discarded, limp from a weary frame. And he will be there too, in drizzles of gold and honey sunlight. Perhaps you will never be able to smoke a fucking cigarette again((you won’t be able to stop))

Christ, it’s been a while, you had thought when he offered you one for the first time. Funny. That was the last time he had asked. Each ensuing occasion had been a woven branch of phone lines and psychosomatic communications, almost inebriated in their understanding of you and him. you&him drunk, drunk and drowning, hapless as he crashed into you without permission because he didn’t need to. When you had said yes to his cigarette you had said yes to him, and when you said yes to his question on Fukuyama you had assented to his words.

You feel out of place here: disjointed and rheumatic moans echo in your ear while you traverse pavement.This is his turf, and fall suits him better than it suits you. His hair matches the leaves, and his turtlenecks accentuate his cheekbones. He says he likes your flannel (you would, you told him, leaning into the heavy palm caressing your cheek, you picked it out.) But fall is far too esoteric for your liking, too erudite, too intellectual, too restrained. It is everything Ben is and everything you are not. And somehow he is summer too, drowsy and vibrant orange, and fucking hell if he isn’t winter and spring too.

Ben is entirely too alive for his own good — whole fragments — stitching — beloved, licentious breath.

And too pretty at that, you think, catching sight of sky through liquid smothered eyelashes that approach eroticism in their melancholy. You’re not like the girls he knows here. They’re posh and come from towns that aren’t like yours. Like yours and Ben’s. Their penmanship is precise and they have unsaddled accents and when he converses with them he never has to explain himself the way he does with you, tripping and fumbling with words and lighters and dousing the two of you gasoline just so you can see the patterns with which you’ll burn; damn it all if he never has to stop to tell them about a book because they’ve already internalized the moral principles of righteous words, and Christ you just can’t fucking compete with them, with these girls who adorn their words in painted lips.

Your mind has done what it’s been trained to do, exercising agency when you most seek comfort. Lattices of neurons have listened to what you want, twisted electrons pathways and energy levels shattering any semblance of a resting state. There is no rest, not with him and not without him, either. Ben is fast and slow; he is glacial, earthquaking movements. You do not realize you are moving — until you strain for the horizon and discover that it is no longer there.

He is outside, smoking. Corduroy meets brick at the upper reaches of his shoulders, stiff and formal, where his hair would be if he hadn’t cut it just a few weeks back. You wonder if he is really the one that is breaking you; perhaps you’re the one that’s casting him off-balance. Wet — Hot — Car — Skateboard — Library — Braids — Hands — Jackets — it’s always you going into him, so how is it that he has entered into you. maybe there’s a reason you failed biology after all. you could never see things as they really were. before lingers; there will never be an after, not for him((not for him with you)).

what’s wrong, baby, he says and the cigarette falls from his lips but not his hand, not the one that’s taking your arm so you face him head on((you’ve never been able to do that, maybe it’s time you start, maybe it’s time you finally start acting like him, and those girls with painted hands)).

you want to say something witty, something that doesn’t just cut but leaves an open wound. a phrase that will make him hurt in all the same places you do. a clump of letters that will make him understand. that’s what Ben always wants, isn’t it? To understand? you thought the phrase had been soft green and vibrant purple. now it’s a double entendre, or maybe a pun, all dual definitions of sneers and hypocrisy. Ben would know, of course. He’s good with words.

time stretches. temporality feel different as he stands, now upright. waiting. he’s waiting. waiting and yet still moving. blue eyes pluck at your tearstained cheeks((sifting through realities)).

the world needs to stop screaming, to stop screaming and let you think for once, no, you are tired of thinking, you are not like him, you are raw and uncensored gushes of emotion((exuberant hiding)).

Ben tilts your chin, thumb veering up your jaw. the pattern of his fingerprint — all coiled, swaying swirls — imbalance of charges — soft stings to jolt you awake. his touch is so familiar: wrapped in hundreds of occasions past. you relive them all in an instant, from the first to this last ((there is no after)).

but these are shadow-truths, ones you read in the way his hands grip your back and fall back to his sides((limplanguidlazy)) and you want to kiss him, kiss him one more time with eyes wide open. so you can watch him slip away, and slip away with you watching, you think. it’s a lie((Ben told you truth is a certain point view))

ben does not kiss you, but apologizes instead. blue eyes never lose your face and the meanings pressing against your skin feel sticky, over enunciated and slurred at the same time. he is right, but you cannot help but thinking that it is because he has made it so. he has achieved his greatest goal: ben now lives in a reality of his own creating. one fabricated with shards of bloody glass and violet scrunchies ghosting along the fringes of notebooks. most of all it is created with his words. because ben is good with words.

you smile and nod because it what you do, that is what you always do when the world((him)) crashes at your feet. and you walk away. it is really you that have been left, and him who has succeeded in the undoing. but it is all words, words and shadow-truths and half-hearted grasping at living((maybe he will realize how loud it is without him to tame the wind that’s rushing in your ears))

obi tags: @ohhellokenobi @profkenobi @goldenkenobi @rentskenobi @nobie @roseofalderaan @mcu-padawan @anakin-danvers @obitwo @obirain @justrunamok @catsnkooks @answer-the-sirens @lussyyung @cherrykenobi @royalhandmaidens @snips-n-skyguy0501 @kyjoraven @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @ina-lotta @inukako @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @princessxkenobi @wille-zarr @badedum-badaboom

[svtskneecaps]

walls could talk part 41 (THIS IS THE FINAL PART, FIRST PART HERE)

You were the banker again, with Jun sitting beside you the whole time. He leaned on your chest this time, though, and you played idly with his hair as he surveyed the board. You’d tied your own hair up and out of your face after one too many instances of it falling into your face when you reached for the money. Jeonghan didn’t win this time, due to what could almost be considered cheating as the other players, when on the verge of losing it all, would make incredibly one sided deals with Vernon and merge all their assets into one giant world superpower. It took a while, but even with his power of confidence, Jeonghan was defeated. They started debating whether the other players had been cheating or not, and then someone upended the board, and suddenly you were watching a very intense Just Dance duel.

“I missed this,” you admitted as you and Jun did your best to clean up the games.

“It missed you too,” he said. “I missed you.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder briefly. “Well I promise I won’t leave again.”

You pulled away after a second to see him looking at you like you were the greatest thing in the world, a huge goofy grin stretched across his face. “Am I allowed to use the L-word yet?” he asked. “Because I really want to use the L-word.”

“One more thing I need to tell you,” you said, and after everything you found you weren’t scared to tell him anymore. “I-- actually have an ability like your cheating too.”

His jaw dropped. “No way, you’ve been holding out on me this whole time? What is it?”

“Nothing flashy,” you admitted. “Just, inanimate objects talk to me. Like, cars, and phones, and dictionaries or whatever.”

“So Charles Duckens actually likes strong hugs? You didn’t just make that up?”

“You still remember what I said about Charles Duckens?”

“Well of course!” He looked at you like it was a crazy question. “That was adorable; I fell in love with you all over again when you walked out with him in your arms.”

You felt yourself turning very red. “Jun,” you said, “I really love you, you know that?”

And he beamed at you like you were the whole universe, and everything fell into place.

“Y/N,” he said, “I really love you too.”

-------------

Walls Could Talk Part 41 ~ the L-word

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(Seventeen Fic, Superpower! Non-Idol! High school! AU)

You’re just a high school kid trying to survive your senior year. Seems simple enough. Problem is, you landed a major crush on a good looking transfer student, and unfortunately, the both of you are hiding some abilities that are a bit less than normal, and there’s a ghost you thought you buried in your past that’s rearing his ugly head. So… maybe this won’t be as easy as you were hoping.

so uh. that’s a wrap on walls could talk! man i started this like. january 2019 that’s wild man. hopefully it turned out okay. thanks for reading, i guess! if you’re interested, i’ve started posting for a new minghao x reader smau called i just see you (masterlist) so you can hop on over there if you’d like to hear more from me. if not, i love you and maybe i’ll see you around!

Tag List: @uglyratlmao @lowkeycarat @princeofshenzhenuwus @snowyseungs @angelmingyu (thank you guys so so much for showing interest in my work it means a lot)

[directionlessbuthappy]

Heit

Heit -  noun / promise

You are best friends to the only daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok. Gyda has supported your wish to marry her brother, Bjorn Ironside, since you were teens, but the gods have other plans involving her half brothers…

Warnings: slight smut/fluff combo, tear jerker

Tagged: @cbouvier23 @wish-i-was-a-mermaid  @holydream@steadypiepsychicflower @irishhiggins @my-little-wolfe

Prev part

When your eyes started fluttering awake, it was still dark outside. The sky was a deep, soft blue color; morning would come soon. It must've been very early. You were going to sit up in your shared bed, but the one you shared it with prevented that.

Ivar had his arm draped around your waist. His other arm was resting between your head and neck to avoid him losing circulation in the night. Nothing was more annoying and difficult to explain than Ivar throwing his numb, unfeeling hand into your cheek in the dead of sleep. He didn't know he was doing it so you could hardly blame him. Still though, every time his arms fell asleep you gave him a good knee in the side. Sometimes it woke him up, sometimes it didn't. Ivar was good at being a husband in many ways. Sharing a bed was one of his greatest failures.

"Ivar," you whispered. He mumbled something and cuddled his nose closer to your neck. You would've attempted to go back to sleep if it hadn't been for Ivar's arm around your waist. His palm was gripping your stomach gently, massaging that spot like one does after a whole meal. You chuckled; maybe he was dreaming, but you were awake, and once you were awake in the morning you could not return to sleep.

"Ivar!" you whispered louder. His hand stopped groping your tummy and you sighed. Finding this a step in the right direction you tried to sit up. This time, Ivar's hand dove under your nightdress and gave your thigh a squeeze.

"Ivar..." you whimpered. His pattern of breathing was even and peaceful. Your knees clamped together in an attempt to stop his path. They proved useless once he stuck his thumb out from his groping spot on your thigh, running the tip of his thumb along your button and making you gasp. He wasn't asleep.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," he said with graveled words. You hummed in delight and pressed yourself deeper into the bed.

"It is morning," you whispered submissively. Trying to hide your desperation for his touch. "You should be...getting ready before the boats leave."

"They would not leave without me," Ivar snorted. His thumb between your legs rubbed left and right in an unforgiving rhythm, resting again and forcing out a frustrated whine from you. 

"But-"

"Am I not to enjoy my wife before I leave? I am going away for months! Sailing on a ship, being so far from your loving touch, how can a husban-"

"Okay okay," you interrupted him with a grin. Turning on your back to face him, he had a smug little smile on his lips. "But I must ask before you go out that door..."

Ivar looked perplexed, and worried. The only worried look he could ever muster was for you and your needs alone.

"Gyda is my friend. She is a warrior, like you and your brothers. But please protect her life. She means much to me."

"But she-"

"My best friend, and partially your sister. Spain will be treacherous. Do not trade the gods your life for hers, but please my love, consider throwing her a shield if she needs one."

Ivar growled in frustration. He wanted to make you happy; he'd consulted his brothers on his wedding night of what a marriage should me. Ubbe said "never go to bed or wake up angry at each other." Hvitserk said something along the lines of "avoid the wrath" and Sigurd fed him some crap about being open minded if he failed at pleasing his wife. For now, Ivar was considering Bjorn's advice. "Love her and her happiness more than your own."

"Fine, y/n," he grumbled, taking a sniff of your hair to calm his annoyance. "I will try."

"I will take care of your mother," you promised him in return. A corner of his mouth switched in happiness. You knew how much Aslaug meant to her sons, Ivar in particular, and now that you were his wife you had a duty to support your mother-in-law. "But you have to come home. I love you too much to mourn you so far away."

Ivar leaned down and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "I love you more my little raven...now enough with all these promises. I've woken up with a goddess next to me, and I won't be leaving this bed til she is carrying my baby."

You laughed gingerly, earning Ivar's strong arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. He nibbled on your ear playfully. Being a wife had been hard work, but so rewarding...perhaps...

...

Dawn felt colder when they were leaving. The wind felt painful, like tiny shards of ice swirling through the air of Kattegat. You stood on the docks, hugging Gyda goodbye while she boarded Hvitserk's boat.

"When we return, I'll bring something back for you!" your best friend promised. You smiled and pat her shoulder softly.

"Bring something back for yourself too while you're at it. And stories. Bring stories."

Gyda laughed and gave you a kiss on the cheek, stepping back to hop aboard. It made your heart swell to have your friend back. Things were uneasy between Gyda and Ivar. You excepted it may be like this for a while. But the two people you’d grown to love the most in this world were once again with you. Gyda would have Freyja and her mother at her side while she fought. You had faith in that.

You walked back to the dock to wish Ivar's brothers farewell, giving each of them a kiss on the forehead. Meanwhile, Ivar nearly cracked a tooth with how much his jaws ground together. Of course you gave him a real kiss before leaving. Nothing sloppy, unfortunately for him. You rearranged the grey fur that wrapped around his shoulders so it would look proper again.

"When you return at harvest time you better start praying to Freyr," you warned him quietly. If Ivar wanted a child, the gods were the one to ask. Your jest earned you a big grin and a hug around the waist; he groped your butt from over your dress blatantly. You giggled and gave him a kiss on the neck. "For now, pray to Thor for your journey my love."

Ivar sighed. Your face turned flush, willing yourself not to cry before letting him go. Ivar walked with a crutch to his ship; you felt at that moment you needed a crutch as well. Aslaug was there at least. She leaned against you and wrapped an arm around your waistline, hugging you and letting your resolve falter for a moment. Watching Ivar go was hard...he would return, you knew he was favored by the gods. But you also had your best friend to worry about. Moreover, you'd never been without her and Ivar at the same time.

You were alone.

[butindeed]

What if… [TRR X PM Cross over] [PART 16/?]

Hi guys!! This is part of a nameless Riley x Drake series. You can read the previous parts HERE.

Tags: @lazychic28   @boneandfur @drakelover78 @captainkingliam

@andy-loves-corgis @client327 @walkerismychoice @chantelle-x0x

Summary: What if things were different? (Part 15)

Note: Contains adult language.

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Daft Punk - Around The World

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-Classes are fucking oveeeeerrrrr!!!! - Kai jumped quite high as she hit the air with her fists.

-I’m more thrilled we’ve passed all the exams... I can’t believe, I have my second degree!!

-Heh. Maybe we should celebrate - Drake smirked with sugary voice  approaching Riley .

-Yeeeeeeaaaah, we should go camping! - Kai added with a high pitch.

-Oh! Kai, I meant ju-

-I can’t wait to pack all my things! I haven’t gone camping since we were girl scouts Ri! I’m pumped! - she yelped as she ran bound for their apartment.

-I’m sorry - Riley appologised with a smile - She needs this, to be out, with friends...

-You know who else needs this? - Drake grunted - this guy! - he pointed at himself - I wanted some alone time with you - he pouted as he nuzzled Riley’s neck, showering it with soft sweet kisses.

-Ew! Get a room you two! - Savannah sauntered towards them with a smirk resembling her brother’s.

-What are you doing here little padawan?

-First, dork. Secondly, I was feeling trapped at home, I needed some fresh air. Plus Kai told me we are going camping?

-We? - Drake was feeling more irritated by the second.

-Yes, we are - Riley chimmed in, smiling at Savannah - So, how are you feeling?

-Oh much better, thanks. Morning sickness is a bitch, especially since I also have it at noon, afternoon, evening and night - Savannah numbered with her fingers. - Whatever, camping sounds nice.

-Speaking of which, I should probably go and pack some things and go buy a tent or something.

-No! don’t! I mean... We can share! - Drake babbled blushing.

-Oh God! - Savannah rolled her eyes. 

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Gwen Stefani - Cool

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The place Drake had picked to go camping was simply breathtaking. It was late afternoon, so the sky was getting an orangey pinkish shade that made everything seem like an enchanted forrest.

As soon as they got there, Kai and Savannah dropped themselves in the grass, but it didn’t last much, since Drake stood next to them tapping his feet impatiently.

-You can be lazyasses once the tents are set up.

-I haven’t set up a tent since God knows when! And you haven’t asked Riley to put up her tent!

-Riley is setting the campfire, and she picked up all that wood, you have done nothing but staring at the clouds like nine year-olds! - he yelled as he moved to set his own tent. - If you don’t set it up yourselves, you won’t have a place to sleep!

-I’m starting to regret coming here in the first place - Savannah whispered to Kai - It’s camping with my dad all over again. He taught us some surviving skills allright, but there’s a reason why my mom and I used to stay at home when Drake and him mentioned going camping!

And man was Savannah was right! Drake took camping very serious, almost at an annoying level. He told Riley off for not taking the appropriate security measures, previously to lecturing Kai about her poor tent setting skills and Savannah stopped him with a stern look before he could say anything to her.

 When the night was quite set in, they enjoyed some delicious grilled sandwiches and s’mores. 

Kai passed a whiskey filled flask round which Savannah gracefully passed on.

After a while, Savannah excused herself yawning, and not too long after, Kai, who had sworn to anyone who’d listen that she was not going to sleep but greet the sun awake, fall asleep on a log in a very uncomfortable position. 

Drake, taking advantage of their sudden solitude, moved himself behind Riley, embracing her with his muscular limbs.

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Glamorous Glue - Morrisey

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-You know - he whispered in her ear, and her skin goosebumped - I have always had this fantasy - he nibbled her ear - about being in the open air - she shuddered - with someone as beautiful as you. 

-Oh, have you?

-Mhmm... - his lips travelled slowly to her exposed neck - Maybe we could - his fingers played with the hem of her swaeapants - fulfill it now?

Riley tried to turn around, but he prevented her from doing so by sweetly caressing her inner thigh above the clothes. 

It felt so good, to have him like that. There hadn’t been many opportunities for them to be alone, they were always interrupted by one thing or another. It seemed like fate was impeding them from taking thing further.

Drake’s hands moved a bit towards her center, never leaving the clothes surface and Riley gasped.

She had been craving his touch for so long.

She felt Drake smirking in her neck and his fingers started making circular movements right where her clit was below the clothes layers. Riley leaned back onto Drake, enjoying his touch. 

His fingers were finding all the spots that made her shiver and his mouth did the same right up. Sticking her ass out, gluing it to his crotch, she felt him getting harder by the second. Their bodies so close she could feel his heartbeats.

Riley guided his hand under her clothes, just between her panties and her pants and Drake let go a groan when he felt how wet she was for him.

He slowly navigated away from the fabric, towards her skin, while langudly leaning her backwards, and himself to her side.

Her folds were dripping, expectantly, and he felt a bolt from the anticipation. They were still with their clothes on, but that wouldn’t last much.

At least that was what he thought, as they heard Kai moving,probably waking up from that very uncomfortable nap.

With a frustrated sigh, Drake stood up as Kai stretched herself not noticing them yet.

They ran swiftly, hand in hand towards a tree populated section, not too far away from the camping-site.

-That was close - Riley giggled 

Drake smirked, kissing her neck as he pinned Riley agaisnt the nearest tree.

His kisses were hot and desperate, and so was hers. Drake swiftly scooped Riley up, grabbing her by the ass and moaned at her legs wrapping around his waist. Their hands travelled through their bodies with contained desire.

It was as if they were just teenagers, exploring eachother for the first time. And somehow it was. 

The kisses grew hotter, Drake parting Riley’s lips, his tongue gently exploring hers, she softly biting and sucking his lips and tongue.

Drake moved one hand to he hem of her shirt, seeking for permission she gave with a subtle nod. Then discovered her warm, soft skin with his rough fingers, caressing every centimetre of her torso right up her breasts.

It was then when they heard a noise, something like branches breaking under someone’s weight. Then a yelp. They parted with a jump, Riley landing on both her feet.

Squinting to where the sound had come from, they saw Savannah trying to get away unoticed.

-Sav? Are you ok? - Drake grunted 

-Sorry! I just wanted to pee and... - she gestured to them

-Don’t worry - Drake was upset and wasn’t trying to hide it - It’s not like you’re a human blocker... Oh! Wait...

-Maybe we should just go to bed - Riley chimned in

-Yeah about that...- Savannah looked up appologetically- Kai kind of fall over our tent and we’re sleeping in yours... But there’s plenty of space for all of us!

-This is the last time I bring any of you camping! - Drake promised frowning.

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Drake got up before th sun had even risen and Savannah knew exactly why. Sleeping in a tent with three other women might be the dream for many people, but Drake had been perfectly clear that he intended that trip to be special for him and Riley. He had dennied his feelings for her for so long it felt 50 shades of unfair. Maybe it was that she was a helpless romantic, maybe it was she actually liked Riley and the person her brother was around her or maybe she just felt guilty, the point is she decided, right there and then that she’d make up for them.

<NEXT         PREV>

[izzabeean]

Chapter 2 : Denial

SUMMARY

You didn’t expect your first week of university to end with a break-up… Especially when your ex decides to visit you in your dreams. You need a distraction and are quite surprised with what awaits you.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 1,533

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

cw : mentions of alcohol, smoking

a/n :  This is so silly and I’m not quite sure how realistic this is but it’s all a learning process.

masterlist

<< prev |  ch . 2  | next >>

The campus library becomes the calm safe haven you’ve been longing for after a busy morning. You spent most of your time after classes hovering between bookshelves, browsing the vast volumes, but today you were on the hunt for a very specific book. 

Whispers among other students float above your head as you tune into the hushed environment narrowing your eyes at the row of literature. 

When you near the end of the aisle, you look up to see the desired novel sitting on the top shelf. 

You sigh and attempt to reach for it while standing on your tippy-toes, but it barely grazes your fingertips.

A scoff huffs under your breath. 

It’s almost like it’s taunting you, the way it’s just out of reach and looming over you, casually sitting on the shelf without a care in the world. No, you weren’t about to ask for any help and most definitely too stubborn to grab a stool- you treasure your pride. Instead, you take a deep breath and jump trying to inch the spine off the shelf. 

But you’re still not close enough.

“Let me get that for you,” a voice chimes from behind.

Your heart hammers in your chest from the sudden remark. Sometimes the smallest things can easily scare you, for instance, when a stranger sneaks up behind you in a quiet library. But you try to suppress the shiver as you turn your head to take a look at the culprit. 

The tips of your ears start to burn up as you are faced with a stern man. His tall, solid body towers over immediately causing you to freeze and feel a lot smaller in his presence. 

Perhaps it’s wrong to judge anyone at first glance, but he is scary as hell.

He reaches over your head and you catch a glimpse of his well-built physique as his shirt rides up. You blink registering what’s going on and before you can the book is in front of you. Then you take the novel smiling while trying to suppress the build-up of nerves coursing through you. 

The exchange is awkward and silent, but as you stare at each other his eyes almost feast on you with their cold expression. The look sends your gut in a twist. You cannot deny that he looks intimidating, but observing him now, a sliver of you finds him attractive. 

“A thanks would suffice,” he utters, his eyes fixated on you.

The sound of his voice is deep and serious but there’s just something about it that makes your heart flutter. 

“Sorry,” you utter, biting the corner of your lip. “Thanks.”

You feel your face burn up under his gaze searching for something else to say. It takes every ounce of you to contain the embarrassment taking over your entire body, but before you can even stop yourself… 

------

You wake.

The room is dark except a tinge of light seeps through the closed curtains. Your brain is trying to piece together the strangely realistic dream that was practically identical to your first moments of meeting Ushijima. 

The night is still, nearly silent except for a subdued tone of sirens in the background. You shift a little in your bed, suddenly aware of how awake you are after tossing and turning trying to slip back to sleep. You know you need to get some rest, but your anxiety grows as morning nears. 

Upon the realization that you probably won’t get any more sleep, you climb out of bed and throw on a jacket, hopeful the fresh air will clear your thoughts.

You lock up your apartment and stroll down to a 24/7 corner store a couple of blocks away. It’s late enough that the walkover makes you a bit paranoid of your surroundings-- it’s not often that you go on a late-night stroll, or go to a shop this late, especially by yourself. 

The store's door chime greets you as you walk up to the front counter spotting an employee whose face is hiding behind a newspaper. 

“Excuse me,” you sigh. 

He looks up from his newspaper with a scowl plastered on his face. 

“A pack of smokes, please,” you squeal, conscious of the fact you do not appear to look like an avid smoker, but the habit returns in times of stress and right now you are exceedingly stressed.

“ID, please,” he responds.

Your face pales at the request as you pull out your ID and he analyzes it. “What do you want?”

You blink, “Anything.”

The man clicks his tongue.

You ignore the judging stare from the cashier, retrieve the random pack of smokes with a “thanks” then stroll through the sliding doors to take a seat outside on the curb.

You light up a cigarette. Breathing in the burning toxins, the rich smoke burns your throat. Your lungs scream from the unknown substance and you quickly exhale the cloud with a cough. 

Fuck, it hurts, you think. But you take another drag and this time it burns a bit less. 

As you alleviate your heartbreak with the smoke, the emptiness sets in. You pause looking up at the dark sky cast above you. Your cheeks feel a bit numb from the cold, and your eyes begin to gloss over as you think back to Ushijima’s words from earlier.

The sudden sound of your phone startles you. Pulling it out of your pocket, an image of Oikawa illuminates the screen and an irritated groan escapes your lips as you take another hit. 

You didn’t expect a call this late at night from Oikawa, but he never seems to know his boundaries according to the fact that it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. It’s a mix of loneliness and desperation that causes you to answer. 

“Hello,” your voice is thick, placing the cold phone to your ear.

“Y/N-chan,” there’s a hint of slur in his voice, as he hiccups heavily into the receiver.

You roll your eyes. “Tōru, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk! I--” he stumbles on his words. “I just want to see how dinner....” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence. 

The question really took a knife to the heart as you try to hold back the emotions that are bursting at the seams. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault, you hadn’t told him yet. 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” you sigh.

“Y/N,” Oikawa breathes. There’s a bit of neediness in his voice. “I hope he makes you happy...”

The sentiment is there and you can tell he means well but you squeeze your eyes shut at the comment. Your heart hinges and you try to breathe slowly avoiding any staggering gasps that can be heard.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” your throat tightens as you choke on your words. 

Before you have the chance to say anything more, you hear the phone being pulled away from Oikawa, and an unfamiliar voice answers on the other end. 

“Sorry about that. Oikawa’s a bit drunk. Didn’t mean to disturb you. Have a goodnight.”

The line cuts.

Once again you’re met with the dead of night. 

It was difficult to process tonight's earlier events, even as you sit outside having a smoke. You never thought you would ever get to this moment, especially when it’s been so long since you last really cared for someone like Ushijima. You’d only known him for a year, but right now it feels like he’s the only thing you’ve ever known your whole life.

------

Morning arrives too soon.

The horrible taste of nicotine coats your mouth and the smell of smoke engulfs your hair making you gag. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday and you’re sure you only got a couple of solid hours of sleep upon returning from your late-night adventure. You’re a little less hysterical and a bit more numb compared to six hours ago.

You didn’t expect to wake up until later in that afternoon, but your head is pounding making it so much harder to sleep off the break-up. You get up to take a painkiller hoping it helps subside the chronic unpleasant sensation.

It crosses your mind that you need to get out and be somewhere else, not within the confines of your apartment or your mind. So after a substantial amount of self-care and priming, you head out to Oikawa’s apartment.

It’s not uncommon for you to drop by unannounced, in fact, this was a lot better than stirring in your thoughts alone at home. Somehow it feels more comforting to spend time with Oikawa than you’ve ever imagined-- despite the fact you didn’t have many friends. But he always gave you the attention you desired at any given moment and the thought of that eases you as you knock at the front door.

It takes a moment for Oikawa to answer, undoubtedly after a night out drinking. 

But as the door opens, you are met with a tall muscular tanned man. He cocks his head looking at you quizzically, and subsequently opens the door a bit more, enough that you can peer past him into the apartment.

You don’t know who he is, but he’s hot.

[winkonium]

Misdial (04)

→  In which you intended to call your friend but you entered the wrong number.

→  fluff, attempted crack → word count: 1869 words

⟵ prev   04   next →

« masterlist »

"Honey, can you pick up some groceries for me?" 

You were watering your ever beloved sunflowers while humming to a random song you've heard on the radio when your mom peeped through the window to say those.

You sighed. Going out isn't really your thing but so is your mom. "Can't dad just do it?"

"You know your dad's at work. I promise you can keep the change." She bargained, smirking fully that you thought it's an evil one. You squinted your eyes and thought about it for a while before giving in. Extra cash is what you need anyway.

You finished watering your plants before changing your clothes and leaving with your mom's car. While driving, you picked up your phone. Jesus, you know it's bad but you needed to. You dialed Jennie's number and thankfully she immediately picked it up. You put it on speaker mode and spoke.

"Jennie. Quick. I'm on my way to the supermarket, do you want to tag along?"

"Fuck. Of course." She answered right away and you heard shuffling of stuff that's probably her changing her clothes and getting ready. You hung up then turned to her street and parked at the driveway where she was waiting. She was that fast.

"I thought you weren't sure." She said as she hopped into the passenger seat, pertaining to your conversation with her last night.

"My mom told me to pick up some groceries. This will be our hang out." You winked at her and she just nodded, fastening her seatbelt. Jennie's pretty laid back and likes to do domestic things with you. She's the one who helped you plant the sunflowers and sometimes, attempt to fix the bathroom sink. You'd think she's the fangirl that doesn't do anything but she's the opposite that's why you tolerate her.

You arrived at the supermarket, parking the car then getting off to grab a cart and start to pick up the items from the list your mom gave you. You instantly checked out after grabbing all the things necessary because you intend on grabbing something cold to drink with her.

"I'll grab drinks, you put those in the car." Jennie told you when you went out of the supermarket, pushing the cart.

"I want something with berries, please." You told her with batting of eyelashes and she nodded, pulling your hood up to your head for no reason before running off to the café.

You proceeded to the car and loaded all the bags there, closing the trunk but before you could hop into your car, someone from your back said "Excuse me?" And you almost jumped from pure shock. You turned around and saw a man with a black face mask on and sunglasses, holding his phone.

"Y-Yes?" You asked nervously, looking down to hide yourself more inside your hood, thinking that you should definitely work on your kidnapper instincts that are 90% untrue.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked and you nodded slowly. "Do you know this hotel? I am lost." He showed you his phone and you saw the name of the hotel he was looking for.

"Marco Polo.." You muttered and tried to remember the way there. "You take a left after you get out and then after two blocks, take a right and you'll see a coffee shop and a couple more walks, you'll reach the hotel." You immediately said when your neurons decided to cooperate with you even before you could forget everything.

"Thank you!" He chirped and picked up his grocery bags then walked away.

 You were heading for the said coffee shop but you didn't want to take some random stranger with you because who knows, your kidnapper instincts might kill you right then and there?When you got to the coffee shop, Jennie immediately hopped into the car and had her eyes wide open. "Jesus fucking Christ! Bangtan's already here!"

Your jaw dropped and you're not sure why. You weren't normally like this but the thought of your Facetime buddy being right around your parameters is crazy!

"How did you know?!" You asked her frantically.

"I heard a woman said she saw Yoongi walking around! How did we not know?! How can it be a secret?! Why aren't there any airport previews?! The show isn't until five days!" She practically whined, moving and wincing around the seat.

"Okay, first, give me my drink." And she gave you your drink, taking a sip of pleasure before starting to drive. "Second, how are you sure?" You were trying not hint out that you were also freaking out deep inside because once she finds out you were freaking out not because it's out of sympathy, she'll definitely ask you questions and you might slip.

"I don't know?!" She answered frantically, handing in the air, waving in different directions. "Drop me home, I'm about to freak the shit out of myself." You nodded, dropping off Jennie to her house and going home to your own.

"Mom, I'm alive!" You yelled from the lawn and your mom took that as a signal to help you take out the groceries—or maybe just her because you're dead tired from going around the supermarket to find those exotic things on her list.

It was already 6 PM when you were finally done with your chores and you were just lying on your bed. You weren't exhausted, really, you just wanted an alone time because you've been exposed so much to people that it drained your brain. Again, you glanced at your phone tiredly and lifelessly and remembered Hoseok was supposed to Facetime you. Yesterday and the day before, you start to Facetime at about a quarter to 6 but it's already 15 minutes past Facetime time.

Your mind wandered off to what his life is like as a KPop Idol. You know they're pretty pretty big since half of twitter, if not mostly, are KPop stans and they're a competition to Directioners (or maybe that was ages ago); their concerts are mostly sold out; and the hype for KPop Idols are pretty much at a high level.He'a part of BTS, the biggest KPop group in the world. He doesn't have all the time in his hands that's why you began to condition yourself that you won't be able to Facetime with him whenever you want. It just hypes you up so much that someone from another country and a part of the media is Facetiming with you.

Rising from the bed, you took your laptop and plopped down your bed again and saw your phone light up. Your heart pounded when you saw Hoseok's name flash on your screen.

Jung Hoseok: R u still awake?

You smiled and immediately replied.

You: Of course.

And with that, Hoseok's name flashed again on your screen but this time, it was him Facetiming you. You accepted it and placed your phone at your laptop just like the way you did the first time you Facetimed him. He had a smile on his face but it was so dull and it's not like the person you saw on google and the person two days ago. There were little black shades under his eyes; his face just screams tired.

His background was the typical white wall and the brown couch, it was a headboard and dim lights.

"Are you okay?" Was the first thing you asked.

He hummed the nodded his head a little. "How's your day?" He asked and you scrunched up your nose a little bit and told him you should be the one asking that. "I had a tiring day."

"Tell me about it." You muttered under you breath as you gave your attention to your laptop and googled BTS as you talk to him. He carried on talking about their rehearsals and change of transitions on their choreography, how they did a couple of interviews but one thing really caught your attention.

"I buy groceries and I got lost." He said and you darted your eyes to your phone screen.

"Good thing you got back.." You subtly said and he smiled proudly of himself.

"Yeah. I asked for directions." You blinked a couple of times, not responding to him but what you were thinking is close to impossible. "What about you? How are you?"

"I watered my plants." You took a glance at the screen to give him a bright smile and he replied with the same kind of smile, too. "And I picked up some groceries, too and had a blueberry lemonade smoothie!" You proudly said and you noticed his eyes lighted up.

"Where do I buy?!" He asked with all curiosity and enthusiasm.

"It's from a café near a supermarket here, it's good. I'll link you the website so you'll see the address then maybe if you have a tour date here, you'll stop by." You said with a smile, reverting your attention to your laptop. The screen was showing a complete guide to all BTS members: their names, faces, birthdays, facts and everything you need just to quench your thirst for information.

"What are you doing?" You heard someone again from the other line. You recognized the voice but you're just not sure to who it belongs to but you're sure you heard it. "Talking, what it looks like?" Hoseok snapped and you almost laughed at his cute broken english.

"It's dinner." You heard shuffling sounds and soon, the screen was pitch black but you can still hear noises, meaning he put his phone face down. They started talking in Korean and you can't help but just wonder what they're talking about, wishing you could understand Korean yourself.

But it was dinner there. And it was dinner in your country, too. Could it be?

When the screen revealed Hoseok again, you breathed out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "Namjoon." He breathed out a sigh of relief as if he was nervous himself, too. "I'm sorry if I'm boring Facetime buddy."

"I have a question." You finally took the courage to say those words, ignoring what he just said. Just a little bit more and you'll be there."What is it?"

"You're not in Korea, are you?" You cocked a brow and he just smiled, his eyes almost gone but still shined. It was the opposite of the reaction you expected. You expected him to get shocked—even mad at you for asking such a confidential question. In fact, he even answered proudly and it left you in shock.

"We are not." 

Your mouth formed an 'o' but before speaking, you heard someone again from the other line and Hoseok turned to you with slight disappointment. "I will go now. Namjoon no leave me alone. I will talk to you soon." He speedily said, as if frantic, then hung up on you before even saying good bye or good night.

You just stared at your phone and tried to sink in the thought that maybe you already met, you both weren't just aware. His phone number has your area code, Jennie told you they're already here and he told you he got lost and asked a stranger for directions. What is happening?

[ghost-town-story]

For a Moment, the World Felt Right

If Aiden really wanted to be dramatic, he would have entered Silvervale with dragonfire and righteous anger. Starfire, truly more dramatic than him, was all for that plan of violence and flames. But unfortunately, Aiden knew the human world better than that, with all of its politics and conventions, plus he wasn’t too keen on the possible civilian casualties.

So Aiden lurked at the edge of Ilasea’s market square, playing with fire in in a way that was almost deliberate in its casualness. He made eye-contact with a passerby, made a split-second judgement, and sent a fiery otter swimming her way. She gasped, eyes wide as it circled her a few times, then as Aiden called the fire back, she blushed and hurried on.

Magic was common in this world, that was true. But, as Martin had told him years ago, few trained their gifts beyond everyday usefulness. And pyromancers were even rarer, outside of those blacksmiths that learned to stoke their fires with magic. Most stayed hidden, but those that were out in the open had reason to be. Intimidation, offering help, declaring themselves a weapon.

Aiden’s was to be noticed.

This is humiliating, Starfire grumbled.

That’s showbusiness baby, Aiden replied, crafting a small dragon with his fire. He knew Starfire would be jealous at that one.

Your human sayings are so strange, Starfire retorted.

Strange for this world too. That’s from my home.

In his three years in Astral, Aiden had done many things. One was to go around to various towns and villages and watch the performers. He had been so entranced by their magic, but now he used the things he had inadvertently picked up from them in his own to draw in the crowds, to spread the word. I’m here. I’m back. And I have my magic again.

Aiden had practiced carefully as they travelled. Starfire wasn’t keen to be saddled again soon and Aiden would never make his dragon do anything she didn’t want, so the flight that would be one day by dragonback was a few weeks by paths to stay hidden. But it had given Aiden the chance to put together this show, a dance of fire.

He sent the dragon flying around a small child, who squealed and tried to grab at it. Aiden kept it out of arms reach. He couldn’t be burned and could ignore the pain if he was, but everybody else could.

“It’s the mark of a good pyromancer,” Martin had once said, “if they can show off without injuring their audience.” And Aiden was determined to test his skills, rusty as they were.

Aiden finished his show with a swirl of flames, and the crowd he had gathered applauded.

As the fire died, some approached with coins, but Aiden waved them away. “I’m not here for money,” he said.

You should be.

Aiden hushed his dragon.

Somebody scoffed, and Aiden turned to see a boy, a few years younger than himself, in the royal blue and dusky pink that marked him as a royal soldier. “Then what’s the point?” the boy demanded.

“The attention.” Aiden shrugged, making sure his hood was low enough to keep the shadow-enchantment working. He wasn’t sure who he could trust, who was loyal to Rose and who would follow Ashe.

“Oh come on, you’re a pyromancer, you have to have some ulterior motive.”

“Or maybe I just like the attention a crowd brings?”

Luckily, most people had drifted away by now, but a few lingered to watch the altercation between the pyromancer and the soldier.

“I don’t trust you,” the boy snarled, his hand inching towards his sword.

“Bryon!”

Aiden’s breath caught at the voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“He was acting shifty, Captain Ryan, sir.” The boy, Bryon, had immediately snapped to attention.

“He was putting on a show. Nothing suspicious about that.”

“But—”

“Bryon, tell me the truth or be quiet.”

Bryon shut up.

“Now.” Ryan turned to Aiden. “You’re just in it for the attention of a crowd? Or trying to catch a certain somebody’s eye?”

“This and that. A certain Rose I once knew.”

Few knew she had gone by Rose in the resistance, and those few were a part of her inner circle now. An inner circle that, last he had known, had included Beatrice, and by association, her girlfriend, the captain Ryan.

“Ah.” Ryan stepped closer. “Come round to the dragon’s roost,” she murmured lowly.

Aiden nodded.

“Good luck finding her then,” Ryan continued at full volume. “Bryon, you come with me. We need to have a talk.”

Bryon winced as he followed Ryan away, but Aiden was already slipping into the shadows, breaking into a run once he was free of the market.

Meet me there?

Of course.

Aiden saw a shadow of ruby and crystal overhead; Starfire returning to her roost.

Aiden was left to navigate the forest on his own, but he was used to the trees here, and quickly came upon the trees Starfire had twisted into her nest years ago. Four figures stood in the shadows of the trees. Three men and a woman. The blond had his hand resting on his sword as he talked lowly with the woman, the brunet tossed a knife idly, sunlight glancing off his prosthetic arm, and the silver eyes of the last stared at Aiden’s hiding spot. Always knowing, always one step ahead.

Aiden stepped free of the trees, and as the attention of the other three turned to him, he tossed back his hood and stripped his fingerless gloves to reveal the crystal in his palm.

“Aiden Sterre.” Melody Rose Miles, queen of Astral, smiled at him, her gaze sad. “It’s been too long.”

And above them, Starfire settled into her nest, and the world felt right again for a moment.

The three them entered the ruined building.

“Jesus,” Basil breathed, looking around. A twisted piece of metal caught his eye, and he bent to look closer. It was engraved, but the only part still legible read Hendrickson. “This is…”

“Sky’s lab. Yeah. When Aiden led me here I thought it was almost cruel too.”

Basil stood and turned to Jay. “I want to see.”

But Jay was shaking his head before Basil even finished his sentence. “Trust me, you don’t.”

“But—”

“No Basil.”

And Basil remembered what Jay had said, about trying so many times to save Sky.

Basil gritted his teeth and nodded. At the very least, he wouldn’t force Jay to relive that yet again.

Jay turned away, his hands in his pockets. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder.

James came up to Basil as he started to follow Jay. “What was that about?” James murmured.

“Someone we knew worked here,” Basil explained. “And died here.”

“Oh.” James slipped his hand into Basil’s and squeezed.

They followed Jay to the only remaining piece of equipment still standing, which started glowing when Jay kicked it.

“Here it is,” Jay said, stepping back.

“Jay, is this…”

“She was thinking, what if you were being held up.” It was handy when Jay knew what Basil was asking even when he couldn’t finish his sentences. “Plus, people wanted a more reliable way to travel between worlds,” Jay continued. “Didn’t work the way they expected, but…”

“It worked.”

“In a way.” Jay stared into the portal for a moment, then turned back to Basil and James. “Well, good luck.” He shot them a grin. “And here Baz. For you.”

Basil held out his hand, confused, and Jay deposited two silver chains into his palm. “No,” Basil said, immediately recognizing them.

“I’m keeping mine,” Jay replied, holding up his wrist, where a silver jay dangled from a matching chain. “And I have everything else of hers. At the very least you deserve yours. And I want you to have hers.”

Basil stared down at the bracelets in his hand. A skylark and a basil plant.

“Keep them.” Jay’s voice brooked no argument.

“You’ve only gotten more stubborn, you know that?” But Basil fastened the bracelets then slipped them on the chain around his neck, where they settled by his dog tags.

“Yeah, well,” Jay shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I’d say when you came back.”

James tugged on Basil’s hand, and Basil turned to him. “You don’t have to come with me,” James said quietly. “You can stay here with Jay.”

“Nope,” Jay cut in. “I appreciate the offer James, but I’ve already done my best to convince Basil to go with you, and I won’t have you undoing all that hard work.”

“But—”

“Nope.”

James looked torn, but Basil nudged him gently.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Jay and I talked about this already. I’m okay with leaving again.”

“Well, if you’re sure then.”

“I am.” Basil grinned at James, then turned to the portal. But he hesitated, then turned to Jay and pulled him into one last hug.

Jay chuckled, returning the embrace. “Stay safe,” he murmured into Basil’s ear. “Help him find Aiden.”

“Of course. Jay—” Basil choked on his words.

“I know,” Jay murmured. “Always Baz. Always.”

Basil sighed into Jay’s collar. Forever would never be long enough.

He stepped back, away from the embrace. “Well. See you on the other side.”

He turned and walked to the portal, but at the last moment turned so he stepped in backwards for one last look back at Jay.

And as the portal’s magic blurred his vision, he swore he could see a familiar blond figure standing at Jay’s shoulder, three silver bracelets shining on her wrist as she waved to Basil.

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