#High school boy really dangled exactly what i have been wishing for right in front of my eyes and after i have had a taste

[second-second]

Need... more manga... abt delinquents..........

[mothbart]

day 12 of kolowv: day 11

my baby @theapocryphaofantares's birthday is in eleven days, and because i love him with all my heart he gets a small microfic every day until he gets his big present on his actual birthday.

day 11: climb | bartylily | words 2,631

Lily Evans has never felt so lonely and disappointed until now.

It’s her sixteenth birthday, and she’s standing outside in a short, black mini-skirt and a tight, light-green t-shirt that she stole from her sister. Her face isn’t really caked with makeup, but it’s definitely there because Lily wants to wipe away the thin layer of foundation her sister put on. The pastel pink winter jacket that she has on isn’t exactly keeping her warm while she waits for her date to show up.

She wishes that she had come up with some backup plan—something just in case this date fell through. Her best friend, Mary Macdonald warned her that James Potter was a flake, but she had been crushing on him since they both got into high school. She never thought that James would ask her out, so of course when James offered to take her out, she couldn’t say no. However, she was too scared to tell him that the day he picked was her birthday. She didn’t want him to feel any pressure, but she regrets it. She’s been standing outside for thirty minutes past the time James said he’d pick her up. Maybe she should’ve said something—maybe then he wouldn’t have stood her up.

She pulls out her cell phone again, making sure she didn’t miss a text from him or something, and she frowns when she sees the only notification is from Mary asking if she’s having a fun time.

It’s face-numbing cold outside, and she contemplates going back inside, but then she looks over at the house next door. Through the branches and leaves of the large sycamore tree that sits in her yard and her neighbor’s yard, she sees Barty Crouch Jr. pacing back and forth in front of his window.

She wonders what Barty is doing at home on a Saturday. Typically he’s always sneaking out and coming home in the early hours of the morning the next day, so seeing him home on the weekend is a bit shocking. She and Barty used to be close when they were younger—they’d spend hours upon hours with each other, doing whatever they possibly could. The world seemed to be their oyster during that time. Each day was new, shiny, and exciting—but now?

If Lily were to pry an oyster open now, there wouldn’t be a pearl inside. It would be a common pebble because Lily’s world is boring, dull, unappealing. She would do anything to feel that new and shiny feeling again, but the only person she’d felt that with was the boy that is currently hanging out in his bedroom next door.

She’s not sure what she’s doing—she’s finding herself going over to her mother’s garden, picking out some tiny rocks, and putting them in her coat pocket. She walks over to the sycamore tree and she looks up, trying to analyze which branches would hold her weight and which ones wouldn’t. She takes a moment before reaching up and grabbing the branch that’s above her and pulls herself up. She dangles her legs a little bit, and it occurs to her that she’s wearing a short skirt. When she gets on the branch, she looks around and a sigh of relief leaves her when the street is still empty.

If she climbs a few more branches, she’ll be fine and won’t have to worry about flashing someone.

So that’s exactly what she does.

She navigates her way through climbing the tree, and her upper arms are burning from all the pulling up she’s been doing. Her hands are sticky from sap and she wants to wipe them on her skirt but she thinks that’ll make the feeling of it worse. She reaches out to the branch that’s starting to cross over to the Crouch yard and carefully climbs on it, trying not to slip from how wet the branch is.

Once she’s on the branch that’s right outside of Barty’s window, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out the few rocks that she grabbed from before, and starts to toss them on the glass. After the third rock, she sees Barty come up to the window, and when they make eye contact, she gives him a soft smile and a small wave.

He looks so different now. His black hair is a bit more shaggier and there are bits and pieces of it that are dyed green. He has his lip pierced and his eyebrow pierced, and Lily isn’t surprised that it suits him. He’s staring at her, confused, but he still opens up the window.

“Lily?” Barty asks, and his voice is lower than the last time she remembers it. “What are you doing?”

“Climbing a tree?” She replies, shrugging. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Barty looks behind him and looks back at her. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Come outside,” she says.

“It’s cold.”

“So? Put on a jacket.”

Barty rolls his eyes and walks away from the window, and Lily waits patiently before Barty comes back with a black, raggedy-looking hoodie and starts to climb out of his window dormer. He carefully slides down a couple of inches of the roof before he sits down and shuffles his body over on the branch. Lily moves closer to the crown of the tree and tries to make herself comfortable, a branch in between her legs. Barty mimics her, swinging a leg over the branch and they’re just staring at each other. She hasn’t seen Barty this up close in a while, and even though she was able to see the piercings on his face from when he was in his room, she can see the small brown freckles littered across his nose and cheeks.

“What are you doing out here wearing an outfit like that?” He asks.

“I had a date,” she tells him.

“How was it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” she replies. “He never came.”

Barty frowns and crosses his arms, and he shivers just a little. “Who was it?”

“James,” she answers. “You know, James Potter—”

“Yeah,” Barty says, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know Potter.”

“How are you?”

“So we’re doing small talk now, are we?” Barty asks, staring at her. “Why did you ask me out here, Lils?”

Lils. The nickname has never sounded so sweet and she missed hearing it come out of his mouth.

“I just wanted to talk—catch up,” she says.

“You haven’t talked to me in years.”

“My momma told me not to,” she says, her voice quieter. “She said that you were trouble now.”

“Did she?” He asked, his voice monotone. “And you listened?”

“You didn’t make much of an effort to talk to me either, Barty.”

“We’re not kids anymore,” he says. “You have your friends and I have mine.”

“But we were each others.”

“When we were kids, Lily,” he reiterates.

“Come on,” she pushes. “Just catch me up.”

And so Barty does. There are some things that he’s hesitant to tell her, like his friendships with the Rosier twins, the younger Black brother, and Dorcas Meadowes. He tells her that his dad is starting to travel more for work now, and since he has the house to himself more he doesn’t feel the need to sneak out.

“Where would you go?” She asks.

“Out,” is his reply.

He tells her how his classes are going—he’s taking AP classes and he’s not worried about the tests at the end of the year. He tells her that his dad is still pushing him to apply to Harvard but he’s still not sure.

“Why are you not sure?”

“It’s not what my mom wanted for me,” he says. And Lily pauses for a moment because she sees the flash of pain in his eyes before he turns his head and looks over at the street. “She wanted Duke.”

“So will you apply?”

“Probably,” he replies. “What about you?”

“I don’t know yet,” she sighs. “Petunia wants me to follow her to Stanford if she gets in but I just don’t think I’m a person that screams California.”

“You might like it,” he says, finally looking back at her. “I remember that you like warm weather.”

“True,” she says, laughing a little. “We’ll see, I still have time.”

“Tell me about your life.”

And so she does. She does the same thing: tells him about her classes and the newfound friendships that she built. She explains that her sister leaves next year for college and she’s nervous but she thinks she’ll survive. Once she finishes, they both sit there in silence and they both look over at the empty street. They can hear the street lamps humming and Lily just wants to know—just wants to ask—

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Huh?”

“Have you kissed anyone?” She repeats.

“Yeah, I have.”

“What’s it like?” She asks, her face getting warm. She’s thankful it’s dark enough that Barty can’t see the blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Kissing someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh,” Barty takes a second before saying more. “It’s wet, kind of gross. Sometimes it’s fine. I don’t know, Lils,” he says. “It’s—it’s not how it’s hyped in movies. So far everyone has been disappointing.”

“Maybe you just haven’t kissed the right person yet,” she offers.

“I mean, we’re sixteen,” he snorts. “I don’t think I’m really looking for the ‘right one,’” he says, using air quotes.

“Oh,” she breathes out.

“Wait,” he says, and Lily can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “You haven’t been kissed before, have you?”

“Well—I mean—”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he says.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re, like, a goody two shoes,” he answers.

“Yeah, well, sorry I’m not kissing every person I see,” she bites back.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He mocks, scooting closer to Lily. She tries to back herself up, but her back is already against the crown of the tree and she’s trapped. “Kissing isn’t as scandalous as you think it is.”

“Then show me,” she replies, but she smacks her mouth once she realizes what she just said. Barty’s look of defensiveness turns into him smiling. She’s already started this, she might as well finish it. “If it’s so bad and awful like you say it is, then show me so I know to never kiss anyone in my life.”

“Lily,” he says, laughter falling from his lips. “What?”

“It’s my birthday,” she says, frowning, trying to change the subject.

“I know.”

“You haven’t said happy birthday yet.”

“I haven’t said happy birthday to you in years.”

“You can make it up to me, you know,” she says, her voice soft. She wants to smack herself in the face because she needs to quit trying to egg him on. She just can’t help but find herself staring at Barty’s lips and admiring the way that he had been playing with his lip ring while they’ve been sitting out here.

“How?” He asks. “By kissing you?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. The churning that’s happening in her stomach is intense—her heart is beating fast and she licks her lips because she doesn’t want to kiss Barty if her lips are dry.

“Okay,” he replies. “I’ll kiss you.”

“Wait,” she says, sitting up straighter. She moves her legs a little bit because they’ve started to fall asleep, and the pokiness of some of the branches starts to ache on her thighs. “Wait, how do I do this?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he answers. Barty gets even closer to Lily, their legs touching and it’s the first bit of warmth that Lily has felt since she first started waiting for James to pick her up. Barty leans in, and Lily’s eyes widen and she starts to shake her head, a smile breaking out on her face.

She starts to laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” He asks, rolling his eyes. Their faces are still close together, and Lily can’t help it.

“Sorry—sorry,” she says in between laughs. She finally calms down, but the butterflies in her stomach are still fluttering around. “I’m just nervous.”

“Lily—”

“No, no, I’m ready,” she says with confidence. “I can do it.”

Barty stares at her, reading her, trying to make sure that she’s actually comfortable with what’s about to happen. Lily nods her head, indicating that she’s ready. So he leans in again, and Lily holds her breath because she’s about to kiss Barty Crouch Jr. and she feels like she’s dreaming.

His lips are on hers, and it’s cold yet her body feels hot. The kiss lasts for only a few seconds before Barty pulls away, and they’re both looking at each other with flushed cheeks.

“So—” Lily cuts off Barty by grabbing his face and kissing him again. This time it’s all messy and teeth hitting each other and it’s almost full of desperation that Lily didn’t even know existed in her. It takes a moment before they find a rhythm with their lips, but once they do, Lily finds herself letting out a small gasp when she feels one of Barty’s hands on her bare thigh. His hands are cold and calloused but she’s enjoying this and she’s addicted to this.

Addicted to kissing. Addicted to touching. Addicted to Barty.

They pull apart, heavily breathing and shoulders heaving.

“Satisfied?” He asks, grinning.

“You lied,” Lily says.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me that it was wet and gross and nothing like how it is in the movies,” she explains. Confusion is still on his face and Lily sighs. “It was more than that.”

“More wet and gross?”

“No,” she says. “It was perfect.”

And Barty—he just laughs at her, sliding his hand off of her thigh. It’s music to her ears.

“You know,” he says, once he stops laughing. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” she replies.

They enjoy each other’s company in silence for a couple of minutes, both of them smiling but not looking at each other. Lily doesn’t want to look at him because she’s going to want to kiss him again.

“Come on,” he says. “Go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

The two of them climb their way down the tree, and Lily isn’t sure why Barty is following her down considering he could’ve just slid over to the roof of his house. Once they make it on the ground, Lily brushes her legs and her arms are burning from the workout that she just had to do from climbing up and climbing down this stupid sycamore tree.

They stand in front of each other, and Barty brings his hand up to her face and touches her cheek before tucking a piece of her red hair behind her ear.

“I’ll see you around, Evans,” he says. Lily watches Barty turn around and walk away from her, and when she sees him walk back inside his house, she presses her sticky, sappy fingers on her lips and she smiles.

Not bad for a first kiss.

[kythed]

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick? 

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.  

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter. 

+

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis. 

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice. 

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume. 

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome. 

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.” 

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.” 

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze. 

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?” 

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

+

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.” 

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.) 

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.” 

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.) 

+

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed. 

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide. 

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth. 

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.” 

“delicious.” 

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?” 

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.” 

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.” 

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

+

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.” 

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense. 

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.” 

you laugh. “i believe it.” 

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny. 

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.” 

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.” 

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.” 

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say. 

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile. 

“you’re stupid.” 

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.” 

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.” 

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.” 

+

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces. 

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.” 

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand. 

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake. 

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his. 

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.” 

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies. 

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop. 

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.” 

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile. 

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators. 

+

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.” 

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.” 

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist. 

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

+

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?” 

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.” 

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.” 

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying. 

+

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness. 

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck. 

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh. 

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.” 

+

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table. 

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.” 

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?” 

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?” 

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.” 

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.” 

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either. 

+

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump. 

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one. 

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains. 

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.” 

+

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall. 

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.” 

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one. 

+

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.” 

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.” 

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“tell you that i love you.” 

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.” 

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob. 

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.” 

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too. 

+

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu. 

he’s gone. 

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you. 

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.” 

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open. 

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though. 

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles. 

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.) 

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too. 

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.” 

+

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring. 

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back. 

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too. 

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

+

three years later. 

“honey?” 

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?” 

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.” 

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.” 

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.” 

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?” 

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!” 

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see. 

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations. 

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him. 

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

[wintrcaptn]

Forbidden | Andy Barber

Summary : You used to babysit Jacob when he was younger and had the biggest crush on his dad, Andy. But being in High school at the time, you knew it was just a stupid fantasy that could never happen. Now, six years later, you were visiting your hometown while on winter break. Once you found out the news about Jacob, you knew you had to go check up on them. But things take a turn when you find yourself alone with Andy Barber.

A/N : I have fallen in love with Andy and can’t stop thinking about him. Hope you all enjoy it!!

“I can’t believe this.” You said, sitting across from one of your old high school friends.

“Yeah, it’s so crazy. Didn’t you used to babysit Jacob?” Aria asked.

You could only nod, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, memories ofJacob flooded your mind. You remembered his sweet innocent smile, and his contagious laugh. Babysitting him never felt like a job. He was easy going and loving. You couldn’t believe he could ever hurt anyone.

“Well I should get going.” She said. “It was nice catching up. Should do this again.”

“Definitely!”

When you arrived back into town, you were so excited to see everyone and be home. But this wasn’t what you had in mind.

The Barber’s were the picture perfect family. The type of family you always wished you had.

A part of you envied Jacob. He had two amazing parents who loved him with everything they had, and the other part envied Laurie. That woman had it all. The job, the house, and especially the dreamy husband.

Andy was definitely your teenage crush. He was all you ever thought about. But being sixteen, you knew it was nothing more than a fantasy.

You sat at the diner for a long moment, before you heard murmurs behind you, speaking about Jacob, pulling you out of your head.

Just then, you knew you had to pay them a visit.

As you pulled up to the familiar house, your stomach churned. It was less inviting than before. Almost like it were haunted.

The picture perfect image, was now gone.

You made you way to the door, heart pounding faster with every step. You weren’t sure why you were nervous, since you have been there hundreds of times before, but this time was different.

Gently, you knocked on the wooden door. The nerves building up inside of you, as you stood there, waiting for an answer.

Andy was startled by the sound, muting the tv he waited for it again. Maybe it was all in his head?

A few seconds later, you knocked again.

He let out a sigh, before groggily propping up to his feet.

Looking through the peephole, he could only see the back of your head. Not knowing exactly who it was, he hesitantly opened the door.

In that moment, you snapped your attention back and met his tired, ocean like eyes. Seeing him there, you were instantly reminded why you liked him so much in high school.

Not much had changed, except for a few crinkles around his eyes. But other than that, he was still handsome as ever.

He couldn’t believe it was you. It had been so long, he almost didn’t recognize that it was you.

“H-Hi, Mr. Barber.” You stammered.

“Wow, Y/N! Is that really you?” He asked, a bit surprised. “I-I can’t believe it—it’s been how many years?”

“Six.” You chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m just visiting for the weekend, and thought I’d stop by. Catch up and what not.”

You weren’t sure if you should bring up the case. He looked exhausted, defeated even. You didn’t want to make thingns worse.

Andy wasn’t sure if you had heard about the news or not, but he was in need of a distraction. Something to get his mind off of everything, even if for just a little while.

He stepped off to the side, holding the door open and motioned for you to come in.

You flashed a soft smile and obliged.

The house had a few changes. Little tweaks here and there. The walls had some new photos hanging, and the couches were different. But it still reminded you of The Barber’s. Which felt nice since they were a big part of your life.

“Want something to drink?” He asked, making his way over to the kitchen.

“Water please.”

A soft chuckle escaped him but he didn’t say another word.

“Are Jacob and Mrs. Barber here?”

Andy swallowed hard after those names rolled off your tongue. If only you knew how bad it was, you wouldn’t have asked.

“They—um—they stepped out. Won’t be back for a while.” He said. Dancing around from telling you that in all actuality, they were at Jacob’s therapy session.

In that moment, you realized you were alone with Andy. Alone with the man you secretly wanted in high school.

Suddenly, you were even more nervous than before.

“O-oh.” You exhaled. “S-Should I come back later?”

He furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, no. It’s fine.” He said. “I could really use some company. Besides, I want to know how you’ve been! You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you.”

And man, did he notice how much you’ve grown.

He had always thought you were beautiful, but never thought to cross the line. It was unethical. And he would never do anything to make you feel unsafe.

But here you were, no longer a girl in high school. He couldn’t help but notice the curves of your legs under your skinny jeans, and the way you lightly bit on your lower lip. It was something he never noticed before until now.

Now you were in your third year at Stanford. You’ve had boyfriends, and been to parties. Even had some crazy stories of your own.

The girl Andy remembers is all grown up. And you were mesmerizing.

His eyes lingered on you, as he took another sip of his beer. You could feel your stomach flutter.

“Yea, last time you saw me, I was about to start my senior year.” You chuckled. “Though it feels like it was just yesterday, I am now half way through my third year at Stanford.”

Andy flashed a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest, taking a seat on the couch.

You were sitting across from him, playing with the rim of the glass.

“That’s really something, Y/N.” He said. “I’m really happy for you.”

The two of you went on, filling in the past six years. Making each other laugh over little embarrassing moments, and awkward stories you had encountered through out your time away.

It was so refreshing for Andy to talk about something that wasn’t about the Murder case.

For a moment, he had almost forgot what it was like to genuinely have a conversation with someone.

Not feeling forced into smiling or having to come up with something to keep the convo going. It was easy, flowing as if you were two best friends.

Even back in high school, you two seem to connect in that sense. Nothing ever felt force. Part of the reason why you fell for the guy.

“Mr. barber, what is—“

“Please call me Andy.” He said cutting you off.

With the way he said his own name, and how he held your gaze, your stomach fluttered immensely, it was becoming a bit hard to concentrate.

“A-Andy.” You said, making him flash a smile. “What is one thing you remember most about me?”

He paused for a moment to think back from years ago. There were so many memories that stood out. Like the one where you two stayed up playing monopoly with Jacob.

But with what was happening right now, he decided to stay with something light hearted.

“I remember you were a big fan of that boy band—what was it, That direction or—“

“One Direction.” You cringed at the memory. “Yeah, wasn’t my proudest moment, but you got to admit they had some great hits!”

“Eh, if you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’m sorry, not everyone is stuck in the eighties like you old man.” You teased.

Andy belted our into laughter, his cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. “The eighties were the best!” He cackled. “Besides, I was born in the eighties.”

“Exactly. Old man.”

“Okay. Well, I’m still young at heart, so does that make me cool yet?”

You thought for just a moment, and then shrugged. “If you can name a song from today, I’ll consider it.”

Every time your eyes met, you almost forgot to breathe. And every time he smiled, you swore you felt your heart skip a beat. Here you were again, swooning over him.

But he’s married. And his son is suspected of murder. What the hell were you thinking?!

For a while, you were both caught up in the conversation, you didn’t realize how long you had been there,

Three hours.

“Damn. I can’t believe it’s been that long.” You chuckled. “Who would’ve thought talking to an old man would be so interesting.”

Andy tilted his head back and let out a genuine laugh.

“The older you get, the more stories you have.” He winked. “But on a serious note, I’m glad you stopped by.”

You flashed a smile, walking over to the door with Andy behind you.

“Me too.” You said. “I really missed you.”

Andy cocked a brow, his lips slightly twitching into a smirk.

“I—I mean missed being back here. Feels like old times.”

The two of you stood by the front door, your eyes glanced away, while his stayed on you. The feeling of his gaze made you hot.

Andy wasn’t sure what was happening or why he couldn’t stop thinking what he was thinking. But the longer he stood there, staring at you from you legs to your waist, all the way up to your lips, part of him began to feign for you. Wanting to feel you against him, and taste you.

It were as if he craved you, and having you dangle in front of him, it drove him crazy.

You hesitantly glanced up and met his gaze. And damn, with those alluring eyes of his, you weren’t able to move an inch, let alone, remember to breathe.

Andy couldn’t take it anymore. The tension was beginning to be too much, and all he cared about, all he wanted to do in that very instant was to kiss you. To feel something again. To feel you.

Without taking a second to think about it, he swiftly stepped closer to you and closed the distance.

The moment his lips pressed against yours, chills covered you completely. It didn’t take you long to motion back and give into him, running your hands through his hair, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

It was so intoxicating, you were high from it all.

The way his tongue danced along yours, and the way his teeth bit on your lower lip, your thigh clenched, yearning to feel more of him. To feel him press into you, pounding you. Just the thought made a soft moan escape out from your mouth.

The sound of you only made Andy crave you more. His only desire was to take you, right there.

Until footsteps neared and the sound of keys jingle caught your attentions.

Immediately, the two of you parted, trying to catch your breaths.

Andy had wiped his mouth, trying to seem less suspicious while you fixed your hair and stood across from him.

Before the door opened, you shared a glance, immediately feeling guilty.

Laurie was startled when she saw the two of you standing by the door. He brows were scrunched until she realized it was you.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, you’re all grown up!” She said taking you for a tight hug.

Both you and Andy locked eyes again. This was it, the moment you realized, you were going to hell.

Jacob walked in to the house and flashed a cheeky grin, excited to see you.

When you saw how tall he was and how much he had grown, you were shocked and sad at the same time.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes slightly widened. “Jacob! You’re voice isn’t squeaky anymore! And—and you’re tall!”

He let out a chuckle, and shrugged. “Guess that’s what puberty does to you.”

“Guess so.” You smiled.

Standing there, seeing him after all these years, you still can only see the little boy you use to babysit. The little boy who loved to play board games and tag.

It broke your heart knowing that he was going through this. They all were.

“A-are you staying or—?” Jacob asked.

You shook your head and sighed. “No, I was just about to leave. I’m only here for the weekend, so I’m trying to make my rounds.”

His smile faltered and he glanced down. “Oh, okay.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad. Jacob was still a kid. Still that same little boy. And you were sure, I’m this town, no one was giving him the time of day. No matter what the truth was.

Everyone is so quick to point fingers and they don’t care about what he was going through.

“How about tomorrow I come over and we play monopoly, how does that sound?”

His eyes lit up almost instantly. “That would be cool.” He said. “As long as I get to be the hat.”

“Like always.” You chuckled. “Deal.”

Jacob waved and made his way upstairs. Laurie flashed a soft smile, her eyes looking as tired as Andy’s.

“I should get to bed too.” She said softly. “It was really nice seeing you again Y/N.”

Laurie gave your hand a little squeeze just before heading up to her room. Not once giving Andy the time of day. You were able to sense some tension there but didn’t say a word.

You swallowed hard, it was just the two of you. Again.

“I should go.” You said. “It was really nice to see you.”

Andy reached for your hand, pulling you to face him. Part of him wishing he could kiss you again, but the other part knew he shouldn’t.

“We need to talk about what happened.” He whispered.

Everything was just so complicated but with you, you made everything feel at ease. Like nothing could go wrong . It was hard to explain but being with you, everything felt right.

“There’s nothing to talk about. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

And with that, you pulled out of his grasp and made your way to your car. His eyes lingered on you the entire time until you weren’t visible anymore.

He hated himself in that moment. And not because he kissed you, but because he wanted to do it again. He wanted to feel more of you.

Andy realized that the girl he really wanted, wasn’t his wife. The girl he needed, isn’t the woman sleeping on his bed tonight. And for that, he knew he screwed up.

“Dammit.” He grunted to himself.

——

Chapter Two

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Sweethearts

Troy Bolton x Reader

Words: 4327

Summary: Following the efforts of a smaller, eviler version of Sharpay, the reader doubts her abilities and her relationship. Troy must restore her faith in herself in time for the perfect Valentine’s day dance. 

Notes: Can I Have This Dance is literally my favorite scene from the whole series so I had to use it for this. Highly recommend listening to it before reading to get the feel.  Let me know what you think! I’m so sorry it's so long, but I really loved getting into the romance. I’m pretty proud of this one, so just a little extra love would be very appreciated.  (There’s also a 17 Again reference in here, if you catch it) Also, I couldn’t decide which gif I liked more, so I had to use both!

-

You couldn’t help the slight squeak of fear in your voice as the group of girls walked towards you. 

“Hi Sharpay.” You greeted anxiously. She flipped her impossibly shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. She really was terrifying when she wanted to be. 

“I heard that you might be signing up to perform in the Sweetheart’s Showcase.” She raised an accusing brow. 

“Oh, um, yeah.” You stammered. “I was thinking about doing a duet with-”

“Blah blah blah, I know that. What are you wearing?” Her glare intensified, as did your confusion.”

“I-I don’t-” “Just make sure it isn’t pink, okay?” Sharpay ordered and her little pack nodded in agreement. “Pink is my color.”

“O-okay.” Was all you managed to say. She and her posse strutted off, but Madison gave you a lingering stare. You gulped. Sharpay may be the leader, but Madison was the shark of the group. Once she smelled blood, she would not be stopped. And ever since you’d started dating the basketball captain…

“Guess who?” A pair of hands covered your eyes. Maybe it was from his time spent on the roof, but Troy always smelled like fresh summer air. 

“Hmmm… Mrs. Darbus?” You giggled. Troy’s arms wrapped around your middle and lifted you off the ground, making you laugh more. He swung you around before setting you back and spinning you so you were facing him. 

“Ha ha.” He snarked, eyes sparkling in a particularly suspicious way. “What did ‘Her Majesty’ want?” You shrugged.

“She told me I couldn’t wear pink for the show case because it’s ‘her color’.” You laughed. “I wouldn’t dare try to outshine the Princess of Pink.”

“Yeah… about the showcase…” Troy looked at the floor. You felt your heart drop a little.

“You want to back out, don’t you?” You sighed sadly. “I mean, I get it. Performing in front of everybody freaks me out too-”

“Woah woah woah.” Troy laughed, that sparkle shining brighter. “I was just hoping that you would wear this.” He dangled a chain in front of you. The necklace was a stunning heart-shaped charm made with little red gems.

“Troy.” You gasped, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “It’s beautiful.” 

“I figured you’d be stressed out over the showcase and the paper so I thought you’d like a little early Valentine.” He shrugged and you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before turning around so he could put it on you. His fingers grazed your skin as he draped the chain around your neck.

“I wish I had something for you.” You whined, draping your arms around his neck as his arms fell to your waist. 

“Just promise me a Valentine’s Day kiss and that is all I need.” He grinned and pulled you closer for a kiss. 

It was quite a shock to the status quo when you and Troy started dating. The shy editor of the school newspaper and the star player of the basketball team made an interesting pair. But when Mrs. Darbus paired the two of you together to paint set in detention, something just… happened. You opened up around Troy more than you could with anyone. You helped him realize that there was more to him than basketball when you got him to sing with you at your vocal recital last year. Somehow the two of you just worked. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Taylor scoffed. “But the yearbook won’t edit itself.” You gave your best friend a look and Taylor smirked. 

“Sorry Troy.” Gabriella laughed, grabbing your hand and dragging you down the hall. “We’ll see you at lunch!” The three of you rushed down the hall and Troy went to go find Chad.

“Ugh, he is so dreamy.” Libby, one of Sharpay’s sophomore groupies, sighed. Madison made a sound of disgust. 

“And yet somehow he got stuck with that.” She watched you vanish into the journalism classroom and closed her locker. “Shouldn’t the Crowned Prince of East High be with someone a little more, I don’t know, worthy of his attention?” 

“Who, like Sharpay?” Libby asked, applying another coat of lip gloss. Madison smirked. 

“Yeah.” She turned her head to the jersey-clad boy retreating down the hall. “Like Sharpay.”

-

“So can I have this dance?”

“Can I have this dance?”

Your eyes were locked together as the room erupted with applause. You were in Troy’s arms before you had the chance to move. 

“You guys, that was amazing!” Gabriella squealed with excitement. 

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better to sing it.” Kelsi smiled, tucking the music into her folder. Even Taylor was impressed.

“I still think you two should give it a shot.” Troy nodded towards Taylor and Chad. You laughed into his shoulder as excuses tumbled out of their mouths. 

“Let’s go, I think my mom is making some nachos.” You laced your fingers through his and told everyone you’d see them tomorrow. After practice rehearsals were exhausting for Troy, but he knew how happy it made you. Besides singing with you was the perfect way to relax after a long day of practice of running and shooting hoops. Plus, your mom made killer nachos. 

His truck sputtered to a start and he winced. You giggled and earned a playful glare. At least it started this time. Sometimes, the two of you were stranded in the school parking lot until Troy could get his truck to start. You never minded. With minimal bumps and jolts, Troy was able to get to your house. 

“I think the song is really coming together.” You said as the two of you made your way to the front door. “Ryan said he’d love to choreograph something for us.” 

“How sweet.” Your door opened and Madison gave you a seemingly innocent smile. You stopped so suddenly Troy almost walked right into you. 

“Maddie.” You tried to seem pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t your mom tell you?” She laughed and pulled you inside- rather forcefully you might add. “My mom and her are in the same book club! She invited us to join you guys for dinner.” She looked over your shoulder and a little menacing glint appeared in her eyes. “Oh, hi Troy.”

“Hey.” He greeted uncomfortably, following you inside. 

“I hope you don’t mind the extra company tonight.” Your mother beamed. “Julie was saying how excited Madison has been to work with you two for the musical and I thought it’d be fun for you kids to get to know each other.”

“That sounds great, Mr.s Y/L/N.” Troy put on that charming smile of his and pulled your chair out for you. Madison stood for a moment, as if she was expecting him to do the same for her. Being a gentleman, he moved her chair back before taking a seat. 

“So you guys were talking about your number for the Sweetheart’s Showcase?” Maddie asked, eyeing Troy in a less than subtle way. He glanced at you with the same slightly scared look he had when he had to sing with Sharpay at the resort. 

“Uh, yeah. Ryan said he had some choreography in mind.” Even after over a year of dating, sometimes the way he looked at you still gave you butterflies. “I mean, I think just singing would be fine-”

“You guys have to dance.” Maddie blurted. She flipped her hair over her shoulder- just like Sharpay, but like, pettier. “What I mean is, it would be so romantic, don’t you think?” 

“I agree.” Your mom said excitedly. You shot a look. 

“I’m sure what Ryan has planned will be great.” You concluded, hoping to drop the subject. You didn’t really want to discuss your super romantic duet in front of Madison. 

Dinner passed painfully. The only thing keeping you from screaming out in frustration was Troy’s silly antics. From funny faces to pretending his chips were fighter planes, he distracted you from Madison’s subtly back-handed comments. The adults mistook them for compliments, but you knew exactly what she meant. 

“Wow, I am totally beat.” Maddie exclaimed just as the parents started to go out to the porch, like adults do. 

“Oh, I guess we’ll call it a night.” Her mom frowned. 

“You stay and have fun, mom.” She smiled sweetly. “Troy can give me a ride. Right, Troy?”

“Um,”

“Great!” She practically skipped  to the front door. 

“You really are too good to be true, Mr. Bolton.” Her mother gushed before stepping out onto the back porch with your parents. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You said, not really sure if you were irritated, confused, or a little impressed. 

“You’re coming to the game tomorrow night, right?” Troy asked as you made your way down the front steps. Madison was already in the front seat, checking her reflection in the mirror. You shrugged. 

“Actually I was thinking about catching a movie.” His shoulders sagged with disappointment. You shook your head. “Of course I’ll be there!” You exclaimed with a laugh. Troy put his hands on your cheeks and leaned in for a goodnight kiss. 

“Oh Troy!” Madison called from the truck and the two of you pulled a part. “I should be getting home. I’m totally-” She yawned dramatically, “exhausted.” Troy sighed, settling for a light kiss on your cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” He reluctantly ran to his truck and you went back inside. Before the door closed, you couldn’t help but smirk as you listened to the sputtering sound of his truck refusing to start.

-

The sound of the crowd was a driving force on it’s own. Troy raced across the court, keeping his eyes locked on his teammate. Chad passed him the ball and he made the shot, that satisfying swish of the net drowned out by the cheers. After a tiring week of practice and rehearsals, his body was pumping with adrenaline. 

“Go Troy!” He picked your voice out over the chorus of cheers. He found you at the edge of the bleachers towards the top and flashed you a smile before taking off again. Gabriella helped you hold up your #14 sign and Kelsi came back from concessions with the popcorn. You and Kelsi weren’t usually ones for sports, but ever since you’d started coming to games you’ve all had a blast. The buzzer sounded. 

“That ends the third quarter here at Wildcat Stadium,” The announcer’s voice boomed. “Hornets 40, Wildcats 58.” 

The fans hollered and you caught Troy’s eye again, giving him a grin that lit up the gym. He pressed his lips to his fingers and pretended to toss the air-kiss like a basketball. You pretended to catch it, accidentally stepping in the strap of the purse behind you.

There was a wave of gasps from the crowd and both teams stopped to see what the commotion was. Troy looked up to see a horrified Gabriella and an empty space where you had been standing. 

“Y/N!” He yelled, running across the court to where a group of people had gathered, including the school nurse. 

“Give her some space! Back up!”

“Let me through! That’s my girlfriend!” Troy pushed his way to the font. You were on the floor, but you were sitting up, trying to catch your breath. 

“Is she okay?” Gabriella yelled down at him. Behind her, Maddison tossed her purse over her shoulder and vanished into the crowd. 

“I think I'm okay,” You groaned. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You tried to stand, but cried out when a sharp pain shot up your let.” 

“Take it easy,” Troy soothed, kneeling at your side. 

“Where does it hurt?” The nurse asked. 

“My ankle.” You moved your leg so she could examine it. 

“Looks like it might be sprained.” She sighed. “Let’s get you to my office and take a closer look, okay?” 

Troy put your arm over his shoulder and helped you stand. The nurse took your other arm and gave Troy a reassuring smile. 

“I can take it from here. You go win this game, Mr. Bolton.” 

“But-”

“I’ll be fine, Troy.” You kissed his cheek. “Go get em Wildcat.” The nurse helped you limp out of the gym and Gabriella and Kelso followed close behind. 

Sharpay watched the whole scene from the very top of the stands, eyes narrowed with suspicion. She had seen Maddison pull her bag away just when Y/N fell and it definitely was not a coincidence. The little pirana was playing a dangerous game and Sharpay was not about to let her win. 

-

The show case was just a night away and your ankle still ached whenever you stepped on it, even after a week. You tried not to let it show when Ryan was teaching you the steps, but they hardly let you practice at all. Taylor was furious you were still going through with it. Mrs. Darbus was at least more than willing to let you rehearse during homeroom. 

“And, one two three, one two three,” Ryan tried not to sound irritated when Troy took another wrong step. 

“Sorry.” He grimaced. Ryan just took a deep breath. 

“Just start from ‘wherever we go next’.” He instructed and you tried to remember the steps. “And one two three and lift-” Troy lifted you up and spun the way Ryan showed him. When he set you back down, you stepped wrong. 

“Ow!” You cried, stumbling backwards into the piano. 

“That’s it. You can’t do this anymore.” Taylor said sternly. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more and then you won’t be able to dance at all.” 

“I can do this. It already feels better.” You insisted and she scowled. Troy took your hands in his, the sweetness in those perfect blue eyes just making you feel even more guilty. 

“We can figure something else out.” He felt awful for even pushing you this far. Tomorrow was Valentine’s day and you’d barely had a quiet moment, let alone long enough to destress. “How about we just call it a day? We can go to a movie tonight and just hang out. Just you and me.” You shook your head. 

“I can get this. I just need a second.” You felt ridiculous storming out with crutches, but it was what you had. Troy moved to follow, but Gabriella shook her head. 

“Just give her a minute.” 

You didn’t notice the troop of girls following you to your locker and you were too frustrated to care. You could get this right. Troy had worked too hard with after practice rehearsals and countless hours going over the music with you for you to mess all of it up now. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think he was too good for you. 

You opened your locker and watched dozens of paper Valentine’s float to the floor. At first, you thought this was a sweet gesture from your boyfriend. Then you actually read them. Talentless Freak. Get off the stage. East High’s Resident Loser. 

“Looks like Y/N has an admirer.” Madison sneered and her group of underclassmen terrors erupted with cackles, drawing more people out of Darbus’ room. You set your crutches to the side and picked up one note in particular. Troy’s Tragic Charity Case.

Your heart dropped and the laughing just got louder. You couldn’t even run. You had to stand there and listen, looking at the cruel smirk on Madison’s face as the words echoed in your head over and over again. Charity Case. 

“Y/N- oh my god,” Gabriella exclaimed, looking at the mess of fake Valentines. “Let’s get out of here. Taylor.” 

“I’ll drive you home.” Taylor picked up your crutches and the two practically guarded you as you made your way down the hall. 

By the time Troy got out into the hallway, most of the girls were gone, leaving only the notes scattered across the floor. He didn’t find you until you were already at Taylor’s car. 

“Wait!” He yelled before you closed the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.” You sighed, brushing away a fallen tear. “Everyone is right. I can’t do this. Even if my ankle was fine, I couldn’t pull off something like this.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m sure you can find a better partner, Troy. There are girls that would kill to perform with you.” Or sprain a few ankles. 

“Kelsi wrote that song for us.” If he kept looking at you like that, you’d break completely. 

“I’m sorry Troy.” You shut the door and Taylor drove off. Gabriella put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t bear to look back. 

“It appears that I’ve lost three students.” Mrs. Darbus sighed, waiting for him back at the doors. “Care to explain?” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. 

“She’s not going to perform and I can’t do it without her.” He couldn’t imagine singing something so personal, so full of emotion, with anyone but the girl that he loved. Mr.s Darbus just gave him a knowing smile. 

“I suggest talking to her, Mr. Bolton. Show her the truth.” He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. “You’ll know what to do.” Her expression changed. “Now, I'm afraid that there’s quite a mess in the hallway I must take care of. As well as a few girls to track down.” She bowed her head and went inside. 

Troy’s head was spinning. He needed to fix this. After a few ideas came to mind, he pulled out his phone. Mrs. Darbus was right. He knew what to do. Hopefully. 

-

A light knock on the door pulled you from your sanctuary of blankets. Your mom slowly opened your bedroom door with a small smile. When she heard what happened, she had no problem calling you out for the rest of the day. 

“Why don’t you come down for some dinner, sweetie?”

“I’m not really hungry.” You pulled a loose string from your quilt.

“I really think you should come downstairs.” Her smile grew suspiciously and she left the door open a crack.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you and you tossed your blankets aside. The lights in the kitchen were off and the doors to the patio were open. You stepped outside and gasped. The twinkling lights looked like stars and little notes hung from the trees. In the middle of it all stood Troy and a candle lit dinner, complete with a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries. 

“Glad you could make it.” Troy beamed, motioning for you to sit down. You did and he passed you a basket of breadsticks. “Don’t worry, my mom helped me cook.”

“Troy, this is…” You couldn't even find the right words. You started to read some of the notes. Deserves a standing ovation. Her recital rocked the house. She’s the best friend I could ask for. 

“When I saw what those girls wrote, I wanted to show you what East High really thinks of you.” Troy explained, placing a hand on top of yours. “Sharpay even wrote one.” You both laughed when you read it. She’s one of the few people I can bare sharing the stage with. You blew out a breath. 

“The thing is, I can handle being called talentless and all of that.” You took the folded piece of paper out of your pocket. “This one just… I don’t know.” Troy gently took it from you , his hand tightening around your as he scanned those four awful words. At first, he didn’t get it. You had changed him in all the best possible ways. You made him want to be himself. You inspired him not to be scared of what everyone thought. So how could someone say you were just a charity case?

“You-” He took a deep breath, still wrapping his head around it. “You don’t actually believe this, do you?” You shrugged. 

“I mean… sometimes, I guess.” You tore off a piece of bread and rolled it between your fingers. “When it’s just the two of us, I feel like nothing else matters. But when I see you out there on the court, I can’t help but wonder… why me?”

Troy almost looked hurt. He started gathering little heart shaped pieces of paper from the tree and walked around the table. You stood as he put the notes in your hand, reading aloud as he handed each to you. 

“September 17th, 2006. The day that we met. When we got stuck painting sets, you were one of the only people to talk to me about something that wasn’t basketball. You made me feel like a regular guy.

“October 31, 2007. The night I convinced you to come with me to Chad’s Halloween party. I was a pirate and you were Elizabeth Bennet. That was the first time that you really opened up and were able to be yourself around people who weren’t just me and Gabriella.” His eyes locked with yours. “Look at the back of your necklace.”

You flipped the heart charm around and read the date engraved in the silver. 

“January 3rd, 2007.” You felt tears building. “My recietal.”

“Being on that stage with you made me see a whole different side of both of us. Our voices fit together like we weren’t meant to sing with anybody else.” He brushed a hair out of your face. “It was the moment that I realised I was in love with you.”

“I love you too, Troy.” You cried, closing the space between the two of you. He was right. It felt like you weren’t meant to kiss anyone else. When you pulled away, you were both grinning. “Do you think we can still perform? It’ll be difficult but I still want to sing.” He just grinned bigger and kissed your forehead. 

“Ryan and I already have a plan. You just have to come to rehearsal tomorrow morning.” You nodded and the two of you sat back down to finish dinner. 

-

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this nervous. You and Troy were learning and rehearsing with the system all day and the number would hopefully be unforgettable. But there was so much that could go wrong and you were absolutely terrified. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Sharpay appeared behind you. 

“You don’t have to worry about Madison. She has enough detention to keep her from anymore plotting. And I had no problem reminding her who was in charge of any and all sabotages.” She smirked, eyes scanning your outfit. “Good choice.” And that was probably the closest thing to approval from Sharpay Evans that you would ever get. 

Ryan came to make sure everything was secure and connected, reminding you when you needed to stand and be ready. He assured you everything would be fine. 

“Looks like you’re on.” He gave you an encouraging thumbs up. You took a deep breath and used your crutches to walk across the stage. The audience murmured as you sat on the swing that hung from the ceiling. The lights were bright enough that you couldn’t see Troy stage. You gripped the necklace around your neck for courage. There was no backing out now. 

“Take my hand. Take a breath. Hold me close and take one step.” As you sang, Troy slowly made his way onto the stage. His smile made your nerves disappear. “Keep your eyes locked on mine and let the music be your guide.” With every word, Troy walked closer to the swing. His eyes asked if you were ready. You gave him a small nod and he swept you up in his arms as you both sang the chorus. 

“It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you.” The choreography was a stunning mix of lifts and spinning in Troy’s arms, your feet never even touching the floor. “It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.”

Troy lifted you up one more time and set you down gently before beginning the next verse. 

“Take my hand, I’ll take the lead. And every turn, will be safe with me.” He twirled you slightly and you fell back for him to catch you, kicking your leg out so your skirt flared. “Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall.” His strong arms wrapped around you and he swung you around. “You know I’ll catch you through it all.” He let go as you were pulled up into the air. The audience gasped. You had forgotten they were there. “And you can’t keep us apart.”

“Even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart.” He almost forgot the words as the light practically made your white dress glow against your skin. Your necklace sparkled. As cliche as it sounded, you looked like an angel. 

His wires lifted him up to meet you. 

“Cause my heart is where you are.” And so the floating waltz began. “It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you. It’s on in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.” You felt like you were dancing on clouds. Troy couldn’t stop beaming. 

“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better.”

For the bridge, the wires had you circling each other on opposite sides of the stage, slowly getting closer. 

“Oh, no mountain’s too high and no ocean’s too wide. Cause together or not, our dance won’t stop. Let it rain, let it pour, what we have is worth fighting for.” You finally came back together. “You know I believe that we were meant to be.” With Troy holding you, you leaned back into another tumbling spin in the air. 

The final chorus slowly brought you down to the floor, you sitting back down on the swing. 

“So can I have this dance?” Troy stood in front of you, bowing to kiss your hand as if he was really asking. 

“Can I have this dance?”

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[everafterkeiji]

Song: Easy to Forget Me by Cimorelli

Pairings: Tobio Kageyama x fem! reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: When the king's queen was out of his grasp before he can realize

Warning/Genre: angst, toxic friendship, anxiety attack

Symbols: Italics=flashbacks

A/N: um- im very much hurt

Kageyama pants as he runs, pushing his limit with his eyes scanning the street ahead of him. His chest heavily coming up and down with sweat dripping down his skin. Mind empty but theres a certain feeling in his chest that was urging him to come back to a certain period in his life or a certain someone.

As he passes by a certain store, he suddenly stops. The feeling of his legs as if it they were holding him back, restraining his every move along with a voice lingering in his head like a broken record.

"She wasn't there."

Like a rock thrown to glass, his heart shatters, the sharpness of it scattering around his body making him weak to his knees as he stares at the shop that brought back memories he should've cherished. Maybe he should've gone with you when you asked him, maybe he should've took interest in your stories that had you smiling for days.

Maybe he should've chosen to remember.

"Tobio! Please don't push me away." Y/N begs, as Tobio disregards your words as he locks the door, slamming it in front of you. It was right after the match of Kitagawa, where his teammates claimed him the King, leaving him stranded.

"Please.. I'm here. I'll stay with you, I promise." Y/N says, head leaned on the door as she desperately tries to talk to the boy who've built such high walls a person like her can never reach. Kageyama can hear her pleas through the door but only one scene was repeating in his head-the moment the ball dropped, not even a soul was willing to save it for him.

"Kageyama.." she whispers sliding down with tears in her innocent eyes, scared for the condition of the boy, even more scared of what was bound to happen to their closeness.

The door creaks open slightly, and she was off her feet wiping away her tears as she turns around to see the broken boy clutching his shirt. He collapses into her arms and she gladly takes him, both sat on the ground with her hands running through his dark locks. Tears in each of their eyes, Y/N holding onto him while he questions himself. All the words that slipped through her mouth was nothing but sweet whispers and promises, reassuring him that he was no king.

Just a prince surrounded in a kingdom he didn't deserve.

-

"T-thank you for yesterday. You're the only one I can..count on." He says through the phone and you immediately smile at his words, surprised he believed in your promise. You let your hand rest on top of your heart, gripping on your shirt feeling that your heart was too big to fit into your body with how your emotions were overwhelming you just because of one boy. You wonder how long it'll take for you to break under him, under the kings command.

"It's nothing, Tobio. I'll be here whenever you need me."

-

"Kageyama! Good morning!" You say as you gladly bring him his usual choice of milk. He nods to you as a sign of thank you, and you smile at him. You walk with him silently, admiring the pleasant air between you two. It was a coincidence you two entered the same school, or was it really just your instinct and you chose it to protect the boy?

"I heard about this new store. Do you wanna come with me? I've seen photos of it everywhere!" She rambles on yet it fell on deaf ears as Kageyama was only delighted about being back on the gym, able to play his passion. When he turned to her, even if she was talking, his slightest care couldn't be given to her. He'd only nod every once in a while to make it seem like he'd understood.

If your heart knew that he didn't care, maybe then you would've realized.

-

We're in the same town

But you're nowhere to be found

"She hasn't been around for days. Do you think she'll make it to our game?" Hinata asks as Tanaka hands him another ball. Tanaka sighs as he looks over to the empty bench. It was funny how they were all concerned yet one boy couldn't care less. The second year looks over to Kageyama who spiked the ball perfectly, seeing him cheer at his success.

"Worry less about Y/N, she probably has her own problems. We all know that she could never miss our game, especially when Kageyama is playing." Daichi says, looking over to the younger boy. Daichi can feel how cold the atmosphere was with just a glance. He tries not to interfere with whatever happened between you two but after the match no one saw you again. Yet he sees Kageyama, perfectly back in his mindset and not an ounce of suspense as to why you weren't present.

"Plus we missed her birthday! Can't we buy some gifts for her? She doesn't really seem okay to me." Sugawara say and Nishinoya jumps at the idea agreeing completely.

"Seems like he shouldn't be invited." Tsukishima says, pointing at their other setter. Hinata sighs beside him, before shaking his head, in denial of the tension.

"Let's just go after practice!"

-

He walks inside the record store, seeing a variety of albums and vinyls. He lets his slim fingers run over the texture of each album, wondering which drew his attention. The atmosphere of the store was enough to leave a weight on his shoulders.

It's you, isn't it?

He eyes a poster on his left, enjoying how the colors were spotlighted by the sunlight that was peeking through the window. All the soft hues, having a dark gradient at the bottom he couldn't help but feel how familiar everything was. He carefully listens to the song that was playing, concentrating on every lyric as if he was trying to find a connection.

This is her world.

He watches how everyone in the store was occupied in conversations. Conversing about their interests, debating about different eras, even singing in different aisles. He can only feel sympathy, alone in her world he didn't bother to acknowledge. He should know by now what music you like, what album you first bought, which band poster was hung on your wall, but when he tried he could only hear murmurs and whispers.

I wish I listened.

-

Do you ever miss me?

You wonder as you sat in your room, knees to your chest in the far corner, listening to the song playing in your earphones. You stood up, walking to your window and opening it, greeted by the cold air. You let you hands dangle from the window while your eyes landing on the night sky creeping a smile on your face at how comforting it was.

The moon stares down on you, feeling helpless for the girl who thought numbness was the right choice. She couldn't even mask the way her world was slowly loosing color. To her, music would always paint her skies with color. All she can do now is envision the colors but in reality they were all desaturating with every passing day. There's pretty smile set on her lips yet feels like a tug of force knowing it was hard to act civil when her heart lost the battle.

-

"This place is so cool!" Hinata exclaims, eyes sparkling at the sight of the vivid posters and overall aesthetic and aura of the store. Nishinoya joins him on the excitement. Daichi turn to Kageyama who looked like a lost puppy, eyes wandering everywhere. Sugawara taps Daichis shoulder quite cutely holding up a vinyl in his hands.

"This looks like something she'd like!" He says with a smile and Nishinoya joins the conversation, holding out his own album waving it in the air claiming it was more her type. Asahi laughs at the two while he continues to view the albums that were in front of him.

Kageyama glances at his seniors along with the second years. He sees the genuine care they have for her but why is that he feels empty? Like he was numb to any feeling. He did miss her birthday, not even bothering to greet her, focusing on doing better for the next matches.

Hinata notices the dismay from the boy but his lips form a thin line, knowing exactly why Kageyamas clueless. He wonders about the feeling of neglecting a person that's been by your side for years. Kageyama seemed like he was a pro for such things. He always took notice of how Y/N would look whenever he's decline her offers, the way she walks to class disheartened but when she sees the setter, she instantly lights up at the sight.

Seeing her cry that day was enough for him to keep a distance.

How can he even comfort her? The moment she turned her back to Kageyama, she had a hopeless smile on her lips, tears continuously rolling down her puffy cheeks. He could see the way she collapsed that way. How the queen finally let go of her duties from the king.

-

Kageyama laid on his bed with earphones in, hands to his chest focused on the melodies. It was ironic how he wanted to badly catch up on what he's lost. He was badly trying to find the trail back to you but he was unfortunate. It seemed like he was the one that changed everyone's destination.

The moment she stepped in the gym, so bewildered at the different personalities they had. Hinata was the first one to approach her, asking her questions about their "friendship." The following months went by and Hinata found comfort in her and so did the rest of the team, favoring her for her endless support, always hearing her cheers at each game. After every match, she'd always encourage the others, being the brightest sun to cast upon the team who was discouraged.

Yet he found this unnecessary?

He bites his lip at his old thought. He hated himself for thinking how useless of a habit that was for you. He believed that Daichi was enough to lift up the spirits of his teammates so the team really didn't need you. It's opposite for the others though. They truly appreciated each of your compliments, each pat on the shoulder or head. Even if you wanted to do the same for him, he'd always walk away before you could even reach him. Hinata and Yamaguchi would always try to make you forget how harsh the boy was.

He lets his eyes close for a while. For a second, he was at peace but then words started resurfacing.

"How could you just walk away?"

He tries to ignore the tone of her voice, trying to drown it out by increasing the volume, but his heart was panicking at the memory. Even if he tightly shuts his eyes, all he can imagine was the sight of the last time he saw her. He wanted to sit up, to avoid the anxiousness that was crawling under his skin, but his back remained on the bed, struggling to escape the encounter.

"Is it that easy to forget me?"

Y/N.

(TW! Anxiety attack. Do not proceed if this makes you uncomfortable)

He calls out to her like a whisper, clutching his pillow as he stares wide eyed at the ceiling. He feels the room swirl around him, the walls caving on him as every insult and memory came to him. He sits up and desperately tries to walk but he collapses on the floor, hands quickly reaching the hem of his shirt bringing it over his shoulders. Panting incredibly with his sweat covering his forehead as he tried to calm himself down but each second he was reminded of a moment in his life he could never change.

"Hey..Kageyama it's okay." Y/N tries to reach for his shoulder but he harshly grabs a hold of her hand, gripping it tightly in his as he stares her down with his dark eyes, locking on her terrified ones.

"We fucking lost! To Aoba! To Oikawa! How can you act like this when we lost?!" Kageyama shouts at her and she winces at the volume but she lets her other hand rest on top of his, trying to make sure her eye contact reminded him that everything was going to be okay.

"Tobio- Karasuno will come back and win again.. You have to trust that everything isn't set in stone. Failure-"

"FAILURE? I don't have any fucking time for more failures Y/N! You simply don't know what that feels cause all you've been doing is tagging along and being useless." He spat and you felt your smile crumble at his words. He removes your hands from his as he frustratedly runs his hands to his hair, feeling as if pins went through his hands, blaming it for their loss.

"Kageyama..you don't m-mean that. Stop. I know you're angry-"

"I'm disappointed Y/N for fucks sake! I could've done better! We could've won if I didn't slip up. Stop acting like you can fucking solve everything and leave!" She takes a step forward to him as he extends out a hand, blocking her from moving any further. The gesture completely draining the life out of her, her heart growing more and more in her chest, the admiration for the boy trying to erase his negativity.

"K-kageyama-"

"Fuck Y/N! Can't I have a day without you talking to me? Or even being around me? I don't need you. The team doesn't need you. No one else does.. so please just leave already."

He stares at her for a while before rushing off, annoyance and pride feeding his heart and mind. She sees him getting more and more distant as she lets her last smile fall on her lips. All the love and joy was erased from her heart, feeling how shallow and dark the atmosphere was inside it. It began to feel like every heartbeat was slowing down as her tears painted her a trail as she walked. The tears continuously flooded her cheeks as every function of her body was weakening with every action.

She feels the tension that there was in the bus, while she was stuck in the corner, silent.

Silent but the Kings poison consumed her.

Happy birthday to me then. She thinks bitterly.

She looks at the scenery beside her, appealing dull. She allows her heart to cry at the sharp pieces that went through it, as if it was like a balloon being popped or like the light from a fire was blown out.

There was a certain part of her that died that day. She wonders if it was her entirely, or just her ability to feel anything apart from the harsh reality. It was the mere feeling of hearing him say the exact opposite of the words you were badly used to. As the person who he counted on even back at Kitagawa, you should've believed it. But every word he threw were all words that should've never been brought to light. You were back to zero to say the least, back at the darkest corner of your mind. Touching in with your negative emotions drowning you with every replay of of his words.

Then she glances at him.

She lets her eyes linger on him for the last time before she sighs, hands forming a ball, nails digging through her skin.

I don't know you anymore.

Kageyama opens his eyes slowly, hands reaching for his phone as he dials a forgotten number. He was panting furiously, desperate to hear the sound of your voice he was late to miss. He dreaded the silence the surrounded him, he wished the silence would be killed by your voice, assuring him that all was forgiven and you were ready to come back to him so he can apologize for everything he's done.

On the other end of the line, you sighed sadly. You the see way your phone lit up the dark room, seeing a name you've yet to see in months. You carefully place the phone in your hands, trying to find the feeling in your chest when he was around. The feeling of excitement to see or hear him has vanished yet you wished that you had the ability to feel for him again.

Love has faded, no evidence, not even a trace.

So you put the phone down, done waiting to be found.

Kageyama hears the way the sound of the phone stopped, seeing his wallpaper flash in front of him. He lets the tears fall from his eyes as he calls out to you one more time, even if you broke your promise, still holding on to it but there wasn't a chance for him anymore.

And the queen left the kingdom, leaving the king to rule by himself.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline. 

Previous

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria. 

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.” 

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.” 

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?” 

“They’re wonderful.” 

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say ‘hi’ or-.” 

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?” 

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.” 

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered. 

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?” 

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.” 

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.” 

“I don’t have one,” she laughed. 

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.” 

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser. 

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.” 

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.” 

“I do as well.” 

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that. 

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs. 

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce. 

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked. 

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it. 

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.” 

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment. 

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him. 

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.” 

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?” 

“When the time is right.” 

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.” 

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?” 

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.” 

“Who says I-.” 

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building.  The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third. 

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach. 

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel. 

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned. 

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game. 

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice. 

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture. 

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on. 

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain. 

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone. 

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.” 

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief. 

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond. 

“LOOK AT ME!” 

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth. 

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!” 

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth. 

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization. 

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer. 

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” 

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.” 

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.” 

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured. 

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.” 

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.” 

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.” 

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.” 

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.” 

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything. 

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter. 

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight. 

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor.  Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink. 

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?” 

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.” 

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could. 

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.” 

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.” 

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him.  “What’s the point of doing this again?”  

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.” 

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful. 

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives. 

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.” 

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them. 

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever. 

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad. 

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce. 

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.” 

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside. 

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly. 

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.” 

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach. 

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.” 

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then  turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.” 

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as  my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit. 

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.” 

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.  

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.” 

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?” 

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.” 

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off. 

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.” 

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?” 

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.” 

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.” 

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?” 

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?” 

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.” 

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.” 

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud. 

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?” 

“It was alright.” 

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.” 

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?” 

“Not yet. I’m planning to.” 

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!” 

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek. 

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling. 

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.” 

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said. 

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted. 

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in. 

“By all means,” Demetria motioned. 

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria  noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.” 

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.” 

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?” 

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.” 

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing. 

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?” 

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.” 

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low 

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?” 

“Bruce-.” 

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth. 

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there. 

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table. 

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it. 

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat. 

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop. 

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there. 

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend 

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there. 

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop. 

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen. 

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria. 

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed. 

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention. 

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.” 

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.” 

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?” 

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice. 

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker. 

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria. 

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her. 

She watched from behind his shoulder. 

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd. 

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them. 

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.” 

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.” 

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered. 

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted. 

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd. 

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.” 

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully. 

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.” 

She whimpered, closing her eyes. 

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!” 

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.” 

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars. 

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!” 

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream.  She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor. 

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.” 

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...” 

“You’re going to be alright.” 

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred. 

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate. 

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker. 

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps. 

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!” 

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly. 

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.” 

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on. 

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress: 

Hair/Makeup:

[phantom-curve]

49 or 50 for willex, and au of your choosing!

“Also happy second birthday!! Hope you have a wonderful day”

Thank you! This was an absolute joy to write so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! From the gimme a chance AU (which I guess now officially has spin-off lore about Willex) I give you Alex and Willie’s first date.

#49: holding onto the other’s shoulders for support & #50: putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up 

When Willie had asked Alex if he wanted to go on a date to the art museum, Alex couldn’t help but picture something cute and romantic. The two of them wandering around bright, airy rooms with the sunshine streaming in, bathing them in an ethereal kind of glow. Long moments standing in front of different paintings, fingertips brushing as they exchanged meaningful side long glances with one another. Maybe they would even kiss. Alex had been nearly breathless with the thought. Which was why he said yes without hesitation.

Willie looked like an absolute dream when Alex first caught sight of him outside of the museum, his long hair fluttering in the breeze behind him under his helmet, the loose, slightly cropped t-shirt he wore rising up every now and then to reveal tantalizing glimpses at tanned skin and toned abs. He came to a graceful stop on his skateboard right in front of Alex, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Didn’t run ya over this time. This date is already going better than our first meeting.”

Alex couldn’t stop the slightly high-pitched embarrassed laugh that slipped through his lips. Willie’s cheeks stretched impossibly wider, and Alex felt his own cheeks warm.

“I didn’t really mind so much.”

Willie smirked like he thought Alex was lying, which, fair. Alex had been pissed when Willie had crashed into him, ready to absolutely lose it on whatever dumbass had knocked him down and then had the audacity to complain about his stupid fucking skateboard. But then Willie had been scrambling to apologize, his brown hair tumbling down from his helmet in a mesmerizing cascade, and Alex had forgotten about his injuries completely because he was entirely focused on remembering how to breathe and getting his brain to restart. And then Willie had asked him out and it became the best day of Alex’s life. So, in the end, he didn’t really mind.

“C’mon, I got us tickets already.”

Willie tucked his skateboard under one arm and held his other hand out like he was offering it to Alex. Which, he was, Alex realized after a long second. He felt the blush paint his cheeks again and rushed to pull his hand from his pocket so he could place it in Willie’s. Willie didn’t say anything, but Alex caught the way his lips curved a bit on the edges, like he was holding back a smile.

Willie, it turned out, had an extensive understanding of almost everything art related. He named off artists without having to read the little cards by their work and talked about different periods of art styles and the evolution of art as it related to history, explaining how the two were inextricably linked which wasn’t something Alex had ever really thought about before, but was fascinating, nonetheless. Alex let himself be led around, impressed and in complete awe as Willie pointed out his favorite pieces and waxed poetic about Jean-Michel Basquiat, who Alex had learned was his favorite artist. It was everything Alex had hoped for in a date, especially when Willie led him down a set of stairs and into a basement gallery that was practically deserted.

There were large abstract sculptures throughout the room, concrete benches spaced out along the wall. Willie walked over to one and sprawled out, Alex sitting down next to him in a bit more conservative manner.

“Man, I wish they had let me bring my board in. How dope would it be to skate through this place?”

He traced his fingers through the air like he was mentally mapping out exactly how he would maneuver around all the obstacles. Alex laughed.

“I’d be way too worried about running into a priceless piece of art and ruining it.”

Alex shuddered as he thought about how awful it would be to destroy someone’s artistic creation. He still remembered how heartbroken Luke had been their senior year of high school when their former bandmate Bobby had stolen his songs and sold them to a record label on a solo contract. The pain had been unbearable, and Alex hadn’t even been the one dealing with the brunt of the hurt. Something must have changed on his face because Willie leaned over to nudge him softly with his knee. Alex blinked, startled back into the present and looked into the warmest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“You’re wound a little tight, huh? Where’d you go just then?”

Usually, Alex didn’t really open up to people. He’d learned from a young age that emotions were best kept in a bottle locked in a safe shoved into the farthest reaches of his brain. Alex and Reggie had unpacked some of that throughout the years, slowly gaining his trust and teaching him that it was okay to express himself. But Alex never really let other people in like his boys. Except, there was something about Willie, some innate goodness in him, that made Alex feel safe and calm and like maybe it was okay to let him in, too.

So, he did. He talked about Bobby, and then that spiraled into talking about the band and his homophobic parents and their silent rejection that stung all the more because it was like they weren’t even mad, they just decided that he suddenly no longer existed. Willie didn’t interrupt or judge. And when Alex had finally exhausted himself and felt a little less bogged down by it all, Willie reached over and placed his hand on Alex’s knee, skin to skin through the hole in his jeans.

“That sucks, man. I’m glad you’ve got a better family with your friends now. Luke and Reggie, right? So, you all moved down here from San Fran together?”

Alex had mentioned that when they first met. It shouldn’t be a big deal, the fact that Willie remembered and had clearly actually been listening to the things Alex had said then and now, but he was so used to not being heard that it felt monumental. His lips curved into a small smile.

“Yeah. They’re my best friends. Luke swears someday our band will take off now that we’re in LA, but I’m just happy I get to be here with them, living in a house that doesn’t feel so unwelcoming all the time and whaling on some drums whenever I need to.”

“I’m happy you’re here, too.”

The way he said it, with a little smirk and some bouncy eyebrows, Alex knew Willie meant more than just being in LA. He meant here in this museum, with him. Suddenly, Willie jumped to his feet, holding both hands out towards Alex.

“I think I know something else that might help you loosen up. Wanna give it a try?”

Alex was pretty sure he was willing to give anything a try if Willie asked him to. He slipped his hands into Willie’s and only stumbled slightly when he was pulled to his feet. Willie let go so he could catch Alex by his shoulders, their faces so close Alex could count every one of his eyelashes. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, something crackling in the space between them. And then, Willie threw his head back and yelled.

Alex jumped about 10 feet in the air and immediately slapped a hand over Willie’s mouth, muffling the sound of the other boy’s voice. He whipped his head back and forth, thankful that there wasn’t another museum patron around or worse, a security guard.

“What the hell was that for?!” He whisper-yelled, feeling the need to compensate for Willie’s vocal volume by lowering his own.

Willie laughed, his lips moving under Alex’s palm. Alex let his hand drop, not wanting to think too long about Willie’s lips touching his skin.

“It’s stress release!”

Alex raised a judgmental brow.

“Yelling in a museum is stress release?”

“Yeah, man,” Willie was still laughing, his smile easy and eyes sparkling. “There’s something about letting everything out all at once, especially in a place where it feels like you shouldn’t. C’mon, you said you would give it a try.”

Alex glanced around the gallery again. They were alone, and he had said he would try it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Willie grinned and nodded encouragingly, so Alex inhaled again and tried to copy him.

“Ahhhhh!”

It was pretty pitiful in comparison. Willie doubled over with laughter for a moment, but when he straightened his smile was patient and kind.

“Nah, dude. You gotta mean it. Here, we can do it together.”

He stepped close, the tips of his shoes touching Alex’s, hands fisting into the shoulders of Alex’s favorite pink hoodie. He looked down at where Alex’s arms were dangling limply at his side and cocked his head, so Alex grabbed onto Willie’s shoulders as well. He felt Willie lean against him, letting Alex support some of his weight, and did the same. It weirdly felt almost like a hug, the way they were each clinging onto each other, trusting the other one to hold them up. Alex copied Willie when he sucked in a deep breath, but this time, instead of lifting his head towards the ceiling, Willie maintained eye contact. That same tension from earlier pulled taught between them. The moment built until all the sudden Alex felt a huge rush of emotion and opened his mouth at the exact same time as Willie, their voices overlapping and blending together in one loud, messy shout.

The resulting rush was incredible. Alex understood immediately what Willie had meant. He let out a laugh, absolutely delighted, and yelled again. Willie yelled back, and Alex felt like his head was spinning, drunk on adrenaline and release and Willie himself. He opened his mouth to yell again when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Willie glanced over his shoulder towards the doorway they had come through and then he grabbed Alex’s hand without hesitation, giggling as he pulled him through the room and out a second doorway at the back of the space before they could get caught. They raced up a different set of stairs, only slowing to a walk as they reentered the main level gallery space. Alex was breathless and giddy, the feeling of Willie’s hand in his making him feel brave and reckless. When they finally came to a stop in a hallway between the main gallery and a doorway to the outdoor sculpture park, he used their joined hands to pull Willie close.

“You are insane, and I cannot believe I let you talk me into that.”

His words were too soft to be a real admonishment. Willie leaned in, his hips brushing against Alex’s and the feeling was overwhelming. Without letting himself think about it, Alex reached up to move a few errant strands of hair out of Willie’s face, letting one hand rest against his jaw and bringing the other around his neck so he could tilt his face up. Willie’s eyes were shining, gaze dropping to Alex’s lips as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his own. It was all the invitation Alex needed.

He swooped down, Willie stretching on his toes to meet him halfway, arms sliding around his waist and pulling their bodies close. Alex’s mind went blissfully blank, focusing on nothing but the taste of cherry Chapstick on his tongue and the feeling of silky hair slipping through his fingers. Willie made a little noise in the back of his throat and Alex pulled back slightly, feeling shy and nervous. Their foreheads were still touching, breaths comingling in the tiny space between them. Willie leaned in to press a soft kiss against Alex’s cheek, leaving a burning mark behind as he moved so his lips grazed Alex’s ear.

“Totally worth it.”

He pulled away with a satisfied grin, dropping his heels as Alex felt himself blush from head to toe. Willie laced their fingers together and started to retrace their steps back towards the front of the museum, pulling a dazed Alex along in his wake.

“Wanna go grab some food? There’s a pretty good hotdog stand around the corner we could hit up.”

That broke Alex out of his spell.

“Ugh, no. Literally anything but hotdogs, please.”

He shivered, his stomach clenching like it still remembered the time Luke had convinced them they could totally trust the dude selling food out of the trunk of his car at next to a venue they were playing at. Willie laughed and quirked a brow.

“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell, Hotdog. Let’s go.”

And Alex went, groaning the whole time about his new nickname but secretly loving the fact that Willie had given him one. Nicknames said familiarity, affection. Maybe by the end of their next date he could earn a different title: boyfriend.

[doexoeyes]

Of Finches and Firsts

Alright, alright now we’re getting to the fun parts. Thank you again to those that are continuing along with the story. I hope you enjoy this chapter ♡

(Already uploaded chapter 5 on these sites)

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: “A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok.” You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

            Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2 ♡ Chapter 3 ♡ Chapter 4

Chapter 3: A Forced Confession

A few days later, on the way to classes, you passed by your friends at the courtyard who you caught laughing and hollering together, clearly looking very amused.

“What’s got you all so entertained?” you asked, a single brow raised in questioning.

Mauve turned to look at you, trying her best to stifle her laughter.

“Oh, you completely missed it! Malfoy was starting up trouble with Potter once again and Professor Moody intervened and turned Malfoy into a ferret!” she informed you, bursting into a fit with the others.

“He was even white, just like his hair! It was bloody hilarious,” Milton chimed in, letting out a very unflattering snort.

Your eyes widened, and although you tried to, you were unable to keep your face straight. The thought of Draco as a ferret was too funny to act like it wasn’t.

“No way! Isn’t that like, against the rules? I’m pretty sure a professor can’t use transfiguration on a student, especially as a punishment,” you noted, putting a hand over your mouth as you tried to control your giggling.

“Oh yeah, McGonagall was furious, but it was too good. He even forced him to go into Crabbe’s pants!” Mauve answered and you just about lost it then and there, clutching at your side with the rest of the giggling Hufflepuffs.

“He’s gonna be scrubbing himself till Christmas. I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like,” Augustus said with a shudder.

“He made a very cute ferret though, didn’t he? For the first time he looked rather sweet and harmless,” Mauve added.

“I say he should spend the rest of the year as a rodent. See if maybe that humbles him,” Milton teased as the rest chorused in favor.

You shook your head at this, finally able to regain your composure.

“Come on guys. He’s not that bad...” you said and immediately regretted it once they all directed their attention towards you.

“Not that bad? Y/n, do you not remember the countless of times that boy has terrorized the students here? Not including the barbaric way he treats Harry and his friends, mind you,” Mauve said, looking at you as if you grew another head.

“Yeah, remember how last year he casted that dreadful Bat-Boogey Hex on me? I had bats flying out of my nose for an entire night! Our bed chambers turned into a bat sanctuary and never mind the fact that I had my exams the following morning,” Augustus complained, clearly still upset about it.

You grimaced, imagining the scenario in your head.

“And how he talks back to the professors and flaunts his status in front of everyone. Do you know how tired I am of hearing him say ‘my father will hear about this’? I’ve started hearing it in my sleep!” Milton adds in frustration.

You recoil at their gazes and could feel the judgement radiating off of them. You weren’t a fan of this kind of attention.

“I’m aware that he’s done terrible things, but...”

“But what?” Mauve interrupts. “He’s different on the inside? Seriously Y/n, it’s almost as if you’re in love with him,” she says with a roll of her eyes before turning back to face the rest of the group.

You remained there, focused on keeping your face blank when you felt Mauve’s eyes back on you again. You noticed your friend’s eyes widen and her mouth part, looking as if she caught on to a secret she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Will you excuse us for a second,” Mauve announced to the others, grabbing hold of your hand as she pulled you away from the group.

“You’re in love with him!” Mauve stated in shock, trying to keep her tone hushed.

“What?! No, I’m not! I am not in love with him,” you quickly assured her, shaking your head rapidly.

“But you definitely like him! You can’t lie to me, we both know you’re terrible at it. You seriously have feelings for Draco Malfoy!” she spat out in exasperation, looking as if she were going to be sick.

You could feel the heat rising on your face, completely embarrassed. This was exactly the reason why you kept your feelings to yourself.

“Mauve, please...”

“Listen,” she said, cutting you off, “I honestly think that it’s a terrible choice on your end, but it’s your choice nonetheless. If you have feelings for Malfoy, then there’s nothing I can do but respect that. But please, Y/n, do keep in mind who he really is. Don’t let your feelings romanticize him for your benefit, because in the end there’s a pretty high chance you’ll only get hurt and disappointed,” she warned, eyes softening in concern.

You silently processed her words, instinctively biting your lower lip.

The words Mauve had said weighed heavy on your chest.  You were grateful your friend cared enough to say what she did, but you didn’t understand why it was even necessary in the first place. You weren’t in love with the boy, and even if you were, nothing was ever going to happen with him. You were just pining from afar, as pitiful as that sounded, but you were quite content with that.

You just wish your friend understood.

Mauve’s words continued to replay in your head for the entirety of the day, even after classes were finished. As your friends ate and conversed during dinner, you remained quiet, lost in the ghosts of the words Mauve had recited back in the courtyard.

“Don’t let your feelings romanticize him for your benefit, because in the end there’s a pretty high chance you’ll only get hurt and disappointed.”

That was the line that haunted you the most.

————————————————————————

The day of the first challenge for the Triwizard Tournament had started with giddy excitement from the entire school. You had been dressed from head to toe in Hufflepuff pride as you and the other girls in your dormitory, Mauve included, got ready together, enthusiastically adding yellow glitter to your faces and yellow ribbons in your hair.

Walking out of the castle building to where your section would be located, you felt someone tap you from behind. Turning around to see who had done it but finding no one in sight, you furrowed your brows in confusion before turning forward once again and coming face to face with Draco Malfoy.

“Hello, Finch,” he stated, a mischievous smirk taunting you from his lips.

You instinctively swallowed.

“Hello, Malfoy,” you responded back, eyes looking up at him, unsure.

He tilted his head, silver-gray eyes scanning you.

“I see you’re dressed for the occasion. Rooting for Diggory, I see. Although, if you really were loyal, you would wear those ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons he had his lackeys pass around,” he said with a dark chuckle.

You nervously adjusted the yellow ribbon tied to your ponytail, clearing your throat before responding.

“Actually, Cedric wasn’t a fan of those in the first place. He told everyone to stop wearing them, which I think was the right decision. We want to see him win without the need to put any of his competitors down,” you answered, quite confident in your statement despite the nervousness you felt around him.

He raised a brow at this.

“Is that so? You really believe that he’ll win this?”

Despite the smirk disappearing from his face, you still felt like he was taunting you.

You nodded. “He’s been working really hard for this. He’s determined to win and he can do anything he sets his mind to. I think anyone can,” you answered sincerely.

He remained quiet after that, gaze still transfixed on you. Nervously, you played with your ribbon once more and caught his eyes following your hand movements.

“That’s a pretty ribbon you got there,” he commented.

Your eyes widened slightly, surprised at his choice of words and the sudden subject change. “Oh, t-thank you.”

He stepped up closer to you, a little too close, and your breath immediately hitched in your throat.

“Mind if I...” he trailed off as he raised one hand, purposefully grazing it against your cheek as he reached for the ribbon, causing you to nearly sputter out a strange sound of surprise at the sudden feel of his skin on yours.

Even though it was just for second, you could feel how cold his skin was against your cheeks and a shiver ran down your spine. He was so close to you at that point that you could breathe in his scent; old wood, green apple, and some very strong cologne. You could feel his hand toying with your ribbon as his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“...keep it?” he finished, and in one swift movement, you felt him pull at it, smoothly untying it from your hair as he dangled it in front of your face, nearly brushing your nose with it.

You were frozen then, unable to process what had just happened.

With a wink, he walked away, but you couldn’t figure out a way to get your legs to work just yet. Instead, you stayed standing in place, eyes fixed on the yellow ribbon hanging from his hand.

♡

Tag list: @sadgirlnumber92899​

[eratobard]

Saved by the Bell: Chapter 7

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geraskier, Geralt x Jaskier

Rating: G

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

~~~

They headed back to Jaskier’s room while his parents prepared dinner. Geralt frowned as he held his stomach. It was still hurting. He laid on the bed next to Jaskier. He tried to muffle a whine as he rolled onto his back. 

Jaskier looked up from his homework, “Geralt? Are you okay?”

Geralt exhaled slowly and shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Jaskier scooted closer, and hovered above him. Geralt’s heart beat rapidly. Jaskier’s bangs dangled away from his face as he leaned over Geralt. His blue eyes examined Geralt’s face closely, a mere inches away, “You look… like you are in pain. Do you need medicine?”

Geralt averted his gaze, “I… my stomach hurts a bit. It sometimes does when I am in an unfamiliar place or situation…”

Jaskier tilted his head, his lower lip pouted in concern. He placed his hand on Geralt’s stomach, “Is there something I can do?”

Geralt shrugged his shoulders, “It um... usually gets better when I’m at home… where I can relax.”

Jaskier hummed and traced his fingers over Geralt’s arm, “I think I can help with that.”

Geralt’s face grew warm, “What do you mean--” He was cut off by Jaskier wrapping a blanket around him, and putting a pillow under his head.

Jaskier grinned as he bounced off the bed and skipped over to his instruments in the corner of the room. He grabbed what looked like a small guitar and plopped onto the bed next to Geralt. “I’ll sing your anxiety away.”

Geralt chuckled, “And how do you propose you will do that?”

Jaskier whispered conspiratorially, “By singing, ‘Old McDoodle’.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow, “Old McDonald?”

“No, no,” Jaskier shook his head, “‘Old McDoodle’.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Old McDonald,” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier waved him off, “I would know Geralt. I wrote the song.”

Geralt scoffed, “You wrote Old McDonald?”

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, “No. I wrote ‘Old McDoodle’. Now please Geralt. Don’t interrupt.” He stared at him pointedly, his face serious, but he couldn’t stay serious for long and eventually broke out into a smile as he strummed the first chord.

“Old McDoodle had a farm. Eyo Eyo Why?”

Jaskier looked up from strumming, “I don’t know Geralt. Why does anyone have a farm? That’s not the point.” He continued singing.

“And on that farm he had a…?”

He looked up expectantly, waiting for Geralt to answer.

Geralt shrugged his shoulders, “Um… Cow?”

Jaskier sighed and rolled his eyes, “I said don’t interrupt. Yes. He had a cow. Eyo eyo, why?” He winked and Geralt couldn’t help but giggle. Geralt watched Jaskier’s hands as his fingers expertly plucked at the strings.

“With a--” Jaskier placed his palm against his lips and produced a loud fart noise. Geralt’s eyes widened in surprise as Jaskier continued to sing the verse. Inserting fart noises where Geralt would have expected a ‘moo’.

“Here a- fart noise- there a -fart noise-. Every where a -fart noise-. Having farms is a stinky affair,” Jaskier sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Old McDoodle had a farm, and who the hell knows why!”

Jaskier smiled setting aside his ukulele, “And that’s the song.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, “He only had the one farm animal then?”

Jaskier nodded, “Ol Jacqueline. Named after his one true love. Lost her in a dairy fire. So he bought a cow and named it after her.” He looked down solemnly.

Geralt snorted, “So, you know why he has a farm.”

Jaskier stared at him incredulously, “Of course Geralt. I wrote the song.”

Geralt chuckled, “Ah, of course.”

Jaskier rested his hand under his chin and stared at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt blushed, “...what is it?”

Jaskier huffed, “Aren’t you going to ask what a dairy fire is?”

“Right,” Geralt smirked, “I was wondering.”

Jaskier continued to stare at him expectantly.

“...what’s a dairy fire?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier beamed, “I’m glad you asked. She ate too much dairy and farted herself to death. Thus why Ol Jacqueline is perfect.”

Geralt laughed at the ridiculousness of the story. He wouldn’t have thought a story like that would have made him laugh so hard. Maybe it was because it was Jaskier telling it. His stomach did feel better. He definitely felt more relaxed. 

A loud fart ripped near the two of them. Geralt blushed as his eyes widened in embarrassment. He had felt a little too relaxed.

Jaskier smirked and patted his arm, “Better out than in. I bet your stomach feels a lot better now.” 

Geralt covered his face in embarrassment, “Yeah… but… I farted in your bed.”

Jaskier laughed and laid across Geralt’s stomach, “I fart in my bed all the time. I don’t mind if you do.”

Geralt peaked out from under his hands, “That’s different. No one wants to smell someone else’s farts.”

Jaskier arched an eyebrow, “Wanna bet?” He lifted up the blanket he had laid over Geralt and covered his head as he trapped himself under the blanket with the fart.

Geralt shrieked in horror as he tried to pull the blanket off him, “Jaskier! Don’t! It probably smells really bad!”

Jaskier sniffed loudly, “Smells great!” Geralt continued to try and wrestle Jaskier out from under the blanket when Mr. Pankratz knocked on the door frame.

Geralt froze, his heart stopping in his chest, “Mr. Pankratz…”

Jaskier stilled then quickly pulled the blanket off his head, “Dad! It’s not what it looks like.”

Mr. Pankratz’s face was mostly serious, but a small smirk formed at the corner of his lips, “Dinner’s ready. Be sure to wash up.”

Jaskier huffed a sigh as his father left. He grumbled, “I wish he didn’t trust me so much.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier in shock, “Why?”

Jaskier shrugged, “I don’t know. More entertaining?”

“Well… he does make you leave the bedroom door open,” Geralt offered.

“That’s true, but…” He leaned in closer, a smirk on his lips, “we could also give him something to worry about.”

Geralt blushed, swallowing the lump in his throat, “...like… what?”

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

“I don’t hear you washing your hands,” Mr. Pankratz shouted from the other room.

“Let them alone dear, it’s not like one of them will get pregnant,” Mrs. Pankratz cooed.

There was a grunt and some muffled arguing between the two as Jaskier hopped off the bed. Jaskier smirked and motioned for Geralt to follow, “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Geralt wondered how red his face was as he followed Jaskier out of the room.

~~~

They all sat at the dining room table. Geralt didn’t realize how hungry he was until the delicious scent of the meal wafted in front of his nose. 

Jaskier grinned as he leaned over and whispered to him, “Smells good. Not as good as your farts though.” He winked.

Geralt groaned at Jaskier’s terrible joke and shook his head, “You need to get your olfactory system checked.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows, “My what system?”

“Your nose,” Geralt chuckled.

Jaskier hummed and piled mashed potatoes on his and Geralt’s respective plates. “Maybe you could check it for me later. We could play doctor. It starts in the mouth, right?”

Geralt’s face must have been beet red, because his dad decided to intervene on his behalf.

“Jaskier, it’s rude to whisper at the dinner table. Why don’t you tell your mother how school was today.”

Jaskier frowned as he grabbed another dish and loaded their plates with it. “It was fine. Nothing to write home about.”

“In a way, that’s what I’m asking you to do anyway. I heard from Principal De Vries that you were disrespectful to the secretary?” Mr. Pankratz raised an eyebrow.

“She was disrespectful first! She was completely rude to Geralt, treating him like some kind of criminal.”

Geralt moved his mashed potatoes around his plate nervously. He wondered if this would be the last straw and they would pull him out of school. He should say something to defend him. “It’s- it’s not his fault sir,” Geralt tried to look at Jaskier’s father, but couldn’t manage it. He continued anyway, “I um, am not very good with words… and… well… Jaskier was only sticking up for me… please don’t take him out of school.”

Mrs. Pankratz frowned as she gently smacked her husband on the arm, “Look what you did. You scared the poor boy with your grumbly glare. He thinks you're mad at Julian.”

Mr. Pankratz frowned, “I’m not--.” He sighed and softened his features as he turned to Geralt. “I’m not going to take him out of school. Where did you get that idea?”

After a moment the three of them all turned toward Jaskier. Jaskier’s gaze shifted away as he grabbed the mashed potatoes again, “Um… more potatoes Geralt?”

Geralt didn’t protest as more was stacked on top of the already high mound on his plate.

Mr. Pankratz sighed, “Jaskier, we talked about over embellishing your stories.”

Jaskier pouted, “I know… I’m sorry.” He turned to Geralt and grabbed his hand, holding it between his, “I didn’t realize you would take my over exaggeration seriously. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Geralt blushed and nodded his head. Gazing into those perfect blue eyes, he wasn’t sure how he couldn’t. 

Jaskier beamed, “Wonderful! Problem solved.”

“Not exactly.”

Jaskier grimaced. He was hoping they had forgotten.

“It seems like you know how to apologize. So first thing tomorrow morning you can apologize to the school secretary.”

Jaskier groaned and laid his head dramatically on Geralt’s shoulder, “But dad… she was so mean to Geralt.”

“Someone else’s rude behavior does not constitute rude behaviour back. I’m not her parent, but I am yours. So I expect you to do the right thing.”

Mrs. Pankratz smiled reassuringly, “I know it’s hard honey, but it’s our duty as your parents to instill in you good values. When you’re an adult you can choose to leave them at the door and be as rude to as many assholes as you like.”

Mr. Pankratz growled, “Lilia…”

She smiled and booped him on the nose, “Yes Alfred dear?”

He sighed and shook his head, “Nevermind… let’s eat.”

Geralt tried to hide his smirk as he watched the dynamic of Jaskier’s family. It seemed Mr. Pankratz had his hands full, but luckily he didn’t seem to mind.

~~~

After dinner, Jaskier and Geralt helped clean off the table. His father informed them he would be driving Geralt home.

Mrs. Pankratz pouted, “I was going to take our guest home. I wanted to know all about him and Julian.”

“Which is why I’m doing it. To spare our guest your numerous questions,” Mr. Pankratz grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She gasped in protest, “Traitor! You should want to know! For our son’s well-being! He could die single and alone!”

“Nothing wrong with being single, but I don’t think we have to worry about him dying alone.” He turned to Geralt and Jaskier, “Thank you boys for your help. Go pack up your things so we can head on out. Don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”

Jaskier nodded and pulled Geralt along back to his bedroom. He bounced onto his bed as he watched Geralt pack up his school supplies. “Your mom always work this late?”

Geralt nodded, zipping up his backpack, “Usually. She works the night shift.”

Jaskier rolled onto his stomach and kicked his legs back and forth, “Maybe we could have a sleep over sometime? Watch movies, and stay up late.”

Geralt smiled, “...that would be fun.”

“Great!” Jaskier jumped up, “I’ll tell my dad to ask your mom and they can set up a time.” He grabbed Geralt’s hand and dragged him back out to the living room.

“Got everything?” Jaskier’s dad asked.

Jaskier nodded, interlacing his fingers with Geralt’s, “Yup!”

Geralt stared at his feet, his cheeks feeling warm. He gently squeezed Jaskier’s hand back.

Mrs. Pankratz was sitting on the couch brooding, “Have a safe trip…”

Mr. Pankratz kissed her on the head as he walked by, “See you when we get back.”

She glared at him, “Not if I see you first!” He arched an eyebrow at her.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Bye mom, see you in a bit.”

They piled into the car. Jaskier let go of Geralt’s hand as they crawled in, but immediately grabbed it again when they had buckled up and settled. 

“Hey dad, Geralt had the great idea that we should have a sleep over the next time his mom works late,” Jaskier beamed.

“Did he now?” Mr. Pankratz glanced back at them using the rear view mirror. “I’ll talk to his mother and see what she says.”

Geralt fidgeted nervously under his gaze. He wondered if he should come clean and say it was Jaskier’s idea, but considering their dynamic his father probably already knew.

Jaskier gazed at their entwined fingers, caressing Geralt’s finger tips with his free hand, “Your finger nails are so beautiful.”

“They’re just finger nails…” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier shook his head adamantly, his brunette locks swaying with the force, “Not just any. They’re yours, and everything about you is gorgeous.” He smiled and rested his head on his shoulder.

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, how to react. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind, so he sat quietly until they reached his house.

Geralt’s mom waved at them as they pulled up. She smiled at Geralt as he walked up and hugged her.

“Have a good time?” 

He nodded as she smoothed down his long white hair.

“I’m glad.”

Jaskier leaned out the window as he waved goodbye, “See you tomorrow at school!”

Geralt waved back as they pulled out of the driveway. He couldn’t wait.

~~~

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I didn’t mean for this update to take as long as it did, but such is life. Let me know if you want me to remove or add you to the tag list! If your name isn’t underlined it’s because something in your settings is preventing me from tagging you. So if you want to be notified by tumblr check your settings. :)

Tag list: @greyliath @stonecoldsilly @captaindixiejoy @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers @singoallala @silly-jellyghoty @dat-carovieh @cumbercookiebatchs @girl-of-letters @moonysourenza @anythinggoesfandoms @charlies-dragon @lafey @watchthewolvesfall @sharinalein @nacl-and-burn @manycatsandthings @maya-custodios-dionach @goblinwhoships @live-long-and-trek-on @telidina @enkelikauneus @mewnola @blvckwidow @blooodymoon

[wonderlustlucas]

i hemoglobin you - byun baekhyun

⇢ prompt “Yeah, but Baekhyun doesn’t really talk romantics with me.” ⇢ pairing baekhyun x gender neutral reader ⇢ word count 4.8k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. kinda descriptive when it comes to the actual needle idk i’m bad at warnings if needles make u uncomfy don’t read. ⇢ summary You’d think, after some time, your crush on the annoying little shit named Byun Baekhyun would fade away. Fortunately for him (and you), falling out of love with someone brighter than a star is near impossible. Plus, needles are scary and even med kids need their hand held sometimes. Alternatively: Junmyeon found dead in a ditch.—friends to lovers!au ; college blood drive!au ⇢ a/n ok yes i realize this is an odd setting for fanfiction but like,,, my school had a blood drive & what happens in this is exactly what i experienced, minus the whole crush revealing they like me with a kiss thing. so i decided to WRITE IT OKAY?! also, i really tried to make this gender, color, absolutely everything reader neutral but then when i was editing i saw the nurse call y/n ‘miss’ so if i missed anything pls lmk so i can edit it!!! thank u & i hope u enjoy ♥︎

If it weren’t for that time you tried anal with your ex-boyfriend back in high school, you’d consider Byun Baekhyun to be the biggest pain in your ass. If asked, you definitely could come up with a hefty list of all the things about him that annoy the living daylights out of you, things from the unnecessary high volume of his voice to the time he introduced himself as “Bacon” on the first day of your internship at the hospital.

Truthfully, however, it all comes down to one certain realization: seeing Baekhyun’s stupidly cute smile has become the sole thing you look forward to everyday. For the first two years at university, you did not know Byun Baekhyun. You knew of him. As fate would have it, you were bound to meet at some point with an undergraduate enrollment of around four thousand, and your sanity began its downward tumble the third week of junior year.

At the time, you couldn’t quite put your finger on why he left such a sour taste in your mouth. From a distance, he was a star; this great, big bundle of sunshine and joy, full of life and spirit and in the eyes of someone as mild-mannered as yourself, he was magnificent and everything you wished you were. But, once the barrier between you fell and your relationship swiftly jumped from strangers to friends, you realized just how polar opposite you were. Always going out of his way to meet new people and a little too chaotic for you personally, Baekhyun draws attention to himself without even trying. And you can’t blame him— it’s hard to go unnoticed when you prance around with a thousand-watt smile and the energy of a three-month-old golden retriever.

Sometimes, you wished he had chosen one of the arts as his major rather than health sciences.

Nevertheless, it is hard to ignore such an innocently beautiful soul such as Baekhyun. No matter how many times you told yourself to find a new lab partner, no matter how many countless nights you found yourself rolling out of bed, bundled up in your blankets and into the cold hallway of your residence hall to knock on Park Chanyeol’s door and tell him to open the window for his frost-bitten roommate hiding in the bushes, no matter how many this or how many that’s, you couldn’t help but fall in love with the friendship and chaos that came with Byun Baekhyun.

If it weren’t for that time you tried anal with your ex-boyfriend back in high school, you’d consider Byun Baekhyun to be the love of your life.

“Absolutely not,” you interrupt, looking up from your clipboard in order to search the crowd for the younger boy. Baekhyun groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and dropping his head on your shoulder. “C’mon, ___. He’s fine, you know Sehun.” He whines, adding a drawn-out ‘please’ against your ear. It makes your stomach sink for reasons you’d rather not disclose.

“Baek,” you scoff, wiggling out of his grip despite his best efforts of keeping you against him, “are you serious? Sehun quite possibly may be the smallest person in this room. He needs to rest.”

“He’s twenty pounds heavier than me!”

“Taller, too.”

“___,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest and mustering his best straight face. It makes you laugh.

“I’m not arguing with you. He did Power Red; he’s not going anywhere. If he didn’t want to miss chem, then he should have made his appointment later. It’s one class. He’ll be fine.”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Baekhyun sighs in defeat, combing muted silver hair away from his forehead. Your eyes follow the movement, distracted for hardly a second, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I learned it from you,” you smile, nudging his arm with your elbow. The signature tilted smirk returns. “Tell Sehun I’m sorry, but I—well, we—can’t risk letting him leave. He could have a delayed effect and end up passed out in the staircase. Twenty more minutes and he can go.”

“I get it,” he hums, snatching the tentative schedule out of your hands before you can even protest. For as rash as he may be, Baekhyun is not dumb. And even if he was, he knows that when you are as unrelenting as you are now, there’s no point in arguing. “I think I’m gonna try and donate.”

“What?” You exclaim, maybe a little too loud if all the Red Cross employees shooting annoyed glares your way is anything to go by. Baekhyun truly is started to rub off on you. “I thought you were scared of needles?”

“Heights, ___,” he scoffs, “needles aren’t my favorite, but if I’m going to eventually put them in other people, I better get used to them for myself.” As he explains, he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie and presses at the soft skin on the inside of his arm before stretching it out for your examination. “I mean,” you hum, holding him still and feeling around for a thick enough vein, “you definitely have the veins. Do you want me to hold your hand?” You sing the last part cutely, lips puckered out at him.

“Will you? Since Sehun has to stay over there, I have no one else,” Baekhyun retorts, using your previous resolve to his advantage. You can’t tell if he’s oblivious or simply choosing to ignore your mockery. Rolling your eyes, you drop his arm and reach for your clipboard, tearing it out of his grasp. “Don’t you have anything else better to do than annoy me? Aren’t you supposed to be watching the donors?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Baekhyun starts, trailing behind you before the shout of his name promptly cuts him off. “Baekhyun! Can you help Jongdae carry in more water?” See, precisely as you were saying.

“But I like annoying you,” he pouts, hugging onto your arm and holding on tight. “Sorry, Baek,” you offer, feelings in shambles because 1) he is so cute you could cry but 2) he’s really distracting and now you finally will be able to focus, at least while he’s gone. Frowning, he releases your arm at last, combing his hair back and once again, you feel like throwing up.

“Go see if you can donate when you’re done,” you remind him, nodding toward the rather quiet donor room. “Yeah, I will. Wish me luck,” Baekhyun grins, blowing you a kiss. Without a second thought, you blow one back.

You have begun walking on an incredibly unstable rope, you realize, the thin line distinguishing the way you look at Baekhyun diminishing each and every day. On one side, he is simply your friend, your lab partner, a coworker of sorts. Comrades working toward the same goal, and once it’s reached, you go your separate ways. But on the other hand, he is much more than that. Now that you no longer live on campus, days spent bullshitting in the dining hall or dorms over, you most certainly do not spend as much time together.

And yet, nothing has changed. Except for your feelings, of course. This time last year, you were minding your own damn business when Chanyeol had to go and mention how much time Baekhyun spends with you instead of him. “Sorry?” You had offered, unsure of what the crease in his brow meant.

“No… don’t be sorry,” he hummed, deep in thought and stabbing at his salad in disinterest, “not to be blunt, but he usually bounces from person to person each week. He’s been sticking to you for, what, six months? Something is up.”

“Don’t you live with him?” You asked, confused. What was he getting at here?

“Yeah, but Baekhyun doesn’t really talk romantics with me.”

“Romantics?” You exclaimed, spit flying from your lips. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.

“He definitely likes you. God, it all makes sense now! Okay, I need to do some interrogating,” suddenly rushing, Chanyeol was up and swinging his bag over his shoulder before you could blink an eye. “See ya, ___!”

“Wait!” You yelled out for him, but the obnoxiously tall boy just kept running, dodging students meandering around the dining hall. Slumping in your chair, you eventually turned to look out the window, watching as he continued his flight across campus. “Good talk.”

Nothing ever came up afterward. No answers, no clarifications, nada. Chanyeol never brought it up again, despite the expectant raise of your brows the next lunch you had alone with him. You were content shrugging it off— it was out of your hands. If Baekhyun liked you, so be it.

Or so you thought. Turns out, having such unanswered questions dangling over your head every time Baekhyun left his friends for you at parties, fell asleep with his head on your shoulder during chem, or arrived at your front door with your favorite boba in hand just because he ‘was driving by’ left your mind racing almost as fast as your heart. You thought, for some time, that you could dodge such budding emotions by countering it with all the things you didn’t like about Baekhyun. (Spoiler: it didn’t work.)

Even now, as you watch him catch up with Jongdae, the left side of your brain has already begun arguing with the right. You miss his annoying ass already, one side points out. But he was a distraction, now you have double the students to check in, the other reasons. With a heavy sigh, you shake your head to rid such enraging thoughts and turn to said students, counting each one before making your way to the first in line.

He can’t donate. You realize this before he has even left his seat.

From across the gymnasium, you have continued glancing his way as he went through the mini physical. Just before the finger prick, he shot you a thumbs up and a beaming smile bright enough to challenge the Sun before jerking in his seat at the sudden pinch. Laughing, the grin you returned has not even left your face before his shoulders are sagging, a cloud of disappointment replacing the anxious excitement that was there hardly ten seconds ago. Your smile is gone just as quickly as his.

Standing, Baekhyun nods one last time to the nurse before making his way over, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. “Low iron?” You guess, opening your arms for him to nestle into your side like the little munchkin he is. “Yeah,” he mumbles, miserable, and you cringe knowing he’s going to be like this all day now. “I wish I could donate, but…” You drone emptily, trying to change the subject despite the deceitfulness of your ‘wish.’ Over your dead body would you lie on one of those tables and have a harpoon in your arm.

“You should, now that I can’t,” he hums, breath warm on your skin. Convincing as snuggly Baekhyun is, it’s not happening. “Yeah, I’ll pass,” you snort, offering a faux smile to a group of sophomore girls making their way in, shooting confused and envious glances your way. “Make sure to grab a water before starting your Rapid Pass, ladies. If you have not eaten much today, there are snacks by Katie,” you spew, pointing to said girl across the room, “if you have any questions, let me know.” With one last feeble smile, you turn your back to them because, well, it’s awkward facing multiple females whose eyes are trained solely on the boy clinging to you.

“You’re hot when your all doctor,” Baekhyun whispers, lips brushing ever so softly against your collarbone. Suddenly, you regret taking your sweatshirt off during lunch. Swallowing past the panic rising in your throat, you scoff. “Doctor? What doctor are you seeing that directs their patients toward donuts, muffins, danishes—”

“Hot ones, I guess,” he interrupts, smirking against your skin. “Ooooh ‘kay,” you wheeze, heart racing and eyes wide as you wiggle away from him, “y’know, maybe I will donate. Just so you stop bugging me.” Gasping, Baekhyun fakes a bullet to the heart. “Ah, but here’s the thing,” he counters, following close behind as you make your way to the front table, “my job is to distract donors from the needle, hold their hand, tell them ‘good job!’ So, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Groaning, you choose to ignore the inexhaustible boy and smile to Lauren once you have reached her. “Do you know if anyone can cover for me for a little? I’m going to try and donate.”

Gasping, she ruffles through the papers spread about her for the volunteer log. Then, “You should be fine. After those girls, the next appointment isn’t until two. I thought you hated this whole concept?”

Snorting, you pull one of the laptops towards you and begin filling out the information needed for a walk-in. “Yeah, well,” tilting your head in Baekhyun’s direction, you sigh, “he couldn’t donate, so now I feel obligated to. Plus, I need a break.”

“Ah,” Lauren hums, writing your name and ‘Walk-In’ on a sticker before passing it to you, “are you guys…?”

Immediately catching what she is hinting at, you jump up from your knelt position and quickly return to your station. “Nope! Negative! Okay, bye Lauren! Thanks!” Laughing, she chooses to ignore your antics, watching after you with a knowing smile when Baekhyun realizes you have left and scrambles to catch up.

You’re hoping you won’t be eligible since you left the country for vacation with your family nine months ago.

Never mind. It’s fine.

Perhaps your heart rate will be too high. You’re pretty anxious, after all.

84. Shit.

You flinch when the quiet-mannered nurse pricks your ring finger. Praying that your iron will be too low, you lean forward in your seat just enough to see the machine’s reading. 13.4. Fuck.

“Alright, I’m just gonna need you to read this first paragraph and sign here,” she directs you, using a pen to point at each spot. When she stands to wave for the next potential donor, you glance up to search for Baekhyun. You could use one of his smiles right about now.

And what you ask for, you receive. Finding your gaze instantaneously, he shoots you bright, encouraging grin and a thumbs up. It’s enough to calm your nerves. A little.

Offering an uncomfortable smile back, you return to your paperwork and hurriedly finish up, your leg bouncing ceaselessly. “All done?” The nurse returns, smiling softly at you and taking the papers when you nod. “You can head over to the third table in the middle.” “Okie,” you squeak, nice, “thank you!”

Good god, what happened to never allowing one of these needles to go in your arm? Sure, you have had blood tests done before, Hell, you have even given someone else one! But this… this is different. This is no ordinary needle, and you certainly do not have Byun Baekhyun veins.

“How are you doing today?” The Red Cross worker greets you once you have reached the table, smile warm and comforting. Seoyeon, her nametag reads. “I’m, ah… I’ve been better, honestly,” your voice comes out shaky and weak. You cringe. Going to med school and you’re whining over a needle. A big, fat, wide needle that will stay in your arm for more than five minutes. “Aw, no! Why’s that?” Seoyeon pouts, shuffling through your papers and slapping a big sticker onto the bag your blood, eventually, will fill.

“I have pretty tiny veins, so I’m really nervous this isn’t going to go well for me,” you admit, artfully rolling the sleeves of your tee even higher. Humming as she finishes carrying over the rest of the equipment, Seoyeon helps you onto the cushioned table before standing beside you, reaching for your arms. “Well,” she starts, brushing over each one for a few seconds before tying a tourniquet around your right bicep, “lucky for you, we do in fact check to make sure your veins are big enough. Hansol, can you double-check that this is alright?”

Your nerves seemingly do not know how to feel at the given moment. On one hand, these are professionals. They know what they’re doing. Plus, Seoyeon is lovely and has certainly eased your anxiety. Nevertheless, you realize that if your veins are okay, that needle is going to be in you in minutes.

This Hansol skirts around the table to feel the two veins Seoyeon has gone back and forth prodding. “Hm,” he grunts, pressing harder on the vein set deeper beneath your skin, “this one is good.” Oh, Christ. “Okay! Thanks,” Seoyeon smiles, then, once he has left her side, “you can lie back this way, sweetie.”

“Okay,” you sigh, settling back and resting your head on the pillow. Unsure of how to situate yourself, you awkwardly cross your legs and nestle your left arm into the pockets of your joggers, right arm dangling over the edge of the table. Then, just as you have closed your eyes, “___!”

Oh, good. This should be interesting. “Hey, Baek,” you smile at the boy as he jogs over, stopping on your left side. “You made it! No backing out now, right?”

“No, no. I’m praying for the best,” you hum, turning away from him to look straight up at the ceiling as Seoyeon begins sanitizing your arm. “You’re gonna be fine,” Baekhyun sings, tugging your hand out of your pocket to intertwine his fingers with yours, “if Sehun could do it, so can you.”

“I’m just marking where your vein is, no need to tense up,” Seoyeon interrupts, chuckling at how easily your posture has gone rigid at the sensation. Funny, how you only tensed up because of Baekhyun’s tender gesture. “I know I’ll be okay, I just,” anxiously licking the desert-dryness of your lips, you once again turn to Baekhyun, “I’m not looking forward to feeling this thing in my arm for ten minutes.”

“Nah,” he giggles, thumb swiping back and forth against your skin, “I’ll distract you!” Yeah, well you do that every day anyway, you snort to yourself, shamelessly taking advantage of the moment and scanning over his features, zoning in on the pinkness of his lips and the tiny moles sprinkled about his face. From this angle, even the shitty LED lighting of the gym somehow makes him look immaculate. “Alright, I’m going to count down from three,” Seoyeon interrupts your gawking, though you haven’t really processed her words until she’s on two. “One…” She utters, and you are instantly squeezing your eyes closed just as hard as your squeezing Baekhyun’s hand as the needle first breaks skin.

“Oh, shit,” you heave once it’s completely sheathed, rolling the plastic grip anxiously in your increasingly sweaty hand, “that actually wasn’t so bad.” Now that Baekhyun has moved to stand directly behind your head, you stare straight up at him and muster your best smile. Really— it was not as bad as you imagined, felt just like regular blood work. As long as you don’t focus too much on it remaining in your arm, you’ll be fine.

“See! I knew you could do it,” he cheers, letting go of your free hand in favor of combing his fingers through your hair. “Ooh,” you quite literally purr, leaning your head back to give him further access, “so, Mr. This-Is-My-Job, is this how you distract donors?” Chuckling, Baekhyun continues to comb through the knots that have accumulated throughout the day. “No,” he admits, “I usually just talk to them about what they did over the weekend. You’re an exception, though.”

Christ, you hope he can’t feel the way your face heats up at his words. “Ah, well, this is great. Thanks, Baek,” humming, you cannot help but let your eyelids fall closed. Peak comfort when you're donating blood? Not what you would have expected.

“So, what did you do this weekend?”

“Well, I went to Target, which was kind of disappointing.”

“Oh, yeah! Didn’t I see on your story that you only got one pair of pants or something?”

“Yeah! Crazy, honestly. I needed to pick up some things and they were completely out. Even their clothes were kind of slacking.” Before he can reply, Seoyeon returns to check up on you. Gasping in surprise, she gives your shoulder a congratulatory nudge. “___! Look at you! You’ve already filled up a fourth of the bag.”

“Oh shit, really?” Laughing, you try to lean up in order to see, but there’s no use. “Have you been drinking a lot of water today?” She asks. Well, now that you think about it… “Huh. I guess I have. Nice.” Chuckling, she fiddles with the tape holding the needle in place before turning away once more.

“So,” Baekhyun starts conversation up once more, “did you do anything else?”

“I hung out with Junmyeon on Sunday again.” Suddenly, you wish you didn’t tell him that.

“Oh,” Baekhyun coughs, accidentally yanking too hard on the tiny braid he’s attempted by your temple, “how was that?”

“It was fun. He’s a great guy…” Clearly, you are hesitant and he easily catches it. “But…?”

“I don’t know,” he’s not you, “I feel really immature and lame compared to him. He’s like, super chill and polite and somehow, it makes me nervous and then I act like I’m on crack. He needs someone older than him, not younger. A lawyer, or something.”

“___, you’re getting a degree in Neuroscience. What the fuck is lame about that?” Baekhyun scoffs, undoing the braid and starting over on the other side. “I don’t know! I guess I just don’t have romantic feelings for him. Everyone keeps pushing me to go for it and he really is amazing, but… it’s just not what I want.”

“No one’s forcing you to date him, ___.”

Well, yeah, but he doesn’t know the bit where your friends are doing it so you can get over a certain someone else. “I know. I think he’ll be fine when I tell him I just want to be friends.”

When a heavy silence falls over you, you rush to change the topic. “So! What did you do this weekend?”

“I played New Horizons,” Baekhyun chuckles, giving up on the braid and going back to simply combing through your hair. When you laugh, you feel the vibration in your arm and realize with another wave of surprise that you still have a needle in you. Damn, looks like you’re a pro at this. Who knew!

“All weekend?” You snort. He definitely went out for drinks with Chanyeol or something.

“Yes, sadly,” oh, never mind, “I couldn’t help it. It’s so relaxing. I can’t wait to go home and play.” He sounds ashamed. “Hey,” you shrug, “sometimes we need a mental health day. Or weekend.”

“Or week.”

“Month?”

“Year, I’m thinking.”

In the midst of your giggle fit, Seoyeon returns, evidently shutting the two of you up. “You’re all done! I just have to take a few tubes and then I’ll tell you when I’m going to take the needle out.”

“Wow, was it just me or did that seem really quick?” Baekhyun asks, frantically moving to hold your hand when he notices you wince at the uncomfortable feel of the needle moving slightly as Seoyeon fills each tube. “No, you’re right,” she hums, “six minutes! Wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Not at all,” you agree, blinking up at the ceiling. Still, you can’t wait to be done. “You sure? Your hand is shaking really bad,” Baekhyun murmurs,  hovering directly above your face. He looks funny, messy hair cascading around him and cheeks looking extra squishy. It makes you smile. “Yeah, just nervous for it to come out, actually. Feel like it’s gonna hurt,” you admit, accidentally squeezing his hand when all Seoyeon does is remove the tape on your wrist keeping the line in place.

“Alright, you ready? It’s just going to a be a little pinch,” Seoyeon interrupts, giving your fingertips a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah,” you hum, instinctively sucking in a deep breath and squeezing your eyes shut.

The sensation that first registers in your brain is not that of Seoyeon slowly withdrawing the needle from beneath your skin. Actually, it’s unnoticeable behind the gentle pressure lingering upon your lips, soft to touch and minty in taste. Blistex, you recognize, eyes flying open just in time to see Baekhyun leaning back up. “Did you just—”

“Alright, keep pressure on this for me and keep your arm straight up,” Seoyeon interjects, oblivious to what just transpired as she presses a hefty square of gauze to your skin. You oblige, brain cells going haywire still trying to piece together the fact that Byun Baekhyun just kissed you.

“Do you do that to everyone?” Is the first thing you blurt to the grinning boy, who, surprisingly so, wears cheeks just as rosy as yours. “No,” he laughs, moving to the side and continuing to stroke you hand, “just donors named ___.”

“Oh,” wrinkling your nose, you slowly lean upright once Seoyeon instructs you to do so, “can I ask why or am I just special?” When she busies herself for few moments cleaning up all of the equipment, Baekhyun releases your hand in order to cup your face with both hands. “Well, of course you’re special,” he murmurs, thumbs swiping against your jaw, “but I figured this was a good opportunity to show you how much I like you.”

It takes a fat second for you to realize what he’s just said. Like you?

“I’m gonna kill him,” you groan, definitely not the response he was expecting if the way he retracts is anything to go by. “Kill who?”

“Chanyeol! Like, a year ago he went all detective mode on me trying to figure out if you liked me, but then he never said anything again, so for the past year I’ve been going nuts trying not to fall for you because I figured if he had nothing to say, you probably didn’t like me like that, yet here we are a year later and—”

In the midst of your mindless babbling, Seoyeon coughs, promptly shutting you up and you turn to her with a wince. “I just need to wrap you up, then you can head over to Recovery,” her attempt to hide her smile is futile but you don’t comment on it, instead allowing her to wrap elastic tape around your elbow. “Leave this on for about an hour, or you can take it off after twenty minutes. Other than that, you’re good to go!”

“Thanks so much, Seoyeon,” smiling appreciatively at her, you slowly turn to slide off the table with the help of her grip on your other arm. Before you are even fully upright, Baekhyun has rounded the table to help, slipping his arm between yours. Honestly, you feel perfectly fine, but you’re not about to go arguing right now. Once he starts leading the two of you toward Recovery, he breaks the silence once more. “So, were you finished back there, or can I talk?”

Cringing, you shake your head, avoiding looking him in the eyes. “No, I’m done.”

“Good,” at this, you pinch his arm, “Chanyeol didn’t say anything because I told him not to.” Baekhyun shushes you when your mouth opens to argue. “I thought I would make a move a lot sooner. But every time I went to, I just started panicking thinking you didn’t feel the same, because, y’know, you don’t show much emotion. And then you started hanging out with Junmyeon… but that doesn’t seem to be working out, so I decided to wing it.”

Your jaw certainly must be on the floor. Stopping by the snacks, Baekhyun releases your arm so you can fill your hands with a donut, apple juice, and a bag of Cheez-Its. “Glad to see we’re both airheads,” you grumble with a mouthful of donut, “I say we blame Chanyeol.” Making sure you safely seat yourself onto the mats spread around the room, Baekhyun then joins and sits crisscross across from you. “I agree. It’s his fault.”

Then, once you have stopped laughing, Baekhyun leans in close, face centimeters from yours and evidently stealing all the air from your lungs. God, he sure is beautiful. “This means you’ll go out with me, right?” He whispers, wiping away a sprinkle that has managed to stick itself to the corner of your lips.

“I thought you were going to play New Horizons when you got home?” You tease, raising one arm to sling across his shoulders. Groaning, he finally cups your face in his hands, strawberry pink lips ever so slightly brushing yours as his smirk deepens. “I am, but you can come watch.”

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: playing pretend 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: minagi tsuzuru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.5k words, 1 image

𝐚𝐧: tysm~ Everyday, my love for this boi increases. Also here’s the thing, I’m a hoe for fake dating. Listen, I can and would write so many fake-dating fics. Watch me apply every trope here lol. enoUGH ABOUT THAT, enjoy :>

He watched you stride over to him, quickly setting your bag down the empty space beside him. Before he could greet you, you slapped what looked to be a flyer in front of him. He was no Kazunari, but the tackiness of the hot pink mixed with crimson made his eyes burn.

“Hn? Did you design this or something?” He asked, turning away from the paper to look at you.

“Tsuzuru!” Watching you pout reminded him a little bit of his younger brothers when they wanted something from him, maybe that was why the brunet couldn’t help but tease you a little bit.

He’s known you for almost two years now, so he can already guess what you’re gonna ask of him. Nevertheless, he patiently waits for you to sit down and begin your business pitch.

“So you remember the cute but affordable cafe we went to two weeks ago right?” When Tsuzuru nods you scoff at yourself, “duh, you’re sleep-deprived not suffering from memory loss. Anyway,”

Tsuzuru intercepts you with a quip of his own, “takes one to know one, right? Who’s the one messaged me at 3 am?”

“It was important!”

“You sent me a TikTok asking if I was a toaster,” he watched the corners of your lips stretch upwards, “because you wanted to take a bath with me… you need help.”

You could only nudge him in retaliation. “It was a 3 am mood, okay? I was going to go to sleep already when I realised I forgot the assigned readings and I went all what the fuck.”

“Good grief… Seriously,” Tsuzuru laughed, shaking his head as he read the flyer more carefully this time, “2 for the price of 1 drink of your choice?”

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, “so the fine print does say it has to either be hot chocolate or milk tea, but like, still!”

“I have a shift 6 pm onwards, but,” well, not spending at all would be optimal, but exams finished two days ago and neither of you had the chance to reward yourselves for the hard work, “as long as we don’t stay that long.”

You giggled, trying to suppress your volume as the door burst open with the professor in tow, “you really are the toaster to my bathtub, the left AirPod to my right Air-“

“I’m regretting everything,” he groaned, “not that I mind getting discounts, but will you ever take someone else?”

“Listen, my fellow stingy boi,” with the most serious tone you could muster, you put your hands over his, “for as long as you don’t start dating, I will exploit you in all my schemes.”

As soon as 4 pm rolled in the two of you were out of the campus. It wasn’t the first time you dragged him into similar endeavours, neither did he have the heart to stop going along with you nor stop you.

Every now and then there would be a special offer or discount for couples, and Tsuzuru was your poor victim. It wasn’t bad, though. The two of you valued affordability and formed some kind of partnership in finding and sharing good deals on all sorts of products.

If that included coincidentally wearing the same outfit colour scheme and walking closer to each other, it wasn’t either of your faults if people assumed you were dating. At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself. If somehow his acting skills and your determination don’t win in the end, he’ll just chide you for bringing him into this and run.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones with the same idea,” you said, the both of you looking at the line just starting to form outside the establishment, “should we get the drinks to go? It’ll be less hassle than trying to get a seat inside.”

Tsuzuru nods, letting you hold onto his arm while falling in line for a special booth specifically for take-outs.

An unfamiliar voice, to Tsuzuru that is, calls out your name; the both of you find the couple directly in front you turned around to face you. When you grip his arm a little tighter, he knows something’s up. For a moment, you stiffen slightly at the sight of your high school ex-boyfriend and the girl beside him who was smiling as awkwardly as you felt. Quickly fixing yourself, you set a grin on your face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” You replied, stepping a little closer to the boy beside you.

Subconsciously you wrap an arm around Tsuzuru’s waist, and if he’s uncomfortable by that he doesn’t show it. As expected of your favourite actor!

“It really has! You getting the promo too?” With a wide grin, he put his arm around who you presumed to be his girlfriend, “she’s been craving milk tea, so we decided to get some ♡~” Oh? He wants to out-sweet you? Doesn’t matter if it’s intentional or not, he’s gonna get it. You can be petty too!

You pressed the side of your face against Tsuzuru’s shoulder, leaving just enough room for you to be able to reply back.

“Same here~ Tsuzu-kun and I really love the stuff here ♡ we can’t get enough of the flavours- oh, looks like it’s your turn to order?” Gesturing at the front of the booth where the cashier stared at the pair, the female proceeded to order while the guy kept talking. Inwardly, you wished you could tell him to shut the hell up. Was he always this talkative in the past?

“Well, it’s been fun catching up!” Catching up, he says? What the fuck did you guys catch up on? The fact that both of you had dates? Well, not exactly on your case, but he didn’t know that, “I hope you guys enjoy your date ♡!”

Before you could think of the most sickeningly sweet way to phrase a you too, Tsuzuru breaks his silence, “we already are enjoying, thank you.”

Your ex looks slightly shocked, before turning around. Holy shit, your brain.exe isn’t responding, do you close the program or wait for it to respond? Totally forgot that not only was Tsuzuru an actor, but a playwright as well. Of course he’d be good with dialogue.

You weren’t really expecting Tsuzuru to respond. Usually it was you who did the talking, you took responsibility for dragging him along all the time so might as well play the role of the sweet s/o, right?

Still, just one line from him was a pleasant surprise. And to your ex nonetheless!

When it’s your turn to order you quickly slam the payment on the counter, startling both the poor cashier and Tsuzuru. Before he could protest, you wink at him, “let me treat you for your hard work today!”

As the two of you left, your hand hung lightly on his arm, you swore you could feel eyes digging into your skull. You spun around, causing the man beside you to stop his tracks as well, but from what you could tell you didn’t recognise anyone.

“You alright?” Tsuzuru asks, sounding slightly concerned at your sudden action. You looked back to face him, before nodding to reassure him.

“Yep! Let’s go find somewhere to sit before you go to work. We still have some time to hang out.”

Neither of you noticed the two people staring at you from inside the cafe.

“Oi oi, ain’t that Tsuzuru?”

“Haa… looks like we’ve seen something we shouldn’t have?”

Finally sat at a park bench, you found yourself a little bit more conscious of how touchy you were being a while ago. Sure, holding onto his arm here and there when people could see was fine, but if he wasn’t okay with it you had to apologise.

“Sorry, was I too much a while ago?” He sipped onto his drink for a moment, before shaking his head. He looked slightly exasperated, but it didn’t seem to be directed at you.

“Was that your ex? He was kind of annoying.” You chuckled.

“Yeah, but like way back in high school so I’m not pressed or anything. Broke up through text, had the audacity to use text abbreviations plus send a heart emote with his message. Character limit, I guess.”

Tsuzuru’s expression twisted, and you couldn’t tell if what he felt was wry amusement or disgust. Both, perhaps? “That ain’t it, chief. He’s either an insensitive jerk or an, uh… insensitive eccentric… you’re really okay?”

Rolling your eyes, you brought back your hand to his arm to squeeze it to put him at ease. “Obviously! Tsuzuru, you and me, we make a great pair! Plus, your ad-lib totally shook him! Simple but effective, it was a nice touch.”

Just as Tsuzuru was getting used to the added weight on his arm, the pressure lightened up once again. You one-sidedly clink your cups together before you resumed drinking the beverage, “we should do this again sometime.”

Which part?

The two of you always went out to redeem promos and discounts anyway, that much was a given, so did you mean something else?

“Yeah, we should.”

He did not expect to be confronted within a minute of coming back to the dorm. Itaru, Kazunari, Banri, Omi, and Tsumugi all simultaneously looked at him upon his entrance in the living room.

“Good evening?” He greeted them, albeit a little awkwardly. Is he missing out on something? Were they playing some kind of mind fuck prank or psychology game?

“We were just talking about you,” Tsumugi started before quickly retracting his statement, “ah, wait, that sounded kind of weird right? What we’re trying to say is-”

“Tsuzuroon, I totes get why you never wanna go to mixers!” Kazunari interrupted, adding onto Tsuzuru’s confusion.

“Didn’t know you had it in ya,” Banri continues, “when we saw ya outside the cafe a while ago-“

Oh, ohhhhh. That’s what they meant?

For a moment, he feels a smidge of relief from figuring out what he was missing out on, until his stomach plummeted once more. Oh, fuck, that meant at least Banri and some other guy saw him, with you. With your hand dangling on his arm, your arm around his waist, your face pressed up against his shoulder-

He can feel his face start to heat up, though he’s not sure if it’s more getting caught or more recollecting what happened a while ago.

“Can’t believe you’re dating someone now, GJ.” Itaru says with his shit-eating grin, before looking back down towards his phone.

He should really be clearing up the misunderstanding. It was simple- the two of you were just friends, you went together to redeem a promo, that was it.

“Hey, that’s not-“

“Is it someone from Yosei?” Omi interjects, looking a little bit thoughtful as he tried guessing who it could be, “Hmm… the one you’re with a lot, right? What was their name again?”

He prays to the first deity he could think of, which was for naught because Tsuzuru’s ears perk up as soon as the photographer says your first name. At a loss for words for how fast your identity was revealed, Omi’s chuckles get echoed by the other boys.

He didn’t get to deny it. He wouldn’t be surprised if by tomorrow morning, everyone thought the two of you were a thing.

Tsuzuru thinks this should be more of a pain to him, but he can’t will it in himself to be bothered by the assumption they have on his relationship. If for a little while he could avoid Kazunari wanting to bring him to mixers, he could consider this an advantage.

…

When your phone alarm rings you jolt up from your bed, panicking slightly until you realise that you didn’t have class today. Lazily stretching to grab your phone, you notice a text from Tsuzuru.

“Pfft, can’t believe I influenced him this much, lol.” You muttered, setting down your phone to make breakfast.

It’s not until you enter the kitchen that you realise you were smiling the whole time.

Other than a few knowing looks from Omi and a curious gaze here and there from the purple-haired one (you’ve come to learn his name was Juza), nothing really changed between the two of you.

Until Tsuzuru gets hit by the familiar sight of you rushing towards the table he was situated at. Your eyes weren’t brimming with excitement, no visible smile, so he braced himself for what you had to tell him.

“I need a favour. You can refuse if you want, but you’d actually be saving my life so hear me out please,” as if to put further emphasis on your current predicament you placed your hands atop of his.

“Go on,” he urged you.

“Not to be a fanfiction trope, but I need you to be my date at my old homeroom teacher’s wedding,” you groaned, “that my ex is also attending.”

Tsuzuru didn’t know if he should comfort you or laugh at the situation, “and you need me to go because-“

“Because,” you interjected, “that dumbass asked the group chat if he could bring a date, then encouraged me to bring my date too. Then my competitive dumbass was all like, yeah we’ll see you there!”

You hid your face with your arms, resting your head on the table. “Tsuzuruuuu, I messed up huhu. I only wanted to go for the reception, what am I doing with my life, I didn’t even like that teacher so why did I accept?” you whined.

Fake dating to redeem promos was one thing, pretending to be a couple in front of your old classmates is another thing, pretending to be a couple while attending a wedding is another spectrum of things.

“When is it?” You raised your head to respond.

“Next Sunday, 10 am. Reception at noon, probably.”

He’s not too sure why he keeps going along with your whims. It could be because you’re a dear friend to him, or he doesn’t mind all that much whenever you’d drag him along to fake-date to get sweet deals hang-out, but he can’t deny that being with you is a nice feeling lowers his stress levels.

“I’ll be your date,” Your eyes immediately snap up to meet his, still traces of hesitance on your face.

“I could totally just make up an excuse on why you or both of us can’t go, are you sure?”

Nodding his head, Tsuzuru was soothed by your usual, bright smile- spectacular to the point that it made him think of the rainbows that came after spring showers. He felt the corners of his lips being tugged upwards; before he could calm himself you wrapped your arms around him, a spontaneous and affectionate embrace.

“Thank you, thank you! Gosh, I love you!” You squealed, and his plan to calm himself down failed ultimately. He was glad your face was buried against his chest right now, at least you wouldn’t be able to see the rising flush on his face; then again, you probably could detect how his heart writhed and thumped.

“What colour are you wearing?” He finally asked, refusing to acknowledge the slight displeasure as you let him escape your caged arms.

“Green or teal, maybe.”

“We’re in your room exactly why again?” You propped your hands on your hips, giving him a look that said really, now.

“We need to practice touching each- okay, wait let me rephrase, ugh…” trailing off, you sat yourself down on your bed as you covering your face with a pillow, your voice coming out muffled, “casual touching.”

“Don’t we already touch each other?” Lowering your pillow to peek at Tsuzuru, he turned away from you in apparent embarrassment, “you know what I mean!”

Tension was building up in the room, much to your chagrin. Tsuzuru had a point. Even though you initiated affection pretty much all the time, the two of you already had a bunch of pre-planned poses to convince people that you were dating.

“I guess I just wanted to do more…” it was hard for you to admit that to yourself, much more out loud, but it was the truth. You didn’t have any grounds to ask more of him, but selfishly you wanted him to reciprocate your affection.

You could swear up and down that it was just you craving affection, but the truth of the matter was that it was his affection you wanted-  you craved being physically and emotionally close to him.

The line you drew was getting blurry. You didn’t want to ruin anything.

The weight on the bed shifted.

“Hey,” Tsuzuru looped an arm around your waist, gently petting the top of your head, “don’t overthink this. Just be natural, whatever you do I’ll go along with and vice versa. This is just the same as all the other times.”

It didn’t feel like it.

“Thank you,” you replied, releasing the pillow from your death grip and lightly hugging it instead, “I was overthinking it. Can you stay for a while, or do you have to go? I feel like watching Whisper of the Heart.”

Tsuzuru scoffed lightly, “We watched that last time. Laputa: Castle in the Sky or nothing.”

With a laugh you shoved your pillow at Tsuzuru, standing up from the bed. “I’ll get some snacks, brb.”

As soon as you exited the room Tsuzuru buried his face against the fluffy cushion, letting out a noise between ardour and agony. This was just method acting, they’ve done this before. No need to get all worked up about it.

As luck would have it, you and Tsuzuru immediately ran into a bunch of your old classmates.

“Ne? Is this your boyfriend?” One of the girls asked, giving him a quick glance, “your outfit matches his eyes! Love it~”

Tsuzuru coughed lightly.

“Shh, I was waiting for him to notice!” You giggled, looking into Tsuzuru’s eyes before looking away within a few seconds, “his eyes are really beautiful, I doubt I could ever do them justice.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Tsuzuru swoops in, curling an arm around your waist, “you look really lovely today.”

“Tsuzuru,” you murmured, heart hammering a little faster, wondering if he was being as truthful as you were.

In the eyes of the girls in front of you, they were looking at two bashful lovers, and they were eating it all up.

“Wah! I wish I could get a boyfriend as sweet as him!” With a pout, you situated yourself to stand a little closer to your date.

“Well don’t get any ideas, he’s mine~” you teased them, laughing along with the rest of the group.

…

When the vows of the couple began, you found yourself sniffling.

“I thought you didn’t like that teacher,” Tsuzuru whispered jokingly, but he reached out to hold your hand for comfort, brushing his thumb against your knuckles.

You ignored him, actively listening to the bride’s speech.

“Falling in love with you was like entering a house and finally realising I'm home. When you smile at me, I feel the glow of the sun against my skin. When your eyes are locked on mine, it's like I can see countless of stars instead of just pupils. Having you in my life makes me feel like everything's possible in this world, we simply work together. With you, I’ve discovered so many things, things I’ve come to treasure, but the best discovery of all was love.”

Eyes stuck on the scene in front of you, you failed to notice the look of longing from the man beside you. It was as if the words uttered all applied to you, and yet somehow the words he could write about you wouldn’t be enough to express what he felt.

He settles on retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbing it around your eyes.

…

The whole reception was a bliss that came and went too fast for your liking. There was the plus that your ex miraculously couldn’t attend the reception, as well as the chef’s kiss worthy buffet, but you owed it all to Tsuzuru.

It was the same feeling for Tsuzuru, who didn’t feel awkward or out of place the whole time with you by his side. He kept looking forward to the next thing you would do, regardless if people were even watching the two of you or not.

When you let him feed you a slice of cake.

When he used his thumb to wipe off the crumbs near your lips.

When you rest your head against his shoulder.

When he cheered for you even with an unsuccessful bouquet toss.

Nothing felt faked today.

After saying your goodbyes to everyone, the two of you headed home hand-in-hand in silence. Every time you took a glance at the man beside you, so much feelings burst from within, but words themselves could not escape.

Stopping outside your apartment, you let go of one hand.

“Thank you for today,” you whisper, cupping his face to kiss him right where the corner of his lips ended, barely missing them. Tuning out every noise but yourselves, you heard his breath hitch.

“Are… are we still pretending?” Tsuzuru waited with bated breath for your response.

Mustering up all your courage, you shake your head. “I’m not. Are you?”

Squeezing your hand, he pressed his forehead against yours, “I’m not either,” he said quietly, before softly pressing his lips against yours.

want to order again?

[kkulmoon]

SUGAR & SALT | The First Snow Has Melted (2)

pairing(s): rich boy!kim taehyung x baker!reader (f) + park jimin x named OC & kim seokjin x named OC

genre:  angst (?), slice of life, romance, smut (later chapters), slow burn, fluff (occasional), s2l, e2l, countryside-ish au

word count: 6.7k

rating: pg

a/n: i took way too long to update this 🤡(it won’t happen again 🥺) and i am doing so with such a shitty chapter lol but hey at least I managed to finish it. also thank you to my lovely beta reader for giving me much needed advice about where i should go with this, @scvkjin​, angie you’re truly an angel 💕😭

warnings: some swearing

synopsis: You’re a small town baker, whose business is on the line following questionable decisions made by your town’s political board. You decide to take action in order to salvage your reputation as the town’s favourite baker. 

What you didn’t expect was to fight for your precious secular life that keeps being invaded by the best friend of the owner of your rivalling bakery, Taehyung. He also happens to be the one in charge of your lack sugar, due to a minor (depending on the point of view) mistake, though he’s known as quite the conscientious count.

You’re a baker.

A bad one, it seems. Even with Taehyung, Jimin, Seokjin and Ada, the finest products and tools at your disposal, you seem to cook up a disappointing dish. So whose fault is it really?

☁︎ previous chapter ☁︎

The journey back is just as agonising if not more. You keep your eyes closed in hopes of catching some sleep but all in vain.

Thump! Taehyung's legs are about to drive you insane. You move your jacket's hoodie to cover your ears, hoping he gets the memo. He keeps going. It is really annoying but you don’t you feel like telling him to stop and possibly make him more anxious than he already was, so you hold out. A few minutes pass by and he seems to calm himself, so you decide to take down your hood. To your right Ada's head lays on Jimin shoulders as their chest oscillate, up and down, at a steady rhythm.

You're brought back to your high school days, when the two fell in love for the first time. Jimin was your go-to friend, who also happened to be your only friend. Ada was, and still is, a hopeful admirer in disguise. It's actually quite hard for you to comprehend how two people can be so obvious about their feelings while simultaneously being negligent about the subject of their affection.

You shake your head. You've reached the threshold for your daily analysis of your best friends' relationship. You shift in your seat and dangle your feet. The boredom is crippling and the humid air in the bus is making your hair frizzy.

"Arghhhhhh!"

Itching for some action , you turn to your right and say, "What's the matter?"

"Is everyone in Warringham like you?" Taehyung wonders. He stares straight at you making you tilt your head back to the left.

While you're glad at the increase in activity, you aren't sure that being indirectly insulted is the type of action you are currently looking for. But there's nothing better for you to do. Indulging in some self deprecation wouldn't be too bad given your recent behaviour.

"If you're referring to being hostile, then not so much," you say, thinking about the new bakery that recently open across from yours, "but they are weary, change isn't really an appreciated thing."

"So they don't like outsiders?" he pushes.

"No and yes. Outsiders that are trying to change things, that's what they don't appreciate."

Taehyung drags his hand down his face. "Goodness gracious, I guess I will have to deal with the backlash at some point."

You could have told Taehyung that backlash in Warringham is more like rage. However you don't feel like that is your responsibility, so you hold your mouth shut. You're sure Jimin would have his back. Brotherly love or whatnot.

"By the way, why are you asking me this," you add, "don't you already live in Warringham?"

"Well yeah, technically, but it hasn't been that long. I had only been there for about two weeks before I followed Jimin here. I didn't have much to do so I stayed in for the most part."

You truly want to scoff at Taehyung's reply but you think of one word: Jimin. People truly do live different lives. You wish you had the privilege of  staying at home. You wish your mom and your brother had the privilege of staying at home. Maybe things would have turned out different for you. Maybe you would have been different and befriending Taehyung wouldn't feel like combing your hair while it's dry, meaning impossible.

"Why did you move to Warringham anyways?"

You raise your eyebrows while bracing yourself. This should be a good one.

"I needed some change. I got bored of the city, as one does, and a friend needed some help," he says matter of factly.

"Ahhh, exactly as one does." You nod as the sides of your lips drag down.

To feign familiarity with such a concept is all you can do at the moment. Your lives and reasoning are being revealed to be so diametrically opposed, you doubt that your individual bonds to Jimin would be enough to allow the two of you to connect.

You try to find a way to end the conversation. Talking to Taehyung only seems to involve judgement one way or the another. Taehyung's body shifts towards you. You guess he's in a talkative mood, now that he has calmed down. But you are not, at least not anymore.

So you pull your hood up back onto your head. For the first time since you bought the jacket, you're happy it's too big for you. That way you get to avoid glancing or being glanced at by unwanted subjects. The rest of the ride back is silent, just as before. Lucky for you it's nothing unusual, just how you like it.

Quick and heavy steps sound against the gravel in front of your porch. You would already be on your bed hugging your phone by now had it not been for you having to drag both yours and Ada's suitcases into the house.

Apparently her and Jimin needed some privacy. For what? You really don't know, what else would they need to talk about? They have been attached at their hips for the past two weeks one could almost think that she went on vacation with him and not you. In fact, that’s probably what people thought. You remember catching elderly couples and young parents glancing cutely at the pair. 

She had said, and you remember it clearly: 'This will be a time for me and you to simply relax and have fun together. Make some new golden memories in a shitty place’.

Lies, lies, lies.

You remind yourself to not easily cave in next time she suggests you do a common activity. That isn't even the worst part. You were made to leave your beloved work phone. It’s not that you didn’t believe in your staff, but the bakery is the only thing you’re remotely passionate about. Your life revolves around it, leaving it behind even for just two weeks, was a harder task that you thought it would be.

You huff as you use the little of your remaining force to lift Ada's suitcase up the few stairs on your porch. For someone who seemed to have worn pretty much the same clothes during your stay at Punniton her bag sure was heavy. Or it must probably be all the baggage she carries from her failed romantic endeavours. Yes, you just said that, because once again, yes you're that type of friend. Loving, supporting but judgemental and blunt nonetheless.

You strut all the way to your room while the odd bone crack disturbs you. For all the money you paid for your stay at Punniton you sure as hell deserved better beds. Bed with wire lattices? Come on, it's not like we were going to boarding school.

You may need to leave a bad yelp review. It was your seventh year there after all, you're bound to feel entitled to some things at some point. Anyways, it's not like yelp reviews really count to anyone outside of the city, so you'll simply just write one to satisfy your own petty behaviour. 

You walk to the end of your room to open the window. The air is stale and mixed with another scent that you can't quite catch. You turn to face your bedside table. HA! On it there is a moldy orange. The orange you should have taken taken with you for the train ride to Punniton.

With a pair of scissors at your disposal you poke into the orange. Something you soon realise you shouldn't have done now that there's a small puddle of orange juice on your table. You hurry into the kitchen to throw it away. While you're at it you glance outside through the kitchen window. What are they talking about?

Ada's head turns towards you and you duck as fast as you can. You creepily lift your head back up to find that they are kissing. The creases that form on your forehead would be able to be seen  from miles away. You're also sure that someone could inspect the back of your throat right now from how wide your mouth is open. It has been two weeks, and they are already locking lips!?

Huh, you guess it must be easy to get over a couple years of emotional trauma if you're really in love with one another. You spend some more time analysing their kiss. Was is a 'I'll see you soon 'kind of kiss, or the 'I love you but i can't tell you' kind of kiss, or the 'I have been wanting to kiss you for the last 2 weeks' kind of kiss. 

For someone who claims to be trying their best to live their best life, you really are concerned with other people's problems. But how couldn't you? If you're thinking logically, which you always are, hurt Ada equals you having to mend her wounds. On top of that you would also have to deal with another strain to yours and Jimin's friendship.

So yes, them trying to get together again is just as much their business as it's yours. If things go wrong you'll be the one standing between the crossfire and while the last one was quite mild, you believe years of pent up frustration will blow up this time.

As much as you would like to keep watching them go at it, it feels too  private and you're not a creep so you look away and walk back to your room. You reach for your bedside table's drawer to get a hold of your phone so you can turn it on.

There's two possible scenarios. First one, no one messaged you, in which case everything is under control. Or, no one messaged you because they either forgot or deemed whatever happened to be too serious to say over text.

The moment you type in your code while your phone tries its best to recognise the house's wifi, you're so startled you automatically get up from your bed.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Okay, so you obviously got messages and now you are scared. You navigate your way to your messages. Eight missed messages from Joe, one of your staff.

December 17th

[09:10] (Joe) Hello Y/N. So we have a problem...

[10:05] (Joe) Hello? Are you there?

[10:15] (Joe) I don't know if you're getting these messages but I'll go ahead and explain the situation.

[10:18] (Joe) So we just got an email from the municipality saying that there was an inconvenience with one of the  papers you sent in for the bakery's inventory.

[10.20] (Joe) They have got everything else ordered and it should arrive on time. However, the paper for the sugar order can't be found anywhere.

December 18th

[10.35] (Joe) You haven't answered and nobody knows where you went for vacation. The only person who would know also most likely happens to be with you.

[10.38] (Joe) Since it is a time of crisis I went over your log for the bakery's inventory and rewrote a sugar order based on your notes. So I have now gone to the municipality and deposited the order papers.

December 20th

[08.20] (Joe) So the municipality just got back to us. They have said that the order is now registered however there will be a month long delay before it arrives given the fact that it was ordered during a vacation and other businesses most likely are before us in the deliveries.

This. This is why caring for things is something you try to avoid. You could do everything right from your end and yet there's no guarantee that you would at least get rewarded for that. In fact, worst case scenario you could even end up being wrongly penalised for it. That's where you are currently standing and you feel awful and betrayed. Which is a funny thing since this wasn't even done by someone you actually knew. The downside to taking things and caring for them...

Your body stays in a paralysed state as you try to rack your brain for any possible solution to the situation. The only thing you can come up with is complaining. Your staff had already done their best to lessen the damages. Now all you need is someone to dump your frustrations on so that you can feel somewhat productive and needed.

Also being head chef means showcasing the type of qualities that a leader should have so you need to come up with something to do in order to make sure that your employees don't think any less of you. Going to the municipality's building seems like the best option.

It would allow your subordinates to see your dedication to work but also allow you to complain to your heart's content. This means feeding other's expectations of you all while feeding your own ego. Two birds, one stone.

You're in the middle of typing away furiously, when Ada steps into your room, leaning against the door frame.

"By the way I thought about keeping this to myself at first but then I thought, you know what I should treat my friends the way I want them to treat me so here we go...", she starts.

"I'vechosentopursuethisthingthat'sgoingonbetweenmeandJimin,"she blurts it out and still you manage to catch everything.

That's how focused your mind was even if you are busy typing back a response to Joe, it's still on high alert.

"Uh, hellooo? Did you hear what I just said"

“Ahh uhh, got it. Capiche. Good luck”

"That's all?"

"I mean can I talk you out of it and bring up past sad memories?"

" Well, no... I would rather you not"

"Then i repeat, good luck," you take a break from your phone screen to look at her, "I really hope it works out for you this time around. They say third time's a charm, right?"

"Yeah they do....hopefully it's true for us"

It's quite rare for someone as cold as Ada to openly share her doubts when it comes to private matters. You have had to battle her in the past to get her to tell you what exactly happened between her and Jimin. You get up and walk up to her. Black hair strands tickle your shoulder before you can engulf her entire body in a big comforting hug.

"I'm just really scared."

"Take it as a good sign. You like him. At least you know you're not only halfway into it like the time you tried to date Louis just to make Jimin jealous."

You try your best to sound comforting and play the best friend part. It crossed your mind to be more harsh with her about her decision, but you decided against it. Just because you may personally have a hard time dealing with romantic matters doesn't mean you need to project that onto her.

She is going through a rough patch as it is. You make a mental note to message Jimin about the matter. Ada may not want you to talk about it with him, but still you will, not as Ada's best friend but as his.

Ada steps back from the hug and blinks hastily. "Anyways, why did you look so irritated?”

"There's some problem with the bakery's inventory so I need to go the municipality to complain," you explain.

"Just to complain?"

"I mean yeah, but also deal with the logistics of it all you know," you cough out the answer.

"Uh huh, I see. Just don't cause too much trouble or make a scene. I don't want to have to defend you in court knowing you're in the wrong."

"Yes Ma'm. I'll try," you retort mumbling the last statement.

"Alright, then we're all good. Also I ordered pizza it should be here in 20 so you can come out then."

You vigorously nod your head.

Nice fit. Head full of a mix of good arguments and well camouflaged arguments made to sound good when truthfully they are quite groundless. Throat cleared. Chin up. Power pose on. You felt like you could rule the world. Well, maybe the world is too much of an ambitious thought. You want to feel powerful but remain humble, so let's settle for Warringham. Yes, you feel like you could rule Warringham. Anyways, that not really the point. The point is:

You are ready to make a scene.

This better work. You did not get dolled up and decide to swap your sneakers for some heeled boots in order to be ignored and left high and dry. For once, you hoped that you could use humans' blatant incline for vanity and love of beautiful looking to your disposal. Your contouring better make sure you can make up for the mess that the municipality created.

You strut as gracefully as possible. The automatic doors slide open in front of you and you panic slightly at the sudden gush of air that hits your face. Your hairstyle better not get ruined. The reception is overseen by some poor intern that's looking to curb her boredom by playing with her nails or trying to figure out the different ways she could scratch her different body parts without people taking notice.

You can't help but feel like a blessing. You are about to liven up this kid's work place. The kid had exactly thirty-five seconds left of boredom. That's how long you think it will take to walk to the reception desk in the most gracious yet intimidating manner possible. The countdown starts as you take your first step.

K'duh. K'duh. K'duh. K'duh. K'duh.

You arrive at the desk, feeling even more excited. The intern's eyes are still wandering around. Yes, you feel like a superhero that could defeat all of the world's injustices but you are pretty sure invisibility isn't one of your strengths. You clear your throat.

The intern lifts her blue eyes to look at me. Eyeballs bulging out of their skull. What a way to feign interest.

"How could I help you ma'am?"

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit sorry to have to put the intern through a scene. She probably didn't know how to deal with such situations. Or, you could just be getting cold feet. Things always sound better in theory, in your head, where they should be left.

"Uhm, yes...," you shuffle through your handbag to find your documents.

Actually, Ada's handbag. What?! You needed to match with your dolled up cover. Once you find them, you squint your eyes in hopes of catching the name on the name plate attached to her blazer.

"Yes, Vera. I'm looking to talk with the person in charge of the economics department here. Or maybe just management"

You were thinking about what sort scene to pull. On a scale from Becky to Susan how petty did you really feel being.

"I'm sorry but the concerned person is currently not in right now."

You take a long look at Vera. Is she really going to pull that move on you just because she is too lazy to go look for the person?

"Can you then check if there's someone else I could talk to?" you sneer.

"Well I would need to know what the errand is about exactly," she continues to use her service voice.

"I'm am the head baker at the municipality owned bakery, you know the one in the town centre. My orders were messed up and I need to talk to someone in charge to know how I am supposed to deal with the consequences. You know do the things that people in charge of businesses do."

"I would really love to help you ma'am, but the person in charge of economics has yet to arrive. I do not know who it is as they are starting today."

Ok, so maybe Vera was annoying but she didn't look like a liar. It must be a sign not even the world wants you to go ham with your complaints.

"Y/N?"

Who do you know that works for the municipality? You turn around to realise that it's in fact no one because you don't know the person standing in front of you. Not personally at least. But oh my my my. You wish you could get to know him physically. Que? What is wrong with you Y/N, get a grip on yourself. He may not appease your mind or your feelings, but your eyes are heaving a feast at the very moment.

"Oh hi Taehyung, fancy seeing you here?!"

'Fancy seeing you here', really!? Just because you're dolled up and everything doesn't mean you are on the same level of fancy that his city self is. Once, again get a grip Y/N.

"I would say the same but unless you work here people usually only come in if they are having problems," he says as he walks closer to you. Against your better judgement you walk closer as well.

You're facing each other, standing right in front of the reception desk. In your periphery, you can see the shift of a body. Vera must be intrigued for some reason.

"Well you hit the nail on the head. I was trying to have Vera here help me, but she says she can't," you say as you point to your left.

"It's actually they, ma'am not she," she retorts and you bite your bottom lip. Why in the heck does she keep calling you ma'am.

Taehyung turns to her, "Anytime she's here and she needs help you can just call my office phone," he says and you don't know why all of a sudden his hotness points soar through the roof as if he had collected enough coins to get a power star just like in Mario Bros. You may have a thing for people with saviour complex you realise.

"Of course, Mr...," Vera probes with a wide smile and fascinated eyes.

"Kim. Kim Taehyung"

Kim Taehyung. You mumble his name. It has a nice ring to it, you can't lie.

"Oh and I don't know what the occasion is but you look really nice," he says and you reprimand yourself for how good his statement makes you feel. Who are you? You do not need validation from anyone. No, you don't. However, deep down you know that a little appreciation, even from someone you say you don't like, goes a long way.

"Oh this...," you point at yourself, "pfft, nothing much just felt like getting dolled up." Oooh, what a big fat liar you are. And yet, you have the audacity to criticise Ada.

He nods his head at you and gives you a thumbs up. There you go again making things awkward. You can already imagine the sort of things he will tell Jimin about you and none of them are positive.

"You look good too...," your voice wanders.

You could have easily added to your statement, because unlike his, it wasn't a lie. You could hate him, which you don't. You could find him uncomfortable, which you do. But you couldn't lie about his fortune in the visual department.

Taehyung is suited up, or at least he was when he got into the building. Now, he's wearing a crisp white button down that's slightly rolled up at the wrists to showcase his watch. It resembled one of those watches you see on Antiques Road Trip. He must gotten it from his great great grandfather or something along those lines.

While you were at Punniton there hadn't been a chance for you to take a good look at Taehyung given the pile of winter clothing he had on him. So, you allow your eyes to roam lower to where his shirt is tucked inside well ironed light brown slacks.

Well ironed. Finally something non-Jimin related that you like about Taehyung. There are very few men your age that you have encountered that wear properly ironed clothes so you consider it one of the highest signs of self care. Your eyes have a mind of their own. They fixate on the movement of his hands as he moves to adjust his watch.

"What is the problem anyways?" He asks and you shoot your head back up. He didn't catch that, did he?

"Ohh I work at the bakery. I sent in the papers to stock up on inventory since it's owned by the municipality. But apparently someone from management lost the papers for the sugar inventory and now the bakery is out of sugar. I'm just here to complain about the fact that I'll need to increase the prices which will mean less bread sold and lower wages and smaller bonuses. I just find it really disrespectful given how hard we all work for the bakery and how long we've stayed while knowing we can get a better pay elsewhere just by doing half of the work"

"Huh, huh," Taehyung attempts to sound supportive.

"The situation just annoys me, A bunch of well-off people thinking that a more than a month long delay won't affect much. Like damn I have to pay rent, utilities and ten employees as well as myself," you continue your rant.

Look on the bright side, you got to vent a bit. Not that you thought Taehyung would be the one on the receiving side. You are feeling slightly better, and like your entire mission didn't completely fail. It simply took an unwanted detour. Time to get out of your head. Taehyung's fingers caress his knuckles before they go through his hair. Is he nervous?

"Wow that sounds awful, i'm sorry that happened to you," he says as he reaches into one of his pockets. That sounded... weird or even fake. But then again you couldn't expect him to understand the struggle some people face in life. His past big city life must have been so luxurious even problems took care of themselves.

"If you need any help all you need to do is ask. Any friend of Jimin's is a friend of mine."

He brings his phone out and points at it. "Duty calls. I'll see you some other time Y/N." He walks away typing furiously. Now that was also... weird. Another thing to add to the list of pros and cons you had made for Taehyung.

Pros: Jimin's friend, irons his clothes properly, weird.

Cons: annoying, big city boy, weird.

It's a tie, for now. If only you could imagine the fluctuation the future beholds. You will run out of mental space to store all of the reasons why you don't like and why you do like Kim Taehyung.

Now that he's gone, you face Vera again. Did you want to cuss her out and then leave, or did you want to cuss her, make another petty comment about appropriate workplace behaviour and then leave? You settle for neither. You already got to vent so you don't think you have it in you to go the extra mile. So you turn to your left and leave, never to return again, you hope.

The slowness at which you are going is flagrant. You removed your boots by the entrance to be met by such swollen feet you feel embarrassed for yourself. They aren't even that high neither are they too tight. You attempt to walk all the way past the kitchen and through the hallway that leads to your room but you give up less than halfway through. The couch will have to do for now.

You scroll through your social media and come across an announcement post from Jimin's account and you're reminded of his show. It premieres in four days and you remember him saying that he will leave tomorrow. God, you're so caught up in your own shit, you completely forgot about him.

[14:20] hey, what time are you catching the train tomorrow again?

[14:25] minnie 💜13:45. Trying to see when to schedule in a crying session before?

[14:27] Ha.ha.ha. You’re not that special and you already left once. I am immune now.

[14:28] minnie 💜Ooff, ouch. I am strong but I’m not made of stone y/n. That hurt 😢

[14:30] I would argue otherwise. Which is great since it brings me to the very important and touch topic we need to  discuss

[14:32] minnie 💜Y/N. I heard it the first time. I am NOT going to hurt her.

[14:35] You don’t know that. She is more invested than you may think. I don’t think she can take a third fall out. So I will need you try your best, can you promise that?

[14:36] minnie 💜Promise. I’ll be honest with her tonight.

[14:36] Thank you 😌

Jimin really wishes he could tell Y/N why he is so cautious about completely confessing to Ada. It has nothing to do with him being insecure about his feelings. It is more so a matter of protecting Y/N  because he knows how Ada would react in such a scenario. Maybe one day, when Y/N is ready, he will be able to let her know.

[14:38] minnie 💜speaking of Ada she told me about your sugar issue, what’s going on? ps I’m also hurt that I need to get your life updates from someone else 😣

[14:40] Hmm yeah srry about that, i’ve been a bit out of it 😬,I went to the municipality building to find someone I could complain to but there wasn’t anyone there

[14:41] minnie 💜you will hate me for suggesting this but you should ask Tae for help

[14:42] Hmmm 🤔….

[14:42] Nope

[14:42] Non

[14:43] Nein 👎

[14:43] I am not trying to be indebted to someone i don’t plan on keeping in my life

[14:45] minnie 💜Ohh come on you wouldn’t be indebted, just think of it as him doing me a favor (cuz he owes me a couple) except it has nothing to with me

[14:46] minnie I really appreciate you looking out for me, but I got this 😚

[14:46] minnie 💜https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/kim_taehyung

[14:47] minnie 💜I’m just saying he’s got connections 🤷‍♂️

You click on the link. A freaking Wikipedia page?! The page isn’t ridiculous long but still, the fact that he has one. Your eyes shift to read his profile. There’s a picture of him, one worthy of a couple of screenshot you were not going to take, except he has blonde hair and you can’t help but think that you prefer his current hair color.

Kim Tae-hyung (age 24) Other names: Earl Kim Taehyung, Count Kim Taehyung Occupation: Economist Awards: Uffington’s Novice Photographer 2019 Taehyung is not just Jimin’s city friend. He is a count. An earl. An aristocrat amongst Warringham peasants. [14:53] Wow I see that you have upgraded huh, what are your intentions for the future that you felt the need to become friends with a nobleman 🤨

[14:55] minnie 💜actually he approached me, he went to one of my shows with his fam and then came to compliment me backstage and asked if i wanted to go for a drink

[14:57] and you thought ‘you know what, going out for a drink with a stranger is totally responsible’ [14:59] minnie 💜 i didn’t go alone i went with the team, i’m nice not stupid 😤

[15.00] minnie 💜but my point still stands, you wouldn’t be losing anything by asking him

Should you tell Jimin that Taehyung has already offered to help or would that just encourage him to keep pushing? You decide against telling him.

[15:01] i’ll think about it

[15:01] minnie 💜 that’s y/n code for: thanks but no thank you

[15:02] i mean it, i’ll actually let the thought simmer in my mind and see if i like the result

[15:03] minnie 💜smh

[15:03] minnie 💜 i’m going to need to leave u, someone else is here to keep me company 😏

[15:04] ewww, u nasty, byeeee

[15:05] minnie 💜byeeee, and like for real think about it 😙

Tomorrow is now today. Jimin is sadly going away. You are that deep in your feelings that you feel the need to recite a corny ‘poetic’ rhyme. You are standing near the edge of the railway platform. Taehyung is standing somewhere behind you. The both of you waiting for Ada and Jimin to rap up their sob fest or more accurately Ada’s sob fest. It takes a minute.

Once they are ready they find their way to you. You form a disproportionate human circle where Jimin and Ada are glued to each other’s side while you are closer to Ada and Taehyung’s closer to Jimin.

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you real quick.” Jimin motions for you to come to his side as he increases the distance between you and the rest.

Is he going to have individual talks with all three of us?

“So, what’s up?” you ask. The quicker you’re with this the less time you get to feel emotional.

“I’ll keep my promise if, and only if you keep yours,” he says as he places his pinky in front of your face. You grab onto it with your palm.

“I don’t remember promising anything.” He signals to Taehyung with a head nod. Oh, you see what this is about.

”You know it’s okay to admit you need help, right? You don’t need to have all the answers yourself.”

It may be true that you do not have all the answers, but you do have the ones that you need and the ones that mean something to you. But you can’t tell Jimin that so you sigh as you bite your top lip.

Jimin reaches into his back pocket. “I’ve had this now for a while and I think it has done its job. I believe you need it more than me right now.”

Onto your palm a small metal circle is placed. Teddy the penny. You can’t help chuckling. It had in fact been a while since you had seen the rusty fake penny with a teddy bear engraving. The penny that brought you and Jimin together back in elementary school when you still thought your teddy bear was the bestest friend you could possibly have. It listened to you and it understood and it comforted you, softly, all night. Most importantly, unlike Jimin, it never questioned you.

Your teacher had made fake pennies for the class to give as rewards. You and Jimin had a joint place in your drawing competition and coincidentally you both wanted the only teddy bear penny available. The teacher placed the two pennies in the palms of her hands, and told you to close your eyes. Her hands shifted from side to side, above and around one another. When you opened your eyes, you were made to chose and ended up with a butterfly penny instead.

All you can remember is moist cheeks, hurt cries and resentment. All of which went away when Jimin put the then warm penny on your small clammy hand, “You look like you need it more. Don’t be sad. Teddy doesn’t want things to be sad he wants them to be funny.”

From then on you exchanged Teddy the Penny, the one who needs it the most gets it. You had given it to him when he left to pursue his dreams.

“Honestly it’s not that big of a deal,” you dismiss his worry, “it’s definitely not a teddy the penny worthy situation,” you clarify.

“You know I am not gonna fight you right before leaving. You and I both know that the bakery is the only thing you actually care about. So yes, you care more than you show.”

“I also care about you and Ada too,” you retort and it’s the first time in the last three years that that you get to have Jimin’s questioning and disappointing expression directed at you.

“If you’re going to keep playing like this I might as well join and not keep my promise.”

FUCK!

Ok, so now your plan to avoid talking to Taehyung just wouldn’t be doable. You could deal with hurting yourself but hurting others? No. That’s where you draw the line. You are really going to have to talk to him.

“Fine,” you mumble out.

“Uh?”

“I said fine.”

Jimin pulls you into a hug. “Look at you, this is progress and thank you, that means I can keep my promise.” He hugs you tighter and your jaw tenses as you attempt to make sure he doesn’t squeeze out all of the tears that you plan on shedding when you get back home.

“I’ll miss you so much. Please take care of Ada.” He lets you go but keeps holding your hands. “And let her take care of you too. Okay?”

“Uh hmm,” you nod your head at the fastest speed you can manage. Partially because you do want to reassure him but also you need to dry the incoming tears.

Jimin continues to caress your shoulder as you walk back to meet the others. You try to keep your head up as to not raise any suspicion but realise your failure when you meet Taehyung’s eyes. He gives you a reassuring smile and winks at you. The last part does register properly in your head but you act like you didn't see it.

The train tracks sound. It’s almost here.

“I’m so glad I decided to come back. Take care guys, I’ll try to get back as fast as possible,” he says as he goes on to squeeze Ada’s hand and hug Taehyung.

The train comes to a stop and the gushing sound of air that comes from the opening doors resonates against your eardrums and you’re brought back to the first time he left. You were just as hurt back then as you are now. The only difference is that you felt hope where you feel despair today. Why? You don’t really know. Things tend to be felt before you get the time to register what those feelings mean.

Jimin steps into the train and sits by a window seat facing your side of the platform. The whole minute before he’s taken away with the train unravels itself in slow motion. It goes by so fast, you realize you forgot to wave goodbye. Nevertheless, you raise your hand to wave it frantically. Maybe he saw it?

Taehyung clears his throat. “I gotta hurry back to work. But hopefully I can see you guys around.”

Right, Taehyung and Ada still had work. You had given yourself a leave from work for the remaining of the day.

“Alright, sounds good, we can catch up some other time,” Ada says with a cheerful voice. You're surprised by how well she's taking this.

She moves to link arms with you. The same arm that she pinches.

“See you around Taehyung,” you manage to say. He looks at you a little too long for your liking before he turns away to walk away.

Your phone buzzes and you reach for it.

[13:45] minnie 💜here’s his number by the way: *********

[13:45] minnie 💜also I saw that 🙋‍♀️🤞

The outlines of your hands holding your phone blurs before you can feel wet drops on your forearms. Ada brings your body tight against hers as she pats your back.

You now realize how happy you felt having all three of you in the same place despite all the problems at work and Taehyung. You had really thought that the sweet imagery would manage to stay alive a bit longer than what it did.

But good things tend to be ephemeral, just like the first snow that melts to reveal old ways.

Posted: May 15, 2020

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 33: Jon Prime

Martin breathed deeply, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. “It smells like snow.”

“It’s a bit warm for that, fortunately.” Jon’s fingers laced through Martin’s, their palms pressed together. “Lessens the chance of frostbite.”

The Institute was closed until the new year, which meant Jon and Martin would be able to move about the Archives freely during the day, rather than only being able to come out at night, and Jon had spent much of the previous month attempting to remember where the cameras in the Institute proper were located so he could avoid them. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, exactly, since he still hadn’t figured out how to safely dispose of the table, but he supposed he had nine uninterrupted days to figure it out.

For now, however, that was in the future. For now, they walked hand in hand down the streets along the Thames. The typical sounds of a London Saturday evening washed over them, punctuated by bells—the jingle of the bells on the harnesses of the horse-drawn carriages that capitalized on the Dickensian nostalgia, the steady clatter of the bell-ringers who stood on street corners and at shop fronts with their kettles asking for charity, and the gentle tolling of the steeple bells calling the faithful to Christmas Eve services. The sky was overcast, which meant their walk was lit only by street lamps rather than stars or the moon, but that was all right by Jon; there was enough light for him to see by, and he’d never been much of a stargazer. The air smelled crisp and cold—as Martin had said, it smelled of snow, but the air was too warm—and Jon could almost fool himself into thinking he smelled pine and cinnamon.

“I never asked you if you had any Christmas traditions,” he said. “I mean, not that there was ever much opportunity. That first Christmas we were all working in the Archives, I was still trying to be distant and acting like I hated you. The second year I was paranoid and obsessing over the tunnels and Gertrude’s murder, and…” He trailed off, not wanting to bring up the third year. Or the fourth.

“And that was the last Christmas you were aware of,” Martin supplied, squeezing Jon’s hand briefly. Jon gripped it tightly and refused to let him go. “Honestly, not really. When I was little, Granddad had a collection of Christmas poems we used to read together, and we’d sing a couple songs he’d learned as a boy, but I don’t know what happened to the book after he died. Mum used to go candlelight services on Christmas Eve, but…even when she let me go with her, I never got much out of them. I liked sitting out in the evenings and listening to the church bells, though.” A smile flitted across his face as another church tolled out its summons nearby. “How about you? Any Christmas traditions?”

“Not outside those dictated by policy,” Jon said, unable to hold back an exasperated smirk as he thought about the dreaded Institute Christmas party. God, he’d hated it even when he was a researcher, and it had been infinitely worse when he was a department head and supposed to be a presence. “Grandmother was…she’d been raised non-Christian. I think she observed the holidays for her husband when my father and his siblings were young, but after they were out of the house and Grandfather Sims died, she went back to the faith she’d been brought up in, as best she could, anyway. I was never sure what religion she belonged to, actually. She didn’t exactly practice it. I suppose she assumed that I was young enough not to really remember what Christmas and Easter and that sort of thing were like, so she never saw it as her duty to give me any of those traditions.”

“So I guess you were like me. The Christmas holidays were just a reason to be out of school.”

Jon hummed in agreement. “I strongly suspect this is mostly for Tim’s benefit. Possibly Sasha’s.”

Martin laughed. “I mean…if Tim had asked me, I’d have done Christmas with him that last year. But I think he was too upset to even acknowledge it, you know? Didn’t even change the background on his laptop to anything festive.”

Jon’s hand tightened in Martin’s again. Regret swirled through him. He hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the significance of the dates, and he’d completely missed Tim—whom he’d always seen at his cheeriest around Christmas—practically ignoring the holiday. “I wish…there are a lot of things I wish I’d done differently. The way I treated Tim…the way our relationship deteriorated…that’s probably one of the biggest. That and the way I treated you. Watching our…counterparts do things better just makes it worse, honestly.”

“Because you can’t make it up to our Tim,” Martin guessed. “Jon, wherever he is…wherever he was, I’m sure he forgives you. Now, anyway. Now that he knows you didn’t—there’s blame on both sides. Same with you and me.”

Jon huffed. “No, there’s really not. You were nothing but polite to me—”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have respected me more if I’d stood up to you sooner.”

Jon had to admit, Martin was right, but he decided he only actually had to admit it to himself. “How would you know if I wasn’t looking you in the eye?”

Martin bumped Jon’s shoulder, but he was laughing at the same time. “Asshole.”

“I’ll cop to that.” Jon laughed, too.

It was a pleasant enough walk, serenaded by the bells and the occasional snippet of a Christmas carol. Martin swept his cane along in front of him, although he didn’t really need it with Jon holding his hand. Still, Jon could appreciate Martin’s desire to be as independent as he could be. Part of what made them work as a couple was that they could function on their own.

Jon and Martin hadn’t ventured out of the Institute in some weeks, certainly not since Daisy’s visit and Jonah’s tormenting of Past Martin, so he hadn’t seen what the decorations looked like. Past Jon hadn’t bothered to describe them, either, merely saying “they have to be seen to be believed”. Jon prepared for the worst as they came around the corner.

To his relief, things seemed…tasteful. Tim, Past Jon, and Past Martin lived on the end of a row of four terraced houses, identical save the trim, and he’d half expected to find it ablaze with colored lights and tinsel, but it was surprisingly subdued. There was a wreath on the front door and a plant of some kind—Jon presumed holly from a distance—hanging from the center of the frame, and handmade paper snowflakes plastered on each windowpane visible from the street, but that was it as far as decoration went. The reason became clear when they drew closer; while the house on the far end of the row had some garland and lights, dark at the moment, and the one next to it bore several blatantly Christian decorations, the one next door to the Archive crew’s home was undecorated entirely. Through the half-open curtains, Jon could see a shaking, age-spotted hand lighting the first of eight candles in a curved holder that looked like a long-cherished family heirloom.

Martin’s cane bumped against the low step leading up to the threshold, and Jon, who knew the drill by now, let Martin lean on his arm to steady himself as he stepped up. Jon steeled himself to reach for the knocker, then noticed a pearly button set next to the door. “Ah, they’ve installed a doorbell, excellent.”

He pressed it. He could faintly hear the chime, more of a clanging really, sort of like a ship’s bell. A moment later, the door opened, revealing Tim in all his festive glory. He wore a sweater that could not possibly feel good on his skin given the sheer tinsel-to-yarn ratio, a floppy sequined hat with a sparkling ball of fluff on one end covered his hair, and he’d traded out his usual discreet star-shaped stud for a dangling glitter-covered candy cane, but the bright grin splitting his face ear to ear outshone it all.

“Hey, you made it!” he cried happily.

Jon couldn’t help but grin. “Sorry we didn’t bring anything. Our oven was out of order.”

“Please. We’ve got enough baked goods made to last us until Easter.” Tim scoffed. “What’s important is that you came.”

“Tim. Did you really think we wouldn’t?”

Martin reached out and tentatively touched Tim’s arm. “Christmas is about family. If we’re really allowed to be part of yours, of course we’d be here.”

Tim’s eyes actually filled with tears, even as he smiled, and his breath hitched. “I’m going to hug you now.”

“Tha—” Martin began, but got no further before Tim lunged forward and wrapped him in a hug. He laughed and hugged him back, dropping his cane in the process, presumably so he didn’t accidentally goose Tim with it. It was a sight at once strange and familiar, but something about it tugged at Jon’s subconscious and he wasn’t sure what. All he could say with any certainty was that it looked different than the times he’d seen Tim hug Past Martin, and he had no idea why.

After a moment, Tim released Martin, then picked up his cane and pressed it into his hand before turning to give Jon a hug. Jon hadn’t hugged Tim—or Sasha, for that matter—except as part of a group hug, and then only once, so he wasn’t prepared for the renewal of long-forgotten, or at least long-buried, feelings of comfort and security that came from one of Tim’s missed-you-buddy hugs. Even as he hugged him back, he tried to hold himself as separate as he could. After all, he wasn’t Tim’s Jon and—

“Nope, not happening,” Tim said in his ear. “No guilt tonight. No anger, no fears, no death. No talking about the past or the future. Nothing about my eyes or your scars or any of that. All of that can wait. It’s Christmas, and it’s about family, and I’m going to stand here and hug you until you cancel your travel reservations for that guilt trip you’re starting on and fucking hug me back properly.”

Jon laughed. “You always did know how to say just the right thing at the right time,” he mumbled as he let himself sink into Tim’s embrace.

Tim tightened his arms. “There you go. Welcome home.” He clapped Jon on the back, then stepped back with a smile. “C’mon. Let’s get this party started.”

“As long as you don’t make us play Strip Charades again,” Martin teased.

Jon stumbled. “Again?��

The way both Martin and Tim laughed at his reaction told him they were just kidding. Probably. He hoped.

The front room of the house did hold all the garish, over-the-top decorations Jon had expected. Apart from what was presumably a Christmas tree under the glut of lights, tinsel, and ornaments, topped with a lopsided star that looked like it had been crafted by a glassblower with the hiccups, there was no part of the wall not covered in garland, ribbon, or something glittery. The coffee table was covered with neatly-arranged platters of every kind of biscuit imaginable, from brandy snaps to shortbreads to something soft and crazed and dusted with powdered sugar, while Sasha and Past Jon tried to shuffle things around to make room for a charcuterie plate. On every other available surface stood a jar candle, lit and emitting a pleasant, Christmas-themed scent, that all mingled together in a miasma that was just a tad overwhelming.

A portrait of an angel in bright tempera paint, with two sets of glitter-dusted handprints for wings, held pride of place on the wall. It looked like a child’s school project, and Jon was going to go closer to peer at the signature when Past Martin came into the room, bearing a tray loaded with six steaming mugs. “I don’t know where we’re going to put these, guys, but—oh, hey, you made it!”

Past Jon and Sasha looked up from their endeavors with broad smiles. Warmth bloomed in Jon’s chest at the relaxed, contented look on his counterpart’s face, and he swore again that he would do whatever it took to keep that look there. “Good Lord, you weren’t joking about the baked goods.”

“This isn’t even all of them. Just what we could fit on the table,” Past Jon said ruefully. “We’ll give you some to take back with you whenever you leave. You, too, Sasha.”

“Sit down,” Tim told them. “All of you. We’re not standing on ceremony. This is just…we’re just getting together, right? Baked goods, hot drinks, telling stories, maybe playing some games that don’t rely on being able to see?”

“Damn. I was looking forward to dominating you at ‘I Spy,’” Martin said with a straight face. Jon choked back a laugh.

Sasha perched in an armchair, her legs crossed beneath her as she took one of the mugs from Past Martin. Past Jon and Tim sat on the sofa, and Martin and Jon, as was their wont, took the loveseat. As Martin accepted a mug from the tray—Jon found himself continually delighted that they always made sure there was a mug with a distinct carving or detail to it so Martin would be able to tell his from the others if he set it down—he asked, “How was the Institute party this year?”

Jon hid his smile behind his own mug at the chorus of groans from the other four. “That bad, huh?”

“Oh, God.” Tim picked up a gingerbread man and bit its head off savagely.

“So first of all,” Sasha said, “there’s the usual bullshit that comes from an Institute event—namely, a bunch of upper-class old white men talking down to anyone who isn’t and a load of rich people expecting everyone to suck up to them—all of whom, I might add, we had to interact with because, between the CO2 system getting installed, the fire, the infestation, and the subsequent cleanup, not to mention the usual requisitions and expenses we had to deal with, the Archives apparently had the highest budget of all the departments this year, so we had to deal with the donors—”

“Hey, at least there were four of you to spread it around a bit,” Martin pointed out. “Our Tim and I had to do it all on our own. The Not-Sasha didn’t show and Jon left early after spending the entire time he was actually there in a corner nursing a glass of wine and hissing at people walking past.”

“I would like to register a protest about that description.” Jon rested his hand on Martin’s leg, and Martin covered it with his own. “Unfortunately, it would do me no good, because it’s accurate.”

Sasha giggled. Past Martin snorted. “Yeah, well, then you had that one guy who thought he was God’s gift to women. Half the female-coded people at the party spent the night trying to get away from him and the other half were practically dripping off of him, until he made the mistake of flirting with a married woman whose husband is apparently some sort of underground fighter. Who took it aboveground. There was punch everywhere, it was nuts.”

“At least that was towards the end of the night,” Tim added. “And made slightly more interesting by the fact that whoever was in charge of the music managed to find ‘Bad, Bad Leroy Brown’ and put it on in the background while it was going on.”

Past Jon sighed heavily. “You know, I think I would have been able to handle all of that if I hadn’t also had to deal with Elias. Bad enough having to pretend I don’t know what he is or what’s going on. Worse to have to pretend I didn’t know what he did to Martin.”

Past Martin blushed and looked down at his mug. Tim’s hand tightened on his own, but then he said evenly, “Hey, I already told them. We’re not talking about any of that heavy stuff tonight. This is a night for fun. We can vent about Elias fucking Bouchard on…Monday, ‘cause we’re not talking about it on Christmas either.”

“Yes, sir,” Past Jon said with a mocking salute. Tim kicked at him halfheartedly, but he was laughing, too.

The conversation did shift after that, thankfully. They nibbled at the biscuits and cheeses on the table as they talked about the best and worst Christmas parties they’d ever attended. Martin was attempting to describe the horror that had been Peter Lukas’ Institute shindig when the doorbell chimed. Past Jon looked up with a frown. “Who could that be at this hour? On Christmas Eve, no less?”

“I’ll get it.” Past Martin set his mug down and crossed over to the front door, then opened it.

“Here we come a-caroling—” The lone voice that started singing was high, young, and punctuated by the peculiar wobble caused by someone hopping from foot to foot on each downbeat while they sang.

“Charlie, where’s your coat?” Past Martin sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“It’s not so bad as long as I keep moving,” a child’s voice replied.

“Go home and put a coat on. Or at least a sweater.”

Past Jon rolled his eyes at Jon, but he was smiling fondly; Jon wasn’t sure if it was at Martin’s instinctive tendency to mother hen or at the idea of the child on the stoop. From the expressions on his and Tim’s faces, Jon suspected they’d had more interactions with Charlie beyond the initial one when he’d dropped off the casserole and cake the day they moved in.

Their expressions froze, however, when the child’s voice replied, “I can’t. Nan says I’m not allowed in the house by myself, so I have to stay outside until she gets home from midnight mass.”

“You didn’t go with her?” Past Martin asked.

“Oh, you know…” The child’s voice trailed away.

Past Jon was already up and moving towards the kitchen when Past Martin said, “Tell you what, why don’t you come inside and help us eat some of these biscuits? We can tell stories and sing some carols together until your nan gets back.”

“Will I be in the way?”

“Of course not. We’ve got plenty of room for you.”

“Well…okay.”

Past Martin stepped aside, then closed the door and ushered their new guest over. Jon gave a fleeting thought to how they were going to explain his and Martin’s presence, a thought that was swept aside as soon as he laid eyes on the child. He was no more than seven, still rounded with baby fat, and far too young to be left outside alone after dark. He was dressed in a shirt too thin for the weather, and despite his brave words outside he was shivering slightly as he got warm.

What left Jon breathless, however, was the fact that, save for his hair—which was a dark reddish-brown instead of bleached blonde—he was a dead ringer for Annabelle Cane.

Fortunately, Charlie—if that’s who he was—didn’t notice Jon’s face at first, or anything else about him. His attention was caught by the painting that had caught Jon’s eye upon entry, and his whole face lit up. “You really framed it?”

“I told you it was good enough to be in a museum,” Tim pointed out.

Charlie scuffed a shoe against the carpet. “Yeah, but I thought you were just saying that ‘cause you thought you were supposed to.”

“Tim never does anything he’s supposed to,” Past Jon called from the kitchen.

“Shut up,” Tim called back, but he was laughing.

Charlie giggled. It sounded like the usual innocent, impish laughter of a child, but Jon was on edge enough to be wary. Even knowing the entities didn’t usually like the fear of children, he was…worried. The Web, more than any other save perhaps the Dark, had a tendency to mark children, or so he’d gleaned from all the statements he’d consumed over the years, not to mention his own personal experience. Between his appearance, his name, and the fact that abuse and neglect could sometimes beget exactly the sort of survival tactics that would draw the attention of the Mother of Puppets, it was a risk, and Jon couldn’t help himself.

He reached out with his powers, just a little bit. He didn’t have Tim’s eyes, and he’d never quite understood how Elias saw and identified the marks, but he could, at the very least, sense if someone had a statement to feed the Eye. Even if it would be something the Eye found unappetizing or…unfinished, if Charlie had been touched by one of the fears, he would know.

Nothing. He almost gasped with relief. Charlie was a solitary child, starved for affection, certainly vulnerable to a surprising number of the entities as well as just ordinary horrible people, and aware in a way even Jon and Martin had never been at his age that his grandmother hated him—and his father had definitely been one of Annabelle’s brothers. But none of the fears had even started giving him attention. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Jon withdrew his mind and smiled, and in that instant, Charlie tore his attention away from the angel and caught sight of Jon and Martin sitting on the loveseat. “Oh! Hello. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re fine,” Jon assured him.

Past Martin patted Charlie’s shoulder. “Charlie, this is my cousin Kieran and his fiancé, Walter. And this is our friend Sasha, she works with us…guys, this is Charlie. He lives a couple doors down.”

“And he’s an amazing baker, too,” Tim added, sweeping a hand at the mass of plates on the table. “He helped us with all this.”

Suddenly, Jon understood why there were so many baked goods. “And a fine job he did of it. It’s wonderful to meet you, Charlie.”

“Good to meet you, too.” Charlie gave Jon a broad, gap-toothed smile, but his eyes were puzzled. “Are you Jon’s cousin, too? You look a lot like him.”

“Ah—not his cousin, but we are related,” Jon said, which was true enough to be getting on with. “I suppose ‘cousin’ works, though.”

“They’re visiting us for Christmas,” Past Martin explained, shooing Charlie towards the sofa. “Here, come have a seat…Kier, you were telling us about that work party that went south?”

“That was it, really,” Martin said. “I had to do most of the talking, but there wasn’t really a lot of talking to be done. Quietest office party I’ve ever been to.”

“Where do you work?” Charlie asked innocently as Past Jon came back with a mug for him.

“Oh, that was a couple years ago. I don’t work there anymore.” Martin tapped the corner of his eye. “I went blind earlier this year. But I used to be the personal assistant to a man named Peter Lukas.”

Charlie accepted his mug from Past Jon with a surprised thank-you and settled onto the sofa between Past Martin and Past Jon. “I’m sorry you went blind. Is it scary?”

“It was a little, at first, but I’m used to it now.” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand and directed a smile at him. “And I have the best support I could ask for.”

Jon smiled back. “I do what I can.”

Tim plied Charlie with sweets for a minute, effectively distracting him from asking Jon or Martin any more questions. He waited until Charlie was halfway through a florentine before he said casually, “I bet it’s not much fun at your grandmother’s church. Not on Christmas, anyway. Maybe sometimes it is, but if you have to sit still for a whole hour?”

“Oh, it’s more than an hour. It’s a long, long time. Nan won’t be back until very late,” Charlie said. “But there’s lots of music, and I love it when the lights are off and all the candles are lit and it’s quiet except for the chanting and singing and the organ playing. And I like listening to the stories and the messages.” He suddenly looked anxious as he looked up at Tim. “And I can sit still, honest. I’m very, very good in church.”

“I believe it,” Tim assured him quickly. “You’re good everywhere else, so why not in church?”

Charlie looked hopeful. “You really think so?”

Tim ruffled Charlie’s hair, making him giggle. “I sure do, buddy. Why didn’t you go with your grandmother this year?”

“Oh…” Charlie’s face fell, and he looked down into the mug in his hands. After a moment, he mumbled, “I’m not allowed to go back to church with Nan unless I stop being a boy.”

Two bright spots of color appeared in Tim’s cheeks, and he pressed his lips tightly together. The look Past Jon and Past Martin exchanged told Jon this was not a new and startling discovery for them like it was for him, but then, if they’d truly interacted with Charlie for a while, he’d probably told them something like this before. It still seemed to upset them, though.

“Is that your nan’s rule, or the church’s?” Martin asked, in the same tone he’d once used to ask Jon how many times he’d listened to the tapes after the Watcher’s Crown—gentle and patient, but with an undercurrent of worry and maybe a bit of anger that was being restrained so the questioned didn’t think it was directed at him. It brought back memories of those horrible—weeks? Months?—after the world ended, but also brought feelings of safety and security and love.

Charlie responded to it the same way Jon always had. He raised his head and gave him a look of mingled sorrow and trust. “Both. The teachers at church say God won’t recognize me if I’m a boy, and Nan says Mum and Dad wouldn’t either.”

“Well, that’s silly,” Jon said, trying to summon up the brusque and authoritative face he’d put on as the Archivist. “Anyone who doesn’t recognize you because you’re a boy isn’t someone who knows you, or loves you. You would know your parents no matter what they looked like, wouldn’t you? Even if you haven’t seen them in a while.”

“I—I think so.”

“Then they’ll know you, even though you didn’t tell them you were a boy the last time you saw them in person. And if they don’t, they don’t deserve to know you.”

“You can trust him, you know,” Sasha said sagely. “He knows everything in the world.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Really? Everything in the whole world?”

“Just about.” Jon decided not to go into the limitations of his abilities, or indeed what those abilities were. They weren’t important to the discussion.

Charlie studied Jon with a gravity far beyond his years. At last, he asked, “What’s her name?”

“Whose name?” Jon frowned. Had he missed part of the conversation?

“My—Mum said my sister was on the way. But something went wrong, and Nan said Mum and the baby both died. I never even got to meet her. If you know everything in the whole world, what’s my sister’s name?”

Jon hesitated. He wasn’t sure if that was actually something he could Know, considering there was a good chance everyone who knew the answer to that was dead. But he knew he had to try. And if he couldn’t come up with the answer, he wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t. He reached out with the Eye, feeling the familiar crackle of static as he did so.

In the end, it was easier than he’d thought—just a matter of plucking the right information from the right heads. The date and location of Charlie’s mother’s death from his grandmother’s mind, a nurse who’d been in the room, a buried memory of a gasped-out conversation, and a startlingly clear pair of blue eyes meeting her mother’s before taking her last breath. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Athena Joy,” he answered.

Charlie looked at him, then smiled, too. “Athena Joy Cane is a pretty name.”

It effectively ended the serious part of the conversation, which was a relief. Instead, they started telling stories of Christmases they’d experienced when they were younger, which devolved into jokes and silly stories. Tim got up to refill everyone’s mugs at one point. He was gone for quite a while, and Jon would be prepared to swear he heard the kitchen door open at least twice, but he didn’t say anything. Not then. Instead, he simply accepted his refill and watched Tim settle back onto the sofa.

“Shame it’s so overcast,” he commented. “I took a peek outside, and it’s still cloudy. I love studying the sky on Christmas Eve.”

“Looking for Father Christmas?” Sasha teased.

“Ha, ha.” Tim stuck his tongue out at her. “No, I just like looking at the stars. I mean, I always like looking at the stars, but there’s something special about it on Christmas Eve.”

Past Martin looked wistful. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to sit and watch the stars while I listened to the bells. I could almost convince myself the stars were ringing, too.”

“What bells?” Sasha frowned.

“Church bells, mostly. I didn’t attend services or anything, it wasn’t—” Past Martin checked himself with a swift glance at Charlie. “I always felt like the message in the bells was more comforting.”

“‘The wrong shall fail, the right prevail’,” Martin said softly.

Jon looked over at Martin, struck by the words in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “What was that?”

“It’s a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Someone put a tune to it later. Granddad taught it to us, remember?”

Past Martin opened his mouth, then memory lit up his eyes. “Oh, yeah! ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.’ Yeah, that makes sense, now I think about it.”

“How’s it go? Can you sing it?” Charlie asked around a mouthful of mint meltaway.

Jon expected Martin to prevaricate or enter a stammering denial. Certainly Past Martin blushed and opened his mouth to. But before anyone could say anything, Martin took a deep breath and began. “I heard the bells on Christmas Day their old, familiar carols play…”

Jon had only heard Martin sing a couple of times before—the time he’d sung to the little girl in the Archives, and when he’d sung along to the recordings while they helped the others set up the house—and the former he’d been barely audible and singing to entertain a child, while with the latter it had been a bit difficult to parse out what was Martin (or Past Martin) and what was actually on the recording. This was different. This was Martin alone and unaccompanied and singing a song he meant in a voice meant to be heard, and it was one of the purest, warmest, most beautiful things Jon had ever heard in his life, topped only by his name on Martin’s lips and the sound of him saying I love you.

It took until the third verse for Past Martin to finally join in, but when he did, it only added to the song. Jon let the words fill his mind as the music settled in his soul. They spoke at first of a message of despair, but then of hope, reminding the singer—the poet, really, Jon supposed—that hate wouldn’t, couldn’t, win in the end. That there was still a greater power out there.

When they finished, Charlie stared at them both with shining eyes. He wasn’t alone in that; both Tim and Past Jon looked as though their brains had short-circuited. Jon couldn’t blame them. Honestly, even he hadn’t known Martin had a voice like that.

“That,” Sasha said softly from her armchair, “was brilliant.”

“I like that song,” Charlie said. “Do you know any others?”

Past Martin blushed a flaming red, but Martin simply smiled. “Lots. What’s your favorite?”

It was the right thing to say, apparently, as Charlie launched into a song he liked that even Jon, who’d never really sung Christmas songs until he’d been in college and his friends had all but bullied him into it, knew all the words to. Sasha joined in, along with both Martins, and eventually Tim and Past Jon recovered enough to join in as well. They spent the next couple of hours interspersing songs with stories and poems, from the familiar to the obscure. Charlie’s enthusiasm was impossible to quash and even harder not to respond to.

Eventually, however, his eyelids flickered, and it was obvious he was forcing himself to stay awake. Sasha caught Past Martin’s eye and nods quickly at him; Past Martin nodded back and set his empty mug down. He ran his fingers through Charlie’s curls for a moment, then started to sing a song Jon had never heard before. “When the mountain touches the valley…”

Martin joined in with a soft harmony—or perhaps it was considered a counter-melody, Jon wasn’t quite sure—and it was another hauntingly beautiful song. Tim caught Jon’s eye and jerked his head towards the light switch; Jon nodded, slipped off the love seat, and turned off the main lights, leaving them bathed only in the glow of the candles and the Christmas tree as the Martins sang. By the time the song ended, Charlie was curled up in Past Martin’s lap, sound asleep.

“That worked surprisingly well,” Past Martin said, keeping his voice low.

“My God.” Past Jon’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Jon didn’t think it was to keep from waking Charlie.

Sasha snorted softly. “Seriously, why did you not study music in school, because that was fantastic.”

“I-I mean…I had to drop out,” Past Martin reminded her. “We needed the money. I was studying music before that.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jon said, startled. “How did I not ever know that?”

“Jon, you never asked,” Martin said, squeezing his hand. “We never really talked about college or anything like that. I dropped out, that was all we ever brought up. But yeah, I was in a music program. That woman, um, what was her name—the one that came up after the Christmas concert?”

Past Martin frowned. “God, I don’t…Mrs. Smith?”

“Yeah, her. The one that said she knew Granddad.” Martin sighed. “Anyway, she’s the one that suggested I audition for the program. Got in, too. But I was only a couple weeks into the first term when Mum got really bad and I had to drop out.”

Tim shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me, Martin.”

Past Martin blushed furiously. Sasha put her mug to her lips, but since she didn’t take a sip, Jon guessed it was to hide a grin. “If I’d known that, I’d have bought you some music books for your birthday or something.”

“Oh, I don’t—I don’t really sing anymore. Not like that. Just, you know, folk songs and that sort of thing. I was never all that great with the fancier stuff, really. I’m okay with choral stuff, but…” Past Martin trailed off.

Jon decided to spare him and change the subject. “I take it Charlie’s been spending a lot of his time over here? He seems…comfortable.”

“Yeah. His grandmother’s not the outgoing type, but she’ll have her bridge club over or a sewing club or something and he has to either stay in his room or go outside, so lately he’s been coming over here,” Tim answered. “He’s a good kid. And he likes us, too.”

“Jon’s his favorite,” Past Martin added with a teasing smile.

Jon looked pointedly at the little boy cuddled against Past Martin’s chest, relaxed and contented, with his fingers curled in one of the cables. “Are you sure about that?”

Past Jon gave a soft, shaky laugh. He still looked rather stunned, which, well, Jon couldn’t blame him. “Frankly, I think his favorite is ‘whoever is paying him attention at the moment.’ He’s well cared-for from a physical point of view, but…”

Jon understood. His grandmother had been much the same—resenting being asked to raise a child after her own were grown, mourning his father and constantly reminded of him every time she saw Jon, making sure he was fed and clothed and educated but never taking the time to get to know him. He imagined it would have been worse if she’d known he was queer, although he couldn’t be sure.

“He seems like a good lad,” he said. “Lucky thing he has the three of you.”

All three of them seemed embarrassed by that. Sasha didn’t even try to hide her grin this time. “Suppose his grandmother will think to look over here for him if she gets back and he’s not at home.”

“If she doesn’t think of it herself, I left her a note,” Tim said.

“I thought I heard the kitchen door,” Jon said, raising an eyebrow.

Tim ignored him. “I said we’d keep him until the morning if she gets back too late. Frankly, I wouldn’t send him back at all if I didn’t have to, but…”

“No, me, either.” Past Martin got carefully to his feet, cradling Charlie in his arms; the boy’s head flopped onto Past Martin’s shoulder as he nestled against him in his sleep. “I’m going to go tuck him in, at least for a bit. Be right back.”

Past Jon watched him leave the room with an expression that felt familiar to Jon. He brought Martin’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. “All that goes to prove I’m right, you know. You’re going to make an excellent father someday, Martin.”

Martin laughed softly. “Thanks. I think.”

Past Martin came back into the living room and took his seat. Tim and Past Jon leaned into him from either side, and the six of them just sat together for a bit longer in silence as the candle flames flickered and the lights on the tree twinkled.

Finally, Tim started singing, his voice low and rumbling, a Christmas song Jon was mostly familiar with. Past Martin joined in, then Martin, until all of them were singing along as the world turned on and the clock ticked over to midnight and Christmas Eve turned to Christmas Day.

And for a little while, Jon felt completely at peace.

[gongju-juice]

2. Once Upon a Southern Night

Adopted Cousins

Warnings: Some language mah bois. . .that goes for the rest of the series, minor assault incident because men are trash

The following week of school was quite exciting. People from all over the school were interested in your story. Amelia had gotten you acquainted with her friends—jocks, nonetheless—but they were fairly easy to get along with and you weren’t the type to stereotype.

History was even better. You could really flex your skills in your class, and not feel worried that you’d be rebuked. And Pre-Calculus and Chemistry wasn’t even as hard as you originally thought it would be. All in all, things were great. 

Since your first day, you hadn’t spoken to Jasper or any of the Cullens once. Sometimes you thought the tiny one, Alice, would smile at you behind your back as if she knew some big secret you didn’t. But she didn’t intimidate you, and neither did the others. Rosalie did seem a little off, but you figured that it had to do with the ridiculous number of boys confessing to her every week. And as for the others—Emmett and Edward—they seemed pretty normal. Though sometimes you wondered why Edward seemed to be so annoyed all the time, or why whenever you passed by him in the hallway, he inexplicably smirked from ear to ear.

One day, however, you had to sit at Amelia’s table without her. There was David, Mallory, Tyler, and Sarah. They were all the best athletes in the junior class, and you lowkey felt out of place being the only one at the table who didn’t play a sport.

“How was Psychology?” Mallory asked, digging into her leafy salad. She was a broad shoulder girl, whose athletic frame was large and unlike the “skinny-fit” girls you saw on tv. 

You nodded. “Pretty good. We learned a lot about the brain and its association with fear.”

You began stirring your gumbo. Since you were a kid, you never liked eating school lunches anyway. And in addition to that, you obligated your mom and yourself to prepare only southern style dishes to remind you of home.

“Hey, Y/N,” David called, nudging your shoulder. “Do you think you could help me with math? All of this theta, alpha—whatever this shit is—it’s giving me a headache. Could I maybe come by your place tonight and get some help?”

You smiled hesitantly. You didn’t mind helping him, but you weren’t exactly about to let some boy you hardly talked to come to your house without your mother’s foreknowledge. Besides, what was wrong with tutoring on campus?

“We can do it at the school library,” you suggested. “Make sure you bring your things though. You’ll need your calculator, a pencil, and some paper.”

He grumbled lowly to himself, but you thought it best not to inquire after him. Instead, you continued sipping at your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement at the Cullen table. 

At the end of the day, you walked to your locker and grabbed your things. The thing about Forks High School was that everybody seemed to automatically shift to their cars, in race to leave out onto the empty streets of the town. 

You made your way to the parking lot to drop some of the things off at your car—the brand new pale yellow Volkswagen Beetle your mom bought for your sixteenth birthday. It’d arrived in Washington State on campus just an hour before you had to leave your first day of school.

You turned around and began heading towards the school. . .but where to go? You forgot where the library even was. Was it nearest the front entrance or the side? You decided to go to the side, not knowing that the ramifications of your actions would forever change your life.

“Y/N!” a voice called, and you whirled around on your Oxford heels, thankful it was only David leaning on the brick wall behind you.

“Ah, David! I must’ve been going the wrong way, wasn’t I? I bet it’s better to go to the front entrance. Well, we’re here now. Might as well keep going,” you giggled anxiously.

You reached your hand for the door handle, only to have your hand forcefully snatched in the grasp of his.

“We don’t have to do it in the library,” he said quietly, a sinister grin on his face. “We could do it in your car, inside the bathroom, if you’d like.” He leaned in closer. “Or we could do it right here.”

You tried to politely pull your hand from his only to realize that he was not talking about tutoring. He grabbed your shoulder and pushed you against the cold door, the backs of your thighs touching the metal. You struggled to push him off, but he was much stronger. 

“I’m serious, David! This is not what you want! You’ll get in serious trouble, and I don’t give you consent or permission to touch me like this in any way!”

He smiled down at you. “Touch you. . .like this?” His fingers crawled down the sides of your skirt until they ripped down the material to the concrete.

You screamed, but suddenly he was gone. Jasper had him pinned up against the opposite wall, David’s feet dangling inches from the group. 

“I will fucking kill you,” he said angrily. “If you ever touch her again. If you even look at her, I will personally rip your throat from your insides and make you wish you were never born.”

David nodded hysterically, his features contorted in terror. “Anything you want, man! Please—I won’t ever do it again. Just please put me down, please!”

Edward and Emmett appeared by Jasper’s side and forcibly lowered the quarterback from the wall. Emmett locked him in a choke hold and pushed him forward while Edward made a barrier of himself so that Jasper could not pursue.

“Are you okay?” Alice asked frantically, her golden eyes staring into yours. Rosalie pulled your skirt back up around your hips, but the cloth was ripped at the zipper and couldn’t be reattached. Tears were streaming down at your eyes at that point, but you nodded, too lost for words to reply. 

“She needs some new clothes,” Rosalie warned, guarding your vulnerable form with her body. You stared at your pathetic skirt. It was a cute little plaid design you found while shopping at a thrift store in Port Angeles on your way from the airport.

Jasper took the leather jacket from his shoulders and handed it to his sister carefully. She tied the thing around your waist on top of the skirt so that it held it together. Then, they led you to the office.

Within three minutes, a squad car showed up. It was the police Chief, Charlie Swan, a man with a thick black mustache and chocolate dark eyes. He took one look at David before hauling him in handcuffs.

“This is the second complaint we’ve had against you this month,” he announced through gritted teeth. “Except this time, we’ve got witnesses. You had such promise kid, but all you want to be is a sex offender.”

David cried in protest before he was thrown in the back of the car. 

“Are you alright?” the Chief asked. “You’ll have to come by the station for questioning and a full police report. . .do you think you’re in an okay mental state to do so?”

You nodded. “But can I go home first? He broke my skirt.”

He reflexively looked at your waist which resulted in Jasper hawking him down. 

“Of course. And if possible, bring the skirt back with you in a plastic bag. It’s evidence.”

The siblings escorted you to your car, where, interestingly enough, a crowd had formed.

“Thanks, you guys, I don’t think things would’ve turned out as fortunate as they did if not for y’all.” You looked up at Jasper’s warm honey eyes. “And I thank you most of all, Jasper. You turned out to be my savior tonight.”

He gazed back at you, and you felt a flood of emotions you couldn’t explain. 

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, “And you’re welcome.”

“Do you need someone to drive you home?” Alice asked, her hands squeezing yours. “Besides, we all have to come to the station anyway. I can ride with you.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t trouble you—”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive the boys to the station while you and Alice run home,” Rosalie said, pointing to her beaming red BMW. 

You weren’t surprised that when you arrived at the station your mother was there. She immediately pulled you into her arms, her crushing embrace enough to suck the air out of you. 

“My baby!” she cried, holding your cheeks. “What would I do if something ever happened to you! I should’ve put you in those jujitsu classes like you asked last year. I’m so sorry I put you in this terrible situation!”

You shook your head and pried her off of you. “Mom, Mom! It’s okay, I’m alright. Jasper and his siblings handled the situation just fine. Please calm down.”

Beside her, you realized Dr. Cullen and his wife stood by their children. They appeared to be such a charming family, but it was strange how they all had the same amber colored eyes though they were not all related.

“Jasper, I should reward you handsomely for this! That’s it, I’m ending my shift early. You all can come to our house . . .it’s about time we tell the news to Y/N anyway.”

“Y/N,” Dr. Cullen said, extending his hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

‘Finally,’ you wondered. “And you as well. Mom talks about you quite a bit at home.”

Esme hugged your shoulders just as tightly as your mother did. She smelled very good, like warm citrus and berries. “I’m glad you’re okay, sweetheart. If you ever need to talk, we’re here for you.”

You finished the police report, and everybody climbed in their cars headed home. What news your mother had in store for you, you had no idea. But no matter how much you begged her to tell you, she wouldn’t tell you. 

Your mom ordered pizza—a meal just for you since the Cullens declined and she wasn’t going to eat anyhow—and you sat quietly at the dining room table. It was all so awkward considering you were the only one eating and since it had not been long since you were literally assaulted. 

Jasper sat quietly at the other end of the table, his eyes trained on the vase of flowers on the center of the table. You really wanted to tell him your appreciation in private, but since your departure at the car, he had not made eye contact with you.

They made conversation quietly, but it all felt like meaningless hum in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps they were waiting on you to say something first.

“So. . .what is it that you wanted to tell me?” you asked your mom, biting the inside of your cheek. You hoped it wasn’t anything bad, you weren't sure if you could handle anything else.

Your mom smiled reassuringly. “I know you’re probably freaking out, but I promise, it’s nothing to worry about. You know how you’ve always wanted to have siblings or cousins of your own?”

You gasped, rising from your chair. “Are you finally adopting again!”

Everybody at the table laughed. She shook her head.

“No, even better. The truth is, I actually have a family you’ve never met before.”

Your brows scrunched together. “Really? Who are they? And I mean, why haven’t we ever met them?”

She sighed. “Well, the reason is quite complicated. I’ll tell you about that later. But the thing is—Carlisle is my younger brother.”

“Wait what?!” you shouted. “He’s your what?!”

“That’s right,” he grinned, “Carmine’s my sister. So I guess, in a way, that makes me your uncle.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “So you’re my adoptive mom’s brother who has adopted kids who are my adopted cousins.”

Everybody again laughed at your reaction. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment, but for some reason, you didn’t seem as tense as you were before. You got up to hug all of the Cullens—your new family. You finally had people and loved ones to call your own; people you could trust and stood up for you when you couldn’t stand up for yourself.

When you finally got to Jasper, your heart rate soared. How lucky you were to have such an intelligent, kind, and strong person in your life! But secretly, there was a twinge of regret inside you. This feeling you felt for him—it was a crush. Cousins weren’t allowed to have crushed on each other.

“Something the matter?” he teased with a little smirk.

“Of course not I—”

He gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in close. He was cold and firm like a giant teddy bear left untouched on a bed. You wanted to hold him tighter and transfer your warmth to him, but just as quickly as you had the thought, the hug finished.

“We have so much to talk about!” Alice exclaimed. “You’re into the vintage aesthetics, aren’t you? There’s a lovely red dress I’ve been saving in my closet specifically for you!”

And with that, Rosalie and Alice whisked you away upstairs where you three began a wonderful, life-long friendship.

Okay but mad Jasper is a vibe.

Part One    Part Three   Part Four

[myheroacademiashorts]

Easter Gift

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Rating: Fluffier than a bunny’s tail

Words: 2,826 (THE ENDING, IM SORRY IM SO BAD AT WRITING ENDINGS TO FICS, FORGIVE ME)

A (Belated) Easter fic for Tamaki, as well as my first fic with this soft boi. Hope you enjoy!

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Tamaki Amajiki hated crowds, that much was painfully obvious. But another thing he hated was giving someone a gift with a crowd.

Nejire tugged on his arm, grin on her lips as she led him closer to the classroom’s doorway. The hallways of U.A. had been decorated in pastel colors and paper eggs for the last week, everyone’s excitement sky-high for Easter. However, after the holiday, the decor had been stripped away and tossed in the trash. From the corner of his eye, Tamaki could see a stray, forgotten plastic egg on the ground. “Oh, stop worrying!” Nejire huffed, yanking on the boy a bit more forcefully but to no avail. “It’s just a little gift, she’s going to love it!”

He gulped, Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he slid his gaze downwards. It wasn’t exactly a little gift, in his mind; the basket was heavy in his hand, and it wasn’t because of the chocolates. “Y-you don’t think she’ll f-find it w-weird?” Tamaki murmured, more to himself than to Nejire. Mirio clapped him on the back, and he suddenly remembered his second friend being there. The blonde was all smiles. “Nonsense! She’s gonna love it!” His voice was a little booming, causing the shy man to shrink back and glance inside of the room fearfully.

“Sh! S-she might h-hear you!” Tamaki whimpered, and he was at least grateful that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

What he didn’t know, however, is that you had seen him standing outside of the room for a few minutes, now, one of your friends elbowing you with a grin. “Looks like you-know-who is out there. Wonder why?” She teased, and with a furious blush growing on your cheeks you glanced towards him. He was as handsome as always, face red and eyes downcast to a colorful basket in his hands. Was that for you? You didn’t want to dwell on the thought, in case it was really for someone else, shoved yourself up from your chair. He didn’t seem to notice you approaching him, but Nejire and Mirio sure did as they both offered you polite smiles.

“Hi!” Your voice made the poor boy jump, and he spun to you with comically wide eyes. The basket originally dangling from his hands was suddenly hugged to his chest, then shoved behind his back and away from your - and your classmates’ - prying eyes. He met your gaze. “Y-Y/N!” His deep voice shook, and somehow his blush turned an even deeper shade. “H-Hi! I-I’m Tamaki, I mean y-you already k-knew that b-but just in case y-you f-forgot, or m-maybe didn’t r-remember. I m-mean, I hope y-you remember me, because I r-remember you… O-oh, that sounds w-weird, doesn’t it? I’m s-sorry.” Tamaki wished he had Mirio’s quirk at that moment, so he could phase through the floor and away from the terribly awkward blabber that he couldn’t stop falling from his lips.

You giggled, attempting to use one hand to smother down the noise as you used the other to close the classroom door. You could hear some of your classmates groan at the loss of drama during their free period. “I remember! Is there anything I can help you with, Tamaki-kun?” You smiled sweetly at him, and he looked as if he were on the verge of fainting. When he didn’t answer, Nejire took the reins.

“Hi, Y/N! Tamaki here just needed some help with…?” She shot a helpless glance in Mirio’s direction, and he piped up instantly. “... With some papers! For our teacher! Nejire and I are busy, so do you mind?” The lie was obvious, but you didn’t mind. Plus, it would be good to spend a bit more time with Tamaki.

You looked at the fairy-like boy, your smile growing. “I’d be happy to! Lead the way, Tamaki-kun!” Mirio leaned closer to the boy, whispering something in his ear with a devious grin before plucking the hidden basket from him and rushing down the hallway. Nejire offered you a wave. “Thanks, Y/N! See you later!” She said, before skipping after her blonde friend with a hum.

You looked back to Tamaki, who stood frozen as he stared at the spot his friends had just stood moments before. Then, his dark eyes moved to you. “Y-yeah… The papers.” He murmured, and cleared his throat. “F-Follow me, Y/N-chan.” You nearly squealed at how adorable he was being, that blush never leaving his pale cheeks as he slid his attention to the hallways and began walking, hands tucked into his pockets. You walked alongside him patiently, hands swinging at your sides. Meanwhile, Tamaki was in a state of shock; what was he supposed to do? Should he try talking to you? What if you already thought he was weird, and you were only helping him so he’d leave you alone? You were his first high school crush, and he may have already ruined it. Maybe he should just-

“So, how have you been in the last week?” Your voice floated, soft and patient, and Tamaki pulled himself from his anxious thoughts. You kept your eyes mostly in front of you, with a few side glances at the dark-haired male beside you. He wished he could stare at you forever. You looked beautiful, especially with the way the sun was streaming through the window just right to show off the glow of your hair, and the brightness of your E/C gaze. Not to mention the way you’d smile at him, so bright and full of life in his direction, just as you were doing right now-

He dropped his gaze, and you fought down the giggle that threatened to erupt from you. “S-sorry, wh-what was the q-question?” Tamaki cursed the stutter that held within his voice.

“How was your week? I haven’t seen you since the presentation last Monday.”

Ah. The presentation. It was hard to believe that just one week ago, Tamaki had met you for the first time in his life as he and his friends went to your class to give a presentation on becoming Pro-Heroes. You were a second year in the 2-B Hero course, and after almost spilling an opened carton of coffee on him when running into the room late, you’ve been on the boy’s mind. He had frozen as you stopped yourself just in time in front of him, using your free hand on his shoulder to balance yourself before looking up at him and giving him a smile more blinding than the suns. Maybe even more blinding than All Might’s himself, in his opinion. Either way, you had made an impression on him, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t want to call it love at first sight, but if he had to…

“I’ve b-been good! What a-about you, Y-Y/N?” He blushed, your first name foreign on his tongue. You forced everyone you met to call you by your first name, originally being from a country where it had been normal to do so, yet it still made Tamaki hesitate. He couldn’t even imagine you saying his first name without fainting on the spot.

You perked up as the question was redirected to you. “Me? I’ve been great! I loved the decorations from Easter. Did you celebrate?”

“N-no, did y-you?” The stutters were killing Tamaki, yet you found them heartwarming.

“Only with my classmates in the dorm, but it was fun! We ate a bunch of candy, watched some movies… I even baked some cookies! Do you like cookies and sweets?” You kept redirecting the conversation to him, wanting to hear more of his deep voice.

Food. Tamaki knew about food, considering his quirk. He allowed his shoulders to relax slightly. “C-cookies? Yeah, they’re good… N-not very good f-for quirk use, b-but I still like them. C-candy, too.”

You were glowing, ready to fire a few dozen questions at him, before he halted in front of a door and cleared his throat. “H-here.” He muttered, and you deflated slightly. But you could still talk to him while carrying something, right? He pulled the door open for you, but almost just as quickly slammed it shut, pressing his back against it with a pale face. “Tamaki?” You prompted, one hand hovering over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong!” Mirio’s voice came from the wall, and you looked up to see his face poking out. Only his face, and you squeaked in surprise. He laughed. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you!” He disappeared and instead yanked open the classroom door, grinning at you as he stepped out. You sometimes forgot how his quirk worked, as well as how creepy it could be depending on how he used it.

Mirio looked at Tamaki with a wink. “Just had to grab something! Gotta run!” Tamaki didn’t have a chance to reply, and before Mirio ran off, he made sure to purposefully shove both of you into the room, closing the door behind him as he escaped down the hallway. Originally, you had thought Tamaki didn’t want to enter because of Mirio, but it was only after you had glanced around the room that you discovered the real reason.

The Easter decorations that had been scattered around the school decorated the small classroom, including the handmade posters that many classes had made and one large metal rabbit, courtesy of the Support department and their scraps. Tamaki audibly gasped, and twirled around to hide his face against the wall as you continued to explore the room. “Wow, this is so pretty!” You gasped, grabbing at one of the paper eggs that dangled from the ceiling. “I wonder why it’s all here…”

You heard him mutter something, but decided not to push him as your attention was drawn to a basket eerily similar to the one Tamaki had been carrying a few minutes before. “Oh, your basket!” Your exclamation made him freeze, then zig-zag past the desks and towards the forbidden basket. He didn’t even get close enough to it as you reached out for it, hand wrapping around the handle as you peered inside of it curiously. At that moment, Tamaki wished he had fainted, but unfortunately he wasn’t given the courtesy.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you registered the contents, then looked at Tamaki slowly. “Was this… For me?” The question was hesitant, but it was obvious that the basket was meant for you by the notecard with your name scrawled across the front of it.

“Youdon’thavetoopenitifyoudon’twanttoI’msorry.” His sentence came out in a rush, only one breath to say it as he now hid his expression behind his hands, peeking through his fingers to watch your reaction. You laughed.

“Why wouldn’t I want to open it?” You began to tear through it, and didn’t wait as Tamaki let out a strangled noise at every object you pulled out. The first was a carton of the coffee drink you had almost spilled on him a week ago, which seemed normal enough, yet everything after was something you liked. It made you happy, sure, but how did he know you liked orange-flavored chocolate and a certain brand of pens? You held the unanswered question in your eyes, as long as both items, as you glanced at Tamaki. “How did you?...”

“Your f-friend.” His voice was muffled from his hands, and he even closed his eyes. God, this felt so embarrassing, he thought to himself, but forced the words out. “T-The one with t-the curly h-hair. Mirio and Nejire h-helped me t-too.”

You nodded, clutching the items to your chest for a moment before setting them aside. There was also an intricate notebook, one that looked too expensive to write in, let alone buy, and you gingerly set it with the other items on a spare desk. Only two items left, one being a small box and the second being a note. You took the latter first. “Dear Y/N,” You began to read it aloud, and Tamaki squeaked, sinking his face further into his palms. You glanced at him, giving him a chance to stop you, before continuing. “After meeting you last week, I can’t seem to get you off of my mind. I was hoping you’d be interested in a… a date, with yours truly. XOXO, Tamaki…” You looked back to the boy with wide eyes, a bright blush on your cheeks. “Tamaki, did you write this?”

He furiously shook his head, face still hidden. “M-Mirio and Nejire d-did. T-they wouldn’t let m-me read it b-before they put it i-in the basket. I-I’m sorry, you can just i-ignore it-”

You surged forward, note falling from your hand as you wrapped your hands around his wrists. “Tamaki, look at me.” When he didn’t budge, you tugged. “Tamaki? Please?”

He finally lowered his hands, but only enough for his dark eyes to peek out as he kept the rest of his face below that hidden. “Do you really want to go on a date, or…?” You felt a bit bad for putting him on the spot, but you needed to know that this was what Tamaki really wanted; not what his friends wanted. He nodded his head and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a faint tremble from his body, and you did the only thing you could think of to stop his worrying.

You pulled his hands away from his face and kissed him.

It was a peck, really, so quick and light that he might’ve completely missed it, if it hadn’t been for his eyes snapping open right when you leaned in. His breath hitched in his throat, but his trembling stopped as you pressed your lips to his own before pulling back. At this point, both of you were red in the face. “I- Did you-” Tamaki scrambled for the right words, still trying to process what had happened, as you released an airy laugh.

“That means yes, silly. I’d love to go on a date with you, if you’re still up for it.” And as soon as the words had left your lips, he fainted.

He was lucky you were so close to him, and with a grunt you caught him before he hit his head on the ground. Luckily, he came around a few seconds later, waking up with his head in your lap as the two of you were on the floor. “Are you okay, Tamaki?” He asked, and shyly he nodded, ready to hide his face once more but you stopped him. He bolted up instead, scrambling to his feet and offering you his hand after, which you gladly accepted. It was a bit awkward, but you didn’t mind; you had a small crush on him as well, so didn’t mind.

Tamaki moved to the basket, removing the box and turning to you once more. “H-here.” He said, voice low as he held out the item, and you gently took it from him with a smile. “I-if you don’t like i-it, y-you don’t need t-to wear it! So-”

“Tamaki, I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll love it.”

He clammed up, hands frozen at his sides as he watched you pull the top off from the giftbox, watching your eyes light up with a mix of amusement and glee. It was a necklace, small but detailed in design as an octopus pendant dangled from a thin chain. You untangled it from the box. “Help me put it on?” You asked, and despite his nerves, Tamaki immediately stepped forward to comply. His fingers were warm, brushing against your neck as you handed him the jewelry and turned for him to latch it. His breathing was shaky, just as his hands were, and he fumbled with the latch for a moment before successfully letting the necklace fall against your collarbone.

“How do I look?” You asked, spinning around and showing off the newly acquired piece of jewelry. Tamaki’s eyes lingered on the pendant for a beat, before he lifted his gaze to you boldly. “B-beautiful.” He stuttered, but it still made a deep blush spread over your face. You two were barely a foot away from one another, and while you were debating on reaching up to place a more substantial kiss to the man’s lips, his two friends clambered through the open door.

“GOOD JOB, TAMAKI!” Nejire squealed, breaking you from your thoughts as she bolted to you first, yanking you into a bone-crushing huge. Mirio followed close behind, offering a high five to his dark-haired friend. “Congrats! And you two have already had your first kiss, eh?”

For the second time that day, Tamaki Amajiki fainted. Not that he minded too much, because just before he allowed the darkness to take over once more, he remembered that you two had a date to plan. And just that little fact made all of the difference. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to kiss you.

He couldn’t wait.