#I am forcing myself to go through the class and think about each kid

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[chroniclesofbts]

Call Me Home Part 1

A lot of time skips to start off the story and give background about the reader.

Idol hybrid BTS x hybrid foreigner reader

Warnings: sedative use, relocation against the readers will, implied sexual themes

It was storming outside when the announcement was made, blaring over the emergency speakers.

“All hybrids are required to enter Hybrids Centers to become independent. All hybrids must adhere to the rules set up by the centers, or they risk becoming strays. It is now Illegal to own hybrids in any capacity. Hybrids found on the streets will still be picked up by Hybrid Control and taken in for assessment. Hybrids will receive funds by the state, jobs, and housing upon existing of the Hybrid Centers. This begins now”

All of the humans were staring at me, I had no owner and they knew that. I was abandoned last month by my previous owner for scratching a “client”. I had avoided being taken in, until now. I stare at the large van pulled off to the side of the road as Hybrid Control exists. I follow without a fight, fighting would ensure I was put down. As much as I want to have hope of becoming independent, there has to be a catch. Even Hybrid idols are owned by someone, typically the company chairs. We pulled up to an airport, the man in the front seat holding my file. A picture of me in human and animal form plastered on the front.

“We have arrived, let’s get this over with. I don’t know why our strays get the chance to be independent” he sneers, “at least they aren’t staying in our country”

I’m flying to another country? I begin to panic, looking for a way out of the situation. Suddenly, I feel a prick to my neck, turn to see a long pole holding a syringe empty now of sedatives. My eyes start to feel heavy, the sedative taking full effect.

“Good luck, kid. You’ll need it where you’re going, they have way more rules.” A woman said, tying my hands together. The last thing I see is a cage being unloaded from the plane.

*Time skip*

When I wake I’m in a white room, with a small bed and bathroom. I’m in a my animal form, the sedative must have forced my shift. They also must have bathed me while I was unconscious, my fur is now soft and smells like soap. I curl further into myself, hearing footsteps outside. There’s a knock on the door, and a tall man enters.

“Hello, my name is Choi, welcome to South Korea” he speaks in English, “you will begin classes on language and culture tomorrow, take the rest of the day to settle. Once you pass your classes, you can move on to the next facility where you will be joined by our countries hybrids. America started their adjustments first, we have ours scheduled for the end of the year. This will give you plenty of time to learn the language and why you are here.” He bowed, then left, shutting the door softly.

I think back on how hard it was to adjust to a new culture, learn a new language, and train on how to be a part of a pack. In South Korea, the way to earn independence is through a pack. They taught the foreigners all of the steps for becoming a pack, as a way to prove we are a bonded pack before they release us. We will be brought to the new facility where their hybrid packs are, the ones that are under 8 hybrids. That’s another catch, packs have to be 8-10 people. Rumor has it that packs satisfying the 8-10 can still participate by choice to expand their packs, and those over 10 have to be separated.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as the vehicle comes to a stop. Each hybrid given a pill to increase our chances to find our pack. It brings our animals to be more in control, allowing for our mates to identify us by smell, touch, or eye contact. I am lead to a room with tables and chairs, I walk to the back of the room and take a seat.

"Good morning, my name is San and I am going to explain a few things before we let the packs begin their search. First rule, you do not get up or call out to any pack members that enter. Second, you do not get to choose your pack, the first 2 weeks are for them to choose you. If you are chosen, you must stay with that pack. You are the outcasts of your countries, don't become the outcasts of ours. We won't keep you. Finally, if you are chosen by a pack, they are responsible for you in all aspects. You mess up, you are punished as your pack sees fit. You only become independent through your packs, foreigners do not have the same rights in South Korea." He finishes, headed towards the door and opening it.

I drop my eyes to the table and lean back into the chair. As time passes, I think I am in the clear, until someone pulls the chair our in front of me and sits down. I swallow, and take a deep breath, waiting for them to speak.

"Won't you look at me, little doe" The voice asked, I look up in shock, wondering how he knew. Looking up was a mistake, as soon as my eyes locked on his, they changed to gold. He was my mate, and by the marks on his neck, he had others. He smiled and stood, holding his hand out to me, raising his eyebrow daring me to reject it. I stood up, looking around and seeing that I am the first one to leave the room.

"We got your profiles 3 weeks ago, that's how I knew you were a doe. A Melantistic Deer, quite rare" He said, grabbing my hand creating sparks to travel up my arm. I take a good look at him while he leads me down hallway after hallway. His ears sticking off of his head and tail coloring tell me he is a predator, a rare one. We arrive in front of a guarded door, the guards bow and let us pass.

"She can come and go as she pleases, no one else" he addresses the guards. They nod and give him a final bow before closing us in what appears to be a living room. As soon as the door clicked shut, footsteps came running our way.

"You found her!" A man with orange ears exclaimed, "My name is Jungkook, this is Taehyung" he says pointing to a man with ears similar to Jimin's, "I am a Red Panda, Taehyung is a Racing Stripped Cheetah, and Jimin is an Ocelot"

"I'm Seokjin but I go by Jin, a Dhole and this is Namjoon, a Golden Tiger" Jin said, Namjoon giving me a small smile and a wave.

"I'm Yoongi, a Melantistic Fox" He said, "I will say, I didn't expect to see another Melantistic Hybrid, especially one who was a stray."

"Well, you clearly don't know who we are, so before someone else tells you..."

"Hello, we are BTS" They chant together. You furrow your eyebrows before remembering that there was a chance of encountering idols in the facility.

"Oh" You start, "idols?"

"Is that a problem?" Yoongi questions

"I don't know much about Korean Idols, so if you're expecting me to freak out, you're going to be disappointed." I confess

"We prefer it this way, lets us get to know each other at the same time" Jimin said.

"However, we are expected to be independent by the end of the week" Namjoon say with a grimace.

"So, we have to be fully bonded?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Yes, but only to two members, the rest can be finished by the end of the month. Our company believes it's best to slowly introduce you to our fans." Namjoon confirm.

"But for today, we are going to just get to know you, no pressure to bond. Take it slow." Jin says

"Unfortunately, I give it 24 hours before the pill they made us take wears off and I am thrown into heat." I share, remembering what the guards were discussing when I entered. "They were talking about it in English when we walked in, how if no one finds a pack the first day that the scent of a heat will force people to choose." As soon as I finish speaking, Jimin leans in, pressing his nose to the column of my throat. Looking up at the rest in worry, confirming what I said.

"Which means we will go into our ruts..." Jungkook trails off.

"Which means we need to prepare" Jin says, beginning to panic.

[magnifythesun]

Hiii so mexican salsa YES this post is a prompt! Feel free to change it to whatever you like, but I'd love a lil' story like this:

Ian and anthony are both very obviously in love and the whole smoffice knows it, but them lmao! I'd love this fic to be just text messages or slack posts or sth, where the cast and crew report of sightings of Ian and anthony doing very ianthony stuff and not realize it themselves. Maybe they come up w a way to show or nudge them in the right direction? But Ian and Anthony will still make it a bro moment (broment) bc they think the other one just wants to be bros LMAO ~ Japhan2024 💖

@japhan2024 FANTASTIC IDEA I have to believe that the Smosh cast legit has a secret group chat for stuff like this hahaha the looks on their faces whenever Ian and Anthony do something shippy is priceless

im going to wrack my brain for my favorite moments lolol I hope you enjoy!

(mid writing note: i first wrote basically all texts but it wasn't quite flowing the way i wanted it to so now there's a little more prose lol. this also taught me i do NOT know enough crew members' names)

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56346769

---

It took Erin less than ten minutes to create The Group Chat following the slapping video caress incident.

Erin: "okay so what the fuck"

Tommy: "i'm beside myself."

Angela: "SO WE'RE FINALLY TALKING ABOUT IT"

It began, and all hell broke loose from there.

Most of the cast and crew didn't know Anthony too well when he first returned, but everyone could tell Ian began to positively glow once he came back. It had started mostly with little under-the-breath comments about how big Ian had smiled at something Anthony did, or shared glances after they looked lost in each other's worlds. It's not that everyone wanted to speculate about their bosses, but rather that their bosses were practically giving them no choice.

The real watershed moment was the birth of The Group Chat, which finally provided an outlet for all ianthony incidents witnessed by the cast and crew.

---

Shayne: "Please tell me how Anthony managed to turn his smosh cast interview into an hour of us complimenting Ian."

Tommy: "i swear he practices in his car on the way to work"

---

Erin: "not them discussing deepthroating injuries for like three whole minutes..."

Erin: "while Anthony sucks on his rainbow lollipop......"

Chanse: "they are not beating the allegations"

---

Josh: "So this is I think the fourth video I've edited where Anthony has called Ian daddy??"

Josh: "WHAT is the thought process. I just can't put it together. is Anthony just like yeah I'm going to call my bro daddy about seventeen separate times with varying levels of seriousness and that's good and het and normal."

Erin: "Josh, istg you don't see the half of it. Come watch them film and pay special attention when the cameras are OFF."

---

Erin: "im losing it"

Arasha: "oh god. what happened"

Erin: "i am not fucking kidding right now anthony just called him submissive and breedable."

Keith: "WHAT"

Erin: "he said what he said."

Angela: "BREEDABLE????????????"

Erin: "in front of god and everyone."

Angela: "BREEDABLE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

---

Tommy: "catching up on the main channel sketches and i just have to ask"

Tommy: "How many men can Ian date in his sketches until he realizes he'd like to date one in real life?"

Chanse: "don't SPEAK to me about it"

---

Tommy: "bicurious, hmm? Ian would you like to share something with the class???"

Chanse: "hes so deep in the mental closet his art is trying to scream it at him through his subconscious."

Chanse: "ive been there 😞"

Josh: "I've never been more prepared to edit a video in my whole life"

---

Angela: "Erinnnn not u directing them to stand closer together 😭😭"

Erin: "look I'm at my wits end. I'm thinking forced proximity might do it"

Keith: "if that could work they would have gotten it during kissing currency 😙💸"

Shayne: "@ courtney is this your thought process behind wanting a kissing video"

Courtney: "HA"

Courtney: "yes."

---

Courtney: "okay so if our plan at this point is just to make them read so many fanfics about themselves out loud that they spontaneously realize they're in love, we've got to find some fics that don't contain the word 'cummies'"

Angela: "what are cummies?? 😇"

Shayne: "ANGELA I SWEAR TO GOD"

---

As the incidents kept piling up, a plot began to form. Maybe Anthony and Ian were just so oblivious that they all needed to adopt a certain 'push-comes-to-shove' mentality, and do what had to be done. Everyone agreed, they had to find a way to put them in such a charged situation that this would all finally boil over, and the astounding tension that had plagued the office would be resolved. The ultimate achievement of this long-weary Group Chat.

Erin: "okay so one more time. everyone has talked with HR, yes? and everyone slated for the vid is comfortable with the concept of spin the bottle"

Angela: "what's spin the bottle? 😇"

Tommy: "STOP"

Shayne "1) Yes for the thousandth time, we promise. 2) What the FUCK are we going to do if this bottle never lands on Anthony and Ian"

Erin: "I will keep this shoot going as long as necessary."

Shayne: "That sounds like a threat?"

Chanse: "I'm suddenly regretting my decision. May I take my week's vacation right now?"

---

Erin: "how..."

Courtney: "did you see the look in their eyes????? :O"

Angela: "FATE WAS ON OUR SIDE. IT LANDED ON THEM THREE WHOLE TIMES"

Erin: "yes but,,,,,"

Tommy: "don't speak to me I'm still reeling"

Keith: "oh please don't tell me it didn't work."

Chanse: "i just have one question. how did they kiss THREE TIMES and still not realize."

Courtney: "they were both practically levitating from giddiness"

Arasha: "they just kept looking away from each other and laughing it off... they didn't see each other's expressions 😭😭"

Angela: "guys. guys"

Erin: "what"

Angela: "do u know what this means"

Angela: "now that we've pushed them over this hurdle... They're going to start bro kissing in their sketches"

Chanse: "oh my god"

Josh: "oh fuck you're right"

Erin: "that's it."

Erin: "im quitting smosh"

Amanda: "Oh hey guys! We have a group chat?"

Shayne:

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four

It’s so awkward. It’s as though both Liam and I have forgotten to make conversation. As we walk down the beach together I glance around me, making sure that nobody else can see us, especially not Kelly or Claire, because I know if they could they would be compiling a list of all the things I have been doing wrong so that they can ambush me with it tomorrow morning. 

We walk in near silence until the sounds and lights of the pub have long vanished into the distance behind us, and I’m stressed now. I feel like I should be saying something. Is he waiting for me to say something? He probably is. I haven’t been very good at starting conversations all night, maybe it’s my turn now and I didn’t even realise it, but before I can think of something to say he asks me: “Do you want to sit down over there?”

There is a path through the dunes that leads back into the village and snakes over a golf course en route. The opening to it is a little half moon shape in the dunes, naturally framed by the marram grass, a gentle incline providing a comfortable place to sit while shaded from the wind. We crouch down together there, and I see that the circling beam of a lighthouse is clear from our place on the sand. Its brazen light pierces through the darkness towards me and then vanishes again in an instant, leaving only the ghostly glow of the moon on the shore. 

“There’ll be a full moon in a few days.” I say, partially to myself, partially because I’m now desperate to finally say something out loud. 

“Yep, you can tell by the tides.” Says Liam. “See how choppy they’ve become now? Once the moon is waning again you’ll see the tide still as anything.” He scratches the back of his head and breathes in. His breath is quivering a little bit. “Full moon is a good time to be out on the water if you’ve got a bit of experience. We try not to bring the surf juniors out there though – it’s a bit more risky.”

“I don’t know anything about surfing.” I admit. “We took a school tour to an activity camp one year. Everyone was so excited to try surfing there, but I couldn’t even get close to standing up on the board.”

“We’ve all been there. It just takes practice. That’s why I love doing the camps, you can really see the progress over the six weeks and kids are just so good at picking things up.”

“Sounds like you really like your job.”

“Oh, I love it. If I could stay here all year round and teach surfing I would in a heartbeat. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else than on the beach and in the sea.”

“Well, why don’t you stay here then? Do you really want to go and do Agricultural Science in college?”

“No” His shoulders slump. “I can’t be bothered with it really, but once September comes this beach is deserted. There’s not a soul around for the guts of nine months, you’d never get enough to fill a class in the Surf Shack. I have to find something else to do.” 

“That sounds hard.” I say. “It’s a shame you can’t keep on doing what you love.” I think about myself, and how I would feel if art was something I was unable to pursue, and instead I found myself stuck in some dull administrative job, spending each day filing papers and typing reports in some grey corporate office. I stare thoughtfully out towards the sea as I consider this, imagining myself in some alternate dimension where I am forced to choose between exclusively boring college courses, trying to get through my classes day after day, knowing that what waits me at the other end of it all is a job offer for the worst career possible. 

It takes me a moment to realise that Liam hasn’t spoken in a while, and I glance at him, but his face is towards the sand, he’s watching grains of sand spill through his fingers with brows knitted together anxiously. I immediately assume that I’ve said something wrong. “Are you okay?” I ask. 

“Yeah I’m fine.” He says absently.

“Are you sure? I didn’t say something wrong or anything did I?”

“No, not at all.” His eyes flicker up to meet mine. “You didn’t say anything.” I wonder in disappointment if I have ruined things. If he was going to make a move on me, he probably would have done it by now, and I worry that our date – if you can call it that – has been a failure. I glance at him and I wonder if I even want him to kiss me, if he tried to, would I let him? He is a nice boy, his face is handsome and he seems like a nice person and I think there must be something wrong with me if I don’t fancy him. I think then that I might start crying. 

“When I saw you outside the Surf Shack earlier I thought you were gorgeous.” He says finally. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts that it takes me a second to realise it. 

“Really?” I sound incredulous. But how can a boy look at anybody else when someone like Claire is sitting right in front of them?

“Yeah, there’s something about like, your eyes. I’ve not met anybody before who has green eyes like that.”

“Yeah right” I laugh, and it sounds harsh and out of place.

“No, I’m dead serious.” He says, cheeks pink with embarrassment. I realise he’s not setting me up, and I feel bad for laughing. It’s just hard for me to imagine that anybody would feel in any way intensely about me or any part of me. I look in the mirror and I can’t pick out any feature of mine that is especially beautiful or especially ugly. I’m just flat. Plain. Blank, and there’s nothing about me that… sparkles. 

“When you turned around and looked over at me, it’s like, I felt a shock when I saw your face, I just thought to myself; “who is she?’”

“That’s mad.” I feel my face getting hot, and I kind of want him to say more nice things about me, for as much as I find them hard to believe, it is lovely to think that somebody has looked at my face and seen something beautiful in it. 

He rakes his fingers through his blond curls and sighs. “I… Evie, you’re so nice and I wanted to come out here with you and I really wanted to kiss you, but now I’ve been feeling too nervous to make a move on you and I’ve just… made things so shit and awkward.”

“Oh.” I say, my heart suddenly thumping in my chest. I can’t think of how to respond, and he looks at me desperately, his eyes begging me to say something else to break the silence.

“Sorry, I think I’m the one who’s been making it awkward” I say at last.  

“So can I kiss you?” 

I wish that he hadn’t asked me and had just done it, and I kind of feel like rolling my eyes, but I nod, and then he leans towards me and then his lips are against mine. 

I don’t have a lot of experience with kissing, and most of my experiences with it have been truly horrible, but I find kissing Liam to be quite nice. He isn’t smashing his face against mine or immediately going in with too much tongue, he is gently holding the back of my neck, and his face and his breath are warm against my cheek. I find myself wishing that all of my kisses had been like this one, maybe then I wouldn’t be so traumatised by the concept of boys and love and sex. Maybe, after all, the whole thing doesn’t have to be such a monstrous ordeal. When I realise I am overthinking, I try to force my racing thoughts away so that I can focus on kissing him back. 

It doesn’t last very long, and when we pull away, we giggle nervously and then get up from the sand and begin slowly walking back down the beach together. It feels like now that we’ve done it, we can finally leave. I’m surprised that he reaches for my hand as we go and can’t help but think that it feels a little preemptive of him to do that. Doesn’t hand holding come later? Is there supposed to be some kind of discussion about where we stand with one another? Maybe I don’t understand the rules. I forget about it, and just enjoy the feeling of being close with another person like this. It’s safe and sweet and cosy, and we talk and joke hand in hand all the way back to the pub. 

Prev // Next

[lazar-codes]

09/11/2023 || Day 107

Personal Chatter (aka I ramble a bit)

Still looking for jobs, and there are still none to be had. Any time I think I haven't applied to a job in a few days, I check and there's literally nothing new. What makes it feel worse is that my current part-time retail job cut hours like crazy, so I'm only coming in once a week instead of the 4 days I'm available. It especially sucks because I do want to spend my day working, but instead I'm at home attempting to program but I'm running out of steam. Not to mention it gets dark so early now; I used to love that as a kid, but as an adult it's just depressing. I think the only thing that's keeping me sane is the fact that I go out to play Magic on Thursdays with people, and I have ASL class on Wednesdays. It's nice to have scheduled weekly events. Hell, I've even been forcing myself to play video games for an hour or 2 every evening to help me get through my games, because even though I like playing video games, it takes a lot of energy for me to start a play session. The joys of being an adult 😂.

But some good news! I have 3 pages left in my sketchbook and I'm so excited to finish it! I've been drawing only in pen in this book for 3 years, so I'm so ready to start a new one and be able to use pencil and actually take my time with drawing instead of just pumping out sketches. People say that sketching in pen will improve your art faster and enables you to draw faster, but I realized I really like getting sucked into a sketch and take my time with it, which I can't really do with pen.

📺 : The Haunting of Bly Manor (rewatch)

🎮 : Mass Effect Andromeda

📚 : Fight, Magic, Items - The History of Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, and the Rise of Japanese RPGs in the West.

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

Programming

LeetCode

I've been doing 1 problem per weekday for a week now! Yesterday and today I did some medium-level questions on Strings/Arrays which took about 2 hours each. Yesterday I had to look at other peoples' answers, but today I managed to solve it by myself. Am I in the top percentile for time and space complexity? Absolutely not, but I solved it, so I still consider that a win.

Hobby Tracker - Log # 4

I feel like I'm bored out of my mind. I know I said I was gonna focus on doing a full-stack project this month, but I still haven't done the desktop design for the project and I can't bring myself to continue designing. The good news is that I "finished" the mobile design, so I can instead pivot and just create a mobile app instead if I so choose, and I just might...or just do mobile-view first and get all the functionality done, then move onto desktop.

[nerves-nebula]

what made your first year of college so much worse than the second?

godddd where do i even start. Complaining goes under the cut cuz it’s too damn long.

8 hour studios 3 times a week that start at 8 AM and only break for lunch. one of the professors expected us to stand the entire time we were drawing and only sit when we went on break. plus homework for those studios, because each studio was a different foundational class. and on the days when you dont have those studios you got other foundational classes like art history and literature or something. you've got homework for all of these classes too and tests and everything.

and each studio being a different class is a huge issue and really frustrating as well. the classes are drawing, design and, like, basically a 3D class, right? where you use power tools and carve stuff and all that. But imagine you go to this school for painting or to make clothes, then the three foundational classes might just really bore and frustrate you. because you don't really feel like they're helping you gain any skills in your preferred major.

so you have all these artistic kids who want to do their best, being forced to do things they hate and being told it's to make us "more well rounded." (which dont get me wrong i understand, but that doesnt make it suck any less)

so all the art you make is painful to create, and you don't even like the result. but we knew what we signed up for, and the point is to last past first year so you can get into your major. thats the point for me, at least. so you just get what you can done, but i cant imagine what I would've done if i'd fallen behind even once.

And then my own personal hell- being in a new place and not knowing what to do or who to talk to or how to communicate ! So i was constantly stressed out in like a social way. idk if i vented about this here but i fell over in a fit of anxiety and hyperventilation in class multiple times first year. I straight up fell over at least twice and i had crying fits multiple times (with varying degrees of how quiet I was being, sometimes they don't even notice :D)

I was incredibly emotionally isolated and cried myself to sleep like every night. my only social interactions were at work because I'm very bad at socializing properly and making friends in class, and i was always too tired to go to any events. LUCKY for me I met a really cool friend while doing some student work and it was really nice and chill.

ANYWAY BACK TO THE STRESS. to give an example of the situation: our first homework for drawing class was to make this big ink master copy of a van gogh sketch, and it didn't have to be perfect, or even GOOD tbh, but regardless it took forever. and i spilled my ink on it which nearly led to a breakdown but instead i just laughed cause otherwise I'd go insane. the amount of podcasts and audiobooks i burned through that year just to keep myself sane was mind-numbing. i listened to, no joke, ALL of Well There's Your Problem, and i went back and listened to a lot of them more than once.

i was really lucky though, cause some other students had first projects that were like "bring in 50 drawings by next class" or "make a chair out of only cardboard that you can sit on without it collapsing" or something. and i never had a teacher that bad.

actually, my second semester design professor was really REALLY chill. He let me sleep in class if i finished the work so I spent a few hours in his class just chilling and sleeping fitfully (as in I was so stressed i would gasp and mutter myself awake, which really alarmed my classmates but i never got close enough to them to explain myself soooo they prolly just think something is wrong with me. which it is! oh well)

i can only speak for myself but i was basically working any moment i wasn't sleeping, eating, shitting, or showering. somehow other people made time to befriend each other and hang out and like, go to parties??? i dont know how. Frankly I don't even remember how i did what i did either, specifically I reached out to my college's mental health services and got on some medication for anxiety. I also somehow managed to write an essay for our student published thingy about how I wanted to kms and felt unsupported by mental health professionals lmao.

I have NO IDEA how i did any of that because this year i kept falling asleep for five hours in the middle of the day. my theory is that I got more done because I physically HAD TO STAY AWAKE. I COULD NOT ALLOW MYSELF TO FAIL.

I was so stressed out the first year that I often couldn't sleep without hugging my giant elephant stuffed animal or using it as a comforting weight on top of me. one morning i woke up hyperventilating and went to go cut a huge role of paper at like 6 AM because i was so worried about forgetting to cut the paper before i left before class at 8 AM.

so yeah, my theory is that since second year wasn't that insanely stressful, all those hours i spent eking out any artistic joy possible (making owl house comics, writing that essay, and painting my clothing) just to make sure i didn't kms were replaced instead with me just falling asleep at inopportune times, because I wasn't as scared that I wouldn't have time for my work.

OH MY GOD AND FIRST YEAR I GOT PUT IN TWO CONSECUTIVE GROUP PROJECTS WITH THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER- but that could be its entire own post. suffice it to say that he had been reported multiple times for various things and one of my classmates recognized who i was talking about just from me vaguely complaining about how much i hated him.

anyway im sure there's even more that i forgot about but to be honest i think i've explained enough.

[zmasters]

The Regular

Kiran was a manager for a fairly successful, upper class restaurant. During a normal shift, she personally seated Xiri, an alien regular.

"Here you go Ms. Xiri." she said, sitting the tall reptilian in her usual table.

"Thank you, Kiran." Xiri replied. "The usual meal please."

"Sure thing mam." Kiran turned to help prepare her food, but paused. "Sorry if I come off as rude," she said, "but I happened to notice that you reserve a table for two, even though you eat alone."

Xiri sighed. "It's just a little thing, you don't have to worry about it."

"I'm not forcing you to say anything." Kiran smiled. "I just want my favorite regular to have a great night."

As she turned to the kitchen, Xiri sat in silent.

Kiran returned a few minutes later with Xiri's entree of choice. Rare steak, mashed potatoes, extra bread, and red wine. Being used to her visiting once a week, the kitchen had already started making her meal beforehand. "Her you go, Ms. Xiri." She said, placing down her food. "Do you need anything else."

"I have one thing I want to ask, but it may come off as a little weird."

"What do you need?"

Xiri gestured to the seat across from her. "I want you to join me."

Kiran was caught off guard, but the restaurant was empty and it was nearing her break anyway. "Sure thing mam, just let me grab my dinner first."

When Kiran returned, salad in hand, Xiri had already poured her a glass of wine and had one of the waiters bring out a second menu. "I'm paying."

"Thank you. I'll try not to order anything too expensive." Kiran teased.

"Don't worry about it kid."

Kiran smiled, sat down, and ordered the chicken. Xiri was a little upset that her companion ordered the cheapest entree, but she did enjoy a good chicken.

The two sat in silence as they enjoyed their food, and that silence was fine. The two enjoyed each other's company well enough.

Xiri was the one to break the silence. "Tell me about yourself love."

"Well..." Kiran paused to think. "I'm trans, I've been working here for five years, and I'm trying to become a professional writer."

"Fascinating, mind if I read something you wrote?"

"I-I, uh, I don't have anything yet."

Xiri lightly giggled to herself. "That's fine. I'll tell you a little about myself."

"I first came to your lovely restaurant about six years ago. It was my hatching day, and my friend, a human roughly around your age, kinda looks like you too, recommended me this place."

"Well, I would love to meet this friend of yours."

Kiran noticed Xiri's mood suddenly switch. Her smiled faded, her eyes became misty, her tail stopped swinging, and her voice was shaky. "He.. he was suppose to meet me that night, but he was caught in a car crash. He... he."

"I'm so sorry!" Kiran profusely apologised as Xiri began to tear up.

"No no, it's fine. You had no idea. I just... he was my best friend. I-I loved him."

Kiran rose to her feet, running over and hugging Xiri. "I am so sorry."

"It's ok. I just have a feeling that if I come here, he'll eventually walk through those doors and we can finally have our dinner."

Kiran looked down on the green alien, her teary eyes and wagging tail reminding her of a lost puppy. "Do you want something for desert? I'm paying.”

Kiran had decided to close the restaurant early that slow night. Not only did her employees had the chance to go home early and receive full night’s pay, but she had a chance to walk Xiri home.

“Thank you, Kiran.” Xiri said outside her front door. “I had a lovely night.”

“So did I. Same time next week.”

“You said you had the day off next week, right?”

Kiran was confused. “Yeah, why?”

“Do you want to try a different place next week?”

[ramayantika]

I am moving out from here on 14th April. My brother has his jee on 13th after which we will head back home to Durgapur. I have lived here in odisha, my native state for three years now. As a child, we never visited other tourist places much. We only got time to visit our grandparents and cousins. My cousins lived where I live now: Nalco, Angul. I wanted to live here when I was a kid just to stay with my cousins and play with them until I was forced to stay in odisha instead of completely my high school in kolkata like we were supposed too and then living here in Angul was suggested by chacha chachi, so we did, with hopes of getting something good out of it.

I am here only for nine more days. I had arrived here on 15th August where the physics sir had told us to quickly study S block and give a test in two hours. I remember how I felt like crying. We had just reached this place, barely opened our luggage, and I was hearing this neet jee for an hour and then a test. I wanted to sleep, but somehow I studied and I had scored really bad. Like I do often, I ended up crying in the car. I was like mummy dance class band kar dete hai abhi padhai pe hi dhyan dungi. For someone who loves dance a lot, I have told my mother to cancel dance classes because I thought that I wasn't good enough to do both because I was lacking in my studies, and as for every middle class person, job and money comes first and then your dreams until your job money dream everything lies in one single thing.

Well, my dance class continued, I gave my dance exam online, completed learning a few items too, wrote stories and studied hard. I have wasted time too by crying or by simply procrastinating or sometimes I would engage myself in dance or writing for a much longer time than scheduled. And now all of this will end. I will wrap my things again and go home. Now I have lived in durgapur for only a month. I loved it so I am looking forward to it now.

It feels surreal. I wanted to move out of this place so badly in the initial months. I still want too. But now looking back, this experience has made me feel grateful and wiser about so many things. My school friends from kolkata still complain that why I had to go to odisha and stay there, but I am happy I did. As a tenth grader, I lived in my own world and had a pink dream idea of being with my friends, wearing fashionable clothes, attending parties and fests and studying ofc, nothing much.

Over here each and every expectation, every dream was broken. Like they say, to find yourself one needs to lose themselves too, which I did. That was a really dark phase. Alone, with no one and no idea how and why is this happening to you. But some time later I rediscovered myself again. It was art, poetry, stories and dance. It was me connecting back to God, whom I had forgotten in the glitz and glamour of big cities. I read the same ramayana mahabharata and folk tales, but I had begun finding learning lessons from them which as a child I was only enamoured by the story, the drama and visuals.

The things 13year old samridhi enjoyed, I no longer enjoy them anymore. The clothing, the music, the lifestyle everything has taken a 360 degree turn. Once I enjoyed parties and loud music, we used to have some in kolkata sometimes and I loved it. Now, I don't think I can. I want to have friends and make memories and enjoy, but no longer with music drinks and stuff. Somewhere simple and meaningful.

I know that in the upcoming months there are going to be many changes, but these experiences shall stay with me and remind me to be humble and rooted to the ground. I have seen the rich, sparkles and exciting rush and also the slow life, muddy roads, farms and simple people simple towns. There is still more to see in the near future, but to live through all this is a big thing for an 18 year old.

And if it were not sambalpur and angul, I wouldn't have known how strangers can be loving, how certain people hold such a great mark over you and your story, and how colourful life can be.

[what-if-nct]

hiiii is it ok if i ask for some advice? im sorry im gonna sound rambly but uhhh i'm 14 and starting high school next year (which i alrdy dont feel too good abt haha) and my (overbearing asian) parents are going to send me to this private lutheran hs instead of the public one i was supposed to go to bc its more upper class and smart (?). tbh i was genuinely surprised that i liked the school, academic-wise, and i rlly liked that i had the space in my schedule to take more fine arts classes (i dont have any in my hs) but like the first thing the principal said to me was that i "needed to learn to be a good christian". a whole hour each week is dedicated to jesus and i just know my atheist ass is going to be uncomfortable asf. first, one of my best friends has a thing for jesus (he says jesus is too hot to be straight 😭) and i cant tell if hes joking anymore, and second, i dont have a problem with people who are religious, but i do when they are flat out hateful and harrassing people from communities they "dont agree with", and i just know the people preaching at this school are the latter.

also rn i am the *only* poc in my entire school, and i noticed there were a lot more asian students and students of color, so hopefully there'll be less kids pulling at their eyes or calling me slurs :D

anyways i not a fan of the fact that "homosexual behavior on or off campus" warranted for expulsion, since i am a *very* queer and bisexual individual. at my current school, i dont really need to hide my gayness bc no one cares, and my teachers are accepting (my homeroom teachers a lesbian lol <33). i dont think i can handle having to hide such a big part of my identity at home *and* at school :( too add to that i really suck at making friends, so being somewhere without people i'm comfortable with, my anxiety gets really bad, and i just shut down completely.

my hs is p rundown (like most public highschools are) and the classes are average at best, so idk man, im torn :( i dont know if i should suck it up and go to lutheran school bc their good academics, or ✨be myself✨ and go to p shitty school :/

i dont know what to do (or if i can even do anything) abt it i just dont feel too good about this :( you've mentioned you went to a christian school, so do you have any advice? even if you dont, thank you so so much for listening to me rant for a moment there <33 i really treasure you and your blog, atp you feel like the big sister i've never had. i love youuuu <333

That is such a sticky situation. Cause maybe you can try to persuade your parents especially since they'll be paying for the private school on top of college tuition in the future, it can be a huge selling point. I know that's how I won in the decision of beauty school over college it's cheaper. And christian and catholic schools are heavily based in religion like it's a huge part of it so if you don't believe in it it can be absolutely mind numbing. I actually didn't go to Christian school, actually wasn't forced to go to church as a child, I was like 11 and for some reason told grandma Christianity is responsible for all the bad things that happened in the world. Which is wild that I even was able to come to that conclusion as a child she just brushed me off. But I did go to church summer camp to be with my friends which my friend and I got scolded for holding hands but she was just leading me through the crowd of people. So that's still unfortunately a huge part of christian beliefs

the thing that really caught me off guard is the homosexual activity off campus can lead to expulsion. On campus like sucks but is expected of a christian school sadly. But off campus in your day to day life is like your actions off campus shouldn't be judged by the school. Like I can't wrap my mind around that. I think since you have a whole summer maybe look for more schools you can attend I remember doing this in middle school because my home high school was an F school so you could choose any high school within a certain range. You'd be really surprised with how many schools are around you I'm assuming you're in the us but I'm sure everywhere has a ton of schools. And look for a school that holds some of what your parents want and also your own values and needs for your education. And maybe your parents seeing you take initiative might be an extra point.

If your parents are deadset on it. I think try to make the best out of it as much as you can usually there's a group of people in the same boat you're in where their parents forced them to be there. Trust me no matter where you go you will always be drawn to those like you every single time. But if you do get the choice of going to the original public school firstly screw every single racist little bitch who does that to you that is horrid I am so sorry you have to endure that. People suck. But you can also learn extra independently I always did that cause I was a bit ahead of my class. But I really think researching more schools in your area would help you find the perfect school for you. I personally was in love with Waldorf schools they're more creative led schools and freer, I wanted to go to one so badly. So figure out the exact kind of education you want like a magnet school, charter school it doesn't hurt to see how receptive your parents will be to it.

I really hope this helped at all and I hope it works out well for you. And Awwww it's so sweet you see me as a big sister, I gladly be your big sister, love you too🌸🌸🌸

[fallen-from-venus]

Thanks Hotel De Luna for sending me down a spiral!

I’ve been thinking about death lately.

Nothing like a little death to make you reevaluate your philosophy on life. Not that death is little or insignificant, on the contrary, death is deeply important and moving. Ugh, moving sounds so cliche, it understates the gravity. It’s moving in the way that it shifts lives. It alters you. I guess what I really like about death is that it forces you to face your feelings. It’s so completely out of our control and that brings to the surface any subconscious or subdued emotions. It forces you to come to terms with them or to work through them. 

I realize that this is feeling a bit faux intellectual, or something like that. I don’t know anything for certain and that���s just how I feel about it now. My current thoughts philosophized. So I guess I’ll talk about what I do know for certain, my feelings and experiences.

My first run in with death, like an actual death and not just through fiction, was my grandmother. An all-nighter cartoon marathon while my parents hoped on and off of phone calls, speaking in blurry tones in the hallway, lights off. I was young and didn’t quite understand what was going on. When I caught onto what was happening, I cried and prayed on my little bunk bed and begged God to let my grandma live. Bargaining was definitely involved, I’m sure I promised to never tell a lie or pick a fight ever again. That isn’t how things work, but I didn’t know that then. I must have cried my heart dry because when the funeral came around, I didn’t hardly shed a tear.

I actually learned more about anger and hurt from her death than anything. I learned that death is sacred and should be treated with respect and reverence, not by having a free for all of the deceased’s belongings as soon as they hit the ground. 

Another time death crossed my path, it decided to go for a double punch. Both of my grandfathers in less than a month. At least we had some semblance of a warning, we knew their health was in a decline and began preparing ourselves. Some of us got to say goodbye to one, a bittersweet lining. I know I said death forces you to deal with emotions, but this time it did the opposite. Such monumental deaths so close together, it was impossible to process. i became numb and distanced. To this day I still have a hard time remembering much about then or even about my grandfathers. It changed me forever, not for the best then, though I’ve gained perspective several years later.

Later in life I dealt with deaths in advertently. People adjacent to me, but not close, passed. It’s weird. To have classmates pass. Through natural causes or by a chain reaction of their own choices, it’s still deeply sobering. To have someone your age, someone you saw live life alongside yours, suddenly pass away. Cease to exist, at least in the physical. It makes you rethink your life. I’ll admit, the first one, I handled it wrong. Worse, I used it as a conversation point, a story to make myself sound more interesting. Pathetic, I know. I didn’t know the dude besides that we had a class together and my friend was friends with his girlfriend. Though his death was a consequence of his own actions it was still tragic, a life was still lost.

The latest I feel more connected to, but still I feel guilty for feeling anything. We went to elementary together, and though we were never close, he remained a familiar cast member in my school years. The him I knew and remembered only went up to middle school, maybe freshman year. Realistically, the man he was, was way more evolved than the kid I knew then, who knows if they even resembled each other. So even if I really knew him then, though I didn’t, could I still mourn him today? I don’t know. But that was still a part of him, his life, even if it was even only a brief snapshot. 

You can see why I am hesitant to wade in my feeling about this. Is there a rule that you can only mourn a death if you have earned a right to? Do you have to know a person in a certain capacity to feel for their death? I think the answer is no, but also maybe yes. A lot of mourning to me is dealing with your life and what it’ll be like without a person. So maybe you should know a person so much before you can mourn them, if it’s such a selfish thing to do. Or maybe I just have a warped idea of grief and it’s expression. Ugh, death is weird.

Sometimes I wonder what life would look like as a ghost. To be able to watch people in the third person. To see how my life would ripple through others. The butterfly effect, right? Maybe I would hover around loved ones and try to comfort them through the flickers of a lamp. Or maybe I would venture to the sides of acquaintances and see their reactions as they read the news. Would I even want to see how I affected others? Who am I kidding, of course I would. Maybe it’s a tad narcissistic, but I think it’s more so curiosity. Do others feel so deeply about me as I feel about them? Do others grow so attached to classmates and familiar faces as I do? Does an old coworker even bat an eye when they hear about me? Would a past professor even recall me? 

And again, death begs the question, do you want to wait to find out? If I am so curious, why not indulge myself and find out now. I often like to come across as aloof and not show how much I care. Finding out how other feel would require me to show my cards first. And I can’t say that I like to go in blind. But again, death forces you make choices, I thank God that death has come into my life and given me time to sit on these questions.

time stamp: february 14, 2023

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #34

I thought people were joking when they said they couldn’t get the person they loved out of their head. Now I know they were not. Not at all. No matter where I am and what I am doing, I attribute all and everything to him, no matter how unrelated it may seem. He haunts me everywhere so I scan the room for him if I know he might be there and it is so hard not to stare at him all the time. It feels as if I just woke up one day and decided that he would be constantly occupying my mind from now on. There is a corner of my mind, reserved just for him, that I like to visit at those times that others would check their phone or chat with someone they barely know, simply to pass time. At the beginning, it did not get in the way of school. On the contrary, I was more motivated than ever to participate in class and spoke my mind. Only when the insecurities started to set in, when doubt disturbed me in my waking hours, pushing my sleeping hours behind, only then did it start to bother me. It had been so easy before, I didn’t think it would be too bad to think about him whenever I got the chance to. It felt natural and it felt right. And all of a sudden it had become a living nightmare, thinking about him all hours of the day, postponing sleep and work and hardly talking to friends. I went from an active student to someone who slacked off and showed little interest doing whatever the teachers asked me to do. It felt like I was going through hell. Each day I forced myself through to the other day and not even laying in bed helped. Nothing helped. Nothing excited me and all I could do was to think about him, anyway. What should I have done? I could only watch the shell left of me wander through the monotonous daily life as all my mind could pay attention to were my oh so grand movements. My weird gestures. My fluctuating tone of voice. What stupid things I said. And how dumb he must have thought I was. And really nothing could stop me from eating myself from the inside, just because I needed to understand, what it was that I was being and what it was that I needed to become. Who I needed to be to appease him and everybody I admired. To meet the expectations thrown at me whenever someone pointed out that I could use brain cells. Who are humans? What are they, really? Who did I need to be, in order to be a human? Are there wrong ways to be human? Is there a defect human? Was I doing it all wrong? Was I destined to be a defect, forever? Who are the defect people? We have to change them, don’t we? We have to show them the way to trully be human! They just don’t know it yet, but they are wrong. They were born defect.

I couldn’t stop thinking those thoughts. It is not that they wouldn’t let me alone. At some point, it was all in my control. It was me who couldn’t let go of this image of the bright kid who got excellent grades in elementary school without trying. I had somehow got lost in my path and I had to become that bright kid again, so that I could be someone. Someone who could stand in a room with extraordinary people feeling the urge to evaporate into thin air. If I could not be someone, what even was the point of being? My entire existence felt like a tragedy. I couldn’t grasp the fact that I still existed, within all these contradictions my mind had imprisoned me, I just couldn’t find a reason to be. So, I just survived day after day and hoped that someday I would figure it out. I had to believe that! There was no other way out of those contradictions. I had to become familiar with them, look at them from every angle possible and understand them. To know how they existed and what they meant. And it took a lot of observing and more patience than I had left to finally come to understand them. And by doing so, also understanding that I existed and that I had every right to do so. Really, it was the most liberated I felt after a long time. I was me again. I wasn’t that bright kid I remembered others had called me, but I was me, the kid who others did not see, who wasn’t “bright”, but was just curious about it all. Who loved. Loved books and their home, library (which also became my second home), the beach, brazilian sweets, mom’s cooking, writing, singing, and coincidentally also loved to learn about every subject they encountered in- and outside of school. That was me. Not shy but also not looking for much attention, just living in their own world, which is really the best world there is. Sometimes very bubbly, sometimes very cold. Scared a lot, but not afraid to speak their mind. I was me, existing in contradictions I didn’t see, which I didn’t need to understand. The important part was that I existed within them. I didn’t try to fit an ideal and be someone who I wasn’t. And I wasn’t ashamed of that. I simply accepted the reality I was in, and thereby accepted the contradictions others may have been confused by. And though many people find contradictions irritating, I think they are what makes the world such a strange and exciting and terrifying and monstrous place. It is the best place there is and I am the best me I could ever be.

[shayandwildlifepack]

I have been really going through it with bad memories from my life as Zuki lately, lol.

So, instead, I wanna share some good memories I have so I can balance out the bad.

Since I was like an older sibling to Izuku, I would let him help me preen my wings and shit, which is a thing for mostly family [and mates]. He was one of the only ones that I allowed to do this for a long time. Eventually, others from Class 1A got added to the list of people who were allowed to even touch my wings, let alone preen them. Hikari, my queer platonic partner, was the second person who I allowed to preen my wings [of my class], we may not have been romantic, but they were still my mate. Hitoshi was the third cause he was my little brother, legally this time, lol. Toshi was the least likely to ask to preen my wings though, even after getting permission to ask, I would usually have to ask him if he wanted to help for him to feel like he could, lol [it did come from his trauma though so it's ok, love you bro]. I allowed Denki to touch my wings and tail cause it would help with his ADHD sometimes, which mood I would play with my own tail to help my ADHD, lol. There are others, but these are the ones I feel like sharing rn.

Bro, I remember hanging out with the "girls" [I use quotes cause not everyone identified as a girl/woman]. We would have "girl's night," which once again not everyone identified with that gender but it's pretty much what we would call it, lol. It was fun. We would paint each other's nails. The ones who knew makeup and shit would help those who wanted to learn. And we would just talk about shit. I miss these "girl's nights" so much.

I miss the game nights we would have as a whole class. We had to ban some games cause of how people got, lol. Monopoly was the first one to be banned, lol. We would play Uno the most, even though people got very competitive [*cough* Bakugo and me mainly *cough*]. We also had to ban truth or dare, and I will not be explaining why, I think it's obvious why. Would you rather and never have I ever were allowed though, lol.

Dadzawa and Papamic would take me, Eri, and Toshi to do fun activities, such as arts and crafts, go trick or treating, and other fun shit, lol. I would usually end up carrying Eri at some point cause she loved to be carried, and it helped with my protective instincts, lol. I would usually wrap my wings around her while holding her, and she loved it. If someone who is good at art would draw that for me, I would love it [I don't have money rn so I'm not gonna commission anyone right now, but I might when I get enough money, lol].

I would never have described myself as good with kids, and I would say that I wasn't a lot. My friends and family tended to disagree with me there. They would bring up how good I was with Eri, Kota, and a kid who is not canon. But I would bring up in response that they were all traumatized kids that I latched onto in a sibling way mainly but also cause I saw bits of myself in them and didn't want them to not have someone. Other kids I was definitely not good with. I would say I'm not really good with kids in this life, even though at the church I am forced to go to, I help with the kids, lol. Kids are kinda weird.

I remember Remo, my service dog, and despite the fact that I had been so fucking upset that I needed another being/creature with me to function, I loved him. I remember when I would have him off duty and use my quirk to become a little wolfdog with wings spirit thing and play with him, lol. I also used that to play with Hikari, whose quirk let them become certain animals, lol. It was very fun to do these things and I miss being able to do that.

I really miss everyone. I miss my life as Zuki. I miss my pack. I miss my wings. I miss my tail. I miss my ears. I miss my sharp teeth. I miss my claws. I miss being Zuki physically.

- Zuki Shay Lupo (They/it/xe)

[stanleyisworking]

MOE Pt. 5: Lower Secondary Music Classes - Again, but Guitar!

At this point, I was slowly easing into my role as a Music Teaching Intern at Admiralty Secondary School.

I got used to waking up at 5.30am and heading out the door before anyone else.

I got used to making small talk with the bubbly senior teacher sitting beside my desk, listening to her share about the extra duties she has to juggle besides teaching, and her motherly nature of constantly telling me to eat because I packed my schedule more and more each day.

I got used to walking around the school corridors with my head held high, coming into my role as a teacher and not a student.

The kids have gotten used to my presence around campus as well and some of them have started to greet me in the hallways. Hearing "Goodmorning Mr Stanley!" feels kind of sweet.

Here are more photos from different days of teaching keyboard skills!

On a side note, remember Teacher W's class? The class that I felt would be challenging to build a rapport with?

After the first few times of consistently trying out the communication technique I mentioned, they started to open up to me as well. I would make a whole separate post about it, but I would probably go on and on.

To sum up, even though they were classified as the "rowdier" and "unmotivated" class by the teachers, I grew fond of them. While I went through my routine of joining their english/literature lessons and sitting at the back, some of them asked me on what a certain word meant - and I was flattered they trusted me enough to provide them english tips when they knew I was only here as a music teacher. When I identified a problem kid, I asked him to sit behind me at the back of the class and we took a look at the english worksheet together. This made them extra motivated, I guess due to the special attention I was paying to them - and their form teacher, Teacher W, did not mind at all and allowed me to integrate myself into her class however I felt fit.

This goes to show that every kid wants to learn.

In my opinion, the joy of learning needs to be cultivated rather than forced - and my approach throughout the past few days was to get to know them genuinely, rather than ask them questions about their studies or give them a specific agenda to accomplish. Of course, this was easier because they were not the kids I took for music and I did not have to push a specific lesson plan. Even so, I believe genuine conversations with students will always be helpful in their education journey. I am proud of Teacher W's class and wish them the best in their N levels!

Moving on, this post will re-focus on my efforts in conducting the classes I was tasked to teach.

Previously, I wrote about teaching keyboard skills to lower secondary levels. In this post, I will be focusing on guitar lessons instead. To clarify, keyboard skills were for Secondary 1 and guitar were for Secondary 2. Hence, this would be a whole different batch of Secondary 2 students that I have yet to meet.

One sentence summary? "My mentor threw me on the spot to give an impromptu performance."

And that was how I introduced myself to the new batch of students.

Honestly, even though I consider myself a trained performer, performing in a formal classroom setting for kids who might think you're too old or too "cringe" made me so nervous. I panicked and picked the most (hopefully) well-known song from Taylor Swift. Everyone loves Taylor Swift, right? I hope so!

When I captured their attention with "Blank Space", I quickly switched to "Love Story" and the kids started laughing. Laughter was a good sign, I thought to myself. It meant they recognized the song!

In the end, it wasn't so bad. The kids were now interested in what they could potentially do with the guitar and I caught onto why my mentor told me to perform for them first as a self-introduction.

The excitement afterward was great, though! A lot of the boys were lining up to get me to help tune their guitars so they could hurry up and play, and the girls were more reserved and shy, but asked my mentor for the same assistance as well.

Guitar lessons were off to a good start!

However, there were a few problems.

As the lesson progressed and I went through my slides of the day, I realized their initial motivation started to wane.

"So many chords to learn."

"I don't want to learn this song!"

"It's too painful."

Were a lot of the comments I heard and I had to bring back order in the classroom a few times. I have learned from my private teaching experience that kids tend to want the fastest way and easiest way to learn things, and they might give up quickly if they don't see results or realize how much effort they need to put in. Especially for music, not everyone was as passionate about it. I had to put myself in their shoes that music to a lot of them was just a form of entertainment and they had bigger problems to worry about such as their math exam.

How do I make this easier for them while still achieving my lesson objectives? I needed to make it through the slides that my mentor handed over to me. We needed to cover at least a few chords based on the syllabus, but they were already struggling with one.

Solutions:

Break it down even further. My principal study teacher at LASALLE, Dr Wong, would always break it down to the most minuscule detail - even if we had to repeat a word or vowel a few times. How can I translate this to guitar? Perhaps I could literally "break down" the class into groups? They were sitting in rows, so I could get one row to learn C, the other to learn G, so on and so forth until we could play a whole progression together.

There are a lot of ways to play the same chord. My mentor's examples on the slides are just one way. However, that might pose some confusion when I leave this school and my mentor has to resume teaching this class using her own chord voicings. It would be confusing for the students as well.

Once again, I only had a few seconds to think on my feet so I went with solution number 1.

I told the class we had a change of plans. I assigned each row to a single chord and made sure they knew what chord they were supposed to play and how.

My plan was to get a simple 4/4 down strum progression going throughout the classroom and they would achieve that by actively listening to the students' playing before their turn, and coming in when it was time for their row to play the next chord.

Shortly, Row A started with C for 8 bars successfully.

Then, Row B came in at the 9th bar to play G.

Finally, we have something going on! This was working.

I kept time by counting out loud and letting them know which chord was coming up next so they were always engaged and paying attention. My mentor assisted me in helping the ones around the class who were still struggling with their assigned chord - whether this was a fingering issue, or technique, etc.

I got through the end of the day by teaching 4 basic chords to this class. Of course, each row only learned one, but they could now hear a standard pop progression in their head and I counted that as a victory.

My mentor was happy as well! The only thing she had to add was "Stanley, I'm guilty of this too, but... next time, don't stand in one spot for too long! You lost some people on the side of the room."

I laughed cheekily and said I would keep that in mind next time. What a long and fulfilling day!

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[im-in-vin-ci-ble]

Hello~ Can I request a Mark x fem reader who’s a lot like starfire and is very Powerful close to omni man and is also an alien princess but she lives on earth and they go to the same school and she’s also a solo hero who one day sees invincible fighting off a tough villain with the teenteam but is losing so she steps in to help and he recognizes her and starts getting all nervous since he has a crush on her and then after that they introduce themselves get to know each other and eventually work they’re way up to mark confessing and she says yes :3

(If possible can it be a slow burn im a sucker for slow burn tropes and stuff 😤)

A/N: I gotchu, this bout to be a lil long 😮‍💨 making the fem!reader a little more human, figured since she’s in an actual school for humans she’d need to adapt to the humor/culture so she doesn’t get suspicious

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Rating: M, some swearing and gross monster guts

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Mark is finally joined in battle by an alien princess who has caught his attention. Turns out she goes to the same high school, and if he can throw around 150-pound monsters across the street, surely he can confess his true feelings to a girl... right?

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Rex Splode yelled as he wobbled up off the ground. "We've been on this thing for hours and it only has one damn cut!"

"Calm down Rex," Atom Eve said from behind, "You're gonna get even more tired from yelling."

The two watched as Dupli-Kate attempted to distract the scaly kaiju, replicating herself second after second to give space for Invincible to hit the monster by surprise. The kaiju's screech echoed throughout the city and shook the foundations of the surrounding buildings, forcing Rex, Atom Eve and Robot to move aside and save however many civilians they could.

"Invincible," Dupli-Kate shouted, "I can't keep up much longer!"

A sonic boom overcame the surrounding noise and Invincible appeared from the clouds. Dropping in at maximum speed, the young superhero balled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. A loud battle cry escaped his mouth but it was cut short as the kaiju's heavy arm slapped him away just in time, throwing him through destroyed buildings until he landed on the pavement.

Out of breath, dizzy, and in a serious amount of pain, Invincible laid on the broken road for a second to regain his strength. The wind softly blew down on him as he focused his sight on a contrail leading towards him, and he watched as a girl in purple land right next to him.

She bent down and held him upright, "Invincible, are you okay?"

"Mmhmm," Invincible croaked with a defeated smile, "Totally fine."

His sight reverted back to normal and the first face he saw shocked him alive. It was her. They never talked in school and he was almost sure she didn't know his real name, but here she was, basically cradling him in her arms and calling him Invincible.

So she knows who I am. At least with the suit.

"Come on, that kaiju is about to be destroy the entire city," she said, helping him get back on his feet and flying away to the seemingly unbeatable figure.

He huffed, "Stay cool, Mark. She's here to help," and he followed suit.

This marked the first time he really interacted with the new superhero; he'd only ever see her on TV or read about how she saved people on the newspaper. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive — as do most guys his age — but watching her blast the kaiju with the green bursts of energy from her hands made her only even more appealing.

Invincible regrouped with the rest of the Teen Team. "I don't know what else we can do to this thing," Atom Eve admitted.

"I do," the girl spoke up. "Distract it as best as you can but stay far away from the stomach. When I tell you to take cover, make a run for it."

Robot replied, "That seems highly dangerous."

"Let's do it," Invincible quickly replied in a high-pitched voice.

Everyone looked over at him, surprised at the sudden change in his voice and just how fast he reacted in agreement. 

"Uh, it's a good plan," he nodded, causing the girl to shoot a warm smile his way. "I definitely think we should do it... if all of you... uh, think, we should."

Exhausted and out of options, the rest of the group followed her orders and took different corners of the monster. Dupli-Kate handled one leg, Rex Splode handled the other, Robot and Atom Eve took the arms, and Invincible went back to the head. The kaiju struggled to keep its focus on just one of the heroes, and while it remained preoccupied, the girl absorbed all the energy she could muster and flew straight for the stomach.

"Take cover, now!"

Invincible and the Teen Team moved away and they watched as the flying hero's eyes opened in a bright shade of neon green, both her arms extended out as a large ball of green formed around her hands. The rays exploded right through the kaiju and it shrieked in pain as she briefly disappeared into the stomach. The kaiju lost balance and slowly fell forward as the girl, her eyes still green, appeared on the other side and harshly fell down on the ground.

The kaiju landed on the street with a loud boom and the group ran towards the girl who was now covered in parts of the kaiju's digestive system.

"Okay, that's kinda gross," Rex Splode commented, to which Dupli-Kate quickly responded, "Shut up."

Invincible dropped down on his knees and wiped the blood and guts off her face. Subtly admiring her facial features up close, he couldn't believe (and almost felt stupid) that he never recognized her despite the fact that he almost saw her everyday.

The girl groaned in agony softly shook her head, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Invincible's dark hair, goggles and yellow mask.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, "Are you alright?"

She sat up and hissed at her injuries, holding her head with her bloody hand. "Mmhmm," she gently nodded with a half smile, her eye one still shut. "Totally fine."

---

Mark had a hard time focusing on school. His body ached from yesterday's injuries and he suffered a few bruises from literally tearing through buildings. He made his way to his locker and rested his head on the metal door, dreading the fact that he still has an entire afternoon of classes to go. Closing his eyes in hopes to quickly recharge, his moment of peace was disrupted when a shoulder rammed into his chest and several books landed right on his toe.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," a voice exclaimed.

Mark's head snapped up at the sound of the voice. It's her. He momentarily froze and watched the girl bend down to pick up her things, and when he finally regained movement a split second later, he also bent down to help her out. He kept quiet as he tried to think of the coolest possible response to make her think that he was actually the coolest guy in school, but all he could think of was how heavenly and badass she looked yesterday.

"Thanks," she said as he handed her the book. "I hope your foot doesn't bruise."

They both stood up and he shot her a nervous smile. "T-totally fine," he replied, clearing his throat afterwards.

She crossed her brows at his response and nodded, and a look of suspicion replaced her worried demeanor.

"I'm Mark, by the way," he cleared his throat again and reached out his hand, "Grayson."

"Mark... Grayson, huh?" she responded, scanning his face as her suspicion grew. Her eyes finally landed on the hand that was waiting, and she took one last look into his eyes before deciding to shake it. "I'm Y/N," she introduced herself with a skeptical smile, feeling his sweaty palm wrapped around hers. "I'll see you around, Mark Grayson."

She walked away and Mark's eyes followed her trail as far as he could see. He quickly pulled out his phone to send a text to Eve, who was actually watching their interaction a few classrooms down.

"Mark," Eve called out as she moved towards him. “So I’m assuming...”

"You knew?” he asked her in disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me Y/N was a superhero? I just introduced myself to her as Mark Grayson and I'm almost positive she knows I'm Invincible."

"First off, it's not my secret tell," she answered with a shrug. "Second, you guys didn’t trade secrets or whatever?”

Mark shook his head in a panic, "No, but I'm guessing she also knows that I know her secret the same way I know she knows my secret." He rested his forehead on the locker door once again and groaned, "Ugh, I'm so into her, it isn't even funny. And this whole superhero thing just made it even more awkward."

Eve laughed, "Look, I'm not going to force her to tell you if she isn't up for it, but if you want, I can ask her to hang out with us later. Maybe — emphasis on maybe — my presence will make her comfortable enough to admit who she is."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, turning around to rest the back of his head. "My insides are dying."

"After the kaiju yesterday, be thankful you don't mean that in a literal sense."

---

Where in the hell is Eve?

Mark pulled out his phone for the third time in 10 minutes. Still no call or response from Eve to his text. He was getting evidently nervous; his palms were sweaty again and it felt like someone turned up the heat in Burger Mart. His left leg jerked up and down in anxiety as he stared at his phone, looking at the seconds on the clock icon tick by. If he were left alone with Y/N, he'd have no idea what to say. What does she like? Should I bring up the kaiju yesterday and praise Invincible? No, she'll just think I'm full of myself.

"Hey Mark."

He jolted and saw Y/N standing by the corner of the booth. "Hi!" he replied in that irritatingly high-pitched voice. Mark's heart began to race and the thoughts in his head ran wild. "Um... Have a seat. Sorry Eve isn't here yet, she actually hasn't answered my calls or my messages. Teenage girls, huh? What can you do?"

She crossed her brows again and chuckled, "That's fine, we can wait for Eve. But I think I'm more concerned about you."

"What do you mean?"

Y/N chuckled again, "You seem... nervous.”

He faked an obnoxiously loud laugh, “Me? Nervous?”

She watched him from across the table in silence, waiting for him to regain his composure.

When Mark couldn’t hear Y/N laughing with him, he finally shut up and shook his head. “Yeah, I am nervous, sorry,” he admitted, shutting his eyes tight. 

She giggled, “Totally fine.”

Hearing her say those two words calmed his racing heartbeat. A smile crept on his face and she reciprocated, their eyes locking for a few seconds before both their phones buzzed.

“Oh, I just got a text from Eve,” Mark said. 

“Me too.” She opened the message and began to read it out loud, “Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.”

“Have fun, you two,” he followed, his voice faltering. He placed his phone, screen down this time, back on the table and sighed, “Sorry, guess you’re stuck with me. That is, if you do want to stay and... hang out, and stuff.”

"Why wouldn’t I?” she replied, her warm smile easing Mark back into a relaxed state. “It’s nice to have a friend who...” she trailed off, “understands.”

“Understands what?” he asked.

“This thing people like us call life,” she answered. “You know, it took me a long time to acclimate here. I didn’t think I ever would, then I met friends who made this place feel like home. And home is a feeling I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Mark rested his elbows on the table and leaned in closer, “Well, I’m always here. You know, a-as a friend... or an acquaintance, even. I don’t, I don’t want to push it.”

Y/N giggled again, “You’re a funny man, Mark Grayson. This planet is lucky to have someone like you.” She reached out and held his hand, “And I’m even luckier to have you as a friend, or an acquaintance.” 

He felt the heat rush to his face and he could swear his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. The afternoon flew by in a hurry as they engaged in lengthy conversations, fatty fast food, and childhood stories. While Mark was open to sharing every tiny detail — down to the color of the bleachers at the park where he played little league — Y/N kept hers pretty vague, leaving out descriptions of family members and even the places where these stories happened. 

Mark’s phone buzzed again, but the vibrating pattern indicated it was a phone call. He turned the screen over and saw the unknown number; it was time to suit up.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N, but I need to go,” he said in a rush. “I have a... uh, an emergency.”

You couldn’t have thought of anything more specific?

“It’s cool. Um, don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes glued to the vibrating phone. 

Mark’s one leg was already out the booth before he decided to finally just go for it. Sitting back down with his now quiet phone in his hands, he took a deep breath.

“Y/N, I think you’re really cool. Can I maybe, like, call you sometime, or something?”

Her lips formed into smile that extended to her eyes, and it was enough for Mark to melt a little. “Of course. Yeah, sure,” she replied in excitement and typed down her number on his phone. She handed it back, “Now you know how to reach me if you’re getting your ass whooped again.”

His mouth fell open as his shaky hands grabbed his phone. “Wait—”

She smoothly slid out of the booth, “See you later, Invincible,” she winked, “Don’t get killed today.”

---

Luckily for Mark, no one got killed today. Maybe a few wounds here and there, but nothing painful enough that will land him in the GDA hospital. After spending an hour in the shower, he finally managed to lie down on his bed and rest his body. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes, taking in the seconds of undisturbed peace that have become rare moments since he got his powers. 

As he replayed the events of today’s fights in his head, his mind drifted off to the hours he spent with Y/N. He pulled out his phone and mustered the courage to press the dial button, and the repeating sound of the ringing was making his pulse race. 

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you didn’t die today.”

Mark chuckled and sandwiched his hand between his head and the pillow. “It wasn’t that bad today, just took a few hits,” he explained. “So listen, Y/N, I was wondering, uh—”

She cut him off, “What are you doing right now?”

“What?”

“What are you doing right now?” she repeated.

“Um, nothing, just getting some rest” he sat up and looked around. “Why?”

“If you’re not too tired, do you maybe...”

Mark smiled, “Maybe...?”

“I don’t know, sneak out? My roof is pretty comfortable.”

Silently fist pumping, he fully stood up and nodded, “Text me the address.”

Just as quietly as he exited his room via the window, he softly landed on Y/N’s roof. Swiftly flying up and greeting him, she took the place next to him and crossed her legs. 

“You’re right, your roof is pretty comfortable,” Mark said.

She chuckled at his remark then noticed a gash by his right temple. Her brows furrowed in worry, “You have a wound,” she said, making sure not to touch it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, softly holding her hand and placing it back down with his. “Totally fine.”

Those words brought her some sense of comfort as her eyes softened, causing her to unconsciously squeeze his hand. Mark’s eyes widened and he looked down at their tangled fingers, frozen for a moment.

“Is this... okay with you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna lie down? Since my roof is so comfortable?” she asked with a smirk.

“Sure,” Mark chuckled, removing his hand from her’s and stretching his arm out as they lied down. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, keeping her eyes up at the stars.

“Hey Mark?”

“Yeah?”

A moment of silence.

“Thank you for coming.”

He looked down at her as she met his eyes, “You’re welcome.” 

The two shared a smile, and Mark took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

It’s now or never, Mark. Now or never.

“Watching you kick ass yesterday was... really a sight to see,” he began. “You’re powerful and strong, but more importantly, brave. And you’re so fucking beautiful and kind and smart and...” Mark trailed off, sighing, “I never thought I would be in this position — with you next to me in a very comfortable rooftop under the stars.”

“Mark...”

“And I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

“Mark.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I just wanted to let you know. It’s important that you know—”

“Mark,” she cut him off. “I like you too. A lot.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and covered his eyes with his free hand. “Oh thank god. Thank god!” he exclaimed.

Y/N shushed him, “You’re gonna wake up the neighborhood, Invincible.”

“Sorry,” he giggled quietly, “I got excited.”

She laughed and faced her body towards him. They locked eyes again, and Mark didn’t know if it was gravity or just the adrenaline that pushed him, but he finally leaned down and met her lips. Static ran through his body as he deepened the kiss, and he felt an excitement that was even more exhilarating than the first time he flew.

She pulled away and Mark ran his hand through her hair, resting his hand on her cheek. “How was that?” he asked.

She smiled gently and placed her hand over his, “Totally fine.”

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

nugatory | p.jm. | drabble

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. taehyung)

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | angst | college!au

summary: Park Jimin is many things. Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt. Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend. Park Jimin is a good friend. Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker. Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

warnings: swearing + sexual situations (nudity, semi-public sexual acts in a car, fingering, penetrative sex) + possible allusions to some infidelity if you squint?

word count: 3.2 k

note: y’all. i couldn’t let butter!jimin keep ruining my life without acting out a bit, could i? this one started off as a pwp, but then i ended up combining it with a plot i had in my head for a while, and this turned into more plot and less porn, but. i’m okay with that, tbh. also! i’ve used one my older styles of writing (going back to 2016-ish) with this one. hope you all like it~ 🥺💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Park Jimin is many things.

He is an astoundingly handsome, cheerful – and yet somehow mysterious – psychology major that you shared Freshman year's communications class with. He is the only rich kid among the majority on campus that doesn't flaunt his wealth to scholarship kids like you. He is kind, helpful, generous – did you mention handsome? – perfectly athletic and perfectly aesthetic.

Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt.

He is also someone that gets excited at the prospect of claw machines at fairs. He is also someone that looks at the universe with galaxies in his eyes. He is also someone that doesn’t realize he will always be more exquisite than any art his best friend might ever create.

Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend.

He is the guy that stood next to Kim Taehyung when Taehyung asked you to the Freshman dance. He is the guy that told you Kim Taehyung has the most gigantic crush on you. He is the guy that set you up on the first of your many dates with Kim Taehyung.

Park Jimin is a good friend.

Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker.

Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

"You really don't have to worry about me, Jimin," you mumble, eyes flickering all over his face – you always tend to drink him up the best you can, whenever you can. “I know I stupidly called you here, but I was just in shock. I’m okay, now. I��ll be fine.”

"No, I do have to worry." His fingers thread through his hair, your eyes hopelessly follow. "This was stupid and reckless of Tae. I'm sure he'll come back to his senses soon."

You blink. Jimin really has absolutely no grasp of this situation. But he obviously thinks he knows everything, which is making this conversation progressively difficult.

(His muscles bulging beneath his jeans and the t-shirt he wears are a contributing factor in making this conversation difficult, too, you won't lie.)

You breathe out, partly to collect your thoughts, and partly because you've been inhaling too much of his heady cologne and it’s making you think about—

Things. 

It's making you think about things. That you should have no business thinking about. Because you and his best friend have been going on dates. The same best friend who is currently, as you speak, on a date with someone else. Alluding to the reason why you have called up Park Jimin to see you in a confused panic, after ten, at night, at your place.

"Taehyung – he, um. He didn't see us going anywhere. We'd been on nine dates, but… He said he didn't think I was actually as into him as he is into me. He didn't want to go on like that." 

Jimin’s lips part. His brows hike up. You shrug, forcing your gaze away from the gloss on his lips.

“It’s been that way for a while. We were barely even texting. I think he has concluded that I don’t like him like that.”

Jimin rests his forearm on the steering wheel, almost leaning over the center console to catch your gaze. "Do you?"

His eyes pull you in like always and you're lost, just staring into their depths, as your mind ceases to think up thoughts that don't involve you and him naked and tangled up with each other in—

"Sweetheart?"

Your intake of breath is sharp, short and cold. Your insides are just as warm, turning everything in your head into incomprehensible mush. "Y–y–yeah?"

"Are you into Taehyung the way he is into you?" he whispers, and you follow the shape of his lips as they move. “Because you must know, he’s liked for a whole semester.”

You lick your lips, mindlessly nod, and then reach out with a finger to trace his cupid's bow. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't even flinch. "What do you think?"

His warm breath washes over your fingertip as you press it against his lower lip. His body jolts when your nail rims the plush cushion. "I… think he's my bestest friend in the world and he's basically in love with you…"

You shake your head, and your other hand travels past the console to grip his thigh. Your nails dig in. His breath catches. "He's on a date with someone else, as we're speaking."

"I just—he was so into you, I thought you'd be good for each other." 

Past the cloud of, well, something incomprehensible, there is disappointment in Jimin's gaze. And that is how you know he means it. You shouldn't be surprised, really, because Park Jimin always means everything he does, he doesn't have a single conniving bone in his body, but you still are. Part of you has hoped against hope that he set you up with Taehyung to get closer to you, himself. Which – sounds like a really flawed plan and doesn't really make much sense, now that you think about it.

But you still hoped.

Now—

Now, though. Now you know otherwise.

"How can I be good for someone else when I have never even been good for me?" you don't know why you confessed to that, but the words just tumble out of you and you let them. "I'm a mess, Jimin," you whisper, accentuating your point by massaging his lower lip by your index finger. "I destroy people, and I nearly destroy myself in the process. I am an emotional and psychological train wreck. He's better off without me. Anybody would be better off without me."

Jimin grips your hand on his thigh with his own. “Not anybody,” he murmurs, and through his furrowed brows and muddled eyes, you catch an emotion you have been well acquainted with for years, now.

Longing.

Your heartbeat picks up as Jimin massages small circles on the back of your hand. You remove your other hand from his face.

“Yes, Jimin, anybody,” you say with conviction, even as you desperately hope for him to offer himself up as an alternative. “Everything is a wreck inside of my head. I can’t do relationships, I can’t even date someone without messing up.”

His pupils expand and his tongue flicks at his lower lip. His hand tightens in a grip on your other hand. His gorgeously bleached hair curl over the side of his head. "You don’t have to date, then.”

You scoff. “Taehyung would never go for—”

“I’m not talking about Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice comes out three octaves lower. “And you’re not talking about just anybody.”

You nearly stop breathing as he brings his free hand to your face, pushes a tendril of your hair behind your ear and traces a knuckle down the side of your face, your jaw, to hold your chin.

“You say you’re not good for you. Can you try to be good for me, then?" He pulls your face closer to his. “Would you let me save you from destroying yourself? Let me try to take care of the wreckage, hmm?”

Your body spasms when he reaches for the hand you’d retracted, pecks your finger before pulling it into his mouth. His tongue swirls, his teeth scrape and his eyes roll back as he sucks. He lets go with a pop. 

Boy, would you let him take care of whatever he wants.

"Can you, sweetheart? Can you be good for me?" He sounds like he’s at the brink of something, just teetering on the edge, waiting for you to flick a finger before he free-falls.

Well. You’ve been teetering for years now.

"I want to be.” You don’t sound like yourself when you speak.

And you don't sound like yourself when he pulls you on top of him. You don’t sound like yourself when your back hits the wheel, your thighs cage his, your hands instinctively twirl in his hair, and –

Your core presses up against his length. 

He's hard and straining against his tighter than sin jeans. You claw at his t-shirt. He takes it off in a swift, smooth motion — agile and rhythmic in everything he does.

You don’t feel like yourself when your eyes feast him. Because how could you ever get this lucky? How could you ever get to feel Park Jimin’s shirtless self beneath you? You had long since succumbed to your destiny of perishing in pining.

And yet, here you are.

You lean back to marvel at his toned, chiseled angles, you let your fingers smooth over every groove and crevice and line of sinew muscle you can reach. You trace his tight abdomen, nails scraping at the last of his eight-pack before veering towards his toned v-line. You shiver at the dark promises it leads to, looking up to meet his eye. And you shiver more when his feral gaze catches you.

Then he pulls you into a kiss and you're lost.

He tastes like stale coffee and breath mints and bad decisions –

He tastes delicious.

His tongue plunders your mouth, teeth bite into your lips—he pulls, pushes, drinks up, feasts. You throw your all into the kiss, meeting him in the middle with your tongue swirling with his, teeth latching on to suck at it. He groans into your mouth – all loud, and guttural and manly. And then he stops. Pulls away.

His wholly black eyes dig into yours. His lips are wet, swollen and bitten. You did that.

"You have to at least talk to him—"

"I have another important business to tend to, currently."

You grind against him and make your point. He bites down on his lip. His arms snake around your waist to cage you against him, he pulls you down on him. 

You don't recognize yourself when you moan.

Your shirt is off, your shorts are pulled down and your panties are pushed to a side—

"You can never tell him." Park Jimin glides two fingers over your wetness, making a bigger mess of you. "Never."

You don't intend to, because what you do with Park Jimin in your apartment's parking lot at eleven pm on a Saturday night is nobody's business but yours. 

His fingers part your entrance and slide in you abruptly, and you see stars. Your head tilts back on a long, drawn out moan, Jimin’s fingers picking up pace inside you. You rock on his hand, you claw at his arm, you desperately latch onto his shoulders and rest your forehead against his to ground yourself. He watches you with his half shuttered eyes threatening to eat you up whole. 

His lips press into yours, tongue swiping through your mouth, curling up behind your teeth – it's messy, it's sloppy, it's the most arousing kiss of your life.

His lips drag down the column of your neck, tongue licking at the sweat droplets quickly gathering above your collarbones, his fingers curl inside you, his teeth latch onto your shoulder.

You explode under his thumb's press against your clit and sob into his neck when he drags its nail over the sensitive bud. “Jimin, Jimin, too much~ ah!”

He presses some buttons in his fancy car and his seat inclines. He pulls you to the backseat with him. “You okay?” he breathes on your face, hovering inches above you.

“Never been better,” you truthfully breathe back, heart coiling in your chest at the radiant grin he rewards you with in response.

A blast of hot air hits your forehead, your thighs and your shins. You jump, realizing he has turned some sort of hot air blower on. “For privacy,” he says, gesturing to the rapidly fogging windows, and then flicks a switch to make the air stop.

You both gaze at each other. Your eyes flicker all over his face to save every last bit of it to memory. You self-consciously swallow when you see him do the same. “Jimin…”

He leans down to sponge a kiss to your sternum, and then your hips buck into his as his tongue licks a path on the wells of your breasts peeking above your bra. A breathless moan leaves you when he scrapes his teeth over your cloth covered nipple.

You both pause for a moment, wide eyes locking in surprise.

And then you’re ravenous.

He strips you bare when you tug at his belt, and you rush to return the favor. You struggle with getting his boxers past his plump ass as he grips onto your flesh, peppering bites down your hips, squeezes your boobs, licks at your nipples—

You grip him, warm and heavy, and glide your thumb over the leaking tip. His head falls into your nape, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “Jimin, ple~ase,” you moan.

He plucks out a golden foil from his wallet, meeting your eyes as he tears the packet and rolls the condom onto himself. 

Your hands are pinned next to your head in a flash, his tongue teases your pulse point, teeth toy with your earlobe, and you writhe in want under him, eyes watering at the sweet torture.

And then he fills you up with a single thrust.

You freeze on a gasp.

His hair hangs over his eyes, irises lost to the lust storming in his pupils, his mouth gapes open, his chest is heaving.

“You good?” His voice is deeper than the ocean.

You've never been more turned on in your life.

He hisses at your frantic nod. “Words.”

“Yes. Yes, oh my God, Jimin, move—”

He thrusts into you at an unforgiving pace. Your whole world literally tilts off its axis as he meets that spot inside of you, and your body wrings beneath him, twisting up to hold onto some buoy to ground you, but he is unrelenting even as you grip at his neck — his teeth encase his lower lip, brows furrow and eyelids flutter as he drives deep into you.

You groan at the sight, moving your hips to meet him. You rock with him, never catching your breath, and your nails just dig dig dig into his meaty back, drawing patterns all over the smooth, delicious surface.

Your release closes in on you, and you chase it with your mouth clamping onto Jimin’s neck, your eyes screwed shut as you groan into his skin, until—

He draws back, standing on his knees above you like goddamn Adonis in this goddamn huge SUV of his, and the sight of sweat droplets trailing down his neck, framing his pecs and racing down his tight abs has your whine of protest dying in your throat as you gawk. His lips are parted as he breathes, a couple of sweat soaked hair strands sticking to his brow, and his eyes — 

Oh God, his eyes have an animalistic gleam in them as he hooks his arms beneath your knees, and drags your hips to him.

You cry out when he enters you at this angle, every thrust pushing at what feels like your cervix, and the pleasure is so blinding it's almost painful. One of his hands maneuvers to your center, a finger rubbing at your clit, and you yelp out a distorted version of his name, completely unwarned when waves over waves of hot, sweet, toe curling climax crash into you.

Jimin chases you into completion, his broken moan of your name filtering to you through the post-orgasmic buzzing in your head. His lips connect with yours as he relaxes your legs. You both pant into each other's mouth after two, lethargic, sticky kisses.

Your sweaty bodies make a disgusting sound when you detach, and both of you scowl together, laughing when you catch each other’s expressions. You sit up on jelly legs, barely able to sit on your ass when your sensitive center protests. 

You both dress up in silence, although you don’t feel it to be awkward in the least.

You’re still mulling over how to frame in words what you have felt for him for nearly three years, how to tell him and even what to tell him when you’re such a relationship-phobe, when Jimin releases a long sigh.

You look up in surprise. That was not a contented sound. It was one of… was it defeat?

Jimin looks at you with a serious face.

Your heart plummets.

One of the many things that make up Park Jimin is also his brutal morality. And right now, you can see it in his face that he thinks he’s done something wrong. Your shoulders hunch up in subconscious defense — you will not say a word, you decide.

“Taehyung is my best friend in this entire world,” he begins, stomping firmly on any remaining embers of hope left in your chest. “He can never, ever, ever know this happened, okay?”

You give a numb nod.

“I’m sure he’ll come back around and try to talk to you again. If that happens, don’t feel like you owe me anything, okay?”

You look up to find Jimin’s eyes searching your face. He looks so soft and grave and sad, that it hurts to look at him. You look down and nod again.

“I — I feel like you two will happen, you know, when the time is finally right.” His words sound stiff. Practiced, even. “Don’t let this come in the way of that.”

Even though you decided you wouldn’t say anything, your mouth is nearly bubbling with too much to say, at this point. You take a deep breath. “And what if he doesn’t come back. What then, Jimin?”

Jimin looks at you with wide, clueless eyes. “He…will. At some point.”

“And what about until he comes back? Am I expected to wait around?”

Something crumples in his expressions. “No, of course not. You can do whatever you want. Even after he comes back, you don’t owe anybody anything.”

“Whatever I want, you say?” you ask him quietly, your heart thudding in your throat.

Jimin swallows, obviously catching on. “I mean…I guess?”

“You guess?”

He licks his lips and his gaze zeroes in on yours. “Whatever you want, yes. Certainly.”

“Great.” You take his acquiescence for what it is, and grab his wrist. “Okay, then. Until he comes back, right?”

Jimin nods, haltingly, gaze switching between your hand and your eyes. “Right.”

You feign a smile you don’t actually feel because something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This boy, you realize, deserves a lot more than being someone’s dirty little secret. He is Park Jimin, after all, a guy that is so many things that you could never run out of listing them and— 

Park Jimin is a gorgeous celestial metaphor in himself.

Because he may look at the universe with galaxies in his eyes, but he is your only galaxy, and all your stars shine at you through him when he smiles. 

Park Jimin is many things — but he is not the guy you want to just casually fuck.

But your pathetic self would take anything he would allow.

And so you pull his hand and stumble out of his SUV, sharing shy glances with him as you pull him with you up the stairs, all the way to your dorms.

Park Jimin is many things—

To you.

nugatory (adj.) – worth nothing or of little value.