#I had to do a fire alarm drill today so I might not be able to put out another

[toastess-with-the-mostess]

Let's Rewind! Toast watches Voltron: Defender of The Universe (1984)

Season 1, Episode 7: The Lion Has New Claws

Did Zarkon's voice change? I feel like it changed

Who the fuck is rowing across the castle's moat when the damn bridge is down They are the ✨drama✨

A look into the teams rooms Only Lance and Keith wake up to the alarm while Pidge is sleeping through it Even cuter, he fell asleep with his glasses on

Hunk decides it's a false alarm that he would fix later in the morning, I think this is our first indication that Hunk knows what he's doing with wires

Goddamn it not her GO OFF PIDGE, PROBABLY SHOULDN'T HAVE HIT HER SO EARLY BUT SHE DESERVES IT LATER

"Well I thought she was the witch" SHE IS ONE YOURE STILL RIGHT PIDGE

It's probably my bias against her, but man is Nanny just annoying sdionv

Allura being a girl boss already, sneaking into blue lion to train herself how to pilot it

IT'S LESS FUNNY WITHOUT THE SOUND BUT I LAUGHED WAY TOO HARD AT THIS EXCHANGE

"Now Pidge, I don't want you flying off the handle-" Keith there's a spear being pointed at the three of you because that decrepit woman doesn't know how to get things done without violence, that is more than enough reason to fly off the handle

CORAN WHY WOULD YOU FUCK THEM OVER LIKE THAT LMAOO THEY MAKE PAPER TUBE SOUNDS WHEN THEY FALL TOO OH MY GOD

Off to save the princess from herself because her babysitter threatened them!

Good for Allura, she learned to land the lion safely She fainted on the dash though

I had to skip through that spanking scene that Nanny put Allura through, especially because the boys were laughing it her while they watched That definitely didn't age well, and I'm sure there's people who didn't like seeing that even when it was first airing

There's a scene with Hunk stretching and his pants falling down?? Like ok I guess it's connected to Nanny telling Pidge he needs to be neater but,,, weird

Kova or Koba? I know later we get another character with the same name which is a big fucking mistake to do in story telling so I gotta be sure on the spelling

Oh so we're watching literal mass murder ok A robeast got to Arus again and is LITERALLY STOMPING ON EVERY BUILDING IT SEES

Not Coran literally tying Allura up I can't say I don't understand where he's coming from, especially because she's the last known living royal but c'mon you could've locked her in her room instead of tying her to a CHAIR

Animation error again, green lion had a red colored torso lol

"Piggy-back attack" what a cute name for an attack, it's just one of the lions using another as a boost to hit the robeast

I forgot to describe the robeast last episode so i'll do both now! The one that totally did not kill Sven was called the Exospike robeast and weighed at 3750 short tons! His weapons were twin forward stab spears, bone blades, fan blasters, and had an organic carbon steel exoskeleton This episode's robeast is called the Blue Fiend, not as creative, and weight 4150 short tons. The weapons are shoulder-harness XEnergy beams, king's crown spikes and horns, robust battle fists, and has dual-layer organic armor

We get a superfast cut of the mice trying to chew Allura free of the ropes and then not even a second later we're back to Keith almost getting torn apart LMAO oh nvm it just keeps going like that, really quick back and forth between Allura's escape and Keith getting manhandled

She's loose and ready to rumble! Not even 5 seconds on site, and she's already forming Voltron, good for her

Looks like we're getting closer to the final preamble before formation

Nanny why would you try to guilt-trip Allura into not flying by mentioning her dead dad, not like it worked but still that's a low blow and the only reason you're alive right now is because of her >:/

The guys are tossing her up while cheering a sweet moment only made weird by the fact that she looks so lifeless while she's being tossed LMAO

Episode end! I'm not looking forward to seeing more of nanny, she's a gross addition But we've got Allura in blue now with a pink uniform! I wonder why they gave her pink in this show, I mean other than her being a Girl™️

[sunlightmurdock]

Please start the thots early!

I need one for Firefighter Bradley because we had ! student pull the fire alarm today at school. (At least we got to see some hunky firefighters today)

So my thot for that, Firefighter Bradley responding to a fire call at his girl's place of work and him being absolutely beside himself because he doesn't know where she's at or if she's. Turns into him fucking her slowly that night when they are both home because he needs to ground himself and be in the moment with her.

Omggg this had me giggling and kicking my feet because she had warned him that today was going to be busy, she probably wouldn’t be able to respond to texts much, but when he’s on his way to the call and she’s still not answering him? — His heart’s thundering in his chest and you’re right, he’s just beside himself.

Even more so when it turns out that it’s not a drill, that there is a fire. Albeit a minor one, when he’s asking your boss if anyone has seen you and he’s met with a confused face, he’s struggling to keep his composure.

They’re taught not to bring emotions into their work, it makes things all the more dangerous, and he does his best to keep his head clear. It’s barely a fire worth responding to, something that could’ve been contained with the fire extinguisher in the chemistry class, but they’re there anyway.

He’s just about ready to start tearing his head out when he still hasn’t heard from you once they’re giving the all clear in the building. He’s certain that there’s something they must have missed.

But then he catches a glimpse of you just as he’s walking out to the fire point to tell everyone they can head back inside. Already, when he’s headed towards you with long strides and the colour faded from his cheeks, you try to tell him no — not at work. You gasp, eyes going wide as he throws his arms around you and lifts, damn near cutting off your airflow from his grip around your middle.

“Bradley, no, no, no — put me down — no,” You whisper to him, trying to tug your dress down to keep it at an appropriate length as he presses his face to the side of your neck and exhales in relief. “I’m fine. Put me down.”

He sets you back on your feet and you can feel everyone’s eyes burning into you. As much as you might enjoy the envious looks from your colleagues, you know that this’ll stir up some interesting questions from your students.

Bradley’s still invading your space, standing too close and looking down at you with his brows knitted together. “You scared me. You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I left it in my classroom, I’m sorry.” You swallow, taking a step back and patting, almost platonically at his chest.

He steps forwards and kisses you anyway. Cupping your face in his hands, it’s chaste enough to happen in front of the kids. He pulls back and strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, then finally lets you go and steps back.

“Panic over!” He calls out to the staff and students, leaving you there, burning with something that isn’t quite embarrassment but leaves you feeling hot anyway. “You can head back inside now!”

“Is that your boyfriend?” One of your kids whispers excitedly.

Bradley looks between them and you, smiling as he leaves you to answer that one all by yourself. Later that night, you smack at his bare chest as he kneels over you,

“Do you know how many questions I had to answer today because of you?”

He nods his head and strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, soft but in no way sorry. “I just needed to hold you,” He murmurs, taking one hand away from your face to guide your thigh around his waist. He swallows softly, brows knitting together like he’s trying to focus. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if—“

You frown at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him against you. He inhales slowly, making the most of you being here, safe, in his arms. You kiss the side of his neck softly. “Don’t talk like that, I’m just fine. I’m right here.”

There was a bad incident on the job last week, he has only managed to talk to you about it once and you know that it had shaken him a little. He hadn’t ever been phased by these kind of things until he had someone to lose.

“You had me so worried,” He mumbles, curling his fists into your sweatshirt and tugging you closer to him. “Gonna make me think twice about letting you out of my sight again, baby.”

You chuckle softly, squeezing your arms around him, “Oh, is that right? — What are you going to do, keep me cuffed to the bed?”

He pushes the fabric up, nudging his fingertips along the bare skin underneath. There’s something so serious in his eyes, even when he’s still trying to keep things light with you. He gives a small shake of his head.

“Cuffed to me, I think.” He mumbles, half-heartedly trying to joke with you. Your brows furrow softly, trying to get a read on him.

“Bradley,”

“Mm?” He swallows dryly, watching his fingers smooth along your soft stomach rather than looking you in the eye.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly.

Finally, he looks at you, staring you on the face like he’s trying to come up with an answer rather than just saying what’s really on his mind. He exhales unsteadily and shakes his head.

“Yeah,” He decides softly, “C’mere, baby. I just need — need…” He exhales, frustrated as he searches for the word. Sex isn’t it, even though that’s where this is headed. “I just wanna be close to you.”

You nod at him. It’s slow, you can feel him trying to control himself, like he’s savouring his time with you. You want to just shake him and tell him that you’re going to be fine, but you let him continue anyway.

He sighs softly as he slips finally into you, lifting you off of the mattress so that he can hug his arms around you. Resting his head against your chest, he rocks his hips slowly.

“I love you,” You tell him softly, smoothing your fingers over the taut muscles in his shoulders. “Thank you for caring about me so much. I’m lucky to have you.”

He holds you tighter, turning his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips lazily to your skin. “I love you too, baby. Don’t you scare me like that again.”

Smiling, your fingers card delicately through his curls as you give a quick shake of your head, “I won’t.”

[ellascreams]

Dannymay Day 2: Backpack

Danny looked at the new seating arrangement. He sighed. At least they didn’t put him next to Dash or Paulina. That didn’t make it much better. He sat down next to Wes and placed his backpack on the floor between them. Wes’s backpack was right next to it. Wes glared at Danny. Danny pretended not to notice.

”Class,” said the teacher, “today we will be having a fire drill. Do not pani—“ but it was too late. The fire alarm started and the class was running out the door. Danny and Wes were both not fans of the ‘leave all your stuff behind’ rule. Their stuff was important! They quickly reached down, grabbed their backpacks, and tried their best to leave in an orderly fashion.

Turns out, it wasn’t a drill. One was planned for that day, that very hour in fact, but some smoke in the kitchen set off the alarm first. It still had to be investigated though. The next hour was spent in extreme boredom. Danny and Wes found their rivalry set aside to play rock paper scissors and pass the time. Once it it was over, it was already time for the next class.

Danny sat down in his seat exhausted and grabbed a pencil from his backpack. At least he unzipped the pocket where his pencil should have been. He found pencils, and pens, but they were way more organized then his backpack ever was. He closed the zipper pocket and looked at the backpack. It was black with an illustration of a UFO on it. It wasn’t his, but he recognized it. His heart sank.

Wes sat down in his seat and tried to drink some water from his water bottle, but he stopped as soon as he had the water bottle in his hand. It wasn’t a water bottle. It was a weird looking thermos. It was the exact weird looking thermos Danny used. This was perfect! He could finally get some real evidence! He looked through Danny’s backpack. It was pure chaos! It didn’t have any cameras either, unless you count his phone, but Danny would just delete any evidence he took with it.

Just as quickly as it came, all the excitement Wes had felt left. Unless he managed to find something useful in the mess Danny called a backpack he wouldn’t get any evidence. Wes missed his journals too. They were comfort items of sorts. He wanted his backpack back.

Danny and Wes had different classes next period, and it was the last period of the day. If they didn’t find each other between classes they might have each other’s backpacks until tomorrow. That meant they had five minutes. Well, theoretically they could have more time if they were late to class, but neither of them could afford more absences. Danny’s ghost fighting and Wes’s watching of Danny’s ghost fighting meant they missed classes a lot.

When the bell rang Danny and Wes were the first out the door. Their classes were on opposite sides of the school. As crowds poured out from every door into the empty hallways, they ran. Slowly the crowds became too thick, and they speed walked. Danny was actually pretty good at dodging through crowds, and occasionally making a limb or two intangible didn’t hurt either. Wes was worse but he had some practice from playing basketball.

Finally, they were in the same hallway. Both their classes were there, so they’d be able to swap backpacks and get in their seats in the nick of time! They locked eyes in the sea of teenagers. They weaved their way through. They were only a couple yards from each other. They took their backpacks off their backs and held them. It was like they had telepathy. They were perfectly in sync. They were almost there, they could actually do this, it was perfec—

Dash walked by and shoved Danny. He hit a wall and ended up sat on the floor. Wes lost sight of him, but he tried to go to where he saw him last. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Planning to be on time for once Weston?” Said Ms. Dorian. “I- yes, but first—“ “No buts, unless they’re in their seats.” Ms. Dorian dragged Wes away with a surprising amount of strength. All hope was lost.

At the end of the school day, Danny waited for Jazz to pick him up, looking sadly at the UFO backpack in his hands. He could have talked to the office about it but he didn’t want to. Someone else would have Danny’s backpack then. Even if it was just for a short time. Danny would rather have it in the hands of someone who already knew his secrets and was smart enough not to mess around with the thermos. Probably smart enough. Apparently Wes felt the same way about his notes.

What was he going to do when a ghost attacked? He felt bad for the ghosts already in the thermos. They’d have to spend a day in that cramped thing. Danny missed his navy blue backpack. He missed the keychains Tucker had gotten him for his birthday. They were for an anime Danny didn’t watch. He acted like he hated the joke, but truthfully it was pretty funny. More than anything he just liked having a reminder of his friends with him wherever he went.

The intercom turned on. “Attention, anyone who rides bus 21615. The bus will not be able to make it so you will be riding bus 21619 instead. Again, if you ride bus 21615 you will be riding bus 21619 instead. Thank you.” It turned off. Danny always listened to every announcement. He just knew the day he tuned one out would be the day he needed to listen. Maybe being Danny Phantom just made him paranoid.

“Doesn’t Wes ride that bus?” Said one student to their friend. “You mean that conspiracy theorist kid?” The friend replied. “Yeah, the one who has a crush on a boy and internalized homophobia.” Said the student. “Yeah, him. I feel kinda bad for him honestly. Him and that black haired guy would make a cute couple.” The friends nodded in solemn agreement as they walked passed Danny, not noticing he was there.

Danny’s eyes went wide. He didn’t even care about how much he hated the idea of him and Wes being a cute couple. There was something more important on his mind. Wes hadn’t left yet. It was a small chance, but there was still hope.

Wes looked at the keychain on Danny’s backpack. He really didn’t think Danny would be a Tokyo Mew Mew fan. Wes didn’t like to say it out loud, but he loved magical girls. He liked them when he was a kid so now they gave him a comforting nostalgic feeling.

As he thought, he walked up to the bus he was supposed to go home on. He sighed. Cool keychains or not, Wes wouldn’t have his journals or cameras, and he didn’t really know if this would put the town protector out of commission. Even though he thought Danny should tell everyone the truth Wes couldn’t deny that he was a hero. Wes hopped up onto the first step of the school bus’s entrance. Than the second.

“WES!” Someone shouted just before the third and final step. Wes turned around. Danny was running scarily fast, backpack in hand. Wes thought about the bus driver behind him. It was still the same driver as normal. He was the last one on the bus, and if he got off he knew the bus driver would just leave. They were sick of him being late too.

Wes felt his brain shut off to process everything around him. He knew this feeling. It was the same feeling he had when playing basketball. He called it The Basketball Zone. Look, he never claimed to be good at naming thing.

He planted his feet. A bounce pass is the easiest, but he didn’t want anything in the backpack to break. A chest pass was good too, but he didn’t have the room to step forward. That would be Danny’s best bet. He didn’t do them often but a baseball pass was the only real option. He put the backpack in his left hand and threw.

Danny didn’t play basketball. He just threw the backpack and hoped. He was pretty athletic these days, so like, there was a decent chance it would work out. Probably. Hopefully.

Wes’s backpack hit him square in the chest. The force surprised him a bit but he managed to put his hands around it before it fell. Then he felt an even bigger rush of adrenaline. Wes knew Danny’s backpack was lighter than a basketball but muscle memory prevailed. He threw the backpack too high and it was going over Danny’s head. Wes didn’t want to know what could happen if something in there broke.

Then he watched Danny jump. He jumped a bit higher than what seemed natural. He hovered there for a second too long as well. He caught the backpack, then he put it on and spun around once with excitement. The doors started to close. “Wes, take your seat.” Said the bus driver with a tired and annoyed tone. Wes knew better than to argue. He sat down and the bus drove away.

Danny ran back to where he knew Jazz would be. He hopped in the car and buckled his seatbelt. Jazz drove off without commenting on how he was late. She assumed it was some sort of ghost attack. Danny happily looked at his backpack. He looked at the keychains. He looked inside. It wasn’t nearly as chaotic as it had been. He found a sticky note. Danny smiled as he read it.

“I got bored so I decided to organize your mess. You’re welcome. Also, I like your keychains. /gen -Wes Weston”

On the bus, Wes looked inside his backpack as soon as he could. He let out a sigh of relief. Some of the color coding was messed up, but it wasn’t nearly as messy as Danny’s had been. Next he checked his journals. They were fine. Although, when he got to the notes on Danny Phantom, he found a few new additions.

Electric core was crossed out with red pen and ice core was written beside it. That was certainly interesting, but what really caught his eye was what was written next to the previously blank cause of death. “Two truths and a lie! :3 1. Electricity 2. Giraffe Attack 3. Boredom”

Typical. He was just messing with Wes again. However, Wes knew it wouldn’t be Danny’s style to mess with him by outright lying. That meant that two of them had to be true. Giraffe attack and boredom seemed less likely then electricity, but that very well could mean they were the true ones and it was a trick. A giraffe attack and electricity made practically no sense. That one couldn’t even be a trick answer. How would that even work?

Despite Wes’s best efforts to be annoyed at Danny’s trickery, it was clear to anyone on that bus who chose to pay attention that Wes had found new theories. He was absolutely giddy with excitement in the way he only was when he was cracking a code. The grin on his face refused to go away. It was a sweet, although mildly concerning sight.

[kalpasio]

The Herrscher of Stars

The Herrscher of Stars: Very Much Alive

A Kalpas x Herrscher!Reader fic, Chapter 3 below!

please note, these chapters will be edited sometime in the near future

When Kalpas suggested you prove your dedication to humanity for a week, you didn’t realize he was going to be stalking you the whole time. He watched you eat breakfast, watched you go through morning drills, he tried to watch you in the locker room, but you—and a few other agents—got him to back off. Lunch and your mission briefing were the same, and he even stood there silently while you spoke to Elysia.

At dinner, Emile found Kalpas, but since he refused to let you out of his sight, you got found too. “Look, I’m glad you made a new friend, but if you ditch another meeting, I’m gonna have to kill you,” Emile spoke as though that were a perfectly normal thing to say. His shrug only emphasized his nonchalance, and you worried you might get caught in the crossfire between these two again.

He gets to threaten death on a regular basis, but your eyes glow once and you’re suddenly a threat. Star threw her hands in the air, I told you we should’ve just killed him!”

It’s only a week, it’s not like we have to do anything special. Also, trying to prove we don’t go around killing people by killing them seems a little counterproductive.

Whatever, she waved you off. Go be human. I’m tired of listening to logic.

Emile’s threat last night did very little to deter Kalpas, and soon you found yourself being followed by two weird men instead of one. They even went so far as to tag along on your mission, Kalpas killing anything before you could try to fight yourself, and Emile judging your every move. Kalpas never explained to Emile why he was watching you, and Emile never asked. Knowing how sharp he was, you had a feeling he figured it out.

Today was the last day you had to deal with them, then you’d be home free. All you had to do was not be suspicious. Easy peasy. Star was still complaining, but you expected that at this point. You trained, ate, wrote reports, and did absolutely nothing Herrscher related. That night, you went to bed, content that you had cleared your name.

Barely an hour later, you were woken by the sound of alarms. Fire Moth HQ got attacked on a regular basis, but automated turrets were able to handle most threats. For the ringing in your ears right now, there had to be something massive—like a Herrscher…

Did he turn us in? Star’s anger and fear mixed with your own, making it hard to keep your thoughts straight. You needed to move.

Grabbing a coat and your lance, you bolted out your door and took a sharp turn down the hall. If you could make it to the kitchens, there was a back entrance that wasn’t monitored. You just had to make it down a few more halls.

“Where the hell are you going?” Kalpas was in front of you, glaring after you nearly ran into him. He didn’t make a move to kill you, but you weren’t going to stick around for him to. Darting to the side, you went around him and continued sprinting down halls.

Throwing open the canteen doors, you heard Star swear and try to take over. Honkai beasts and corrupted Fire Moth mechs filled the cafeteria, and Kalpas was hot on your trail. Tightly gripping your lance, you got one step in to the room before he reached you. And then he was past you. Not even noticing you were there before he dove into the sea of Honkai.

It didn’t make sense for there to be Honkai beasts in the base normally, but even more so if you were the threat. You wouldn't summon them, and there's no way Fire Moth would just let them lose in the facility. That didn’t matter. If you wanted to escape, now was your chance. No one else had caught up to you yet.

Since Kalpas knew you were a Herrscher, there was no point in holding back. With glowing blue eyes, you threw your lance into the air. Reversing gravity for only yourself, your feet touched the ceiling only long enough for you to crouch and push off. A shout left you as you kicked your floating lance back into the clump of Honkai.

For a fraction of a second, the brightness of a star shone at the tip of your lance, and then it went straight through a Chariot. It was embedded deep into the ground, a gravity well around it pulling most of the beasts together.

Reversing gravity again and increasing it, you dropped viciously to the ground, beams of starlight surrounding you and impaling anything caught in the pull of your artificial sun. With a path cleared, you yanked your lance from the crater it made, and headed for the door. Kalpas could deal with the rest, and that should slow him down enough for you to get out of here.

You made it so far as the main gate, only running into a few enemies that you delt with in one swing. What stopped you was a much larger issue. Hovering above the gate, you saw a man shrouded in darkness, despite the floodlights shining directly on him. You couldn’t make out much else, but you knew for sure he was nothing good.

“If it isn’t the Herrscher of Stars.” His head snapped in your direction and eyes locked onto your own. “The traitor and coward,” he drawled, voice deep and unnerving like your own when Star had first taken over. Even though he could see you, the building was still covering you in enough shadow that no other MOTHs knew it was you he was talking to.

Who the hell is this? You asked Star, and you could feel her seethe.

Some shitty discount Herrscher wannabe who’s about to be dead, the amount of power she pushed through your body increased, and you knew she was about to fight.

Wait, you locked your legs. We can’t be seen. He knows you’re the Herrscher of Stars, give him the real Herrscher of Stars.

Handing over so much control was dangerous, but it was your best bet. Just like every other Herrscher, your appearance changed the more you used your powers. A skin tight suit with sheer cutouts that showed the night sky replaced pajamas. One leg was the bright yellow-white of a sun, the other so black, it almost couldn’t be seen. Star’s deep blue completely took over your eyes, with blinding white stars for pupils, and a crown on top of your head. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.

“You’re not even a Herrscher, and you dare speak my name?” Star spoke with your voice, hers laid over it like a filter for the distortion you heard every day in your mind. Gravity had no hold over you now, the feeling of floating taking over as you rose to meet your enemy. Once you were closer, you scoffed and relaxed your tense posture.

“A pseudo-Herrscher?  Not even the real deal and you want to attack humanity’s stronghold and a true Herrscher?” You lazily raised a hand and summoned an array of star lances behind yourself, burning away the pitch black around the other Herrscher with your light. “Stand down and save us both the trouble.”

“Real or not, I’d like to see you try and fight the dark.” Suddenly you were entirely surrounded by black, even the glow from your lances disappeared. Inwardly, you panicked. Attacks could come form anywhere, and you were weaponless. Star, however, was completely calm.

“So you know my name, and you still think fighting me is a good idea? You picked, possibly the worst Herrscher to fight.” Raising your left arm, you could feel the Honkai energy concentrating in your fist as a star began to form. Light spilled from between your fingers until you let go and the miniature sun completely dismissed the dark. In the middle of the night, you made it day, and you hardly felt drained.

The pseudo-Herrscher’s shocked face told you everything. Blinding you had been his only plan, and he was left with no options. With a sneer, your still outstretched hand formed a claw. The sun split into several tiny stars; all of them sharp, and all of them pointed at your enemy.

“Fake,” you spat, then drove your hand down, the light following and piercing the cheap copy. Raising both hands, you summoned a much larger lance made of starlight. Slowly, you lowered your right hand, using it to create a gravity well behind the pseudo-Herrscher.

Clenching your hand into a fist pulled both him, and the spear you threw, and your hit was dead-on. With the core inside him shattered, there was nothing keeping him in the air but you. As soon as you let go, he fell to the ground far below you, Herrscher attire flickering away like a comet.

The fight’s over, you placed a hand on Star’s shoulder in your mind. She turned to you with a glare.

You want us to fall like that idiot? You shook your head ‘no.’ Then let me set us down first.

Casting your eyes over the ground, you looked for somewhere to land where you wouldn’t be spotted. What you found instead was a bright fire looking directly at you. Kalpas. If you went anywhere near him, you were as good as dead.

We can’t stay here, you nudged Star to look the other way. Find us somewhere else. It’s best if we lay low for now. She gave a soft ‘yeah’ and the Herrscher turned back into the little kid you were used to. With a nod, you pushed off and flew away from your home, off to find somewhere nobody knew your name.

Gotta continue MiHoYo's oversexualization with the body suit, sorry guys. Also I wrote down the words "hint of Herrscher" and went "that sounds like a candle" then frantically erased it and I think that summarizes this story pretty well.

[gins-potter]

365 Days of Romitri

Day 15: Fire

holy crap, two updates in three days? who is this productive bitch? couldn't be me. truthfully this update would have been out last night but uh i was drinking and did not trust myself to finish editing and post it.

Every single muscle in Dimitri’s body locks up tight when the alarm starts to blare, loud and insistent, through St Vad’s. It takes him a long moment, but he realises that it isn’t a breachment alarm but a garden variety fire alarm. Not that that’s any less worry-inducing, but he is at least able to breathe again.

Yuri, with whom Dimitri is in the middle of sharing a coffee, turns to him, eyebrow raised in something between genuine concern and exasperation. They know it’s not a drill - they would have been alerted beforehand if it was - and it’s likely due to a minor incident in one of the Moroi’s magic classes. Regardless, they both set their coffee aside and are on their feet in an instant, heading towards the door.

“I swear if it ends up being one of those punk fire-users pulling a prank…” Yuri mutters under his breath before trailing off.

Dimitri forces himself to huff a breath of laughter. He knows logically that it probably is, just a joke or a classroom exercise that got a little out of hand, and yet he still can’t find it in himself to unclench.

They emerge from the building and Alberta falls into step beside them, her quick pace meaning that she easily keeps up with Dimitri and Yuri both despite being nearly a foot shorter than them.

“Know what it is yet?” Dimitri asks, glancing sidelong at her.

“One of the magic classrooms?” Yuri interjects, but Alberta shakes her head grimly.

“Home ec.”

Dimitri’s blood instantly runs cold and he stumbles, mind running over Rose and Christian’s schedule because of course even with her limited duty she’s on today, and of course Christian has home ec class right now. He lengthens his stride, forcing Alberta and Yuri to practically jog to keep up and even that doesn’t feel fast enough, not when every instinct he possesses is screaming at him to run.

When they finally make it up the stairs to the classroom they find the fire out and the room in a state of organised chaos, having been beaten there by half a dozen guardians as well as Dr. Olendzki. One guardian is standing at the front of the room with the teacher who is shaking her head, hand over her mouth, as though she can’t quite comprehend what has just happened. The other guardians are checking the damage which seems contained to a large scorch mark on a wall near one of the stations. Most of the students are gathered in the back corner amusing themselves, but two are sitting apart with one being tended to by Dr. Olendzki.

When Dimitri sees who it is, he crosses the room in a handful of long strides, Alberta and Yuri on his heels.

“Roza,” he says, the loving moniker coming out without even thinking as he touches her shoulder. “What happened?”

Rose glances up at him, seemingly unperturbed by both his worried expression and the fact that her arm is currently being examined by the doctor. She rolls her eyes half-heartedly, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Nothing, just the idiot behind us stopped paying attention to what he was doing and his damn station nearly exploded.”

“Rose reacted so fast,” Christian puts in, uncharacteristically impressed. “The flames were coming right at us and she shoved me out of the way.”

Rose grins up at them, hiding a wince as Dr. Olendzki prods at her arm. “If only one of you guys had been around, you would have given me full marks for my response time.”

“Is she alright?” Dimitri asks Dr. Olendzki, ignoring Rose’s wisecracking.

“I’m fine-”

“Is she alright?” he asks again, a little more forcefully.

“Just a first degree burn, and a rather mild one at that,” the doctor says, looking faintly amused.

She indicates a slightly red area on Rose’s forearm, and, unable to help himself, Dimitri takes Rose’s arm in his own hands, forcing himself to be gentle despite his haste, and looks for himself.

“I’ll prescribe some burn cream to put on it, but that’s more for her own comfort than anything else.” Dr. Olendzki turns back to Rose. “I’ll send some to your dorm later, okay? But come see me if the pain continues after three days.”

Dr. Olendzki touches Rose’s shoulder reassuringly and snaps her bag closed, nodding to Alberta before making her leave.

“You’re done for today,” Dimitri says instantly to Rose, who, predictably, opens her mouth to argue.

“No, come on, I’m fine.”

“I said you’re done.”

“I’m on limited duty already, I need to be on today”

Alberta raises an eyebrow, glancing between them with a hint of surprise at their vehemence. Yuri coughs uncomfortably and excuses himself, while Christian, looking perplexed, also glances between them.

“You heard Guardian Belikov,” Alberta says finally, putting an end to the argument. “He’s responsible for you and he said you’re done, so you’re done. Go back to your room, Rose,” she continues, voice softening a fraction. “Take the rest of the afternoon off and put some cream on that burn.”

Rose still looks ready to argue but Alberta simply walks away, protests falling on deaf ears.

Christian clucks his tongue in vague sympathy. “Sucks, Rosie.”

Rose directs a vulgar gesture towards him and Dimitri doesn’t even have it in him to sigh at their bickering or reprimand her. “Come on,” he says, touching the back of her shoulder to usher her out of the classroom.

“I really am fine, Comrade. You didn’t need to do that,” she sas as they walk down the hallway, frowning when she doesn’t respond. “Hey, what’s up?”

Dimitri merely shakes his head, unable to describe the level of panic that had swept over him when he’d realised she might be in trouble. The panic that seems only inches away lately with everything that’s been going on and the constant reminders of how easily she could be taken away from him.

“Seriously,” she says, stopping and grabbing his arm to force him to do the same. “You’re worrying me now.”

Dimitri takes her by the elbow, gentle and mindful of her burn and pulls her into a forgotten alcove, where he brackets her against the wall, hands on either side of her head. “Tell me the truth,” he says, staring intently into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice sure, all lingering traces of amusement vanishing. “I’m okay.”

The air leaves Dimitri in a rush and his eyes slide shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“Hey,” she whispers, hand coming up to rest lightly against his cheek, fingers tapping out a nervous, staccato rhythm, the only sign that he’s still worrying her. “What’s wrong? I’m okay.”

I know, he wants to say. He wants to say but can’t because he doesn’t know if she really is these days. He doesn’t know if she’s okay because she seems to have all these hurts that he can’t do anything to fix. These hurts that he would do anything to fix but doesn’t know how.

And so, because it’s the only thing he can do, instead of answering his hand comes up to cover hers still against his face and he turns his head to press a kiss against her burn, lips so achingly gentle that it makes Rose sigh. Because he might not be able to fix all her hurts, but he can kiss this one and make it a little better.

[kakashiswilloffire]

Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don’t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Fire Alarm

Pairing: Kirishima x crushing!reader

Warnings: Cold nights and shirtless Kirishima. Also some group snuggling??

Author’s Note: 

This drabble here is short and sweet, featuring my favorite boyo Kirishima! It’s partially based on this panel from the manga (and my own thirst lol). I know there’s some faulty logic here and there in this, but I had fun writing it so here we are. Anyways I hope you like it! There’s not a lot of romance in this one >:( but I had fun thinking about it.

I simp for this man and also I love him. Just in case that wasn’t clear.

Love you!

-Sugar

<<<─────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────>>>

<<<─────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────>>>

The only thing worse than waking up to your alarm clock in the morning is waking up to a fire alarm in the middle of the night.

It took a moment for the blaring sound to fully wrench you from your sleep. By the time you’d registered what the sound even was, your door was already being thrown open.

“(L/N)! We need to evacuate now! Don’t you hear the emergency alarms?!”

You were just able to make out the form of Tenya Iida in your doorway. Through your daze, you noticed that he was still wearing his striped blue pajamas. Groaning to yourself, you slid out of bed, half-asleep. You hadn’t even bothered to leave behind your blanket, letting it drape around your shoulders as you shuffled out of your dorm room.

Iida ushered you and a few other bleary-eyed classmates down the stairs and out of the Heights Alliance building, and it wasn’t until he held the door open that you remembered just what time of year it was.

“Seriously?!” you complained as a blast of cold air hit you. Grumbling, you followed the small crowd of your classmates to the other group of those who were better at getting out of bed.

“Is that everyone from 1-A?” Iida’s voice rang out.

People glanced around for anyone who might be missing, and after a few seconds, they mumbled an affirmative.

“What are we going to do now?” Mineta whined, shivering just about as much as everyone.

“We have to wait for Aizawa sensei to give us the okay that we can go back inside,” Iida said, chopping the air.

“How long is that going to take?” Ashido asked.

Iida turned to the building, inspecting it. “Well, I can’t see anything from here, so it was probably a false alarm. But we can’t be certain until it’s professionally checked out, so no one’s going in until one of the adults tells us it’s okay to.”

A few more of your classmates grumbled at his ruling. No one made an attempt to argue, however, since they knew he had a point.

Suddenly, you heard Uraraka gasp a few feet away from you. “It’s Tsu!” she said, trying to hold up her friend’s limp body. “She’s going into hibernation! It’s too cold.”

“Here.”

A voice beside you brought warm bubbles rising through your chest. Even in the dark of night, you could make out the spiky red hair of your good friend and long-standing crush, Kirishima Eijirou. You watched with everyone else as he stripped off his oversized sleep t-shirt and offered it to Uraraka.

“Let her take this,” he said. “It’s not much, but maybe it can help.”

“But, Kirishima,” the brunette protested, “you’re going to get too cold!”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he said, flashing that perfect smile that never failed to make your knees weak. “I’m super tough and manly! This won’t bother me at all. It’s just a little chilly.”

“Kirishima, there’s literally snow on the ground,” Jirou pointed out in a tired tone.

He shrugged, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles rippled with that simple action. “I’ll manage. That’s what heroes do.”

Uraraka finally turned to Tsu, helping her into the loose black t-shirt. There was a tiny part of you that was almost jealous that she was the one wearing Kirishima’s clothing, but you quickly squished the feeling down. It disgusted you that you could think such thoughts when your friend was struggling like this with something she couldn’t control.

“Iida,” Midoriya began, “I think you should run over to the school and try to find a teacher. Asui—erm, Tsu needs to get back inside soon.”

Iida nodded curtly. “Good idea, Midoriya. You’re right. Todoroki, would you keep Asui warm with your left side? Yaoyorozu is in charge until I get back, alright?”

The class nodded in assent again, and with that, Iida was off in a burst of speed from his calf engines.

People began to break off into small groups to huddle against the cold. Luckily it wasn’t too windy, but none of you had had time to grab a coat, or even shoes in some cases. Most of the girls were huddling around Todoroki, with Tsu clinging to his left side in the center. Some of the other boys were standing shoulder to shoulder, with a few hugging into Shoji's limbs for extra warmth. Even Bakugou stood on the fringe of the cluster of boys, scowling at the ground.

You were hardly affected, grateful that tonight of all nights you’d decided to wear warm pajamas. You also had your blanket, which worked wonders against the chill night air.

It was then that you took notice of Kirishima again; still shirtless and blatantly trying to hide the fact that he was shivering. You wandered over to him, calmly tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. He turned to you, and you tried to ignore the way it felt when his eyes landed on yours, and the stupid, excited feelings that erupted as soon as he grinned at you.

“Hey, (L/N),” he said, and you had to applaud the way he kept his voice deceptively steady against his chattering sharp teeth.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly realizing that you were unsure how to phrase your proposition you had spinning in your head. “Um, do you—do you want to share my blanket? You’re the only one—um—not wearing clothes.”

He glanced down at his bare chest and then to the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. “I wouldn’t want to take it from you,” he said, his lower lip jutting out slightly as his gaze trailed to the ground. “Besides, I really am fine here.”

You pouted a little. “You’re going to get sick, and I’d be sad if you got sick.” You untucked a corner of the blanket out from under your arm. “And you wouldn’t be taking it, we can share. We’re friends, right?”

Kirishima considered for another moment, chewing on his lower lip before finally letting out a breath. “Alright, fine.”

He ducked under the half of the blanket you offered him, tugging it around his shoulder. You shuffled closer to him, and even through the sleeves of your pajamas, you were able to feel how cold his skin was.

“Kirishima-Kun,” you mumbled, “you’re freezing.”

He shrugged and frowned, keeping his eyes ahead and away from yours. “I’ll be fine,” he brushed off. After a few beats, he seemed to change his mind. “Actually, this is much better.” He finally looked at you again. “Thank you.”

You were thankful to the darkness for hiding your blush. “You’re welcome.”

Everyone stood where they were for a few more minutes. You couldn’t tell whether you wanted this all to end so you could go back inside or if you wanted to keep standing here pressed up against your crush.

You didn’t have to decide for yourself, however, since Iida soon came back with Aizawa sensei himself.

“Okay, kids,” the teacher said in his perpetually tired voice, “you can go back to your rooms now. The alarms went off because of a programming malfunction.” He continued talking as he unlocked the doors with a swipe card. “You were supposed to have a surprise drill today at one o’clock PM, not AM. Sorry.”

He held the door as the twenty of you filed inside, back into the centrally heated building. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief as warmth finally enveloped their bodies again, happy to be out of the cold.

“Off to bed with you, kids,” Aizawa said. “You still have class tomorrow. I don’t want to see anyone outside of their dorm rooms in five minutes. Good night.”

Everyone made their way towards the elevator, and Kirishima finally slipped out from under your blanket.

“Thanks for looking out for me, (L/N),” he said, giving you another heart-melting grin.

“It was no problem,” you said, smiling down at the floor. You piled into the elevator with everyone else, and within seconds, the lift dinged to signal that you had reached the second floor.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kirishima said as you made your way to the doors.

“Yeah.” You grinned sheepishly again and adjusted your blanket around your shoulders. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Back in your room, you scarcely even bothered to climb under the other covers you had on your bed. You were still wrapped in the one that had just been around both yours and Kirishima’s shoulders. To your delighted surprise, if you concentrated enough, you could just barely make out his scent laced into the material. Maybe the unexpected wake-up call wasn’t so bad, because now you could sleep with the memory of Kirishima’s arm pressed against yours.

<<<─────── ∘°❉°∘ ───────>>>

Taglist: @basicaegyo​​ @iiminibattlehero​​ @katsugay​​ @nabo39​​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sendhelpimstupid​​ @xoxopam4​​ @aahilovetheatre​​ @kay39​​ @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @soft-enbee​​ 

[romance-geek]

sleep my long, unbroken sleep (niragi x oc)

warnings: violence, blood

author’s note: heyy guys! so this chapter is mostly about chiyori's parents and how they came to the borderlands. like the summary says, she was born in the borderlands so she's like a native of this "country" - i wanted to explore such a concept. the next chapter will be more chiyori-centric. let me know what you guys think! (also the tech from her parents' era are a bit diff so instead of smartphones and such, i had to change it a little)

summary: Kuroba Chiyori may be born in the Borderlands, but no way in hell does she want to die in it.

AO3 LINK

20 YEARS AGO ; SEASIDE PARADISE RESORT

  I just want to stay like this forever, without the boring routine of life.

The sun begins its slow descent towards the horizon, painting the sky in oranges and pinks and purples. Children screaming in delight, splashing each other with pool water. Couples lathering each other up with sunscreen. Lifeguards diligently looking over everyone.

All her life, everyone praises her wit and loads her with expectations. So, so many expectations that weigh heavily on her shoulders.

Expectations that she wants to meet.

But you can’t exactly please everyone, can you? Or maybe you can, but at the expense of your health.

Being with Kuroba Asuma is a breath of fresh air. He never expects anything too much from her, content with what she has and who she is. She first met him at a crime scene, which isn’t exactly how most love stories go but she didn’t mind because after he took her witness statement he stopped by at the library everyday for lunch. He courted her for almost a year before he asked - quite nervously, might I add - if she could be his girlfriend.

(Of course she said yes. In fact, what she said was: “Wasn’t I already your girlfriend?”)

Fast forward through the happiest years of her life and now she’s here at the Seaside Paradise Resort, a thoughtful surprise from Asuma. It’s the week of their first wedding anniversary, can you believe that? How time flies when you’re with the person you love.

A smile forms on Kuroba Kaname’s face as her husband helps her rise from the pool. Her hand automatically rests on her bulging stomach while Asuma wraps a towel around her.

Like her, he can’t help but caress her stomach, knowing that in just about a month there would be a new addition to their little family. A daughter…

“Let’s get you dried off now, dear.” He brushes off the water droplets on her face, sneaking in a quick kiss.

Kaname presses her fingers together, batting her eyelashes. He immediately catches on to what she wants and rolls his eyes. “What’s the little one craving for now?”

“Congee, some mango, aaand,” she hums for a second, “a chicken sandwich with lots of mayo!”

Asuma sighs resignedly. “I’ll order room service while you wash off.”

They walk into the elevator - or in Kaname’s case, she waddles - and press the button for the third floor. The elevator lifts up smoothly, but Kaname sways in her spot. “Woah!” She presses a hand to her head. “I feel a bit li-ligh—um, what was that word?”

“Light-headed?” Asuma asks softly, putting one of his wife’s arms over his shoulder so that he could carry her weight lest she fall down and potentially harm the baby. “I think you’ve had enough fun for today.”

The elevator dings open and they step out, Asuma nearly bumping into a man who seems almost like he’s sleepwalking. Kaname keeps her gaze on him out of curiosity even as her husband leads them to their room.

“Doesn’t that guy seem strange to you?”

Asuma throws a nonchalant glance over his shoulder. He shrugs and unlocks their room. “Probably had too much to drink. It is Paradise, after all.” Wagging his eyebrows as he says that last sentence, he gathers a giggling Kaname into his arms and closes the door behind them.

“I wish we can stay here forever,” Kaname says.

“Me too, dear.” Asuma kisses her forehead softly. “Now, let me prepare a bath for y—”

Darkness.

Drenched in heavy, silent darkness.

Silence except for the thudding of their heart, their heavy breathing as they try to understand what the hell is going on. 

“D-dear, what’s going on?” Kaname trembles against him. He could see the whites of her eyes even in the dim room, eyes searching for an answer.

Asuma runs to the window and peeks behind the curtains. He freezes, then pulls them apart completely. Kaname trails after him in confusion, asking again, “What’s happening?”

“Gone,” Asuma whispers.

“What?!” Kaname gasps. “Wh-But—How can that be?”

He turns to her with a serious look on his face, repeating, “Everyone’s gone.”

Kaname’s brows crease in a mixture of worry and trepidation, biting her lip as she rubs her belly. “That’s impossible. How can everybody disappear in a blink of an eye? Did we miss a fire alarm or something? An earthquake drill?”

“I don’t think so.” Asume grabs his phone from the nightstand and flips it open. He presses the home button to turn it on, but the screen doesn’t light up. “That’s weird.”

Again, he presses it, this time longer.

The black screen stares at him, almost mockingly.

“I was just charging this,” he says to Kaname, scratching his head. “Let me see your phone.”

Kaname’s phone yields the same results.

“Maybe our phones overheated?” Asuma suggests.

Kaname shakes her head. “It’s barely hot out. Let’s just put some clothes on and ask around. If we take too long, we might not be able to catch up to everyone.”

They dress up in a hurry, question after question popping up in their heads. (Asuma discretely takes out a gun from his bags as well as its holster.) They take the stairs when it seems evident that the electricity is out in the whole resort. Their trip is longer than it should have been, mainly due to Kaname’s state.

“You’d think a resort would have backup generators,” Asuma mumbles to her. It didn’t feel right to talk louder than a whisper, like someone may be watching them. The thought unsettles him.

Finally, they exit the resort building.

They are greeted by even more silence and darkness, with only the pale moon as their source of light.

Asuma pulls his wife close to him. “You know, I pride myself in being completely unflappable at whatever the world throws at me, but this is a little too much. The only reason I’m not freaking out right now is because you’re here with me and I don’t want to seem like a wimp.”

This prompts a giggle out of Kaname. “My goofy knight in shining cargo pants.”

“It’s so creepy,” she says after a beat. “Did we black out or something during an evacuation?”

“We’re the picture of health, dear, I don’t think we’d black out. Especially not at the same time.”

She nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just walk until we see someone or something that could tell us what is going on.”

“Don’t worry, babe.” Asuma flexes his biceps, shooting her a charming smile. “I didn’t get a job at the police force because of my exceedingly handsome good looks, you know. I’ll protect you.”

Kaname rolls her eyes, placing a hand on his still-flexing bicep. “Whatever you say, dear.”

They continue walking in a vaguely uncomfortable silence further out of the resort’s grounds. It takes them almost an hour before something bright pops up in the distance.

“Hey, there’s some light over there!”

They quicken their feet, eager to get out of the darkness. What greets them is a LED TV inside an otherwise dark electronic store that says…

𝐖 𝐄 𝐋 𝐂 𝐎 𝐌 𝐄、 𝐏 𝐋 𝐀 𝐘 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄

【 𝙶 𝙰 𝙼 𝙴 】 

𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋   𝐂 𝐎 𝐌 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐂 𝐄

𝐈 𝐍   𝐀   𝐌 𝐎 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓

“Game?” Kaname whispers. “What the hell?”

“Is this some kind of government experiment type of deal?” Asuma asks rhetorically.

The text on the screen changes.

𝐓 𝐇 𝐈 𝐒   𝐖 𝐀 𝐘   𝐓 𝐎  

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄   𝐆 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄   𝐀 𝐑 𝐄 𝐍 𝐀

⬅

“Should we go? I mean, there might be people there?” She rubs her belly, as if to comfort her daughter even though it looks like she’s the one who needs comforting.

He thinks for a moment, then nods. “Well, it’s not like there’s anything else to do or anywhere else to go.”

Asuma leads the way, hand clasped tight on Kaname’s as they near what looks like a karaoke bar complete with a blinking GAME sign in neon pink and the background instrumentals of a pop song. When they cross the threshold, what feels like the sense of imminent danger falls over them. Inside is a small group of people, the majority of which glance at the husband and wife pair. All of their eyes trail down to Kaname’s protruding stomach. They give her looks that are a mixture of a grimace and a pitying look.

“Are we playing a singing game?” Kaname chirps into the awkward silence. Asuma now has his arm around her shoulder protectively. “I’m not a bad singer, but if we’re going based on scores I’m definitely gonna fail.”

Silence.

“Tough crowd,” Asuma remarks. He notices a small sign that says 𝐒 𝐂 𝐀 𝐍   𝐇 𝐄 𝐑 𝐄 and below it what looks like a fingerprint scanner. Above those two is a TV screen. “Are we supposed to scan ourselves?”

“Yes.” Surprisingly, one blank-faced man with sleeves rolled up to his elbow replies.

Asuma waits for an explanation, but the man doesn’t say anything else. “Ooookay, then.” He pulls Kaname closer as he presses his thumb to the biometric device.

𝐅 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐄 𝐑 𝐏 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐓   𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐆 𝐍 𝐈 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍   𝐈 𝐍   𝐏 𝐑 𝐎 𝐂 𝐄 𝐒 𝐒

𝐏 𝐋 𝐄 𝐀 𝐒 𝐄   𝐖 𝐀 𝐈 𝐓   𝐀   𝐌 𝐎 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓

“Please wait for the game to commence.” A robotic feminine voice says, the TV suddenly turning on. A timer appears on the screen. 00:59… 58… 57… “One minute until registration closes. There are currently eleven participants.”

They wait another minute through the stifling silence, but no one else seems to come. Finally, the speakers emit a tone. “Registration has closed. The game will now commence. Game: ‘Singing Contest.’ Difficulty: Ace of Hearts.” At the announcement of the difficulty level, most of the group seems to sag in relief although some still seem tense. Kaname feels a bemused smile slide over her face. So it really is a singing game? And yet, everyone looks so serious.

“Rule: Each player has thirty seconds of singing time. After each player, everyone else has to vote whether that person is a good singer or a bad singer. Condition: Guess the majority vote correctly within one minute.”

A door to one of the karaoke rooms creaks open.

Asuma and Kaname exchange a look as they follow everyone into the room. All this fuss for a simple singing game?

Someone, a young college student, clears her throat to gain the attention of everyone. “How should we decide the order?”

“Whoever wants to go, goes,” replies a gruff voice. It comes from a man whose biceps are nearly as big as his head, with eyes that scrutinize every person in the room. Asuma doesn’t feel as intimidated as he is probably expected to be because he knows that he has a trump card hidden under his jacket. He hopes he doesn’t have to resort to using it.

Everyone stands there in silence for a moment, eyeing each other with suspicion and anxiety. Asuma can feel his patience beginning to wear thin, so he lets go of Kaname’s hand and grabs the microphone in the room. “I’ll go,” he says, flipping through the songbook and inputting the numbers for the song he wants.

When the music starts up, Kaname cheers him on. Everyone else remains silent as he sings for the required thirty seconds, even incorporating silly dance moves that make the rest of the group look at him weirdly. When he finishes, the TV flashes again, text appearing on the screen as the voice dictates. “The voting period has begun. Singer, next to the songbook is a notepad and two pens - take one piece of paper and one pen. You may place your guess inside or outside, but it is required for you to wait outside while the audience submits their votes. Audience, write down your vote and fold it. You may not discuss your vote, nor can you persuade others. Once everyone has voted within one minute, the singer can return to the room. The audience will one by one reveal their votes, and afterward the singer will reveal their guess.”

“Fun.” Asuma tears out one page and takes a pen. It didn’t matter whether he actually sang well, because no one in the room is obligated to write down their actual opinion. He sweeps a quick glance around the others, but he isn’t a mind reader. What he can gather is that they are too solemn for what seems to be a trivial game, therefore there is more than meets the eye. There is also still the question of the city-wide blackout, as well as the disappearance of hundreds-maybe thousands-of people almost in a blink of an eye. So you can’t blame him for feeling nervous as he writes down his guess.

He leaves the room, flashing a smile to his wife as he does so.

“We only have one minute to vote, so let’s vote now,” Kaname says once the door shuts. One by one, they each tear out a piece of paper and write down their votes. When Kaname’s turn comes, she keeps a poker face on while tearing at the notepad. 

She bends to write down ‘GOOD.’

Soon enough, the voting period has ended and Asuma returns to the room.

“Audience, you may now reveal your votes.”

Kaname feels her heart pounding as the votes are being said, her hand holding tightly onto Asuma’s. It’s neck to neck. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes ( Why is she being so emotional? It’s just a stupid game. Stupid hormones! ) when she is the last to reveal her vote. “Good,” she croaks out. But it doesn’t matter.

Because there are 6 votes for BAD and 4 votes for GOOD.

Asuma pats her hand reassuringly as he holds up his paper, which says BAD. “Lucky guess, huh?”

She feels the tension in her body leave and a slightly teary giggle erupts from her throat. 

"I think I'll wait a while before my turn," she says.

The next two singers successfully guess correctly, and it's during the fourth round when something happens. The guy with muscles drops down like a sack of potatoes as a red laser comes for him, prompting shocked gasps all around.

Asuma immediately kneels down and takes his pulse, but… Nothing. "He's dead," he announces, but it looks like everyone except his wife already knew that. "Alright, can anybody tell us what the fuck is going on?!" 

"He didn't follow the rules," says the man with rolled-up sleeves. He was the second singer. His glasses glint in the neon light as he points with his chin to the muscled guy's hand, which clutches two pieces of paper. "The rules stipulate that singers may only take one piece of paper."

Kaname gapes at this.

Almost as if setting the tone for the rest of the game, nearly every singer up next guesses incorrectly and meets the same fate as the muscled guy. Not before long, she is the only singer left. Aside from the first three singers, only one other person had guessed correctly, so four people would be voting. 

She starts to move, but Asuma holds her back by the wrist and pulls her in to kiss her, hoping it wasn’t their last. Not wanting to prolong it any more than it has to be, she quickly takes a piece of paper and brings it outside. 

Asuma stares at his paper for a while before he scribbles down 'BAD.' He didn't know how he could cement her guess as the majority vote. Eyes burning, he kicks himself inwardly for not fulfilling his promise of protecting her.

Kaname returns with two clenched fists, a determined look in her eyes. 

"Audience, you may now reveal your votes." 

"Good.”

"Bad.”

"Good.”

What?

Asuma stares at his folded vote, then slowly opens it to show everyone. “Bad.”

The young college girl, who survived, reels back in surprise. “It’s a tie? Does that mean whatever her answer is, she’ll live?”

“No,” interrupts the man with rolled-up sleeves. “The rules say—”

“Enough with your fucking rules, man!” Asuma barks.

The other survivor is quiet. She almost looks like she could blend in the shadows with all the dark colors she’s wearing as well as the shades she has on.

Asuma wraps his arm around Kaname to comfort her when her shoulders start shaking. “Don’t cry, dear,” he says, but his assumption is wrong when she suddenly bursts out laughing.

Kaname holds up not one, but two pieces of paper.

GOOD.

BAD.

“I guessed correctly after all.”

  9 YEARS AGO ; TOKYO METROPOLITAN CENTRAL LIBRARY

Eleven-year-old Kuroba Chiyori strikes a match and a tiny little flame appears.

She guides this flame to a tall candle on her favorite bronze candle holder. In the Borderlands, electricity is reserved for the game arenas, which her parents forbid her from entering until she is at least 18 years of age. She hasn’t been able to witness a single game yet, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before her parents let her.

Because if she doesn’t know what to expect, how can she emerge a victor?

Chiyori shifts her focus back to the book on the table. Her mother, Kuroba Kaname, said that she used to work as a librarian in this very library, before she and Chiyori’s father, Kuroba Asuma, became citizens of the Borderlands. It’s her goal to read every single book in the library before she turns 18, but Kaname says that she needs to be realistic. Her mother is right, of course. The Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library has literally thousands of books, so how could Chiyori possibly read every book?

Nice to have a goal though, she muses as she flips to another page. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in here, not while her parents are gone probably watching over tonight’s games.

It wasn’t always like this. When she was younger, her parents weren’t the Queen of Diamonds or the King of Spades yet. But then two years ago, the face card representatives were finally killed off by that cycle’s players, and the positions were up for grabs. There were only a handful of citizens in the Borderlands, victors from certain cycles that chose to stay after conquering all the cards from Ace to King. Her parents decided just that almost eight years ago.

It mustn’t have been easy for them, her mother especially. She was due to give birth to Chiyori in a mere two months when they became players. Perhaps this was a good thing though, as it gave them the drive to not die. For her. For Chiyori.

As far as Chiyori knows, she’s the only person to have ever been born in the Borderlands. But there isn’t really anyone to ask, or to give her answers.

Her first memory is of her father returning home, looking as if he took a quick swim in a pool of blood. Chiyori’s fingers clutching at her mother’s clothes as she drank her milk, eyes wide as her father dropped down on one knee to ruffle her then-short hair.

Now that she’s a bit older, her parents started leaving her alone at night, in this quiet library. These books are her only friends as she wasn’t yet allowed to make her presence known to the players.

Sometimes there are game arenas close by and she watches through the windows as numbers of players enter and only a few come back out. None of the players she has seen are anywhere near her age.

Maybe that’s why she wants to join the games when she turns 18. Loneliness.

The books she’s read tell her of companionship, adventure, friendship… love. What interesting concepts. Would she ever experience such a thing?

She startles when the light from her candle burns out. Pouting, she places a bookmark on her book and closes it. That’s her last candle.

As if on cue, flashes of red catch her eye. Outside the window, lasers from the sky come down, and some people scream when they do.

There’s someone standing outside the library.

He looks young, almost as young as Chiyori. Maybe a highschooler? He locks eyes with Chiyori just as a laser comes for him.

She doesn’t move as his body sprawls on the pavement.

Books tell her that she should feel sad when people die. How can she feel sad for this stranger? At least he has experienced life before death. At least he’s out there, while she’s in here almost longing to exchange places with him.

… Well, she may be young, but so is the night.

Chiyori sprints to her closet, which is really a display cabinet that used to house heavy encyclopedias. She tugs off her pajamas in a rush and grabs a clean teal t-shirt along with cream-colored cargo shorts. Her feet are already clad in socks, so she just pushes them into her ratty sneakers.

Most games usually last until midnight, there are some that last until sunrise, and a select few can last for days. It usually depends on the difficulty of the game itself, not just the game levels.

The gamemasters and dealers use the Takebashi Station in Chiyoda City, Tokyo as their headquarters, so the distance from there to here would be… She visualizes a map of Tokyo for a moment. Around 8 to 9 kilometers! It’s far enough to watch one game and get back before midnight.

She giggles when she realizes it’s almost like that Cinderella fairy tale she read as a child.

.

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

  TWO HOURS LATER

 She comes home drenched in blood.

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 13/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Thirteen: Silent Running

Read on AO3.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Take the children and yourself And hide out in the cellar By now the fighting will be close at hand Don't believe the church and state And everything they tell you Believe in me, I'm with the high command

Can you hear me, can you hear me running? Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?

There's a gun and ammunition Just inside the doorway Use it only in emergency Better you should pray to God The Father and the Spirit Will guide you and protect from up here

Can you hear me, can you hear me running?”

~Silent Running - Mike & The Mechanics

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Buck wasn’t at all surprised when he got back from the zoo to find that Tony had left. Honestly, he’d stayed longer than he thought he would have. Although, he was a bit hurt that he hadn’t even left a note, or even sent him a text message. They hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk much. Buck knew the man led a very busy and exciting life, but he had wanted him to know a bit about his own life.

The truth was that he had decided to stop moping and do light duty, at least until the department cleared him to return to regular duties. If Buck was being honest with himself, the Fire Marshall position, while it paid more, wasn’t something he wanted. He knew he’d excel at it, because he loved random trivia. So, learning and remembering the many rules and fire regulations would be a piece of cake. Math wasn’t his strongest subject, but he knew enough to be able to do his job and do it well.

So, he was confident that he’d be a great Fire Marshall, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be on a fire engine, be the one in the harness rescuing people that couldn’t save themselves. It didn’t have anything to do with the praise he might receive, but about feeling like he had a purpose in life. Buck was certain that being a firefighter was that purpose, and he would endure anything to get back to that. Even if that was doing light duty as a Fire Marshall.

He had wanted Tony to know all this, since it felt like there was a sudden distance between Eddie and him. The trip to the zoo hadn’t been like their other outings. Eddie had seem —not cold— but there had certainly not been the same relaxed, almost intimate feeling Buck always felt. Whenever they were together, Buck could almost lie to himself and say he was a family with Eddie and Chris.

However, today it hadn’t felt like that. It hadn’t felt like BuckEddie with Chris. That day it had been Eddie and Chris, and Buck just tagging along. He couldn’t explain the reason for this, but it had seem to come from Eddie.

Buck had asked if everything was alright, but the man had reassured him that everything was fine. Although, the smile hadn’t been his usual ones, but he couldn’t really argue. Buck didn’t know what the problem was, so he was at a loss.

And now Tony was gone as well, and Buck felt even more lost.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony could feel the cold sweat on his back as he hacked more and more into SHIELD’s mainframe and kept coming back with one thing: HYDRA was very alive, and it was living inside of SHIELD. He was horrified how much of the organization had a hold of SHIELD, where Tony couldn’t see where one ended and the other began.

He had contacted Fury on a secure line (even more secure than the phone lines at the White House) and he had told him about his suspicions on something not being right as well. Tony didn’t know if he was bullshitting and trying to cover up the fact that HYDRA had pulled one over on him. At this point he didn’t really give a shit. Tony just wanted to fix this, and now.

Now he knew why there was a backdoor in the LAFD. Because Stark Industries donated a lot to several Fire Departments, but none more than the LAFD. He had started this when he learned that Buck was a firefighter, and HYDRA was interested in whatever caught Tony’s interest. As soon as he’d realized that and that they might be tracking him, he’d gotten the fuck out of Buck’s apartment.

He knew they might be able to track him easily if the hellicarriers managed to link to the spy satellites, and he was working furiously to make sure they hadn’t found his connection to Buck. If they had, then he would be very pissed at himself.

Tony knew he had a dangerous job, that he had enemies that could and would target those he cared about. One would think he’d learned his lesson after the Mandarin debacle where not only had Happy been hurt, but Pepper had been kidnapped, and even Rhodey had been in danger. He’d gotten sloppy. It was as simple as that.

The breakup with Pepper had weakened him emotionally and he had allowed himself to be near Buck, spend time with him without making sure he wasn’t being tracked. And it wasn’t only Buck; it was also Bobby and Athena and her kids. Tony had stayed in their house and they could be a target. While he was near, all of the 118 could become a target.

That had been three days ago now. The last he had heard, Fury was going to meet with Alexander Pierce about not only delaying Project Insight, but also about HYDRA’s infiltration of SHIELD. Tony had yet to hear from him, and he was very worried. Nick was a tough son of a bitch, but even he wasn’t invincible. Tony knew that he had gotten Steve involved and that Natasha had already been on covert missions within missions to find out about some inconsistencies.

Tony might need to contact one of them, but there was no way of knowing if they had a secure line.

‘Sir, I’m getting reports that Director Fury has been killed,’ JARVIS suddenly piped up.

“Fuck!” Tony cursed. He paused a moment as he breathed heavily, wincing as his hand went to the side. The superhero had managed to get some antibiotics and been changing the bandages as best as he could, but not as well as he should. So, he was still in pain. It’s a miracle he hadn’t pulled any of the stitches if he was honest.

“Get me confirmation on that J,” he told his AI. He wouldn’t believe the man was dead without seeing a body. Nick was a slippery SOB and wouldn’t be taken out so easily. “Also, try to get in contact with Maria Hill.” He was well aware that the more modern communicators were likely to be compromised, but he had his ways. HYDRA was right to have him on their kill list, because he was the only one that could stop them. And he would.

“They’re going to regret using my technology to power the hellicarriers,” he said. He wouldn’t be able to disable the satellites, since there wasn’t really time for it. However, disabling three targets would be a piece of cake, especially when they were using his tech. “Let’s take away control from HYDRA.”

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The ladder truck and fire engine as well as the ambulance pulled alongside the building in the fire lane. Eddie followed by Lena, Bobby, Jensen and the rest of the crew all jumped from the trucks. Lena and Jensen were working as a team, since while Eddie worked well with her, not so much with Jensen. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good fire fighter, because he was. Eddie just didn’t have the same communication he had with Buck, and so when he could work alone, he did. When he had to work with someone, he worked with Lena. He’d made this clear with Bobby, who hadn’t seen a problem with it.

While he’d have preferred Buck to Lena, the woman was the second best choice.

“Everyone, please keep moving to the designated area,” one of the firefighters from the other station was telling the people that were evacuating the building. The back of his turncoat read ‘Towne’.

“My God, that’s the biggest damn fire I’ve never seen,” Chimney said sarcastically.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he continued walking, and went to where Hen was next to a fire hydrant. “I hate fire drills,” she groaned as she crouched beside it.

He grunted as he connected the hose to the hydrant. “City mandates we do ‘em every three years. Can’t fight City Hall.”

“First alarm was triggered at 12:20 pm. Call came in 30 seconds later. Boots down, hoses out by 12:43pm,” Bobby informed them.

“That’s what?” Eddie asked as he stood after he finished.

“Four minutes over our allotted response time.”

Chim glanced over as he had been lifting a hose. “Ouch, that’s gonna cost us some points.”

Hen stood with an eye roll. “Somebody’s gonna have to explain that to the new Fire Marshal.” They looked at one another and then all three of them looked pointedly at Bobby.

If he could, Bobby would groan loudly, but he only gave a small sigh. It was times like these he regretted having accepted the Captain position. He guessed there was no choice, and went to find Buck. It only lifted his spirits a little that Buck hadn’t completely thrown his career away over a little set-back, but it wasn’t much.

Bobby just hoped that when he told Buck the truth, he’d understand his reasoning. He hoped.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Buck was pleasantly surprised when he was invited to dinner at Athena and Bobby’s house. He’d never say it out loud, but he regarded the two in a parental role than he had ever seen his parents. Bobby certainly saw Bobby as more of a father-figure than his own abusive father.

As they sat around the table, he felt a warm feeling at the fact that it was only him with the couple instead of it being the rest of the 118. Although, he would admit that he wouldn’t have minded if they had been there. The distance that had grown between him and Eddie hadn’t changed, and the feeling of dread that he was being replaced had only grown when he had seen Lean Bosko in his place at Eddie’s side.

It had felt like they were all moving on without him. So, now he was feeling desperate to get back to full duty with his team, besides Eddie. After telling Bobby and Athena about the lawyer trying to get him to sign an affidavit against the 118 to blame them for the logjam on the stairwell during the fire drill.

“Hey, that- that lawyer got me thinking. There’s strength in numbers, right? Maybe I could get everyone to sign a statement of support or something.” The more the idea got into his head, the more he wanted to do it.

“Buck-” Bobby started, but Buck cut him off.

“Show the higher ups that- that you guys don’t think I’m a liability.

“Buck-”

“They’d have to listen, right?” He felt hopeful the more he spoke of it, of getting back to his team, to the only family besides Maddie he had ever known.

“I want you to listen to me,” Bobby tried again.

“I mean, you told them I was ready,” he cut him off again. He was starting to feel desperate, not being able to get back. Buck wanted to come back to where he belonged. “I mean, these- these dumb asses- they would, they would have no right to keep me-!”

“I’m the dumb ass!”

“Uh-what?” Buck asked, trying to smile past the shock. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he didn’t want to believe it; refused to believe it. Now, he looked at Bobby, silently pleading for the man to say anything than what he was sure he was about to say.

“You’re not ready. That’s what I told them when they asked.”

When Buck left the Grant-Nash house, he wondered where he was supposed to go now. He had thought that Bobby had his back, since the man had told him the department thought he was a liability to come back because of the blood thinners. It had all turned out to be a lie. Bobby had been lying to him, and he was deeply hurt by this more than anything.

Now, he had no one to turn to, since he was sure that they would all agree with Bobby. As he got into his Jeep, slamming the door violently as he did, he glanced at the console where Chase Mackey’s business card was. He glanced at the time on his phone, seeing that it was a bit late, but even then he unlocked his phone and dialed the number.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

‘There’s too many, sir. We won’t be able to save them all.’

“We’ll save as many as we can,” Tony snarled, hands moving over the keys.

Every single SHIELD agent had been compromised when Rogers and Romanoff had uploaded all those files onto the internet. He’d already grounded the hellicarriers, so he hadn’t had to worry about that. But now not only were all the agents that weren’t HYDRA in danger, but so were their families.

He hadn’t slept more than six hours in the last three days, but he couldn’t rest. There were still so many of them. So many already dead that shouldn’t have had to die if only they had thought about what they had been risking. While HYDRA had indeed infiltrated SHIELD, that was mostly positions of power, or liaisons such as to the FBI and CIA. However, lower level positions and a lot of regular agents were not HYDRA.

‘Sir, I have an incoming call from Clint Barton.’

“Not now,” he snapped, trying to maneuver a suit in sneaking into Pakistani without being seen. There was an agent embedded in deep cover there and time was running out to get him out.

‘He says it’s urgent, sir.’

“Fuck,” he growled. “Take over this, J.”

He went to the holoscreen and the waiting call. “This better be life and death, Barton! I’m busy cleaning up your buddy’s fuckup before everyone dies!”

The man looked to have seen better days, one eye swollen shut and a cut along his cheek and when he spoke there was blood in his teeth. “I was compromised... I got out in time... but my kids... I haven’t been able to get in contact with my wife.” He was wheezing and he was clearly more injured than what Tony could see, perhaps fluid in his chest cavity and would need immediate medical help.

Tony was shocked at learning that Barton had a wife and kids, then again he hadn’t really gotten to know the man. So, he guessed him having a family wasn’t that weird. “Give me their location and I’ll send a jet for them.” He didn’t even ask him to explain or anything, knowing that time was of the essence. Tony hoped they weren’t already dead. “You better get your ass to the nearest hospital, Barton,” he also told him.

“Thank you, Tony,” the man sighed in relief.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a grim expression. He was being stretched thin but he had to at least try. Tony would not have any regrets over not having done everything he could in saving the compromised agents, but especially their innocent families.

He’d pulled FRIDAY from the Ten Rings and she was helping JARVIS use every suit, jet, plane, helicopter, or vehicle at their disposal to get out as many SHIELD personnel alive as he could. There had been too many times that he had arrived too late, finding a dead agent, or their murdered family.

Tony was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, but he didn’t have time. He had to hold himself together, somehow.

“Alright Fri, give me control of a jet near these coordinates,” he told his newly awakened AI. He was so proud at how quickly she’d adapted to working with Tony and JARVIS, and it was like she’d always been there.

‘There is a jet 23 miles from that location, but there is not enough fuel to get to one of the safe houses,’ FRIDAY explained.

Tony shook off his fatigue as he felt lightheaded all of a sudden, taking a few deep breaths before he lifted his face. “Give it everything she’d got, baby girl. The objective is to get Barton’s family away from their current location.”

‘Sir, we’ve got incoming,’ JARVIS said suddenly, sounding worried.

“Bring up security feed,” he told him. The holoscreen appeared with the feed of outside the bunker. He was where his Malibu mansion had once been, which no one knew about. Although, judging by the man in black leather with the cybernetic arm that had just now shot out his camera, someone knew he was here. It was most likely HYDRA, and he had wondered when they would send someone for him.

However, he might be in trouble, since he currently only had just a basic armor with no weapons; it couldn’t even fly, having sent every other armor out to help in extracting the agents. Tony could fix it to at least get it to fly, but nothing else with the little time he had.

He hurried over to the armor, attaching everything needed to get it to fly. The man wasn’t even halfway through doing this when he paused and looked up as he heard the scream of metal being bent. Tony inhaled deeply to stay calm. He was in trouble.

“J, initiate Rescue Protocol.”-

[threeletterslife]

Insurrection (It’s About Time)

→ [4/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: If you told Park Jimin he was going to fall in love with a young cult leader, he would've laughed. But honestly, who's laughing now??

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 90% angst, 9.9% fluff, 0.1% crack | high school!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of suicide, academic dishonesty, cult-like activities, profanity, school threats (bombs & shootings)

→ wordcount: 18.3k

→ a/n: this is a story that is near and dear to my heart. it actually kind of hurt to write because a lot of these scenes are similar to my experiences or the experiences of loved ones. i’ve had this idea for almost two years now and i finally decided to write it out. i hope you enjoy (:

Jimin is punctual. In fact, he is on another level of punctuality. At any given event, he arrives at least fifteen minutes early. For what reason? His answer would be 'just in case.' There are a plethora of events that can go wrong, a multitude of catastrophes that can erupt in his face last-minutely. Jimin's not going to take any chances jeopardizing his own future.

Especially his future in education.

Much accordingly, since he is exceedingly punctual, Jimin can not—for the love of god—stand people who dilly dally. The atrocity of them to dare to be late and waste others' time!

This is the exact reason why he absolutely despises his calculus teacher.

I sacrificed my goddamn lunchtime studying for this exam. And now he decides to be late.

Jimin's hands shake violently as he brings up his notes to his face, eyes boring into the paper filled with equations and example problems. Hands clammy and sticking to the paper, he balances himself on the balls of his feet and rocks in an attempt to try to settle his spiked nerves.

This is definitely not a good way to start off finals weeks.

Jimin has exactly an 88.3% in AP Calculus BC, and a morbid B+ will do no good in his future—at least that's what the school propaganda and his parents say. He'll have to score extremely well on this fall semester's final exam, especially because his teacher refuses to round up the grades.

Goddamn. He's really late. Late to his own final.

Jimin starts biting his nails again. At this point, there isn't much nail to bite left, but he manages to gnaw at the skin around it. It's a small habit that goes far; he does it when he's nervous, but nail-biting always does such little to do away with his gargantuan amount of stress.

In frustration, Jimin lets out a massive sigh, clutching at his chest where his lungs threatened to collapse on him. His stomach feels tight and queasy, which doesn't have much to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten. He is just anxious. Unlike the others around him.

Next to Jimin, Jeon Jungkook, his friend, casually leans against the brick wall, eyes focused on his phone screen as he mumbles nasty profanities under his breath. "That's motherfucking right, die, bitches," he mutters. Jungkook moves his body along with the avatar inside his game. He's so into it that his eyes gleam when he reigns victorious. "Ha!" he screeches, throwing up his hands. "Fuck you, you cowards! I win!"

Jungkook finally looks up from his game and meets eyes with Jimin. He grins. "Hey, bro, wanna log on too?"

Jimin's mouth hangs open with a mixture of complete surprise and utter disapproval. "We have a final this period, Jungkook. Aren't you the tiniest bit worried?"

He regrets asking that because he knows the answer he's going to get.

"No, not really," Jungkook snorts. He looks back at his phone screen and hoots. "Fuck, yeah! He's not here yet! I think I can squeeze in another game."

If Jimin's parents knew that his friend—aside from his straight A's and musical accomplishments—played video games, namely Fortnite, to pass time, they'd probably transfer Jimin to another school. A school that could be worse than this one. Which might as well be a prison.

Jimin shakes his head, harshly gripping his notes and looking away from Jungkook. Jimin doesn't want to admit it, but he's jealous. While he's stuck having a mini internal breakdown over the teacher's tardiness, Jungkook's taking the extra leisure time to play some shitty mobile game.

It's unfair. Jungkook gets his straight A's without moving so much of a goddamn muscle. While Jimin, on the other hand, has to stay up until four in the morning every other day, studying or doing homework from the moment he's awake to the time he goes to bed. He will never understand why, despite his grueling efforts, that he has a fair share of B's in his transcript.

It's a shitty, unfair system. But then again, it was set up to be unfair, anyways. Here at Welton High School, every student has taken a rigorous entrance exam, of which only the top 25% scoring students are accepted. Every student is well above average—they are students from all over the world and have probably never heard the word 'average' spoken to them in their entire lives. Until they faced Welton, of course. Now of the top 25%, only 1% can truly be special.

Jimin sometimes thinks that when he was accepted to Welton, he must've been barely at the cut off line. He speculates that he must've been in the top 24.99%, and was very lucky that he wasn't waitlisted.

He worked twice as hard from freshman year until now, junior year, to be on level with the young, walking Einsteins of Welton. But no matter how hard Jimin tries, he has never been able to outsmart the intellectuals who were born to change the world with their IQ's alone.

Competition is way too fierce.

No, Jimin thinks. Competition is deadly.

And it is. Student suicides, school shooting threats (from the students), student protests... Teenagers crack under pressure. But what can Jimin do about it? The system's shitty, yes, but he has no choice but to follow it, or else the promise of a stable future goes down the drain and into the sewer. For that exact reason, Jimin studies like there's no tomorrow every day.

Wake up. Go to school. Eat. Study. Sleep (if he's lucky). Wake up (sometimes). And do it all over again.

So fine. Jimin's jealous of Jeon Jungkook. Because he doesn't seem to put in the effort for his perfect grades. And it irks Jimin. But it shouldn't. Jungkook's his friend, so Jimin should be happy for him.

It's hard though when the person you're closest to is so far beyond your league that you begin to think yourself inferior to them.

"Sorry, class!" Jimin's calc teacher huffs as he nearly spills over his coffee while skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door. "We've lost time for the final! Get in your seats, take out a pencil, eraser and graphing calculator! Be ready in your seats so I can pass out the exams!" he orders in a frenzy.

How can you be so irresponsible? Jimin thinks, glaring daggers at the back of his teacher's head.

He's almost blinded by rage until he realizes what he's really here for: to take the test. Right. His stomach flips at the thought. Jimin shoves his notes into his backpack, wincing when he hears some of the papers ripping.

Shit, this is the moment. He's been dreading this exact time for weeks now. Each step into the familiar class makes him feel like he's walking the plank, inching closer and closer to his impending doom.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jimin feels a migraine creeping in already. I don't know if I can do this.

Next to him, Jungkook is still playing Fortnite. Jimin doesn't know if he should spitefully tell his friend to stop or to let him continue. God, it's not fair.

Jimin's teacher is all over the place, holding his cup of coffee while also carrying dozens of test booklets in the other hand. For a split second, Jimin wishes his teacher would spill his coffee on the tests. Maybe that would delay the final. Maybe Jimin would get his first stroke of good luck in the nearly three years of high school he had already faced.

But luck is not on Jimin's side today. It never was.

The test booklets make it out in perfect condition, and Jimin's slightest bit of hope is crushed when his teacher finally sets down his coffee on his desk.

"Get your tests! Come on, pick them up!" his teacher shrills. Jimin breathes in deeply. At this point, he's just going to accept his fate. He might as well accept a B+ in this class. God, I feel faint.

"Don't write on the test," the teacher continues. "The scratch paper is up here if you need it and—"

The loud, blaring fire alarm interrupts him. It echoes deafeningly through the class, the raucous noise piercing through Jimin's ears to such an extent that he covers them with his hands. Jimin shakes in his seat, making eye contact with Jungkook.

For once in his life, Jungkook looks confused in a class setting. 'What the fuck??" he mouths aggressively to Jimin.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sometimes, the administration liked to schedule secret fire drills to get the students and staff better prepared in case of a real emergency. But really, during finals week? When students are already nerve-wracked from exam season? God, they had no shame for fuck's sake.

Jimin's teacher sighs, running his fingers through his head of unkempt hair. "All sorts of things happening today," he mutters to himself. "Must be a mistake," he declares with an affirmative nod of the head. "Class, as I was saying before—"

"Holy fuck, the other classes are evacuating!" Jungkook shrieks, pointing out the classroom window. Sure enough, teachers are already herding their students outside to the evacuation areas on the soccer fields. "I don't think this is a dr—"

Before Jungkook finishes his sentence and the teacher disciplines him for his explicit choice of language, the intercom buzzes, momentarily halting the horrendous fire alarm. Everyone freezes and it goes completely silent. So silent that Jimin can hear his own heartbeat.

A loud crackle and another buzz ring from the intercom, then the principal begins to speak in a hurried voice: "This is not a drill. Please proceed to evacuate out of the buildings. Thank you."

The moment he finishes, the intercom crackles again and the fire alarm carries on.

Jimin's anxiety flies to the roof. Not a drill? What could've possibly happened?

His teacher looks almost as—or even more—shaken as Jimin and he yells panicked directions to the students. "I'll be the last one out! Meet me at our safety corner on the field!"

Jimin quickly finds Jungkook and the two of them walk side by side out of the building. As soon as Jimin can see the sky, he looks up instinctively to check for smoke. But there is none. In fact, the sky looks clearer than normal today.

"Do you even think there's a fire?" Jimin asks his friend. He almost lets out a scoff of disbelief when he sees Jungkook playing his mobile game again.

"No idea," Jungkook replies nonchalantly, jabbing at his screen with his thumb. "Don't think it's anything serious. Probably just a small fire in chem class. Nothing to worry about."

Jimin's still uneasy. "You don't think anyone's hurt, do you?"

At that, Jungkook hums, his forehead creasing slightly as he finally shuts off his phone and pockets it. "There's no ambulance," he points out. Jungkook turns to Jimin fully, grinning at him to Jimin's shock. "Loosen up, Jimin. This is junior year. We might have a chance at canceled finals because of this real evacuation! Now isn't that nice?"

"I guess..." Jimin mumbles. But I need the final to raise my grade...

It's strange to see his peers smiling and laughing as they walk side by side with their friends. It's almost as if the fire alarm isn't threateningly blaring in the background. Do none of them care that this could be a serious matter??

"By the looks of it, we're definitely going to skip the calc final today!" Jungkook shouts victoriously, pumping his fist in the air. "No more fucking math!"

"True..." Jimin admits nervously. "But he might have to take the final after school..." He's almost too embarrassed to say that he needs this final to raise his grade.

Jungkook snorts. "Welton's not allowed to keep us after school with such short notice," he says. "If things go right, we might not have finals for the rest of the day."

When Jungkook puts it that way, the thought sounds heavenly.

"Yo! Bros!" a familiar voice calls, breaking Jimin from his reverie. "Y'all okay? We could've literally died!"

It's Taehyung, Jimin's other friend. The only guy in the whole school who's unafraid to use the word 'y'all' and be judged for it.

"Man, I heard the girl's locker room caught on fire!" Taehyung announces.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you were in there, how would you know?" he teases.

Jimin laughs as Taehyung huffs disapprovingly. "Some girls told me. I would never sneak in there," he pouts, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Jimin says. "How would the fire have started in there, though?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what goes down in the girl's locker room," Jungkook says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What went down so hard to cause a fire??" Jimin asks.

"Nah, don't believe him, Minnie," Taehyung laughs. "Jungkook probably sneaks in there from time to time to be a little perv."

Jungkook shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. He even plays along with it. "Well, I need something interesting to do in my high school career."

At that, Jimin and Taehyung shoot each other a look. Them and a majority of the students at Welton don't have enough hours in the day to study, let alone to seek for 'something interesting to do' in their high school careers. It's so like Jeon Jungkook, the genius, to say shit like this.

"Whatever, y'all," Taehyung says. "I don't even care what happened. We're still alive, you know? I'm just glad I'm missing out on that stupid physics final."

"Lucky," Jimin says. "I'm supposed to take that shit tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, if there even is a tomorrow," Jungkook says, scrolling through his phone. Jimin thinks he's playing some mobile game again, but he soon realizes he's reading something. "It's not a fire in the girl's locker room after all..."

The three boys immediately stop walking, Taehyung and Jimin looking over Jungkook's shoulder to read what was on his screen. It's an email sent from the principal to all attending students and their guardians:

Dear Welton Community,

Today at approximately 12:48 pm, an unidentified caller phoned in a bomb threat to Welton High School. The caller stated seven pipe bombs had been planted on campus and were going to detonate in 25 minutes. The Police Department was called and immediately responded. Along with them, the School Administration decided to evacuate all buildings and bomb-sniffing dogs were called to search the entire school. When they have completed their search, I will send out another message to our community with the all-clear.

Thank you.

Bombs. Bombs?!?! Jimin panics again. Actual bombs! Seven pipe bombs could do serious damage—maybe even decimate half of the population of Welton High. What if they go off? Will this really be the end?

"Well, that explains the excessive amount of helicopters flying above us," Jungkook says, shrugging.

Before Jimin can shoot his friend a look of utter incredulity, he hears the sharp voice of his calc teacher. "Jimin! Jungkook! What are you doing out of line? I'm taking roll!"

"The Grinch is calling," Jungkook snickers. "We'll see you later," he tells Taehyung who salutes the two of you.

"See you guys," Taehyung says before sauntering off to his physics class.

"Text us!" Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn't turn around but gives two big thumbs up indicating that he had heard Jimin.

Quickly, Jimin and Jungkook get in line while their dratted teacher takes roll. Once they see that their teacher isn't eagle-eyeing them, they slip out their phones, opening their group chat with Taehyung. It looks like Taehyung had already sent them multiple texts. All cries of pity.

Group: dead men + kook

[half-dead cowboy]: y'alls

[half-dead cowboy]: literally save me

[half-dead cowboy]: idk anyone in this class

[half-dead cowboy]: keep me entertained

[half-dead cowboy]: don't leave me hanging

[half-dead cowboy]: guyds

[half-dead cowboy]: guys*

[nO yOu]: serves u right for deciding to take physics ii lmfaoo

[half-dead cowboy]: shut up kook

[half-dead cowboy]: where's my boi minnie when i need him

[lil dead man]: Shit Tae I keep forgetting to tell you not to call me that

[half-dead cowboy]: you know why?

[half-dead cowboy]: because you not-so-secretly lobr it

[half-dead cowboy]: ugh

[half-dead cowboy]: love*

[nO yOu]: how did u even get in welton tae lmfao u can't even spell

[half-dead cowboy]: no

[half-dead cowboy]: i can SPELL i can't TYPE

[half-dead cowboy]: there's a difference you jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

[half-dead cowboy]: jerk********

[lil dead man]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[nO yOu]: i feel quite honored to b called a jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: stfu

[nO yOu]: no for real bro

[nO yOu]: thank you

[lil dead man]: Back at it again with the sarcasm Kook

[lil dead man]: Anyways what's the girl's locker room like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[half-dead cowboy]: not the lenny face

[half-dead cowboy]: please no

[nO yOu]: nO yOu

[lil dead man]: How long have you been waiting to say that

[nO yOu]: months

[nO yOu]: thanks for noticing. u my man

[nO yOu]: also if tae won't say anything bout the girl's locker room i will

[lil dead man]: What the fuck bro I thought you were joking when you say you knew the shit that went down????

[nO yOu]: lmfao i'm still jokin chillax minnie

[half-dead cowboy]: i hate you guys :((((((

[nO yOu]: damn that frowny face has 6 chins holy mothatruckafucka

[half-dead cowboy]: :(

[lil dead man]: That's more like it!!

[half-dead cowboy]: hold up hold up

[half-dead cowboy]: oh shoot y'all hearing this?

[nO yOu]: no?? we're texting? wE hAvE nO vOicE

[half-dead cowboy]: no you illiterate f*cks they just cleared the school the bomb threat as phony

[lil dead man]: Whew

[lil dead man]: I'm happy I won't blow up into smithereens but also pissed off as fuck that we'll have to live to take finals??

[nO yOu]: agreed, minnie

[nO yOu]: k but more importantly

[nO yOu]: tae did you just censor out a fucking cuss word

[half-dead cowboy]: i'm trying not to cuss as much anymore if you haven't noticed. but y'all make it f*cking hard. f*ck

[lil dead man]: We'Re sOrRy wE'Re bAd iNflUenCe

[half-dead cowboy]: :(((((((((((((((

[nO yOu]: 15 chins lets git itttt

[half-dead cowboy]: F*CK Y'ALL

It feels strange. The shortened school day had been so eventful... but also uneventful? Sure, there was a bomb threat, but it had been fake. Jimin thought a full-on Hollywood action scene would've commenced after the bombs detonated, but the bombs were never there in the first place. There weren't any finals either. All of them had been rescheduled to take next week, which was good news for most students.

It wasn't just good news, too. It was great news. Superb news. The best news students have gotten since they began attending Welton High School. Now, students are thanking the bomb threat for its rather impeccable timing. Some are even pissed that it hadn't happened earlier (so more finals could have been missed).

"We need to celebrate this once in a lifetime opportunity!" Taehyung announces as soon as the three boys are reunited. "It's not every day that a bomb threat cancels your finals!"

"We deserve a break, anyways," Jimin says. "I'm down. Kook?"

"Mm..." Jungkook makes an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat as he pauses his video game with the tap of his finger. "Sorry guys. Can't. Have to go somewhere."

"You?" Taehyung gasps dramatically. "Have plans?"

"And without us?" Jimin says, feigning a hurt expression. "Are you ditching us?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "No. I'm just... busy."

"Ha! Busy," Taehyung snorts. "Yeah, busy with that little sophomore girl you've been—cough—seeing."

"What the fuck," Jungkook scoffs. "How do you know about that?"

Taehyung opts not to answer the question, instead, he giggles. "It's a date, isn't it?" he sings.

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Fine," he says, slipping his phone inside his back pocket. "It's a date."

"Oh, we are so following you," Taehyung says.

"Don't you dar—"

"No, we're following you," Jimin grins.

"No, I swear to fucking g—"

Jimin and Taehyung are following Jungkook. The boy's surprisingly agile as he zig-zags around stumpy trees, tall bushes and overflowing trash cans. Sometimes, he quickly looks behind him as if to see if someone was trailing his back. Every time, Jimin's heart sinks with the fear of being caught, but Taehyung seems to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush.

At this rate, Jimin feels like an outlaw. But he's only just chasing his rather suspicious-looking friend. Or maybe he really wanted his relationship with the sophomore girl as a secret?

Or maybe there was no sophomore girl in the picture at all. Jimin's not too sure.

"It's as if he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a teeny weeny 10th grader," Taehyung whispers, a mischievous grin stuck on his lips.

Yeah. If the girl exists. But Jimin doesn't say that. "I wonder who she is," he whispers back. "I mean, who on earth is worthy of dating our Kook?"

"My expectations for this girl are high," Taehyung snorts. "She better be the most intelligent girl I've ever—wait, what the fucK??"

The latter is more of a reaction. Taehyung grabs Jimin's arm, pulling him to take refuge behind a particularly bushy bush. He points at a rather unsettling scene unfolding before them.

Through the leaves of the shrub, Jimin can make out Jungkook, all right. There's also a girl—who might be a sophomore, standing confidently on a tree stump. Jimin doesn't even know if you go to Welton. But what makes the whole situation peculiar is that there are others—including Jungkook—gathered in this little half-forest clearing. And they're gathered around the tree stump in which the girl is standing on.

Jimin tries to make a rough estimate of the number of people—seemingly students because they're all wearing backpacks— in his head. Twelve? Maybe fifteen students? He's confused, furrowing his brows as he squints at them through the bush. "What's this shit for?" he whispers to Taehyung who looks equally confused.

"No idea," Taehyung mutters. "Looks like a cult," he snorts. "But it could be a stupid Fortnite club for all I know."

"I doubt that a club would meet at such a sketchy place," Jimin murmurs to himself.

There is something definitely fishy going on here...

Jungkook blends in way too easily in the crowd of supposed students. The only person that stands out is the girl. The one on the tree stump. She stands casually, favoring her left leg. She's petite, but her posture and stance emit an aura of valiance and authority. Her eyes seem to sparkle with determination and her lips are curled up in a happy smile. A... victorious smile.

"That's her!" Taehyung whispers aggressively. "The girl I've seen our Kook with! The little sophomore!"

Ah... She's a sophomore... Jimin nods, cocking his head as his eyes scan the group of students to see if he recognized anyone other than Jungkook. He sees a few seniors (that he can't quite remember the name of) and finds it weird that they're huddled below the sophomore girl as if waiting for her command.

Whoever she is, she's the leader. The president, maybe? Of whatever club this was? If it even was a club, that is.

Jimin's thoughts are proven when the girl clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath before bellowing out a "Thank you for coming!" She offers a friendly wave to everyone looking up to her (literally) in awe.

Jimin has never seen the genius himself, Jeon Jungkook, respecting an underclassman before. Even the seniors in the crowd look at the girl approvingly. As if she were a queen and not just the president of a small club.

The girl speaks again in her light, lilted voice, turning to a lanky boy with unkempt blonde hair covering his eyes. "Yoongs! Attendance, please?"

"Perfect attendance, Y/N!" the boy deemed as Yoongs reports back to the girl. He winks. And she—Y/N—blushes.

Jimin frowns. What was going on???

You giggle, looking fondly at Yoongs before returning your attention to the rest of the crowd. "So, our experiment worked as expected," you say, shrugging rather casually. "I did feel bad for wasting people's time..." you trail off, unsure.

Experiment? Jimin feels chills run down his spine when he realizes you probably mean the bomb threat.

"It was worth it, babe!" Yoongs calls from the group.

You smile. "It's always worth it," you reply. "I'll make today's meeting short for those of you working on college apps and the others of you participating in competitions."

You're so casual in the way you speak—as if the people you were looking over were your friends. But you're also entrancing. As if everyone else has to be silent to hear what great words you have to say. And apparently, you have a lot on your mind to share.

"As I always say," you start, "never waste your time on your grades. They don't define you. Nor will they shed a light on the person you are inside. Nevertheless, everyone here should have straight A's..." you smile, looking over at Yoongs. "A round of applause for Yoongi's excellent coding skills for which we would've never been able to pull this off without them!"

The crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause, leaving Yoongi beaming from his proud accomplishments.

You wait for the crowd to simmer down before speaking again. "We tricked and cheated the system," you admit. "You might have doubts about that. Morality and integrity may play into your thoughts. But," you take a dramatic pause, "how moral are grades, really? They're tools for adults, which is as far as it goes. Teachers corrupt the system, watch silently as all hell breaks loose from the intense student competition... They make it a game. They know you'll do anything to get the letter grade you want," you take a painful breath. "We're only fighting against something that is as equally as or more morally ambiguous. The world cares about you as a human. They won't care about a robot that spits out impeccable grades but has no soul, no passion, no life. They want you at your best—what you can do that will benefit others. We don't need to take part in something as trivial as our high school grades, do we?" you smile as the students around you cheer.

"Of course... college is a different story. Depending on the college you go, that is..." you trail off. "When you start to learn about things that you have a genuine interest in, that's when grades might matter. But for now, struggling this hard on obscure subjects that you'll never touch again after graduating from Welton? I say it's a good thing we're cheating the system. How great was the system anyway to have contributed to three student suicides in the last two years?"

There's a collective murmur as students nod their heads.

"A moment of silence for Heegyung, Bonsoo and Chaewoon, please," you say, voice barely above a whisper but everyone hears what you say and they all bow their heads down to obey. You, yourself, close your eyes. Your face is etched with pain and actual remorse, which makes Jimin feel a little guilty he wasn't truly mourning the students' deaths.

After a few minutes pass, you clear your throat, blinking your eyes open and waiting for the other students to look up at you again. "Ah, yes," you say. "Thank you for the short mourning period we were able to squeeze into this meeting... But now to get to the purpose of this gathering," you pause for a split second before continuing again. "The finals you will have to take next week shouldn't be as stressful as other school days. Apply our methods and you'll be fine. If you need extra help, text me as soon as possible." You pause again, but this time, it wasn't to gather your thoughts, it was to shift the mood of your speech. A bright grin settles on your face.

"Now, for the moment we've all been waiting for!" you exclaim. "Let's give a special round of applause for Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi for their collaboration on this excellent evacuation plan!"

The crowd does more than applaud. Students whoop, yell and chant their names. But Jimin's not in a celebratory mood.

Jungkook did what?? Jimin shoots Taehyung a panicked look. It was one thing to realize that this group of students probably somehow organized the bomb threat, but it was another thing to realize that Jungkook was a large part of it.

"It was extremely difficult to create an automated call that couldn't be traced—" you begin.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad," Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. "Child's play."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as your turn to Yoongi. "Well, thank you," you say. "Ah, and as for Jungkook, thank you for volunteering to use your voice to record the bomb threat. It must've been so nerve-wracking."

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. "All I really did was speak into a mic. And we totally distorted my voice. Severely fucked up the frequencies and all that."

Jimin's blood runs cold. He looks over at Taehyung with his eyes wide. His friend isn't faring any better with his jaw clenched and fists tightened.

"It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your voice for an experiment like this," you say, smiling down at the older boy. "Oh, yeah! How's your album going, by the way?"

Jungkook beams. "It's going great!" he says happily. "I've been having so much fuckin' time to work on it that the whole process has just been insanely smooth."

"Love that!" you say. "Productivity at its finest, right?"

Everyone nods eagerly.

"Well!" you sigh, placing both of your hands on your hips. "The meeting's officially over, now! Please text me your work progresses, guys. They're due before midnight. Thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for hosting it, babe!" Yoongi says, rushing over to help you off of the tree stump by offering his hand. You take it gladly, stepping back on the dirt ground.

You start waving at the students who begin to file out of the meeting place. When Jimin sees them start to move towards him and Taehyung, he grabs his friend's arm. "Shit, Tae, we've got to—"

"Hey, Jungkook?" you call. The boy turns around, looking at you expectantly. "Can you please tell your two friends that hiding behind a bush is quite ineffective?" You giggle when Jimin falls to the ground in shock. "Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, was it?"

Jimin's in shell-shock, unable to move or dust off his pants. How the fuck did you—

"You can come out of hiding, you know," you reassure them with such a honey-like quality to your voice that it's almost impossible to resist. "We don't really bite," you giggle. "But... I mean, Yoongi might," you tease, earning a flirtatious shove from the boy.

At your invitation to quit hiding, Taehyung jumps out from behind the bush, dragging Jimin along with him. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know our names?!" Taehyung roars.

Guess he already gave up his no-cussing streak, Jimin sighs. But he's also glad that he's not the one who has to stand up for both of them.

"Don't be so rude, you ass," Jungkook scoffs. "Motherfucking stalkers. I told you not to follow me."

Stalkers?? We were just looking out for you! Jimin thinks. "We're sorry, Kook," he manages to say. "But you lied to us! And more importantly, you obviously haven't been telling us things."

Jimin's frankly hurt by his friend's lack of honesty, but it seems so that Taehyung is more vocal about it.

"Yeah, Jeon Jungkook, what the fuck?" Taehyung yells. "You're a cheater!" he accuses Jungkook, stepping closer and poking at his chest harshly with his pointer finger. "You're a fake! You're a bomb threatener!!"

"Wait a minute!" you cut in. "Let's not get into accusations like that so early. Jimin, Taehyung, I—"

"How do you know our fucking names?!" Taehyung screams. "We don't even know who you are, you cheater!!"

"Watch it," Yoongi says dangerously. He tries to take a step forward, but you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm Y/N," you say. "We're all students of Welton, so there's no reason for the animosity. Besides, I memorized the yearbook." You shrug, but you gesture apologetically to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't invite you two to join our little group for a major reason. Of course..." you trail off. "Now you have to join... For safety reasons."

"Little group?" Taehyung snorts. "Where did the specificity go?"

"Hmm," you hum. "What do you think about a school revolt?"

Jimin does not like the idea of a school revolt at all. It sounds stupid. Students would never be able to pull it off. Even Taehyung, who's usually more open-minded than Jimin, seems skeptical.

You ask Jimin and Taehyung to meet up in Panera, later that day with Jungkook, to discuss the specifics. By the time Jimin and Taehyung get there, you and Jungkook have already saved a corner spot in the cafe.

Jungkook's eating pieces of sourdough bread while you sip your frozen lemonade. It looks to Jimin and you and Jungkook are getting along as both of you gesture wildly as you speak. You even let out a large laugh after Jungkook says something funny.

Jimin feels weird interrupting the already happy conversation, but Taehyung seems to have no problem. Taehyung slides into the seat next to Jungkook, leaving Jimin to sit with you.  Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious about himself.

"Glad you two could make it!" you chirp, setting down your frozen lemonade. "Want anything to eat or drink? They have hibiscus lemonade here and it's literally amazing!"

"I'd rather you cut to the chase," Taehyung says, frowning as he folds his arms.

Jimin agrees with a short nod.

"Oh," you say, "sure!"

"You said something about a school revolt," Taehyung says. "Explain."

"God, would it kill you to say please?" Jungkook rolls his eyes. "She's doing you guys a fucking favor. Man, if Yoongi was here, he'd whoop your asses."

"It's fine, Jungkook," you say. "I get how confusing this can be... Our little group has one goal," you start. "I want to help struggling students. You know what Welton is... Ruthless competition. Kids cramming without actually understanding the material. Rote memorization... Wasting time by doing four pages worth of math homework every night... Way too specific reading quizzes that have nothing to do with the storyline of the novels..."

The more you talk, the more Jimin begins to relate.

"It's horrible," you sigh. "That they're making us become a servant to the school. They use the students to boost the credibility of the teachers. They thrive off of our hard work, you know."

"They're bitches," Jungkook snorts. "Never really care for us. Remember Chaewoon? He told his counselor about his suicidal thoughts and she didn't do shit. He might still be alive with us if the counselor cared."

You nod. "Yes, our mental support system at this school amongst the grown-ups is preposterous," you say. "There are too many problems with Welton. And I reach out to deserving students to offer them a solution."

"A solution?" Jimin mutters.

You turn to him, nodding politely. "Yes! A solution. Students have dreams, Jimin. Taehyung, don't you ever wish you could be putting in your time somewhere else instead of studying for a subject you don't care about?"

Taehyung nods. "Who doesn't wish that around here?"

"Exactly," you say. "I'm offering you, Tae, and Jimin a great chance to follow your dreams. High school is when you feel the spark growing inside you. The spark is an extracurricular or a hobby of some sort that you've always loved with your whole heart. You probably had to sacrifice a lot to join Welton's elite debate team, right Taehyung?"

"Never even liked debate that much," he answers. "I had to quit theater for that shit."

"And you couldn't do both because...?" you say.

"Because the debate coach told me theater would interfere with the debate practice schedules," Taehyung says. "And he said that debate is much more intellectual than theater. He said that I won't be able to balance my studies with both debate and theater."

"Exactly," you say. "It's utter bs, don't you think? Why do we have to sacrifice our hobbies, our passionate dreams to do what some adult tells us to do? You do realize that they put down the arts because they want their smartest students participating in their intellectual or STEM-related activities? The more intelligent students that are in these activities, the higher the school rating skyrockets. It's purely selfish reasons."

"That is utter bullshit," Taehyung scoffs. "You're right. That is pretty fucking selfish."

"Right," you say. "I want to teach you, Tae," you say, looking the boy dead in his eyes. "I'll take care of your grades. I'll teach you the best ways to get away with outsmarting the teacher. I'll plan class distractions—like today—and if things still don't go well, my boyfriend—you met Yoongi today, right?—can make a last-ditch effort to hack into the grades system and work his magic. You'll have extra time to do theater—at school and at other professional intern sites. How does that sound?"

"Fuck," Taehyung curses. "That sounds fucking great when you put it that way."

Jimin's not so sure. "What if someone snitches?"

You laugh. "Oh, they wouldn't," you say. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"She does," Jungkook says. "There's no one she doesn't know. C'mon she's the first sophomore Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper. You'll be safe if you join."

"You're juniors as well," you say. "There's a lot of pressure to do perfectly in school now. And you'll be in college before you know it. I reckon that you want to know your ride-or-die interest before you attend university."

Jimin looks down at his hands. This is wrong, he tells himself. But it'll do so much good. Not moral good, of course. But still.

Taehyung already seems sold on the idea, a fast grin spreading across his face as he nods his head enthusiastically.

You notice Jimin's skeptical look. "Hey, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you say. Jimin gets out of the seat to let you through, and as soon as you're out of sight, he collapses on the seat and groans.

"Great, she's fucking gone," Jimin says. "Tae, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

"What do you mean? It's a fucking fantastic idea!" Taehyung says. "Dude, don't you understand? I'll get to do what I love without sacrificing my grades! Once in a lifetime opportunity, bro."

Jungkook snorts. "Yeah, well, I have my music and you have your acting shit, Taehyung, but Jimin doesn't know anything other than the pages of a stupid fucking textbook."

It hurts because it's brutally true. Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head.

"Fifteen people is awfully small for a cult," Jimin grumbles.

"It is not a cult," Jungkook argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And no one knows how many students are actually involved except for Y/N. She figured it'll be safer that way."

"Bro, I'm in," Taehyung says. "I was in like seven minutes ago."

"Good choice, man," Jungkook says, slapping Taehyung's back approvingly. "And honestly? Jimin? You don't exactly have a choice. You have to join."

Jimin scoffs. "Why?"

"Because you know this group exists and it's likely you'd snitch on us if you don't get anything out of it," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Y/N's being really generous with you right now. You're basically going to freeload."

"Freeload?" Jimin says, glaring at the man with intense ferocity. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Hey, it's okay!" Taehyung says. "You can just find some hobby or something. So you're still following protocol."

"Um, easier said than done," Jimin mutters.

It's silent after that as Jimin sulks in his seat and Jungkook and Taehyung awkwardly watch him do so. You come back from the "bathroom" (you were gone for much longer, so Jimin suspects you were just giving them time to discuss) only to see the three boys sitting in complete silence.

You cock your head. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taehyung says. "It's final. Jimin and I are joining!"

"Great!" you say, smiling as you clasp your hands together. "Oh, you'll have to get started on your theater process right away," you tell Taehyung. "And Jimin, it's fine that you don't know what you like now. You can hang tight until you find something, all right?"

Jimin lets out a grumbling, "Yeah, sure."

"It's set, then!" you say, sipping your not-so-frozen lemonade drink. "Thank you, Jungkook. I owe you."

"No, it's fine, really," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Just doing my job."

You smile at him fondly before turning to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'll text you the details pertaining to each of you, okay?" You glance down at your watch and gasp. "Oh, shoot, I'm late for my date! Um, I'll see you three at our next meeting? Or at school. Bye, guys!!" With that, you grab your drink and practically fly out of Panera, never looking back once.

Jimin and Taehyung are a bit dumbfounded.

"I gotta go work on producing my album," Jungkook says. "See you guys, too?"

"Yeah, duh," Taehyung grins as Jungkook slides out of the seat. "You basically saved our lives."

Jungkook snorts. "Sorry I didn't say anything about it earlier, by the way," he says. "We're not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Mostly because we don't really know who's involved."

"Nah, it's fine, man," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "At least we know now, right?"

Jimin stays quiet.

"Well, see you," Jungkook sighs as he glances at Jimin but doesn't say anything further. He leaves quickly.

"God, Jimin, he's your friend," Taehyung says as soon as Jungkook turns a corner and is no longer in view. "You shouldn't be that cold."

"Oh, really?" Jimin says. "He was living lavishly all this time and didn't bother saying anything!"

"He just said he didn't have a choice, Jimin!"

"God!" Jimin says, running his hand through his hair. "Now how are we any different from the motherfucking cheaters out there?"

Taehyung frowns. "I don't mind cheating. Y/N didn't even call it cheating. She called it 'outsmarting the teachers.' And besides, we have a reason for it too."

Jimin shrugs. "Yeah, whatever..."

"You'll come around," Taehyung smiles, shaking his head. "But what the heck do you think Jungkook meant by saying no one knows who's in the group??"

"No idea."

But it soon becomes quite obvious when Jungkook escorts Jimin and Taehyung to their first official meeting. Jimin and Taehyung gape as they realize no one they saw last time was here. You must hold several of the same meetings. All with different people.

Now it's for sure that nobody knows how many people are in the goddamn cult except for you. It dawns on Jimin that he's getting himself into something much, much larger than he had previously believed.

You've created quite an advanced system. So advanced that it took Jimin a while to get used to. It was a cheating plot so elaborate and well-planned that it almost didn't feel like cheating. Instead, it was like embarking on an evil heist in the adult world.

You had a master plan behind every single class in Welton. Jungkook said you harbored hundreds of paper documents (not digital, or they could be hacked) that had information about every teacher, every subject in the school. From there, you would investigate each subject and find the students who were genuinely interested in pursuing it in the future—the experts. Those students would then be in charge of making and organizing all of the class lecture notes; it would be their responsibility to fully learn the material and redistribute it to the other students who, more or less, didn't give two fucks about the class.

Homework was rotated amongst the "expert" students, and they'd send the other students the answers. (But, of course, there were always different versions of the homework so teachers would never suspect.)

Tests weren't a problem either. Somehow, you'd get a copy of every test or quiz before the exam date and distribute it to the experts. In a day's time, the rest of the students would obtain the answers (and work, if it was a math-based test). But to ensure that not everyone got the same exact score, you'd implemented quite a simple but complex system.

Test grades were higher for experts (especially experts who were able to make large progress on their personal projects). From there, the non-expert students were given scores solely based on how well they have updated their progress to you, and how much they have advanced in their extracurriculars.

The hardest questions on every exam were hand-picked by the experts themselves. And only the experts were allowed to answer the question correctly.

Essays were different. Not everyone read the given book, but the experts would always be ready for all kinds of topics—the holy grail was definitely the database of all past Welton essays that you handled yourself.

In that way, you had every single class in the whole school covered for the students in your group. (Which was ultimately a huge bummer for the students who had no idea of the behind-the-scenes 'outsmarting' that was going on.)

Jimin thinks the system is good. Could be better, but it works.

He's just pissed that he never has any progress to report back to you, so he always ends up scoring a high B on exams. It happens to be a pretty good deal, though, factoring in the fact that he didn't study for them. Scoring B+'s on exams was enough to keep his grades at an A.

But sometimes, it just feels wrong. Especially on his physics tests (where the class average is 60%, but he ends up with a raw score of 88% without having to put in the minimal effort). No matter how many times you call the action 'outsmarting the teachers,' Jimin thinks he's just plain cheating.

He's been wanting to report it for a while... Just because the little angel sitting by his shoulder is telling him that this is unfair to all the other students who were truly trying but weren't even getting close to the scores that Jimin was getting just by copying others' answers. Jimin remembers when he had been in that unfortunate position. When he'd watched students do suspiciously well on certain subjects while having time to do other activities, while he, himself, had to study for eight hours straight to get a C on the test.

But Jimin's not part of that unfortunate group of students. He's now pretty damn fortunate.

And he can't stay fortunate if he reports the cheating. Jimin's desperate. He's desperate to obtain decent grades without spilling countless tears and studying from early morning to the next morning after. It's the only reason that he hasn't reported your little group yet.

Besides, Taehyung is seemingly adapting better to this non-student-like lifestyle. He's already joined two theater productions and is applying to work as extras in films and such. And Jungkook's been continuing to work on his album too.

Jimin's friends seem to love being a part of the group.

Maybe Jimin's just salty because he hasn't found his passion yet. Though he doesn't know everyone in your little school cult, it seems like everyone involved in it has a passion, a dream they want to reach for, except for him.

A part of him wants to find a hobby just to say he has one when someone asks. But another, larger, part of him wants a hobby because of greed. Finding a passion and pursuing it meant Jimin would get a higher chance of getting better test grades for texting you about his progress. But Jimin can't just latch on to any existing hobby... He needs some advice.

Well, you'd told him that he should come to you if he needed advice... It's weird to think that he, a junior, has to ask advice from a sophomore. But maybe he's that desperate.

You're usually in your own little private newspaper office (as the Editor-in-Chief). So Jimin decides to give you a visit. But when he walks into the room after school, he sees you comforting a crying girl. Whether she's part of the cult is unclear, but Jimin immediately discerns her as one of those band girls—with frizzy hair, leggings and a boxy t-shirt. The girl's crying so hysterically that Jimin feels uncomfortable intruding. He leaves without another look.

Crying girls are not a good sign; he'll just come back tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes and Jimin walks into your private newspaper room, there is no crying girl to his relief. You're on your computer, probably reading or editing some student-written articles. Jimin feels awkward disrupting you being so focused on your work, but the longer time he spends just waiting for you to finish, the more time he wastes.

So: "Um, hi... Uh, Y/N?" Jimin says. He grabs a chair and pulls it up next to you.

"Oh! Jimin!" you greet him, turning from your computer to face the boy in front of you.

"I came yesterday," Jimin says, shrugging, "but you were busy with someone else... I came back today."

"Ah, you mean Chunseo," you say, nodding. "She was having a hard time yesterday."

Jimin's silent, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't. It becomes quite clear to him that you don't like to talk about others behind their backs.

"So, what are you here for today?" you chirp. "Advice? Questions? I know everything must be new to you, so I just hope you feel comfortable with the whole system."

"Oh, uh..." Jimin would like to tell you that you're doing a great job and that everything's going fucking great, but that's unfortunately not what comes out of his mouth. "I still don't know what to pursue. I mean, I have so much extra time on my hands now, but I'm just spending it on my phone. My friends have been advancing in their passions, but I have nothing... I was just wondering if you could um, help me? Help me find a passion, maybe? I don't know."

"Hm," you say, looking thoughtfully at Jimin. "I can definitely help you with that..." you trail off, looking Jimin up and down and cocking your head. Jimin thinks you're analyzing him—not just his physical qualities but his personality as well. He feels almost vulnerable under your gaze.

"Have you ever had any hobbies, Jimin?" you ask him.

"That's the thing," he sighs. "No, I haven't."

He looks so miserable that you have to place a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it'll be fine, Jimin," you say. "I'm sure it'll come to you one day. A hobby isn't something you should necessarily force out of yourself. When you feel a connection with an activity—when you aren't exactly looking for one—then that meets you've found your hobby. And if you really love this hobby, then it can grow to be your passion. You just need to be patient. Don't worry," you smile, "you'll find something."

Jimin glances at your hand on his arm and then glances up at your face. God, you have a way with words. He feels much better, even though you didn't exactly offer him a cut-out solution.

"Thanks," he says. "I needed that."

"No problem, Jimin," you beam. "I know not having a personal project to work on leaves you with the lower grades, but you're probably only at the A- ranges, right? That's not too bad," you say. "Hm, how about this?"

Oh? It looks like you're going to offer him a plan. So Jimin scoots closer to you on his chair and listens intently for your next words.

"You're a junior, and before you know it, you'll have to write your college apps. Maybe instead of spending time on your phone, you can start with your college essays now? Is that all right to suggest?" you say, cautiously. "It never hurts to get a head start, you know."

You're right. Jimin should probably be productive, just like everyone else in the group. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea, actually."

"Great!" you say, clasping your hands together. "And I really appreciate you coming here to tell me the truth. You'd be surprised that a lot of others don't do the same as you."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," you giggle. "Hey, what about this? We'll compromise. I'll ask my boyfriend to change something for you as a thanks from me to you for being open and honest."

"Really??" Jimin says, his eyes growing wide and a small smile appearing on his face. "Thank you!"

You shake your head. "No problem, Jimin. Good luck on your college apps!" you call to him as he leaves the room.

"Thanks!"

Wow.

Jimin's heard a lot of great things about you from his friends, but now he realizes they really weren't kidding. You're a leader, all right. But a balanced one too.

Not only did you offer him emotional support with your words of affirmation but also you showed him a solution—at least a temporary solution to his problem. And you're also incredibly generous as well.

Hm. Now Jimin can't possibly think to report your little cult. Of course, it's still half wrong, what you're doing... But after talking to you, after receiving your feedback and help, there's no way Jimin would be able to double-cross you. As weird as it sounds, you kind of have a nice smile, and he doesn't want to cause you stress or grievances that you're actively trying to avoid with your group. In other words, he doesn't want to be the cause of your frowning.

Jimin's never seen you frown before, but he doesn't exactly want to see it in the future.

"Damn, I was such a bad procrastinator before joining the student group! The study group? The group? I don't even know what to call it," Taehyung laughs. He takes a large gulp of his boba drink and continues, "I feel like being a part of this community is improving my lifestyle. Like seriously, though. I haven't had a normal or healthy lifestyle since eighth grade!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Dude, I know! I've never been this productive before I met Y/N! Doesn't it feel so nice to be able to dedicate time to your strongest fucking passions?"

"Duh!" Taehyung says. "Man, what if this makes me peak in happiness in high school?"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh, but Jimin doesn't find it so amusing.

Instead, he feels a bit left out. While his friends were diving deep into their passions, Jimin had yet to find a hobby. "Why doesn't the group have a name, anyway?" he asks. "Seems kind of inconvenient."

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin teasingly. "Because..." he trails off spookily. "A name can always be traced back to the source. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Apparently Y/N did," Taehyung snorts. "Sometimes I wonder how she's so big-brained. God has favorites, I'm telling you."

"She's a fucking legend," Jungkook says. "I would worship her if I wasn't so stubborn about holding onto my dignity."

Jimin laughs, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl doing so. "Too bad she has a boyfriend, huh?" he jokes. "Jungkook sounds like he'd totally hit her up."

"I do not!"

"Sure, bro," Taehyung snickers. "When you talk to her, your pupils dilate."

"They fucking don't!" Jungkook says. "I have my interests elsewhere. Thank you very much!"

"Another girl?" Jimin gasps, placing a hand to his chest in shock. "Who?"

"Not a fucking girl, you bimbo," Jungkook says exasperatedly. "My music! I have interests in music. You guys fucking suck."

Jimin and Taehyung spiral into a fit of laughter. And the teasing and back-and-forth passive-aggressive remarks continued until the boba cups were empty and the three friends realized they talked up enough of a storm.

It used to be rare to meet up like this—because Jimin and Taehyung would always be overwhelmed in schoolwork—but now that their academic life was taken care of by you, they've been able to give themselves healthy breaks.

Jimin feels refreshed albeit a bit tired after parting with his two friends. He decides to walk home because his mother would kill him if she had to pick him up from the boba place when he should be studying at home.

The outside air feels nice against his cheeks, and Jimin finds himself becoming much more attentive to his surroundings. Back when he was a full-time serious Welton student, he couldn't ever spare to look at the intricacies of the vicinity—he always had to jump straight to the point, skipping the little moments to shove his face into his textbooks. It's a nice change.

Jimin notices a whole bunch of stores and studios on his walk home and he takes the time to admire each logo and memorize each name.

Damn. I never even knew some of these places existed...

There's even a dance studio called Hart's Dance Studio that Jimin swears he's never seen. The logo is an eye-catching red with a silhouette of a ballerina jumping over the 'Dance.' Jimin finds himself staring at it. Then, his eyes gravitate to the glass walls where he can see the dancers just... dancing.

And a lot of them are good. Like dancing is as easy as walking to them. But an unmoving figure amongst the active dancers catches Jimin's eyes. When he squints to get a better look, he realizes the stationary figure is you.

You're furiously typing on a laptop, occasionally looking up to watch the dancers once in a while.

What are you doing there? From your skinny jeans and lace top, it doesn't quite look like you're there to dance. Maybe you have a sibling in dance class?

But then again, Jimin remembers that Jungkook had once told him in a hushed whisper that you are definitely an only child... only after you lost your older sister to suicide, that is.

So really, what are you doing there?

Jimin cocks his head at you but realizes how weird it is to stand in front of the studio and stare. So finally, he just walks away.

But you're quite the mysterious figure. You're the exact type of person who makes others want to get to know you. You have an open quality where everyone feels welcome to talk to you, but you're also enigmatic, refusing to tell people a lot about yourself. Jimin sometimes even wonders if he's ever seen you at school with the same friend group. It looks like you're always jumping around.

Maybe you don't like to get to know people in a deep way. It's possible that you're a fan of shallow relationships, which there is nothing wrong with, of course. But then again, you have a boyfriend, whom you seem to really like. You're very hard to crack.

And even when winter break comes, Jimin's still been wondering what you've been doing at the dance studio, typing on your laptop. He's run all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe your mom works there? Or your friend dances there? But something inside him tells him whatever reasons he came up with are incorrect.

Meanwhile, Jimin's still waiting to find a hobby. He's already been to Taehyung's play and listened to the rough draft of Jungkook's album. But nothing seems to give him the inspiration that he needs.

Jimin just decides to go on a walk. The cold winter air nips at his skin, so he tightens his coat around himself, breathing steadily as he looks around at his surroundings. It's then when he finds himself stopped in front of Hart's Dance Studio.

He walks a bit closer to get a better look into the glass windows. And he smiles when he sees you. There is no one else around you, but you don't seem to mind. This time, however, you're not vigorously typing on your keyboard. You're... dancing.

Jimin doesn't know what prompted him to enter the dance studio, but the next thing he knows, he's inside.

You don't see him because your eyes are closed. Jimin takes the time to notice that you're wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a tank top and leggings. Your feet are left completely bare.

But the strangest part—you're not dancing with music. It explains your rather awkward movements. As if you can see yourself dance freely in your head, but you can't quite execute it in reality. Still, no matter how awkward you look, you radiate a majestic aura. So much so that from far away, you could look like a professional dancer.

Jimin doesn't realize he's staring until you startle him.

"Hey! Jimin!" you say. Your eyes are bright and wide open now and you wave at Jimin, motioning him over to you. "Hi!"

"Hi," Jimin agrees as he walks closer to you. "I didn't know you danced. Is that your passion?"

"Oh, god no," you giggle, shaking your head. "God forbid, no. It's for this book I'm writing!"

It finally makes sense. She's part of the school newspaper, and I'd seen her typing on her laptop.

"What kind of book?" Jimin asks curiously as he sits down on one of the metal benches in the dance room.

You take a sip of water from your water bottle before smiling. "It's this fictional book about a broken dancer. I'm an aspiring author! I've really been trying to get into my character and experience dancing so I can write her more realistically!"

"Oh, wow," Jimin laughs. "That's dedication."

"It's what I do to try to get good content," you say. "How's your winter break been going, by the way?"

"Pretty uneventful," Jimin says, leaning back on the bench. "I wrote and rewrote five drafts of my college essays. I don't think writing's my thing."

You laugh. "Well, we can rule that out in the list of possible hobbies you can partake in."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I'm still trying to find—but not actively look for—a hobby."

"It's hard," you shrug. "You shouldn't stress too much about it, Jimin. I'm telling you, it's gonna come. I can see you be so dedicated. You just have to wait until the time's right."

"Sometimes I feel like my time will never come," Jimin admits. "Taehyung's already been writing, directing and filming his own short film these days and Jungkook's adding four more tracks to his album. I don't know whether I should feel inspired or pressured."

You shake your head. "You need to get out of your competitive mindset, Jimin," you say. "Realize that you should be doing things on your own time. Everyone has different paces, you know. Maybe you should take your mind off of everything you've been thinking of these days. Wanna dance with me?"

Your question catches Jimin off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" you repeat, giggling. "Sorry, it was kinda abrupt but my character needs to experience partner dancing and so do I to write that scene. I've already asked Yoongi, but he won't budge! That boy hates dancing! So maybe you can dance with me?"

"Uh," Jimin awkwardly fidgets his fingers. "I've never exactly danced before."

You snort. "Well, honestly me too. I suck. But whatever, you know? We're going to try."

"What kind of dance?" Jimin says. "I think the only dance steps I've ever learned were the square dancing steps from fourth grade."

"We could try waltzing," you say. "It's pretty simple, I think. C'mon!"

You drag Jimin to the dance floor, guiding his right hand to lay on your back and taking his left hand in yours. Jimin feels awkwardly close to you, but when you laugh and joke about how preposterous the two of you must look, he feels a little more comfortable.

"This might end up with me stepping on your feet constantly," you say apologetically, "but I'm trying to capture the feeling of dancing with a partner. So essentially, it's the emotions that count, not the physical steps."

Jimin laughs. "I'll try not to step on your feet."

"No way," you say. "How are you better at this than I am right now? I thought you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"I don't!" Jimin protests.

But something feels right. Something kind of clicks. And the moment Jimin parts from you and rushes home, he watches dance videos online. He finds out that there are many genres, and the ones he finds the most moving are contemporary and lyrical. There has never been something that has enamored him more.

Jimin irrevocably and quite willingly falls into the rabbit hole of dance.

It's been two weeks since Jimin danced a simple waltz with you at Hart's Dance Studio, but the time seems to have flown by too quickly. The next time Jimin passes by the studio, you're still trying to dance. And when he walks in to greet you, he's met by music. You're dancing to music this time!

"Hi, Y/N," Jimin speaks over the music, breaking you from your reverie.

"Oh, gosh! Jimin! Hi!" you say, immediately turning to pause the song. "Long time no see! How's school?"

"Great," he answers. "Um, just thought I would visit the studio. Do you still need a dancing partner?"

You grin. "Well, kind of," you say. "I need to see an amateur dancer do a little improv routine. Do you mind? I tried doing it myself and recording it, but it's just not fun seeing myself be a fool on camera."

Jimin laughs. "I don't mind at all."

You gesture to the dance floor. "It's all yours."

"Thank you."

Jimin stares curiously at the dance floor, the bright lights flooding the whole room. He feels like he's on stage, but he likes that feeling. He closes his eyes and sees the hundreds of dance videos he binge-watched every day for hours. And then he dances.

Somewhere along the way, you turned the music back on, which makes it even easier for Jimin to dance. He moves instinctively, fluidly like he's water. And he stops only when he finds himself out of breath.

Your jaw is dropped open when Jimin opens his eyes.

"Jimin!" you exclaim, hands thrown in the air. "You're a natural! How did you do that? What the heck??"

Jimin shrugs bashfully, shrugging. He doesn't mention the hours and hours of stretching and practicing he had done before coming here. There would've been no way he would have agreed to improv dance for you if he hadn't felt so confident. And it's funny. Dancing is the only thing Jimin's found in his life that makes him feel self-confident so far. He would've never expected it.

"You should enroll in this studio!" you say. "With some training... You could do great things, Jimin, I mean it!"

Jimin's not too sure about that. Yes, he likes to dance, and maybe it was a hobby. But enrolling in the studio meant full-time commitment. He isn't so sure if he is ready for that. He isn't sure his parents are ready for that.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I'll um, think about it." But not really.

It's like you can see right through his lie, though. "Oh, okay," you say. "Then maybe you can practice dancing in this studio by yourself. I'm friends with the owner so she lets me swing by whenever I want. Wanna meet here every Friday? I could use a beginning dancer like you to really write a story about a dancer's progression."

Jimin's face lights up. Getting to dance one day a week in an actual dance studio?? "Yeah, sure!" Jimin says. "I'd really love to." Now I have an excuse to go to the studio and dance.

This could be the start of something great.

The start of something great it was. Fridays quickly become Jimin's favorite day of the week. After school, he rushes to the studio to meet you and work on learning the basics of dance by watching tutorial videos on the internet. Usually, he works in silence—except for the clicking sounds of your laptop, but today, when he strides onto the dance floor, you're waiting for him in the middle.

"Do you have music requests?" you ask him, scrolling through your phone as if you are deep in thought. "I always feel like it's easier to express yourself with the music you actually like."

"Music?" Jimin frowns. "I, um, don't listen to music that much."

Your jaw drops. "What??"

"I don't even have earphones," he laughs awkwardly.

"You don't have what??"

And that was all it took for you to teach Jimin music for the whole day. You went through the hundreds of songs in your playlists, putting Jimin on the dance floor and making him dance to the songs he likes best. By the end of the session, Jimin still feels like he's soaring. His heart in his chest beats to the rhythm of the music. When he steps out of the dance studio and parts ways with you, he can't help but wish it were next Friday.

But at least he has a whole week to go music hunting. Jimin's never been much of a music man, but he's found that certain songs make him want to dance. He'll search them out and practice with them in the following days.

At school, Jimin feels like a mindless machine. He's still on the fence about cheating the system that's supposed to help him; the ethical part of Jimin wants him to stop—of course it's nothing against you. Jimin just thinks that if the system to help the students exists, every student should be involved. Even he was invited into the group much later (and technically, at first, he was forced to join for catching a meeting in progress).

Yet at the same time, Jimin owes it to you and your group that he's able to do what makes him happy. And he can't bear the thought of betraying you.

At home, Jimin lies on his bed, listening to all of the songs you showed him on repeat. His family doesn't have any music streaming services so he secretly started a three month free trial on iTunes. But he knew his parents wouldn't approve of his music taste (they usually don't approve of anything too teenager-y, so Jimin borrows his father's pair of earbuds.

Jimin didn't know, but earbuds bring a whole new dimension to music. He lies face up, closing his eyes as he pictures himself jumping, dancing, moving to the sweet rhythms of the songs. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new world.

Friday rolls around way too slowly for Jimin's taste, but when he's finally there, talking to you and dancing upon your request, it feels like he's on cloud nine. Today, you ask Jimin to describe what it feels to dance.

Jimin's not exactly very good with his words but he tries his best.

"I don't know," he says at first, blushing as he looks down at the brightly lit dance floor. "It makes me feel like... how do I say it? Like I'm just in a vast room with no one but myself? The moment I hear a good song, I just get this heavy gut feeling to move, I guess. And then I see the colors and the movements... And I dance."

"A vast room?" you say in awe as you unceasingly type across the expanse of your keyboard. "Elaborate, please."

"I guess it feels like I'm on my own stage. And it's a good thing because it feels like no one's watching me," Jimin says. "Uh, kinda like I'm dancing for myself. I'm dancing to express how I feel. And if there's someone watching, I don't really feel it because I'm so uh... I'm so..."

"Enraptured by your own world?" you finish for him.

"Exactly!"

You smile. "Thank you, Jimin! You meeting me here every Friday is so helpful. I really don't know how to thank you properly."

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head. "You've helped me so much already. There's nothing you could possibly do to help me better."

After exchanging a few more words with Jimin, you deem that you have to go home early to celebrate your mother's birthday. Jimin bids you farewell, but he remains in the studio. It feels empty without you, but it doesn't really matter. He's always by himself when he dances, anyway.

Jimin turns on his music, which echoes across the dance room, ringing against the walls and thumping in his chest. He can't stop himself from moving. His body twists graciously and he leaps across the dance floor as the synths in the song sing their melodious tones. He's so into the dance that he doesn't notice a tall woman watching him in the background.

Jimin finishes off his improv dance by striking a majestic pose he had come up with himself a few days ago. He didn't expect anyone to clap when he had finished, but there was this sharp-looking woman who was applauding and smiling at him approvingly.

"O-Oh," Jimin stutters. "I'm so sorry. Uh, Y/N left a bit earlier so I just thought it was okay to stay..."

"You're Jimin!" the lady says. "I'm Miss Hart. I run this dance studio. Y/N's told me how talented you are."

Jimin blushes. "I don't know about talented."

Miss Hart shakes her head, walking closer to Jimin in graceful strides akin to that of a ballerina. "I want to offer you a spot in my dance studio. This is a personal offer."

"I-I, uh," Jimin stutters. He's caught off guard by this sudden invitation and he looks left to right in a very panicked manner. "I-I don't think my parents will allow it... Um, sorry... I have to, um, go..."

He flees before Miss Hart can get another word out of him.

It's the sad truth. Jimin's parents would likely never approve of his current hobby—even listening to music while he studied was a stretch for them. But the more Jimin thinks about Miss Hart's offer, the more he realizes how great of an opportunity that is for him to progress in the path to find his true passion.

As nerve-wracking as is it, during dinner, Jimin asks his parents if it would be okay if he started taking dance lessons. Their reactions aren't as severe as he had expected, but his parents still seem pretty surprised.

"Isn't it too late to start something new?" his mother says. "You're a junior now, Jimin. You should already know what you're good at."

"I agree with your mother," his father says. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know," Jimin answers truthfully. "It just happened. I really, really like it though..."

Jimin's father raises his eyebrows. "Really?" he sighs. "I don't think so, Jimin. Think about it. I know your grades are good right now, but now you should be busy with getting ready for college, shouldn't you?"

Jimin had expected this. "Oh..."

"And have you been taking my earbuds?" his father says.

"Oh, yeah... sorry," Jimin winces. "I'll give them back right now." He trudges up the stairs, feeling dejected and miserable at the same time. He decides to give the earbuds one last listen, plugging them into his phone and placing the buds in his ears. The familiar light-hearted, serene music floods into his head. Jimin can't help it. His eyes close, his mouth parts and he begins to move. His feet take him across his room, leaping over textbooks and dirty socks as his arms move fluidly to support his upper body.

Time has a mind of its own when Jimin enters the dancing world.

He doesn't notice an audience member at the entrance of his room. Jimin's father stares at his son, taken aback by the pure emotion and passion put into such a performance. He cannot hear Jimin's music, but he is able to feel it through Jimin's movements. Jimin's father watches the dance a bit longer, then leaves. When Jimin tries to return the earbuds to his father, he rejects them. "Keep the earbuds," he tells his son. "I don't need them anymore."

On Saturday morning, Jimin's surprised when his father calls him downstairs to talk. Truth be told, Jimin's a little nervous to have a serious one-on-one talk with his father. But his anxiousness melts away when his father asks:

"Have you been learning dance by yourself?"

Jimin perks up. "Uh, yeah! Um, well, kind of. I just saw YouTube videos... And I go to a dance studio every Friday with a friend to um, practice..."

"What studio?"

Jimin freezes. "H-Hart's dance studio?"

Jimin's father nods. "All right. Here's the deal. The moment your grades slip, you're going to have to quit, okay? Let's go enroll you right now."

Jimin almost faints from the sheer amount of happiness.

It is official. Jimin is to have private dance lessons (to make up for being such a late starter) once a week. This was a bit like a trial run; Jimin might get more lessons per week if he really decided to pursue dance.

And now that Jimin's actually a student at the studio, he can come in to practice anytime he wants! Which was every day after school for three hours.

When Jimin tells you the good news on Friday, you insist that you ditch today's dance-writing sessions and get some celebratory boba.

It's the first time Jimin's with you, alone, outside of school, without being in the confines of the dance studio. If he didn't know any better, this felt like more than two friends meeting up on a Friday afternoon. It felt like a date.

You're rather chatty with Jimin, making him feel comfortable and trying to get to know him better. But it comes to the point that Jimin wants to get to know you. So he finally asks the question he had been dying to know the answer to since he'd first met you in the dance studio.

"Do you mind if I ask what your book is about?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" you say, aggressively sipping your boba as you think. "Hm, okay, well, I kind of changed the plot halfway through... So now instead of a broken dancer, the story's about this newborn dancer who realizes her talents rather late in her life, but she throws all of her doubts—and others' doubts—away because she realizes if she's passionate about something, it doesn't really matter how long she's been pursuing it. What matters is that she is pursuing it in the present."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Yeah," you giggle, tucking back a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's a coming of age story. I want it to be heartbreaking, bittersweet and heart-wrenching." You sip your boba. "But I might have to rewrite a lot of scenes because I'm thinking about changing the gender of the main character from female to male. I think it feels more right."

"Oh, that's gonna be a lot of work," Jimin says.

"But it's going to be worth it."

Jimin nods. Of course it will be. You put your best effort into everything. "Do you know what your title is going to be yet?"

"Eh," you laugh, shrugging goofily. "I'll think of it one day."

The light-hearted conversation takes a twist as the outside of the boba place gets darker and the afternoon morphs into the night. Jimin finds himself talking about his personal struggles as an "average" Welton student. He reflects vocally upon the times in which he had to beg to receive an A in his classes. The times in which he despised himself and didn't understand the exact point of life. The times when he was existing and not living.

It's then when you reveal your own darkest moments. And what lies beneath the smiling curtains was a murky past.

Your freshman year at Welton hit you like a bomb—it was the same year that Jimin had been suffering in the depths of sophomore year's turmoil. You became miserable, competing for first place in your classes in subject matters that you had no interest in. The tests contained little material about understanding and more about the nitty-gritty details (that were barely significant). You used to write your stories the moment you came home from school until you had to go to bed. But now, you would be lucky if you could even get a few paragraphs down before being pressured into studying something tediously and frankly, useless. It drove you nuts.

To the point that you were tempted to be pulled under into the dark world of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. Your older sister had jumped off a building when you were only eight; you watched her stuck in a coma in the hospital with twelve broken bones until she died in her sleep. So you figured if your sister did it, so could you.

But slowly, gradually, rationality took charge of your head, driving out the demons. You garnered your anger and self-hatred towards Welton and not yourself. And during the last few weeks of school in your freshman year, you decided that you were going to make a system to help every student in need—for those with big dreams but little time.

Jimin watches and listens in awe as you continue to tell your story.

"I met Yoongi in freshman year when I was interviewing him for winning first place in a tech comp so I could write about him in the school newspaper," you explain. "He was the first person I told my idea to. And then from the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I planned the whole system. Yoongi assisted me a bit, too, but I didn't want him to be burdened."

Or, Jimin thinks, you don't trust other people.

"Yeah, and then we really kicked off," you say.

"Wait, you and Yoongi? Or the whole system you created?"

"Both," you grin. "Yoongi and I started dating during the summer. And as you can tell, our whole group flourished too. Now you're here!"

"The group's relatively new then," Jimin says. "So um, I don't know if I can ask but, how many people are really involved?"

You smile, shaking your head and denying Jimin an answer. "The trick that I use to run this system is to never trust anyone."

"Oh... wow. Not even your boyfriend?"

"Oh, it's the people you're closest to that end up failing you. Just ask my sister," you shrug. "And you never know. You aren't still thinking of reporting me, are you? I know you were contemplating that for a while..."

"O-Oh!" Jimin stutters. "Oh, shit. No, uh, definitely no. Not anymore. God, I didn't know you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's really no matter," you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think it was really nice talking to you. When we usually meet up, you're dancing and I'm taking notes or writing so this is a really nice change."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I had a lot of fun, getting to know you." He glances at his watch for a split second and his eyes turn huge. "Shit, Y/N, it's almost 10 p.m.!"

That's when Jimin's able to notice that there is no one else in the boba place except you and him. The store must be closing soon. And the outside is nearly pitch black.

"Oh, wow, we've been talking for a long time," you laugh. "I guess that means we'll have to leave, huh?"

Jimin wants to be in your company for longer, but he nods, agreeing with you. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you on Monday?"

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, then, Jimin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Jimin's now been getting dance lessons three times a week now, and according to Miss Hart, he's improving at an alarming rate. Miss Hart proudly tells Jimin and his parents that he would be able to compete in local dance comps in three months and easily place.

"The boy's born to dance," Jimin overhears his teacher tell his father. He repeats those words over and over again to himself until he falls asleep that night.

His parents took his success in dance a whole different way. Immediately, Jimin was to train his muscles and stretch every day to accommodate three days' worth of hardcore lessons. And he was also ordered to join the school dance team—even though Jimin tried to tell his parents that tryouts had already been held ages ago.

But when Jimin expresses his problems to you, you bring a solution the very next day. Apparently, you had some inside sources in the dance team; you just had to pull a few strings, and the next thing he knew, Jimin was in Welton's elite dance team.

For the first time in the cult, no, group meetings, Jimin has something to show. He's able to track his progress by videos and live performances that you watch on Fridays. With all the advancement in his newfound passion, you reward Jimin with the second-highest scores on every exam (because the highest scores were reserved for the "experts").

Jimin's now sitting at the peak of a figurative mountain. His grades are soaring. His passion is soaring. He feels like his whole life has become a never-ending, high-velocity dance.

And he loves it.

There are no more meetings left after this one, you explain to all of the students. It's the last meeting for it's the week before finals. The school year will end soon, which is a huge relief to every Welton student.

You claim that outsmarting the teachers with the finals would be easy, especially with your advanced system, so there was really no need to worry. The meeting is short, concise and sweet. You douse everyone with your love and passion and thoroughly thank each and every individual for allowing another wonderful school year.

The meeting ends on a great note. You tell everyone that you have great plans for next year. Something that'll top the bomb threat. Something that'll effectively help the students and put the teachers and administrative staff to shame.

Everybody is excited.

The first time Jimin meets you during the summer is in the dance studio. He'd dressed in his workout clothes but still had enough self-dignity to spritz some cologne and put on some deodorant before seeing you.

But when he walks into the studio, he finds that you're not alone—you're with your boyfriend. Laughing. Joking. Touching. Yoongi has his arm around you and you have a casual hand placed on his thigh, leaning into him as you talk animatedly to your boyfriend.

Yikes. Jimin thinks it's going to be awkward before he actually feels awkward.

You and Yoongi really seem to like the time you're spending together and Jimin doesn't exactly want to interrupt. And there's something about the way that Yoongi tugs you closer and looks at you with sparkling mirth in his eyes that sets Jimin off.

He quickly recognizes the feeling as jealousy. It confuses Jimin even more.

Oh, fuck it.

"Hi, Y/N!" he says, waving at you. "Hey, Yoongi."

You stand up immediately rushing to greet Jimin as Yoongi stays in his spot, nodding his salutations to Jimin. "Yoongi just wanted to know what I was doing every Friday after I said no to a fifth Friday night date," you giggle. "Is it okay if he joins us today?"

"Of course," Jimin says. "I don't mind."

I kind of do.

Meeting at the dance studio was an activity exclusive to you and Jimin only... It's weird to see Yoongi butt in.

"Okay, great. Thanks!" you say. "Just do your thing, and I'll be taking notes as usual!"

Jimin nods, bracing himself to dance after he turns on the song he'd been listening endlessly these days. But today, he feels stiff. Rigid. Something's not quite right.

Today, he doesn't feel like he's on a stage alone. He feels someone watching him from the audience with scrutiny. Suddenly, Jimin can't move. He feels trapped in his own world. When he turns to look at you, he finds that you and Yoongi are immersed in a deep conversation. You're usually watching his every move.

Jimin tries to focus again, closing his eyes to immerse himself into the music. But he can't do it. Not when you and Yoongi are talking like that. Shit. Why is that so distracting?

Jimin figures one day of giving up practice wouldn't kill him. He turns off the music and walks over to you and Yoongi and plops down on the bench.

You smile but Jimin watches as Yoongi flinches just slightly, and a disgruntled look flashes across his face just briefly. Jimin ignores him.

"Yoongi and I were just talking about legacy," you explain to Jimin. "You know, what we'll leave at Welton High School."

"Oh, wow. You'll be leaving a whole elaborate system," Jimin says. "But what's going to happen to it when you've graduated?"

You shrug. "We'll have to wait and see," you say teasingly.

"I'll already be gone by that time," Jimin huffs.

"We'll keep in contact," you say. "I promise."

It's a small promise but Jimin's heart skips a beat. He wonders if you'd still be dating Yoongi then.

Why am I like this? This definitely isn't the right time.

Maybe Yoongi senses Jimin's thoughts because he tugs you closer to him. "Come on, babe, do we have to stay here forever? I want to take you out on a date..."

"Aw, Yoongs," you coo. "I don't know... Maybe the three of us can go get boba or something?"

"Babe..." Yoongi whines softly, intertwining your hand with his.

Jimin watches the movement and another pang of jealousy hits his chest, this time larger than the last. He couldn't possibly have feelings for you. Jimin concludes that he's not jealous because Yoongi is your boyfriend, he is jealous because he's stealing you away when he and you should be hanging out.

But he doesn't exactly want to get in the way of Yoongi, who already seems to dislike Jimin for hanging around his girlfriend.

So Jimin shrugs. "I don't want to intrude on a date. It's fine, Y/N, enjoy your date night."

Yoongi shoots Jimin a grateful look and even lets out a beaming smile. "Really, Jimin? Thanks!" you say.

Jimin has to admit, seeing you skip away with Yoongi arm in arm makes him happier. Fuck, no. He's starting to mirror your emotions.

This isn't a very good sign.

Jimin's right. It isn't a very good sign. He's starting to feel weird around you—emotions that he can't quite explain or justify with words.

The more he hangs out with you, the more he notices little things about you—your little habits, your speech patterns, your dimples when you smile...

It comes to the point, you confess to him one day, "You know, Jimin, I've been hanging out with you more than my boyfriend."

Jimin feels honored by that, "Well, I've been hanging out with you more than my own to friends."

And it's true. Taehyung's been busy with his theater things and has picked up a girl along the way—the girl who was notorious for spilling tears arbitrarily. Jungkook's got his eye on some shy girl Jimin doesn't really know. So the friend group's already pretty split up. But Jimin doesn't really mind as much as he should. He and his friends are happy and have split to pursue their interests. There are no regrets.

Sometimes, when Jimin notices the blush on your cheeks after he teases you, he wonders how you truly feel about him. If all the time you spent around him was doing any good.

"I guess we've become quite the team?" you smile, nudging Jimin's shoulder. "I would've never been able to come up with a revamped idea for my book without you."

"I don't think I would've come this far in dance without you."

"No, it's your pure talent," you say. "I didn't do anything." You giggle, admiring the ruffles on Jimin's dance costume. "Break a leg out there, Jimin. I know you'll kill it in the solo division."

"Thanks, Y/N. I swear, I'm not even that nervous."

That's a lie. Jimin's so nervous he's been feeling like he needed to use the bathroom for two hours now. What if I forget a step? What if I'm offbeat for a split second? What if I trip on my costume? What if the wrong song plays?

There's absolutely no pressure that you've offered to come to watch Jimin dance to write about a dance competition in your book. Jimin has to get his routine down perfectly unless he wants to wind up embarrassing himself and disappointing his eager parents. He needs to be perfect. Maybe to impress you.

But this will be the first time that Jimin will be on stage with a true audience. Even though he will dance like he's the only one in the world, he will have hundreds of watchers and a panel of judges who will scrutinize his every move.

Jimin tugs at the ruffles of his white blouse and looks to the stage nervously.

"Hey, you've got this," you whisper to him, patting his shoulder. "What matters is dancing. It doesn't matter what place you get."

You're right. Jimin's here to dance. He is not here to flaunt his talents to others; he is here to make his own progress for himself, for his passion. What matters is that he has fun on stage.

Jimin keeps that in mind when he walks on the platform. The lights shine down on him, and his ears ring incessantly. But as soon as the cello begins to let out its low, elegant sound, he dances. The music envelops his body, and he sees nothing but colors. There is no need to think of which step is next when it comes to him naturally. He twists and turns accordingly to the rueful tones of the oboe, leaps at the entrance of the violins and finishes the dance with a grand pose in the middle of the stage.

He doesn't hear the clapping when he shakily gets off the platform.

Jimin's numb. He can't remember the performance, nor can he remember if he had gotten all of his steps right. But when you lunge at him with open arms and a bouquet of flowers (that you hadn't had before) in your hands, none of his performance matters anymore.

"JIMIN!" you screech at him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug. "YOU WERE AMAZING!"

He's so taken aback, he can't answer, just holding you to his chest as you laugh happily in his arms.

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded the performance," you tell him. "It was just... wow. I can't even think of words to describe it because... wow."

Jimin pulls away from you, grinning wildly and his heart thumping in his chest—from post-dancing or from hugging you, he doesn't really know.

"Was it that good?"

"Yes!" you say. "Come on, we just have to wait to see how you placed. Not that it matters."

And it really didn't. Even though Jimin took home silver, otherwise known as second place, everyone—his parents, Miss Hart, you—was proud of him. No one could argue that his dancing was the most emotional—the most beautiful. The dance competition was only the beginning of Jimin's journey.

Now it's even more normal for you and him to hang out. Even outside the dance studio to just talk and keep each other's company. Anyone can find you typing on your laptop and Jimin dancing and think it's a normal occurrence. Especially with the two of you on summer break, it became insanely frequent to spend a whole day out together.

Sometimes it seems as though you're flirting with him, but Jimin just tells himself that it's his imagination. You have Yoongi, for fuck's sake. You would never go after Jimin because you've said it yourself—you and he are best friends.

Yet it's socially unacceptable, apparently, to only be friends with the opposite gender (especially a younger opposite gender in Jimin's case) and expect the relationship to be purely platonic. Jimin's been noticing you stealing a couple of extra glances at him when he stretches before he dances. And he's been guilty of staring at you when you write because he likes how focused you can get in your typing sprees.

A couple of times, Jimin swears he could've leaned in to kiss you. But being rejected scares him away to ever take the chance. Besides, he doesn't want to come between you and Yoongi. That would be unfair and immature of him.

God, Jimin's mind is mixed up and his feelings are confused. He's not ready to admit it to himself yet, though. So he stays confused until a new school year comes around.

Being a senior opens up Jimin's eyes, and he realizes he had been just plain stupid—and blind. He likes you.

Fuck.

It's not a question of when these feelings had developed, but a question of why. You have a boyfriend. Jimin's already a senior, which means he'll be gone next year. You're the leader of a group—that's practically a cult, according to Google—and you keep secrets from everyone no matter how much you love them. It's just not going to happen.

And if it did happen, then what about Yoongi? He's an essential member of your group. If you break up with him to be with Jimin, assuming that you even feel the same way, then what might Yoongi do? Would he ditch your group and let it fall to the ground? Would he report you and your system to administration? Would he get revenge on Jimin?

No way is Jimin going to get involved.

He should've seen it coming. He should've prevented himself from completely falling for you the moment you started caring for him, hanging out with him, helping him... But he didn't and now he doesn't know what to do.

Well, actually, he does.

Jimin's just going to simply get rid of his feelings for you for his own sake and yours. He just won't see you for a couple of months, and by then, his feelings for you would be gone, vanished into thin air. At least, that's what he hopes.

So, Jimin creates an elaborate plan of his own to avoid you for several months, max. He secretly changes his dance lesson times and tells Miss Hart to keep his schedule from you. And when his teacher inquires why, Jimin makes up a bullshitted lie that he wants to surprise you with his next performance. Then, he skips all of his individual practices and dances at home instead so you won't be able to find him. He even misses scheduled group meetings, texting you that he was sick (when he was only lovesick).

She's just using me to write her story, Jimin tells himself. I'm nothing but a character for her.

Deep down inside, Jimin knows that's false, but he makes himself believe it. Maybe it'll help him dislike you—which isn't exactly possible—but it could at least help him stop liking you.

But it turns out that maybe you never liked Jimin the way he liked you. All too soon, Jimin finds out from Miss Hart that you haven't been coming to the dance studio, so he switches his lessons back to his normal time. You've stopped texting him about coming to group meetings too. Which was strange because Jimin was still given homework copies and test answers when he needed them.

Maybe you took the hint that Jimin didn't want anything to do with you? Jimin doesn't know.

He does know that still, every time he thinks of you, he thinks of a generous, beautiful, mature, thoughtful person who chases after her own dreams and encourages others to do the same. It's hard to stop liking you, in other words.

Already, finals week is around the corner. Jimin has a few suspicions that you're going to hatch a complex plan again to put an end to student stress altogether, but he wouldn't know because he hasn't been attending the meetings. But whatever you were planning, it would be better than the last bomb threat for sure. Because you were always looking to improve, to better yourself to help others.

God, fucking shit. Jimin can't seem to think of one bad thing about you.

His days are spent dancing mostly as he'd submitted his college apps early (thanks to your suggestion), but he also can't get you out of his mind. Your absence makes him grieve for your presence. But he can't give up now. He doesn't want to show up in front of you one day and have to explain why he avoided you for months.

So he continues with his plan.

It's the Friday before finals week.

Jimin sits around in the corner of his school's dance room as the rest of his teammates go over the routine for the winter dance competition. He'd told the captain that he was getting a bad migraine, so he was allowed to sit out for the rest of the practice.

In reality, Jimin can't stop thinking about you. He knows you're here, after school, in your newspaper room, finishing up your last edits before publishing the paper on Saturday. He wonders if you'll welcome him if he meets you. He wonders if he should apologize for avoiding you. Maybe he can get rid of his feelings by hanging out with you more. Or he'll just act like the two of you are best friends and pretend he doesn't want anything more than a platonic relationship.

Jimin doesn't know what courses through his veins to make him stand up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he murmurs, trudging out of the dance room and outside. He'll have to cross the quad to reach the newspaper room. Jimin nervously checks his watch. 4:42 p.m., it reads. You usually leave by 4:45 p.m., so Jimin doesn't have much time.

Or maybe he shouldn't go to you at all? He hesitates, lurching forward but taking a step back.

He sees another girl, not that far away from him, walking across the quad. There's a boy behind her, yelling "Wait up!" as he tries to catch up with her while holding a stack of heavy textbooks. The girl looks back around and laughs, taking half of the boy's stack and nudging his shoulder. They continue to walk across the quad, side by side. They must be dating.

Jimin quickly recognizes the tall boy to be Namjoon, his acquaintance, and as soon as he's about to wave, there's a loud bang!

Jimin flinches. Was that a...? He can't quite believe it. But there's a lot he didn't believe but still has come true at Welton High School. Or maybe this was another one of your plans. Fake a school shooting to cancel finals. He wouldn't know. He didn't attend the meetings.

But the blood rushes out of his face and it dawns on him that this is reality as he watches Namjoon's girlfriend fall to the ground in slow motion. His own breath quickens and his eyes are alert but he's almost frozen. No. This has to be fake. This has to be a trick. There's another bang! and this time, Namjoon lurches forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thump.

Jimin's frantic, trying to find the source of the loud bangs. Maybe Namjoon and his girlfriend are part of the group. Maybe it's all a plan. Time flies too quickly and slowly at the same time. Jimin sees blood leaking from the girl as she lay face down on the cement. Namjoon is knocked unconscious. That has to be fake. You can buy fake blood, right?

But deep down inside, Jimin knows the truth. He panics. It's hard to breathe.

Then there's another bang. Jimin feels searing heat engulf his chest. He feels himself fall backward, and he clutches his wet chest—not in pain but in shock.

He tilts upwards, and his last view is of the soft gray clouds in the darkened sky.

Then everything becomes black.

Two students, two seniors are reported to be dead. One shot in the head, another in the heart. One has miraculously survived a gunshot wound and is being treated in the hospital.

"Do you know them?" you say in a shaky breath.

Your boyfriend hugs you. "You know one of them..."

"Oh, god," you whimper. You can hear the police and see the bright flashing red and blue lights from afar. "The shooter was targeting students involved in after school activities. How cowardly. When there would be fewer adults around. They were looking to attack the students."

"I know, babe," Yoongi says. "The girl... she was part of the volleyball team. Her boyfriend is the one who survived, apparently. And the other boy... He... He was on the dance team."

Your eyes turn wide as you pull away from your boyfriend. "H-He..."

"Jimin, Y/N. It was Jimin."

You feel like you're falling down a pitch-black abyss with no one to catch you or help you. "A-Are you sure it was him?" you manage to whisper. "What was he doing outside the dance room?" you sob, throwing yourself into Yoongi's chest as your boyfriend tries to comfort you.

"Park Jimin, yeah... It was him," Yoongi says, petting your back. "I heard from the dance captain that he was having a bad day. Something about migraines..."

You can't speak. Nor can you even think straight.

"Jimin's body was found significantly away from the other two," Yoongi says. "He could've run away."

A heavy weight tugs at your heart and you let out another sob of despair. "Yoongi, he could've thought it was fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it?? He thought it was like the bomb threat!—fake! Planned! God!" you shriek, pushing Yoongi away and standing up, starting to walk around in frantic circles. "I killed him, Yoongi! I fucking killed him!"

You collapse on the ground with your hands on your head. "I killed him..."

"You didn't kill him, Y/N," Yoongi says. He crouches down with you. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who wasn't coming to your meetings. If he did, he would've known we weren't going to pull off a stunt like that until next year's finals."

You shake your head, hitting your forehead repeatedly with your palm. "It doesn't matter, Yoongi! I should've never faked such a serious ordeal!"

"Y/N..."

"I deserved to be out there in the quad."

"You're the students' hero, babe... Don't think otherwise."

"Oh? Really?" you scream. "If I really were a hero, then why the hell was the school shooter a student from our school, huh? I obviously wasn’t keeping everyone happy!"

Yoongi falls silent.

"I don't care what you say, Yoongi," you say, your voice shaking from anger and devastation. "I failed. I tried making a system, but it didn't work... And now, people are dead... And I never got to say goodbye..." And he was avoiding me for months. I never got to know why...

"Hey, hey. Your system is perfect, baby," Yoongi answers. "It just doesn't work on psycho murderers."

That makes sense, too.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi," you say. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. Thank you. For comforting me. God, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," he says. "Things will be fine." He pauses. "You know, on the bright side, they might cancel finals."

[2 years later]

The moment you graduated out of the hellhole of a school, you discontinued your idea of a school revolt, and your system collapsed without you nurturing it.

Welton High School went under investigation after hundreds of parents and students protested. Counselors were fired and replaced. Administration was put on probation. It didn't take until two students' murders to fix things.

Funny.

Three student suicides weren't enough for them to realize something was wrong with the school.

You're bitter, but you try not to let it get in your way. Jimin will never get full justice because he will never get the life he deserved back. He was supposed to win hundreds of dance competitions. He was supposed to get to the end of the path of his dreams. But his life cut him short.

You dedicate your debut novel to him.

Now, when you walk around a supermarket, a library, a bookstore, you see your book on the stands or stacked up on tables. The white cover contrasts from the title inked in a black font: To Jimin (It's About Time I Told You I Love You).

The book tells the tale of Jimin. A newborn dancer who becomes tangled in the depths of a rigorous high school. There's one twist, though.

The story is told from a girl's perspective. A girl who loves Jimin, but never admits her feelings until it's too late. She watches him grow, blossom and become a star. But she isn't there for him when he dies.

She is you.

And you think it's about time you admit to yourself that you loved Jimin. Except he probably never loved you.

—masterpost

—masterlist

[btsslowburnfic]

BTBY Chapter 5

Series Summary: For Namjoon, the moment he set his sights on being the #1 rapper, he pushed the symbol to the side and hated it. Love should be chosen, not forced on you. He didn’t believe in fate and this mark on his wrist was a big “fuck you” to all that.

Chapter Summary: Practice Day 2. There’s some electricity in the air.

Previous chapter found here 

The morning goes as normal as it can for you. The studio is a little hectic with the extra clients from Robert’s studio but everyone is very cool about the changes.  You teach 2 yoga classes and sub out pilates. You decide to watch the BTS interviews while in your office; purely for professional purposes. Clearly. You hear a knock on the door, “Come in!” you yell as you scoop more oatmeal into your mouth. It’s Xavier.

“Hey babe,” he says carrying coffees.

“You are the best!” you yell from your desk. He looks over at the TV. 

“Oh yes, I like this.” he says as he watches the performance.

You laugh, “Oh my God you brat.” you walk to the other side of the desk and grab the iced coffee. “But...I’m not complaining either.

“Are you coming to my class?” he asks, stretching as he sits his drink on your desk.

“Yeah, my arm feels better, I’ll just baby it.” 

“Is lunch catered today? I can’t remember.”  he continues to do some warm up stretches.

“No. BTS is having lunch on the set of their last show so we’re on our own. Let’s get something delivered to Robert’s. We have to head there right after your class to meet the backup dancers. What do you want? I’ll schedule it now.” 

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

You pull up the catering order “It looks like a Korean/Italian/American blend. I think each guy just  said what they wanted. There is no theme to this menu,” you laugh.

“Just order some burritos. Get one for Rafael too. And Joe. He might stop by.”

“Oooo your boyfriend and your bias in one place? Are you going to be able to handle that much sexiness?” you joke as you start typing in the food order.

He laughs, “ Honey please, Joe sat down with me last night and we watched like a hundred of their videos, why else do you think he’s going to stop by? Anyways. Enough about me…...Any updates on YOUR soulmate front? Did you tell Ben? Bribe a hotel staff member?” Xavier asks.

You audibly groan. “No,no, and I’m poor, what the hell am I gonna bribe someone with? Free Pilates class? I don’t think there’s going to be much to update considering my soulmate clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me. And I haven’t told Ben. If I tell him I’d want to do it in person and I haven’t seen him yet.”

“What do you mean, “if”?”

“We agreed that we didn’t care about that thing when we started dating.” you shrug.

“Can’t we try and solve the mystery though?!?! You tracked him down to the hotel. Maybe we can go stake out the lobby or something….”

“That probably means he’s visiting from out of town and I’m never going to see him again. And we have a packed day. Dance class, set up the studio while we shovel burritos into our faces, and then rehearse with the back up dancers, and then rehearse with everyone.” You pack your half-lies into the truth about your full day. And you feel a little guilty. Maybe you should tell him. Maybe. Fuck it.

“Annnndddd I sort of already found out who it is?”

“WHAT?! WHAT WHAT WHAT!?!?!?! How? Did you go spy without me!??!?! How you dare (how you dare how you dare)” he gets distracted for a second breaking out into song. “But seriously, WHAT?!?!”

You are suddenly very sweaty and nervous as you try to form the words…”It’s uh...someone in BTS.”

“WHAT WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” he grabs your shoulders, coming face to face with you. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me?!”

“Unfortunately I am being serious.”

“That means one of them is secretly an asshole...which one of them could it……” he trails off for a second, lost in thought, “Holy shit it’s RM isn’t it??!?!” he whispers dramatically as he pieces together the awkwardness of yesterday.

Your silence and scrunched up face confirm it.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“WOW”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s so nice and cool.”

You sigh, “Yeah to you and everyone else. Apparently he hates the whole “soul mate” thing on principle which is fine by me. I just need to get through these next few days and then we can part ways and continue on with our lives as normal.” you say. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world. If only. Xavier’s alarm goes off signaling 15 minutes to class.

“Well, way to drop a bomb on me right before class darling.” he jokes as he gathers up his phone and studio keys.

“I know, right? How do you think I felt walking into our meeting or that car yesterday?” you also gather your belongings. “36 more hours. Let’s just get through this.”

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

The backup dancers all arrive on time and are prepped and ready. They run the dances several times through with Xavier. All of you had rehearsed a few times last week after Xavier’s dance class so the only real challenge today would be to run it with the group. You were glad you had got most of the dancers you requested; they were professionals who wouldn’t act like a bunch of idiots in front of famous people. Unlike Xavier. Who kept checking his watch.

“Are they here yet? I wanna see….” he says, peering down the hallway.

“Oh my God, it’s been ten minutes since you last checked. They are on a tight schedule and not supposed to be here yet. And see what?”

“The sparks of attraction and forbidden romance between you and RM.”

“Ew. No. Get away from me.” you shove him back into the studio. “And stop saying things, people might hear you. We are taking this shit to the grave.” you pull him close to you “TO THE GRAVE.” you hold up your pinky for a promise.

“Nope. I’m not promising shit.” he says and hops over to the console to talk to Rafael. 

Dammit. Oh well. At least one of you was enjoying this. You thought telling someone else would give you some relief, but so far it had just done nothing. If anything you were more nervous today because you’d had time to anticipate what this evening and tomorrow would be like. Ughhh. You go down to the kitchen and grab some coffee and graham crackers. You scroll through your phone enjoying the brief moments of silence before you go back upstairs and find your mind wandering to RM dancing yesterday and you feel your face flush.  You wish you could stop yourself but like with most things, the more you try not to think about them, the more you do. Dammmmit. You make sure light snacks and beverages are set up for the backup dancer break and head upstairs to relieve them for an hour. 

“Ok everyone! You have about an hour break. Please stay on premise. There are snacks and drinks on floor one as well as your green-room. Remember, if anyone takes pictures or recording once the band gets here, you are fired. This time it is written explicitly in our contract with them, got it?” you hear a bunch of “yeah’s” from the crowd. Like you said earlier, these were professionals in LA, they knew the drill. “Ok, I will come get you all when it’s time to rehearse again. Break.” you say, dismissing them.

“They look really good, great job Xavier,” you say as you walk over to the front of the room.

“Thanks! I can’t wait to see it all together.” he responds. “What do you need help with?” 

“I just have to get the lav mics set up again but they’re ready from yesterday You’ve been dancing for hours so why don’t you go grab some water?” you say.

“Okie dokie doll. Come grab me when you need me,” he says as he picks up his satchel and heads downstairs.

“Rafael, do you need anything?” you ask your other coworker.

“Me?Nope. Just looking forward to the group getting here so I can do more than just look pretty.” he smiles at you.

“You know what, same?” you laugh. 

“Do you need anything from downstairs?” he asks as he steps down from the booth.

“No, I’m fine, thanks!” You wave him away as you get the room reset in preparation for the group’s arrival. You put on some BTS music while you clean up random water bottles and towels. 

You are in your own zone singing along when you look up and see RM standing in the doorway and you give a light shriek. “Shit fuck. Sorry. You scared me.” You scurry over to the console and turn the music off.

“Nice taste in music,” he smirks at you.

“Thanks, just doing my research. You’re here early.” you say double checking your watch. 

He fumbles with his hands and seems way less confident than usual and you instantly wonder what the heck is going on. He seems so much different from yesterday, “Yeah. They'll be here soon. I just, uh. Wanted to talk to you. Now that I've had time to kind of process everything. "

"Oh. " you are extremely shocked. 

" I just want you to know that I don't dislike you. You're a great producer and you seem like a really nice person. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their soul mate. I'm just not into… that." he says as he looks mostly down and off to the side. 

You take a deep breath. This is not what you were expecting today. "Well thanks a lot. I appreciate it. Like I said, the whole thing is kind of weird and shitty for me too. You're a cool dude and you know, famous and hot, but I'm also not into the whole destiny thing. And apparently you’re not a total asshole." you agree as you continue to pick up the room. You hear him chuckle," What? "

"You think I'm hot,"

"Oh shut up, I'm sure you hear it all day, everyday from the internet." you tease as you wrap up the garbage bag." Here, I'll unlock your guys’ dressing room for you." you lead him down the hallway. "Can I grab you anything from the kitchen while you wait?” 

"No thanks, I'm going to read for a bit and yeah they should be here in about half an hour" 

You stand in the doorway for a minute to make sure everything is set up for the arrival. You suddenly become extremely aware of the fact RM is still standing right behind you in the doorway. “Ok well, I’ll bring the other up when they get here.” you feel your face blushing as you brush past him. It feels like you just got zapped by electricity. You ignore it and head downstairs to clean up after the backup dancers.

The rest of the afternoon goes according to plan with the group arriving and practicing solo again, with the dancers, and then with full audio and music. It looks amazing and you are impressed but also super irritated because you SHOULD be able to watch this at the actual venue tonight, not at a gym studio. 

Xavier sneaks up behind you during one of the breaks. “Soooo…...how’s it going?”

“I think they look amazing! Don’t you?”

“Yeah yeah they look fine. I meant about the other thing. You know….that thaaaaaanggg.” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Oh God. No. There is nothing.”

“....don’t tell me that, he keeps staring at you.”

“Yeah probably because I’m the director. Everyone is staring at me.” you roll your eyes. 

“Really? Nothing new?” he asks and you sigh. 

“Oh my god, fiiiiiine. Here, let’s go get some coffee.” you grab a mic “Ok everyone, grab some water if you want and meet back here in ten for our last 2 sets and then we’ll review the plan for tomorrow. Break!” 

You grab Xavier’s arm and head down to the kitchen. “Coffee?” you ask.

“It’s 8 pm.” he responds.

“...iced coffee?” you amend.

“No. I don’t know how you can do that.” he wrinkles his nose at your late night caffeine habit.

You shrug and walk with him down the hallway to the locker room and shut the door, locking it. You give him an overview of what RM had said to you earlier in the afternoon. 

“I knew he wasn’t an asshole. The internet never lies.” 

“Ok but he WAS an asshole yesterday,” you roll your eyes and sip some coffee. “And then he accidentally touched me and it felt like I was mildly electrocuted and I kind of liked it and I AM CONFUSED.”

Xavier starts to laugh at you, “Yeah well that’s because everything with your soulmate is more intense. It goes along with the emotions and pain. What feels good also feels REALLY good if you know what I mean.”

“I touched him yesterday when putting his lav mic on and nothing happened soooo i don’t think your theory works but ok.” You pull out your phone to check the time.

“Oh no honey, my theory is spot on. And I predict if he wasn’t leaving in a few days y’all would be all up on each other. Bye Ben. Bye BTS. Hello sexy soulmate time.”

“Um No. Rude. I have a boyfriend. Also catering is here.” you put your phone back in your pocket.

“I HaVe a BoYfrIenD…” Xavier mocks you jokingly and you smack him as the two of you exit the locker room.

30ish hours. You could make it 30ish hours. NEXT CHAPTER

[datleggy]

Prompt: Eddie and Buck hook up one night and Buck  is thrilled and happy. But then he wakes up the next morning and Eddie is gone. For the next few days He’s not answering Buck’s calls or texts and Buck convinced himself that Eddie regrets what happened. Eddie wants to talk to Buck but he is so overwhelmed by his feelings that he doesn’t want to talk until his head is clear. But when he does see Buck again, he’s shocked that buck thinks he regrets their hookup and has to console an upset buck

note: i accidentally deleted this prompt while trying to edit so that’s why it’s not in it’s usual ASK format, my b.

Christopher’s at a sleepover at his friend Paul’s house for the night so Buck invites Eddie over for pizza, some beers, and of course, for a rematch. “Look, I went easy on you last time because Christopher was here and I didn’t want you to get slammed in front of your own kid like that.” he teases.

Eddie grins. “Oh is that so?” he tips his beer back, downing a swig.

Maybe it’s the beer–though between the two of them they’ve barely gone through a six pack–but one minute they’re ribbing each other in the kitchen, and the next Buck’s sitting on the counter and Eddie’s in between his legs, with an arm at either side of him and they’re making out like horny teenagers.

They don’t stop to talk or even take a breath, hurriedly ripping each other’s clothes off as they clumsily make their way upstairs to Buck’s bedroom. Eddie practically tosses Buck onto the mattress and then he’s on top of him, marking a trail down his neck and fuck, Buck can’t remember the last time he felt this desperate. He groans, thrusting his hips into Eddie’s, wanting more. He’s so dizzy with lust he almost can’t believe this is actually happening…

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Buck wakes up the next morning to discover that the side of his bed is cold and empty. He shimmies on a pair of boxer shorts and makes his way downstairs. “Eddie?” he calls out, but silence is his only answer. Eddie’s clothes, which had lain strewn across the kitchen and his bedroom floor are gone, and so is the man himself.

“Shit.” This is what he’d been afraid of. This is why he hadn’t made a move before last night. Buck shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts. There are other reasons Eddie could have for leaving without saying anything; other reasons besides regret, that is.

Buck calls him but gets sent straight to voicemail after a couple of rings. Sighing, he chooses to text him instead. He’s not sure what to say, except a simple: Hey?

He’s not working today, and neither is Eddie, if he remembers the schedule right--it’s Saturday and their next shift together isn’t until Monday.

Buck really hopes Eddie responds or even calls him back before then, because he doesn’t think he can stand to wait until then to talk.

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Buck texts him again on Sunday: Everything ok?

And still nothing on Eddie’s end. It’s frustrating and the idea that he might’ve just ruined his relationship with his best friend is driving him up a goddamn wall.

Maddie invites him out to lunch but he declines, lying that he’s busy today. He knows that if he were to see her he wouldn’t be able to help himself and he’d end up spill all of his insecurities and anxieties over what happened. And the way it’s looking, it’s likely that Eddie regrets having slept with him and would prefer to keep it a secret.

That thought stings and Buck spends most of his lazy Sunday curled up in bed listening to very cheesy sad love songs.

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The next morning rolls around and Buck thinks about calling out sick. Partly because he doesn’t know how to face Eddie after what happened over the weekend---he couldn’t stand it if his fears were to be confirmed. And in part because he spent the night before tossing and turning and never did actually get any sleep beyond a couple of very restless hours.

He wakes up with a headache pounding behind his right eye and by the time he parks his car in the lot at work he’s starting to reconsider his decision not to call out of work. He’s absolutely miserable.

“G’morning Buck, how was your weeke---woah, hey, you alright?” Bobby stops him on his way into the station, concern knitting his brows together.

Buck sighs. “I’m ok, just tired. My upstairs neighbors were partying all night so I didn’t really get a lot of sleep.” he lies. He can’t tell his Captain the truth. Though sometimes Buck has a sneaking suspicion that Bobby has already caught onto the stupidly longing looks Buck can’t stop giving Eddie...

Bobby pats him on the shoulder and squeezes lightly. “C’mon, it’s still early, take a nap in the bunks.”

Of course that’s the exact moment in which the alarm decides to sound.

Bobby gives him a sympathetic look but Buck shakes it off. He’s got a job to do.

He and Eddie end up riding on different rigs to the emergency call and even when they’re on the scene Eddie, who’s usually standing by his side, stays as far away as possible, lingering on the sidelines, waiting for orders.

The Captain sends Chim and Hen to search the first five floors of a building for anyone who hasn’t left the offices during the fire drill, and sends Buck and Eddie to check floors six through ten.

Eddie and Buck take the stairs up in silence, the only sound being their heavy footsteps as they climb in full gear.

They start at the top and make their way down, clearing the floors as they go. It’s only when they reach the sixth floor that either man speaks to the other.

“Hey, listen, about Friday...” Eddie starts, pausing to get his thoughts together.

Buck gulps, stopping dead in his tracks. He turns around, nervousness making his stomach queasy.

“I know I left kind of suddenly, the next morning.” Eddie sighs, looking away.

Buck’s palms are clammy and his headache is not letting up and he really shouldn’t have skipped breakfast this morning. He’s starting to feel faint, especially after climbing ten flights, wearing roughly an extra forty to fifty pounds of firefighting gear to top it off. He’s glad this isn’t a real emergency, and just a drill.

“Buck?” Eddie notices the way his best friend is swaying on his feet and closes the distance between them quickly, grabbing his shoulders to help keep him fully upright. “What’s wrong? Is it the blood thinners?” He read in a medical journal, after Buck was started on the Warfarin by his doctor, that a possible side effect might include the occasional dizzy spell.

Buck shakes his head blearily, his hands coming up to grasp Eddie’s, to steady himself. “Sorry, I think I need to sit down.” he breathes out.

Eddie helps him take off all of the gear and then he wheels an office desk chair under Buck’s butt. “I’m gonna’ call Cap.”

“No!” Buck half shouts. He stands up too fast and nearly makes himself sick. Not that he has anything in his stomach to throw up.

“Woah, it’s ok, sit, sit, I won’t call Bobby, just sit for me, yeah?” Eddie gently pushes him back into the seat. “You’re pale, did you take your meds this morning?”

Buck nods. “It’s not that.” he looks away, “I just, I had trouble sleeping last night...and the night before that, and I was too nervous to eat this morning so I skipped breakfast and that combined with no sleep for the past two days plus,” he gestures vaguely towards the stairwell. “It’s nothing, I just need to eat something and I’ll be fine. If Bobby hears about this he’ll freak.”

Eddie searches in one of his various pockets and comes up with a granola bar---blueberry, Buck’s favorite--- “Here, eat this. I’m gonna get you a cup of water.” He fills a plastic cup with water from the office cooler and hands it to Buck after he’s eaten at least half the bar.

“Thanks.” Buck actually feels a lot better. He could still use a good eight hours of sleep, if he’s being honest with himself.

Eddie chews on his lip. “Buck, I’m sorry.”

Buck looks up. “What?”

“It’s because of me, right? That you couldn’t sleep, and that you couldn’t eat this morning? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left without saying anything like that. I just needed some time to gather my thoughts, but I realize now that wasn’t fair to you.” Eddie grimaces.

Buck shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, Eddie, you had every right to leave, I totally get if what happened that day between us, if you regret that, and if you never wanna’ speak of it again, I respect that, I won’t say anything, we can pretend it never happened.” Buck finally looks up, fear and anxiety brewing in those baby blues. “But I can’t not be friends, Eddie; if I fucked everything up by acting on these feelings I’m so sorry and I promise I’ll keep them under wraps. You’re my best friend, I---” he stops himself, clenching at the armrests in despair. “Can we please please pretend Friday night never happened. I’ll never bring it up again and we can go back to normal, I swear.” it breaks his entire heart to say the words, but if it’s between nothing and hiding his true feelings, he’ll take the latter.

Eddie takes a big deep breath and kneels down in front of Buck, so that he’s staring up at him, his big brown eyes shining. “Is that really how you feel? About us? About what happened on Friday? Be honest with me, I promise I won’t be mad.”

Buck tries to say ‘Yes, that’s how I feel. It’s gonna’ be weird, please let’s stay friends’ but he can’t lie. Not when he’s looking into those eyes. Not when Eddie’s hand is on his knee, not when the man carries around an assortment of his favorite granola bars in his work clothes....

“Fuck, Eddie,” his voice cracks. “I’m so in love with you it’s stupid. I’m sorry.” his breath hitches, and maybe it’s the days of waiting by his phone anxiously, the lack of sleep, who knows, but actual tears spring up in his eyes and Buck is embarrassed to find himself shedding tears. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough.

He’s waiting for Eddie’s rejection. Bracing himself for the “I’m sorry I don’t feel the same”.

“I’m sorry.” he starts.

And there it is. Fuck. Why does he always have to wear his stupid heart on his stupid sleeve? Fuck.

“I left because I was overwhelmed by my own feelings and I needed time and space to sort through everything. I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better. I just kinda’ ghosted you like an asshole.” Eddie reaches up and takes Buck’s face into his hands. “I have been in love with you for longer than I’d cared to admit. Friday night was amazing and I’m just sorry it took me so long to finally act on my feelings. Buck, I love you so much it drives me crazy just thinking about it. When I woke up Saturday morning and you were there, sleeping beside me? God, I was so happy I didn’t know what to do with myself. I haven’t been that happy in so long I honestly didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. That scared the crap out of me so I ran. I’m sorry.”

Buck doesn’t hesitate, throwing himself from the chair and into Eddie’s arms, colliding into him with an oomph!

Eddie holds Buck tight, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him in closer. “I love you.” he says again, pulling back only slightly, and only so they can lock lips. This kiss is different than their first, which was hot and unthinking and desperate. This kiss is soft and tender and so so warm and Buck groans into it, melts into Eddie’s embrace.

“Not to ruin the mood, boys, but uh, your comms are still on, so whenever you two are done um, clearing that last floor, please report back to the rig.” Captain Nash’s extremely amused voice rings out on their comms, startling the men into bumping foreheads. They can hear Hen and Chim giggling like school kids in the background.

Eddie clears his throat. “Copy that Cap.”

Immediately they turn off their comms and both break out into uproarious laughter.

“Well shit.” It was no wonder they’d been left undisturbed up until now, when they’d clearly taken much too long to check the measly five floors they’d been assigned...

[lopithecusfanfiction]

The World Keeps Turning (Except When You’re Gone)

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: Teen Word Count: 5710 Alternate: AO3 Summary: When out on a call, Buck gets badly hurt. Eddie does all that he can to save him while trying to stay calm and professional but it’s not as easy as it would seem. Warnings:

Hurt/Comfort

Angst with a happy ending

Blood and injury

Author’s Note: Will I eventually write a fic in Buck’s point of view? Probably. Is that today? No. I have no idea how realistic this is. I just wanted them to be stuck somewhere together and for Buck to be severely hurt. Also, this ended up much longer than I had planned (as per usual.) This takes place any time after 3x15. I hope you all enjoy this!

“Careful, Buck,” Eddie warns, reaching out to grab a hold of Buck’s shoulder and steer him clear of some debris that falls from the ceiling. They have been called to a building fire and are working their way through the multi-story building, clearing out rooms, and helping any people who have yet to evacuate. The fire is just above them on the next floor up and even from below, Eddie can feel the scorching heat.

“You know, I don’t get it,” Buck begins, rapping on one of the doors. “People hear the fire alarm and then just… stay? Why?”

“People do stupid things sometimes, Buck.” Eddie knocks on another door, calling out. There’s no answer and they move on. “They might think it’s just a drill or not that bad of a fire.” He waves Buck on. “Come on, we have two more floors after this and we don’t want to be in here when that fire starts traveling down.”

The fire has already engulfed three floors, floors that the team has already evacuated. That left the floor Eddie and Buck were on and the two below them. They can hear the crackling above them and there’s no warning when the ceiling gives out in front of Eddie. Buck pulls him back just in time but now the fire is definitely on this floor and spreading fast. The fire is blocking their way forward with no way through it.

Eddie turns to Buck. “We’re going to have to head back,” he says over the roar of the flames.

Buck looks past his shoulder, worry etching his face. “What about the people?”

Eddie shakes his head. The fire is spreading around them now. They don’t have much time. “We’re going to have to find another way over. Come on, we need to get to the other floors. We’re running out of time.”

Buck nods, takes a step back, and Eddie has the sudden feeling of lightness before sheer pain rockets up his legs and back. He turns over onto his side, a groan escaping his mouth before he coughs. His oxygen mask got knocked off and he swallows a lungful of smoke and dust which makes him cough even more. He tries to desperately scramble around for his oxygen mask and when he finds it, he places it quickly back on. Taking a couple of gulps of fresh air, Eddie blinks his eyes open to pitch black.

His heart rate skyrockets before he can calm himself and he reaches up to his helmet to turn on his flashlight quickly. Looking around, he doesn’t like what he sees. He’s surrounded by wood and concrete, somehow nestled into a pocket where the debris got caught on the walls, saving him from being crushed. They must have fallen through the floor but Eddie can’t tell how far they actually fell. He also doesn’t see a way out.

“Buck?” he asks, turning around. Pain shoots through his leg at the motion. He must have landed on it. “Buck?”

There’s a quiet groan back against some rubble closest to the wall. “Eddie?”

“Buck!” Eddie crawls to his friend and starts peeling away the debris that is on him. When he removes the last piece, however, he stops short, the breath catching in his lungs. There’s a piece of wood piercing through Buck’s lower abdomen, blood glistening on it and around it.

“Shit.” Eddie hears Buck whisper. “Well, that’s not good.”

Eddie swallows, trying to remain calm and remember his training. This isn’t the first time he’s had to deal with something like this and also to a friend. He removes his oxygen mask, throwing it off to the side, and notices Buck doesn’t have his on either, most likely having been knocked off as well. “It’s not good but you’re not dead, so there’s that.” Buck squirms and Eddie places his hands on Buck’s shoulders. “Don’t move. I need to assess the situation.”

“Best bet is digging out of here, right?” Buck asks, swallowing hard.

Eddie looks around with dread. “Yeah.” He crawls to the other side of their little bubble. Before starting to dig, he grabs a hold of his walkie and talks into it. “Cap? It’s Eddie. We’ve been pinned under some rubble. Southside of the building. Buck is hurt badly. Impale wound through the lower abdomen. I’m going to try and dig ourselves out.” When he lets go, all he is met with is silence. “Cap?” Still no answer. His walkie might have gotten damaged in the fall. With a sigh, Eddie starts digging through the debris. He doesn’t get very far before his digging causes part of the debris wall to collapse in on itself. Eddie scrambles back to avoid being crushed. “Maybe not.” He grabs his walkie again. “Cap, if you can hear this, negative on digging out. The structure we are under is very unstable. I repeat, it’s very unstable. Use caution when digging.”

“This isn’t good, Eddie.” Buck’s voice is quiet and he can hear the younger man’s heavy breaths. The wood could have punctured a lung.

Eddie crawls back to Buck, looking at the protruding wood. “Okay, I’m going to take care of this as best as I can right now.”

“Eddie,” Eddie carefully unzips Buck’s jacket and lifts the left side off of the wood, working slowly as to not agitate the wound. “How long do you think we can stay here?” He pulls the small first aid kit off his belt, opening it and grabbing the scissors, beginning to cut Buck’s shirt away. “We are, after all, in a burning building.”

“I don’t know, Buck.” Eddie shakes his head, peeling the sticky clothing away from Buck’s skin. It doesn’t look good at all. “Hopefully long enough for them to find us.”

“So, how bad is it Doctor?” Buck asks and when Eddie glances up at him, he has a tired smirk on his face. It disappears at Eddie’s look. “That bad, huh?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to move?” Eddie asks, looking the man over.

Buck looks tired at the thought but he still smiles. “Maybe but if we can’t dig ourselves out, what’s the point?”

“We might have to risk it. I’m going to try and stabilize the wood with some gauze.” Eddie reaches into the first aid kit again and grabs a wad of gauze. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” Buck answers and Eddie gives him a pointed look to not lie. “Okay, it hurts a lot.”

Eddie begins packing the gauze around the wood. It immediately turns red with blood. “You know better than to lie when it comes to this stuff, Buck.”

“Sorry,” Buck says breathlessly. “I was trying to contemplate which is worse; getting crushed or impaled.” Eddie snorts, trying to concentrate. “Getting crushed hurts like a bitch, Eddie. Like, all throughout your body. At least… at least until shock starts settling in and then your whole body kind of just goes numb.” Buck raises his hands, making a sweeping motion and Eddie notices they’re shaking. “This… this is more localized pain. It feels really hot but that could be the blood.”

Eddie reaches around Buck, feeling his back where the wood comes out. He needs to gauge at what angle it went in so he can know the extent of the internal damage that might have occurred. It’s below his lung so there’s a possibility that it didn’t puncture it after all but there’s no guarantee. There’s also no telling what other internal organs are damaged. He takes the tape and starts blindly wrapping gauze around the wood behind Buck as well, afraid to move him. “I think only you would be clinical about this, Buck.”

Buck tries to shrug but winces in pain. “Nothing else to do.” Buck’s head is starting to loll to the side, exhaustion taking control.

Knowing he has to keep Buck talking, he asks, “Okay, what else is different? Which would you prefer?”

“That’s a strange question.”

Eddie shrugs, licking his lips. “I want to know.”

Buck’s entire body has started to tremble now. “I think… I think I’d prefer being impaled. At least then it only hurts in one spot. God, Eddie, being crushed hurts so much.” Eddie looks up and sees Buck looking above them. Diverting his eyes, Eddie looks to where Buck is and his heart almost stops. There’s a slab of concrete just above them, precariously balanced between the two walls. Buck grimaces. “I really don’t want to be crushed again, Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head, getting Buck’s attention. “That’s not going to happen because we’re getting out of here.” Eddie makes a point of looking around before settling on Buck again, shrugging nonchalantly. “And you know, I really don’t feel like getting buried alive again either.” He closes the first aid kit and hooks it back up to his belt. The gauze in front is soaked through with blood.

“I’m going to die here.” The statement takes Eddie by surprise and he looks up at Buck to where he can see his eyes filling with tears.

Eddie shakes his head, taking Buck’s shaking hands. “No, you’re not. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Buck sighs. “Eddie, we do the same thing for a living. I know when it’s bad and not survivable.” Buck tries to smile at him but it’s too sad and Eddie hates it. “You need to get out of here yourself.”

“No.”

“Eddie!” Buck says sternly. “Look at this place. It’s been filling up with smoke, there’s no way digging out of here isn’t going to make it collapse, and we both know I won’t be able to get out on time.”

“Buck, no. I’m not leaving you.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s hands and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Eddie,” Buck groans stubbornly, closing his eyes briefly. “I can’t feel it anymore.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold at those words but he can’t stop shaking his head because, no goddamn it! “It’s fine.”

“You and I both know that’s not a good sign.” Buck has stopped shaking and he looks exhausted and if Eddie’s gloves weren’t covered in his blood, he’d reach up and wipe the tears off Buck’s face.

Eddie lets go of one of Buck’s hands, reaching up with a shaky hand to his walkie. He hadn’t even noticed he is shaking now. As if he had zapped it out of Buck and placed the tremors into his own body. “Cap?” He watches as Buck’s head falls back, blinking slowly. “Cap, can you hear me? We’re running out of time here.”

Foregoing the blood on his gloves, Eddie reaches out and cups Buck’s head, lifting it back up. “Buck.”

Buck catches his eyes but Buck’s own are unfocused and tired. “I’m so tired, Eddie.”

“I know you are.” Eddie shuffles next to Buck, pressing into him and holding him close. “But you know the drill, Buck, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Come on, just talk to me,” Eddie encourages, placing one hand down on the wound to try and stop the bleeding as best he can.

Buck drags in a ragged breath and it breaks Eddie’s heart to hear it. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Don’t,” he automatically says because if he hears Buck say the thing they’ve been dancing around for ages now, it’ll mean the end. It’ll mean Buck is leaving him and Eddie can’t deal with that. He just can’t. Eddie swallows thickly. “You can tell me later.”

Buck nods against his shoulder. “Okay.” He can hear how much of a struggle it is for Buck to take in breaths. “I need… Eddie, I need to close my eyes.”

“No, Buck.” Eddie shifts so he’s back in front of Buck’s prone body, looking down at him. “Buck, you know you can’t,” he says but it’s already too late. Buck has his eyes shut and Eddie cups his face again, trying not to panic. “Buck.” His hands shake wildly. “Evan.”

Buck’s eyes pop open before drooping again. “You never call me that.”

“Stay awake, man, come on.” Buck shakes his head minutely in protest and his head slumps to the side, eyes completely closed.

With his own tears streaming down his face, Eddie checks his pulse. His hands are shaking so badly that it’s hard to feel but it’s there despite being very weak. With a deep breath, Eddie pushes away from Buck and looks around the enclosure. There has to be a sturdy place where he can dig them out.

Crawling around to different sections as quickly as possible, Eddie tests them until he finds a place that he deems structurally sound enough. He starts digging, on the verge of frantic, knowing he doesn’t have much time, but he somehow keeps his calm. Somehow he stays professional, managing to shut off his emotions for now. Eddie digs with determination, glancing at the slab of concrete above them when the thing shifts but doesn’t move again.

Before long, he sees daylight and he calls out to anyone who can hear him. “Eddie?” He hears in the distance and though the tears have stopped rolling down his cheeks, his eyes fill with them once more.

“Over here!” He keeps digging until there is a hole big enough for him to crawl out of. He stands, despite the pain in his leg. The first thing he notices is smoking, black debris, however, the fire is gone. The building must have collapsed more but they were able to put the fire out easier this way. Then he sees Hen in the distance, running towards him and he hobbles in her direction, pointing behind himself. “Buck. Buck, he’s hurt. He’s… you have to help him. I tried…” Hen reaches him and grabs a hold of him to keep him steady. Eddie must make quite the sight if the look on her face is anything to go by.

Eddie turns back in the direction of Buck and starts limping towards him, pointing weakly. “Hen you have to help him. I couldn’t-” His breath hitches and a whimper he can’t control comes out of him. By now Chimney and Bobby are by his side, helping him to stand and they won’t let him walk even though Eddie wants nothing but to get back to Buck’s side.

“Eddie,” Bobby says gently, getting his attention. “What happened?”

Eddie tries to take in a deep breath but he can’t. They come in shallow gulps of panic but even so, his training kicks in from the question. “Buck’s been injured. Impale injury to the lower abdomen. I don’t think his lung was punctured but I can’t know for sure. I’ve stabilized the object but he’s bleeding a lot. I couldn’t stop it. He-he just passed out about five minutes ago. He still had a weak pulse when I last checked but I don���t know about now.”

Hen and Chimney rush over to where Eddie had crawled out of and Eddie tries to follow but Bobby stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Eddie, let me look you over.”

He shakes his head, turning back to Bobby. “No, I need to go help.”

“Eddie, you’ve done enough.”

“No, no, I told him I wouldn’t leave him,” Eddie explains and the tears in his eyes are back. “Bobby, I can’t-” Eddie’s throat closes up and the tears slip from his eyes. Damn it, he’s not going to break down in front of everyone. He’s used to this. He can deal with it. He can be professional.

Except that he’s exhausted and in pain and shaking and it’s Buck. Oh God, it’s Buck.

He doesn’t realize he’s collapsing to the ground until Bobby’s got his arms around him and is holding him up. “I’ve got you.” He drags Eddie up and away from where Chimney and Hen are working on Buck and Eddie tries to not think about the fact that Bobby probably just doesn’t want him to see them wheeling out Buck’s dead body because Buck isn’t dead. He can’t be.

The son of a bitch wouldn’t do that to him.

He just wouldn’t.

“Here, sit down.” Bobby deposits him on the back of an ambulance, not one of the 118’s as that will probably be the one they take Buck in. Bobby calls over another paramedic who begins checking Eddie over and asking him questions. He gives Eddie some oxygen and it’s not until he breaths in the clean air that Eddie realizes how much his lungs hurt. Bobby continues to stand guard but when Hen comes on the radio to update him about Buck, he quickly steps away and out of earshot of Eddie.

It pisses Eddie off and he pushes up, shoving the paramedic away, and limps over to where Bobby is finishing his conversation on the walkie. “Cap!”

Bobby turns to him, face grim. “They’re bringing Buck to the hospital.”

“Is he alive?” Eddie asks because that’s all he needs to know. He just needs to know if his world can keep turning or if it’s going to stop right here and now.

Bobby hesitates but soon nods. “Yes, he is.”

Eddie’s breathing speeds up and his eyes well up and for fuck’s sake, he wishes they would stop doing that but he can’t seem to control it. “Don’t lie to me,” he says harshly.

“Eddie, I’m not lying.” Bobby takes a step towards him, hands out with his palms facing forward. “He’s in critical condition, but he’s alive.”

“How critical?” Eddie asks as if he doesn’t know, as if he hasn’t seen people die from severe puncture wounds before. He needs to stay focused. This isn’t the time to start panicking.

“It’s not good, Eddie,” Bobby informs him and then places a hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be fine. You did good.”

Eddie shrugs the hand off. “Bobby, I’m a trained medic. Don’t…” he swallows, tries to take a deep breath to calm himself. “Don’t try and comfort me. I know how it looks. I know I couldn't do much to help Buck. I know…” his throat tightens again but he breathes through it and continues with difficulty. “I know there’s a great possibility that Buck is going to die from this.”

Bobby’s got that sympathetic, all-knowing look that is usually reserved for Buck on his face and Eddie almost feels sick at the sight. “You did what you could and because of that, you did good.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve been in worse situations. I should have done better. If only I had kept my cool better then-”

“Then nothing,” Bobby interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder again to ground him. Eddie doesn’t want him touching him. “There’s nothing more you could have done in that situation, Eddie. No one could have.”

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe Bobby, not if Buck dies. Not if Buck leaves him and Christopher like Shannon left him. “We have to get to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Bobby agrees, finally letting go of his shoulder. “But only if you promise to get checked out there yourself. Buck will probably be in surgery anyway.”

Eddie just wants to go so he quickly agrees and they take the fire engine to the hospital. Bobby walks him over to the front desk of the emergency room and hands Eddie off to a nurse to get himself checked. When they give him a  full bill of good health after letting him breathe in some oxygen and telling him his leg is only sprained, they let him go and Eddie makes his way to the waiting room that Bobby had told him everyone is in.

He approaches Chimney tiredly and he thinks if he sits down, he might fall asleep but at the same time he’s too strung up to do so. “Any news?”

Chimney shakes his head and sighs. “Not yet.” At Eddie’s frown, he says, “He hasn’t been in there long. It’s going to take hours, man.”

Eddie gives him a small nod, feeling sick to his stomach. He walks over to a corner of the room and calls Carla who says she can keep Christopher for a few more hours but won’t be able to keep him for much longer than that. “Okay, hang on. I’ll call you back.”

Next, he calls Pepa. “There’s been an accident at work.”

“Are you okay?” she asks him right away.

“I’m fine. It’s a coworker; Buck. You remember?” She gives him an affirmative and he continues. “I need someone to look after Christopher. I’m going to be at the hospital for several hours but Carla can only keep him a few hours after I was supposed to get him. Can-”

He doesn’t even need to finish his sentence before Pepa is answering firmly. “Of course, I can, Edmundo. Tell Carla to drop him off here whenever she needs.”

“Gracias, Pepa.” He hangs up then and calls Carla back, telling her the game plan. He also tells her not to tell Christopher what has happened to Buck, that he’ll do it himself when he next sees his son. When that is all done, he goes and sits down next to Hen and waits.

*~~~*

Buck is in surgery for seven hours and Eddie is left to wait on his own except for Maddie. The others had to go back to the firehouse and finish whatever shift they were on but Bobby insisted Eddie stay. So Eddie’s been doing nothing but pacing back and forth in the waiting area while Maddie sits there watching him.

“Eddie,” Maddie tries for the hundredth time. “Come sit down. Let me get you some water or coffee.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Maddie had been kind enough to bring him a change of clothes and Eddie has already checked up on Christopher, calling him about two hours ago. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Christopher what happened to Buck and so Eddie had lied to him, telling his son that someone had gotten sick at work and he was asked to cover. Eddie tries to not feel guilty about lying but he can’t stand the thought of his kid worrying and being sad. “I’m fine,” he amends when Maddie won’t stop staring at him.

She’s frowning now and shouldn’t he be the one trying to be strong for her? “Eddie, he’s going to be fine. They haven’t told us anything different so he has to be.”

“You were a nurse, Maddie, you know things can change from good to bad just like that.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.

Her frown deepens and she stands, making her way over to him. Eddie is probably annoying the other people in the waiting room too, with his pacing. Maddie gently grabs his arm. “Come sit down.” She carefully drags him over to one of the chairs and sits him down, sitting down next to him. She leans her head on his shoulder, linking their arms, and Eddie lets himself almost feel comforted.

But he knows better. There were many times out in the fields in Afghanistan where surgery was going well and then all of a sudden the person was crashing and they died. So Eddie won’t allow himself to hope or relax. Instead, he waits for the second shoe to drop and stays on high alert.

His heart drops into his stomach when, another hour later, the doctor comes out looking grim. Both him and Maddie stand, meeting him halfway. “How’s my brother?” Maddie asks.

The doctor sighs and Eddie is about ready to throw up until she smiles at them and says, “He made it through.” Eddie lets the breath he had been holding out in relief. “He’s under heavy sedatives and so will be asleep for a while but I think he’s going to pull through okay.”

Maddie has tears streaming down her face and she’s smiling. “That’s great news. Can we see him?”

The doctor looks from Maddie to Eddie and back. “Of course. I’ll show you to the room.”

They follow the doctor to the ICU and when she pulls back the curtain to Buck’s room, Eddie’s stomach flips with nausea. He’s shaking again and his palms are sweaty, heart beating crazy in his chest and he’s definitely going to throw up.

While Maddie goes straight up to Buck and cups one of his hands in hers, Eddie turns around, leaves the ICU, and beelines it to a one-person unisex bathroom where he promptly empties his stomach into the toilet. He’s amazed he even managed to make it to the bathroom and chalks it up to his training for the army. When he’s done throwing up, he shakily cups some water and rinses his mouth out, coughing at the burning sensation in his throat. He’s shaking uncontrollably and he feels hot and anxious and, yeah, he’s crying again.

He leans back against the wall, hitting his head against it when he tilts it back, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Digging in his pocket for his phone, he looks at the screen and sees Maddie’s name across it.

From Maddie:

Are you okay?

To Maddie:

Yeah. I’ll be right back.

Eddie shoves his phone back into his pocket and leans his head back against the wall once more, taking deep breaths. Buck is okay. He’s fine. He’s going to live. Eddie wipes a hand down his face, smearing his tears. Buck had looked so pale, lying in that bed. Eddie had almost lost him. They have almost lost each other more than once. God, all this time they’ve been dancing around each other and how they feel about one another when they could die at any moment. What the hell are they waiting for?

Sniffling, Eddie pushes off the wall and splashes water on his face. When he looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes are red and puffy and his cheeks are splotchy. There’s no hiding the fact that he’s been crying… well… sobbing really. He’s embarrassed by it and it’s only made worse when he opens the door to the bathroom to see someone waiting for it outside the door. He suddenly can’t remember if he had been crying silently or noisily and Eddie’s cheeks flame red. The older woman gives him the common courtesy to smile at him sympathetically before pushing by him and entering the bathroom herself.

Wallowing in his embarrassment, Eddie slowly makes his way back to Buck’s room. Maddie is still there, sitting in a chair next to the bed, and she looks up at him in worry. “Are you okay?”

Eddie nods silently and pulls up another chair on the opposite side of the bed. He takes a hold of Buck’s other available hand. He can feel Maddie’s eyes on him. “What is it?”

She sighs tiredly. “He feels the same way, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply.

This seems to surprise her. “You know? Did he tell you?”

“No.” He swallows. “He was going to. I stopped him.”

“Why?” she asks, brows scrunching in confusion.

“Because it’s what you do before you die.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to let him die.”

Maddie’s lips thin and Eddie has to look away from her. Instead, he looks at Buck’s pale face. At least he just looks like he’s sleeping and not in pain. “You should tell him.”

“I know.”

“How come you don’t then? He wouldn’t reject you.” She huffs a small laugh. “He’d probably be overjoyed.”

Eddie shakes his head and licks his lips. “I don’t know how to.” Then, “No, I… I do know how, I just…” he trails off, not being able to continue.

“Then why can’t you?” Maddie pushes.

Eddie sighs, looks at Buck again and feels his heart beat into his throat, making it hard to breathe. “I’m afraid.”

“Of?”

“Letting someone in,” he says, rubbing the back of Buck’s hand with his thumb.

Maddie smiles at him, warm and amused. “Eddie,” she waits for him to look in her direction. “You’ve already done that. Buck’s already in.”

*~~~*

Buck doesn’t wake up until the next day. He groans and shifts, face scrunching in discomfort. Eddie is by his side, grabbing a hold of his hand and squeezing it to try and calm the man. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Buck blinks open his eyes, staring up at Eddie. “Eddie?”

Eddie smiles at him and almost brushes his hair back. “Hey. You’re in the hospital.”

Buck looks around and grimaces. “God, I hate hospitals.”

Eddie chuckles and pulls the chair he had been sitting in closer so he can sit. “You and me both.”

Buck’s eyes land back on his and they study each other. Eddie is so relieved to be able to see those blue eyes again. “You stayed.”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Eddie says, not being able to resist anymore and so he reaches up and brushes his free hand through Buck’s hair. “You scared the shit out me, man.”

“I scared myself.” Buck smiles, licking his dry lips.

“Are you thirsty? In pain? They have you on some pretty strong drugs right now but if you’re hurting I can get a nurse and-”

Buck interrupts him, shaking his head. “No, I’m not in pain. I can’t really feel anything right now. Pretty loopy.” Buck looks around the room again. “Christopher?”

“I haven’t told him what has happened.” Buck nods in understanding at that. “I didn’t want to worry him. I’ll tell him when you’re out of here and out of danger.”

Buck nods again, swallowing. “My mouth is so dry.”

Eddie huffs in good humor. “That’s why I asked if you were thirsty, you idiot.” He grabs the cup and pitcher of water one of the nurses left and pours Buck some water, placing a straw in it. “Here, let me help. You’re going to be a little weak for a little while.” Eddie lifts the cup to Buck’s mouth and Buck grabs the straw between his lips to sip gingerly at the liquid. He drinks the whole cup before letting his head fall back to the pillow. “You have a catheter in so you don’t have to worry about going to the bathroom yet.”

“Good. I don’t think I’d be able to make it.” Buck gives him a smile. “My limbs feel like lead.” Then his smile disappears and he looks at Eddie with so much empathy and sadness that Eddie has to look away. “How bad did it get?”

“You passed out and I had to dig us out.”

“Without getting us crushed?”

Eddie chuckles, squeezing Buck’s hand again. “Yeah, it was touch and go but like I told you, you weren’t getting crushed again and I wasn’t going to get buried again.”

“My hero.” Buck’s eyes light up with admiration and love and Eddie’s cheeks get hot.

“Hen and Chim got you out,” he continues, ignoring the flush that’s gone all through his body. “We didn’t know if you were going to make it. You were in surgery for ages and then when they were done, you were asleep for a while. Maddie was here for a long time when you were sleeping and just stepped out to go home for a couple of hours to shower, change, and then call into work. She’ll be back soon though.”

“And the others?” Buck asks sleepily.

“Uh,” Eddie runs a hand through his own hair. He’s exhausted but he had refused to sleep before Buck woke up. “Bobby and Athena were here about an hour ago. Chimney said he’ll stop by later after his shift and Hen, well,” Eddie gets up out of the chair, letting go of Buck’s hands. He walks over to the rolly table and lifts up a fruit basket. “Hen brought this. I guess Karen made it for you.”

Buck’s smile is wide with happiness and it fills Eddie’s chest with warmth. “I was wondering what that was and where it came from.” Buck reaches out, gesturing for Eddie to take his hand again. Eddie complies, sitting back down. “And what about you?”

Eddie shrugs. “What about me?”

“Have you gotten any rest?” Buck is eyeing him. “Because I’ll bet you look just as bad, if not worse, as me.”

Eddie scoffs good-naturedly. “What are you talking about? I always look good.”

“So do I,” Buck says. “And that’s the point.”

Eddie chuckles at Buck’s ridiculousness, shaking his head. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

“For a matter of fact,” Buck begins, laughing and causing Eddie to laugh too. “I do.”

Eddie laughs at him, ducking his head and pressing their joined hands against his forehead. He laughs until he starts to cry, shoulders shaking with the effort. It’s like everything that he has been feeling just rushes into his chest and pushes against him, suffocating him. He feels happy and sad, anxious and relieved, mournful and loving, all at the same damn time. And he can no longer control them. He can no longer keep them at bay and so he cries in front of Buck, wet sobs coming from his mouth as he gasps for air.

Buck’s other hand is carding through his hair, petting him soothingly. “Eddie?” Buck pulls on his hand. “Eddie, it’s okay. Come here.”

He looks up at Buck, his best friend, the man he has been in love with for so long now that he can’t even imagine living without him. Buck pulls him closer, guides him weakly onto the bed, and maneuvers them both until Eddie has room to lie in the bed next to him. Eddie, for all he’s worth, buries his face into Buck’s chest and cries and cries and cries. Buck’s hand runs up and down his back as his other arm wraps around Eddie’s waist, holding him close and whispering over and over again that’s it’s okay.

And if Eddie lets slip while he’s there bawling his eyes out that he loves Buck and Buck says it back to him ever so quietly while pressing his lips against Eddie’s head, well, that’s for them to know and only them.

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this fic! Eddie is probably a little ooc in this, I know, but I wanted him to be a little bit vulnerable. I mean, that’s the love of his life almost dying right there after all. ;)

Thank you for reading!

[mango-forest]

more than survive (part 3)

part 1, part 2, part 4

Marinette finds that recently the problem isn’t so much as akuma battles or staying up (though they do contribute). But now she’s realizing that she just. . . doesn’t have the energy or motivation to get out of bed. Especially when it’s just to go to school. Tikki pulls at her hair and Marinette tiredly asks, “Do we have to get up?”

“Marinette,” Tikki counters. The noirnette groans and rolls of her bed. After struggling with her hair for a solid minute, Marinette puts up her hair in a messy bun. She puts the bare minimum in her outfit, just shrugging a sweatshirt hoodie over her bra and thick, soft leggings tucked into combat boots. Before she leaves the room, Marinette grabs a pair of pink fuzzy earmuffs from her desk.

It isn’t long before Marinette is arriving at her classroom, bursting into the room just as the bell rings. Ms. Bustier gives her a disappointed look. “Technically, I’m not late,” Marinette points out with an out-of-breathe smile on her face.

Ms. Bustier sighs. “Just take your seat, Marinette.”

The teenager walks to the back with a sheepish smile, sliding into her seat while the class snickers. She catches Adrien giving her a disappointed gaze before Lila tightens her grip, and he turns his head back to the front. Marinette tried to fight back a sigh. In hindsight, she dodged a bullet with her old crush. Good thing she tested down all his pictures years ago.

“Alright class,” Ms. Bustier announces, “I am happy to announce that we are taking a trip to Gotham!”

The class erupts in whispers.

Ms. Bustier laughs. “Alright, that’s enough, everyone. We are leaving soon, the exact date is in the packets Alix is going to be handing out.” Said girl obediently grabs the packets and starts passing them out. Marinette exchanges a nod and smile with her when she got her packet. “Please get your guardian to sign them and turn them in before the due date.”

Ms. Bustier sits behind her desk when she’s finished speaking, likely going on to her computer and finishing some work. As the class gets up and starts talking, Marinette sits with a small smile on her face. She’s going to Gotham! Maybe she can meet up with Damian. Against her will, Marinette hears Lila talk. “Oh I’m so happy to go back to Gotham,” the Italian girl says loudly.

“Oh yeah.” Alya snaps her fingers. “Didn’t you talk about your boyfriend, Damian Wayne?”

“Uh-huh,” Lila smiles. “I can’t believe you remembered that, Als!”

Marinette scoffs inside her head. Als.

“Unfortunately,” Lila continues, “He’s probably gonna pretend not to know me. You know, the Waynes don’t like a media scandal! Oh, I can’t wait to see Dami-boo again! It’s a shame he’s not gonna want to see you all.”

Marinette honestly feels a bit bad for whoever this Damian Wayne is. Even if Damian—her Damian—says he isn’t important, no one deserves Lila to be lying about them. She leans on her fist as she thinks about the Gothamite. Last call she had, Marinette forgot to ask him about the one before. To be fair, she was a bit distracted with working not the project, so when he called it caught her off guard.

Without thinking, she grabs her phone and texts, something big happened.

After her finger hits send, she’s struck by the realization that it would be very, very early in the morning for Damian. To her surprise (and slight worry) a text immediately pings back.

Are you okay?

What?

Oh yeah, I’m fine. I’m talking about something else

Okay?

Second thought go to sleep

What did you want to tell me?

Tell you later. Sleep.

Fine.

Marinette stares at her phone with pursed lips. She doesn’t like how late Damian is staying up. Well, Marinette thinks, she’s certainly got no room to criticise. Although she does have a better excuse, being a superhero and fighting akumas. That will have to be paused during the trip though. Marinette fiddles with the front page of the packet.

The alarm blares and she suppresses a groan. The last year or so lots of public buildings have gotten an “akuma alarm.” Which is basically a fire drill, but sounds different and instead of going back inside, school is cancelled for the day. Marinette shoves her stuff into her backpack (a new one she got last year, pink with large black spots) and walks out of the classroom with her fellow classmates, breaking out into a jog when she gets to the bottom of the front stairs.

It's a second nature by now for her to slip into an alley and let Tikki zoom out of her purse. “You know the drill,” Marinette tiredly says. “Tikki, spots on!”

The bright light hurts her eyes and the cold seeps into her body. Ladybug struggles not to swear as she heads to Master Fu’s. Her warm clothing has disappeared along with her earmuffs. The superheroine pauses at a rooftop. Then, with a wince, Ladybug changes direction to head for the bakery. Her limbs feel heavier and she just knows that her reaction time is becoming more delayed.

She doesn’t linger, only opening the skylight and swiping the jacket she tossed on her bed that morning. The jacket helps keep her blood pumping as she tries to race to Master Fu’s. Ladybug knows she just wasted some time. The akuma is out there and no other miraculi are with their owners. Chat Noir might, but it is highly unlikely he’ll break his streak of arriving after the battle.

When Master Fu shows the miraculi, she pauses. “I am going to a trip soon,” she says. She tries not to think about how many are suffering from the akuma by now. “Ladybug will not be able to protect Paris.”

Master Fu stares at her and Wayzz hovers over his shoulder. Carapace and Rena Rouge have not seen the field in a long, long time. After a few moments the kwami and guardian share a look. “We trust your judgment, Marinette,” Master Fu says, smiling at her.

Ladybug nods determinedly and reaches out. The snake and dragon are easy to choose. Her hand hovers over the bee miraculous. After a tense second, she moves her hand away. Even if she did want to make Chloe a permanent protector, that can wait until after the trip.With a nod to Master Fu, she took off.

When the Miraculous Cure is sent out, she stops Viperion and Ryuko from leaving. Ladybug knows she’d usually visit them both separately to collect their miraculi but today is different. “I will not be in Paris soon,” she starts. At their alarmed looks, she continues hurriedly, “I am coming back, but for now I think you both are ready. If you choose to keep your miraculi you accept to become a permanent protector of Paris and defend it from Hawkmoth. Turn them in and it’ll stay just as it is now. The choice is yours.”

Viperion grins. “Of course!”

Ryuko’s more quiet with her happiness. “I will not fail you Ladybug.”

Ladybug grins at both of them. “Well this is great! Now we shall probably leave before Chat Noir comes or we detransform, huh?”

When she gets back she sends out a request to Damian and heads downstairs to the kitchen with her backpack slung across her arm.. She grins as she sees her mom get cookies out of the oven. “Oh Mama,” she sings. “Can you please sign this?”

As Marinette’s fishing for the paper in her backpack, Sabine sets the tray down and dusts off her hands. “Depends on what it is,” she teases as she takes the offered paper. She trails off as she reads. “Oh, Marinette. . .”

Marinette scrunches her face. “What?”

“I don't know, honey. This much time in a foriegn city with your classmates? You said you weren't doing well in school with them, and I know they don't come around nearly as much, are you sure you want to go on the trip?”

Marinette smiles at her. “It’s okay, Mama. Honestly, what’s the worst they can do; it’s not like we’re gonna be glued by our hips!”

Sabine sighs. “Alright, Marinette. I’ll sign it. But Gotham has a high crime rate, so make sure to check in every day or so! You miss one check in and we’re flying you back.”

Marinette quietly cheers. “Thanks Mama!”

Sabine signs the paper and hands it back to her daughter, smiling as the teen bounces back up the stairs.

“Oh can you believe it, Tikki?” Marinette says as she sits down on her spinney chair. “Maybe I’ll even see Damian!”

“Gotham isn’t that small,” Tikki gently reminds her.

Marinette sighs and nods. “Yeah, it's nice to imagine though.”

“Maybe you can bring your project along! The packet did say there’s a formal event!” Tikki suggests.

“Oh my god, I can!” she exclaims. After a pause, she adds, “I’ll have to finish it first.”

So Marinette gets out the notes and the fabrics and the thread and the needles. She works while pricking her fingers, she works while eating the cookies, she works while Tikki plays games on her phone. She works as Tikki discusses Chat Noir with her. She works until she hears Damian’s voice coming from her laptop. It's faced towards her, so she doesn't really need to move but she still gets up to lay closer, on her stomach. “Hey, Angel,” he greets. “What are you working on?”

Marinette sucks in a breath and quickly turns the laptop around. “Nothing,” she says, getting up to lie down again in front of the screen. “Just an outfit for myself.”

“Oh and I can’t see it?” he teases.

“Nope,” she responds.

“Mmm.” He smiles at her.

“Oh!” Marinette exclaims, snapping her fingers. “Uh, you remember the video call before last? Like, the one where I was half asleep? Did-Did your brother come in. . . ?”

“Yes, he did,” Damian answers honestly. “Why?”

Marinette groans and buries her face in her arms. “Nothing, I just didn’t have the best memory since I was sleepy.” Not like she could forget anything before the last video call. Chat Noir, his talk, knocking on her skylight, everything before that. That’s still burned in her mind. “So you live in Gotham, right?”

“Yes,” Damian says, arching an eyebrow. “Why do you ask, Angel?”

“Well my class is taking a trip there soon!” Marinette does awkward jazz hands.

Damian perks up. “Really? Angel, that’s amazing. What hotel are you staying at?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re supposed to be touring a place called Wayne Enterprises, so probably close to there.”

“That’s close to where I live!” Damian says. “Maybe we’ll see each other!”

“That’d be amazing.” Marinette grins.

Damian smiles too. Marinette wonders if she can die from anticipation.

@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @birb-didnt-survive-the-snap @iggy-of-fans @never-neverland @urbanpineapplefarmer

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Destiel - my shower isn’t working can I use yours 😆

Okay, so where I'm going with this one isn't exactly a meetcute to me, but it also could be, if you are into that kind of stuff, I'm not sure about most things, please enjoy the story ~

***

It's been one hour since Dean's gotten up, and the day already sucks.

Things had been fine till all the noise started. It was eleven, on a Sunday morning, and he had been contentedly sitting on his couch, watching Queer Eye as he had his breakfast of milk, cereal and beer, as one does, and wondering about Sammy's whereabouts, even while he prepared punny punchlines for the latter's inevitable walk of shame - when the drilling had begun.

And Dean didn't like disturbing loud noises - not so early on weekends, and not ever.

Obviously some sort of construction work, or maintenance was happening at the apartment across the hall from his. Dean's brain registered it immediately as the one with the ridiculously cute Lit. Major, Cas-something, and his friend (well, Dean hoped, though they did seem pretty close).

Dean didn't know those two very well, because they'd only just moved in like a month ago - which could've made the drilling sorta suspicion-worthy, if their apartment building had had any good reputation at all. Dean had had his midterms then, so he hadn't gotten to know them much - though Sam had told him, from when he went to the mixer they threw like a fortnight ago, that they seemed like good people.

Dean's interactions had thus been pretty limited with Cas - Sam had only remembered that much of his name, for the stupid giant head he has, and Dean couldn't even be sure that it was correct, they'd never conversed so he'd never had a chance to use it - but that's what he calls him when he thinks of him in his head.

And he does. He knows Cas studies Literature, because he's seen him with Professor Moseley. And he knows Cas liked honey, because his friend, Balthazar had come to ask if they had any, because 'his roommate needed it, and was too anxious to initiate social interactions', Dean remembers, in a sarcastic accented drawl. And he knows that Cas runs in the mornings, and that he -

There's a knock at his door, which brings him out of his reverie. He sets down his tray, and went to open the door, expecting Sam - silently regretting using some of the last minutes thinking about his gorgeous neighbors, instead of what all he'd say to get Sam all riled up, when he showed up in last evening's clothes.

But it isn't Sam. It's Cas - or, to play on the safer side, Dean was going to pretend he didn't know his name at all; that would be better than to call him by the wrong name because what kind of asshole does that?

"Hello!" From the other side of the door, Cas - or whatever the fuck his name is, Dean keeps calling him Cas, because he has been doing it in his head, for a month now - breathes out, in a beautiful goddamn baritone. He's looking straight at Dean with unbelievably blue eyes, and Dean's never stood this close to him, in actual reality before.

So, undoubtedly, he is too busy gawking at Cas, to respond to the greeting - but he can't be blamed. Cas is breathless, and sweaty - from the way his fitted grey tshirt sticks to all the right places, and how sweat glistens on his forehead and plasters his black hair to his head. If Dean had ever been able to get Sam's nagging, 'You're confusing reality with porn again' out of his head, his brain could've conjured up some really interesting scenarios.

He stands in front of Dean, dressed in only a tshirt and what are clearly running shorts, and suddenly Dean's aware of the fact that he's wearing flannel pajamas, which are also Sam's, if that isn't embarrassing enough by itself - since he didn't wanna do laundry, and which are hatefully too big for him - a white shirt that has Donald Duck on it, and his fucking heart on his sleeve.

"Uh." He begins, eloquent as ever. "Hey there."

"Do you," Cas's lips twist into some sort of a frown. "Think I could come inside?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Dean mutters, making way for him to enter. The passage is wide enough for there to be zero contact between them, as Cas shuffles inside and Dean reaches forward to shut the door and lock it behind him - and for the first time, Dean wishes he lived in a skimpier apartment. "What's up, dude?" Dean asks, trying to get a hold of himself, as he stares at Cas tentatively, waiting for him to make the next move, as he tries to figure out how to keep looking at him before coming off as creepy. As one does.

"I - well, I -" He begins, and then stops abruptly, holding his hand out to Dean. "I'm Castiel, by the way, and I live across you."

Dean nods, wetting his lips, as he shook his hand. "I, uh, know." He says, uncertainly. And then realizing he hasn't introduced himself either, he hurriedly adds. "And I'm Dean. I live across you, too."

Castiel smiles at him, in spite of the lame joke, and Dean is grateful, because he was about to start looking for a hole to bury himself in. Then, Castiel starts speaking too, and Dean shifts his focus between his words and the way his voice sounds, to keep up. "As I guess you've probably heard, Balthazar is getting some repairs done at our place. I didn't know it was today until right about now, but this thing might take time. Shelves to be made, showers to be fixed, fire alarms which actually work to be installed -" Dean snorts at that, then is instantly appalled at himself, because that's the most unattractive way he could laugh, fucking get your act together, Winchester. "And so on. I'm sorry on both our behalf, because the noise must be disturbing, and -"

"Nah, nevermind." Dean interrupts. "It's not a big deal." What else is he supposed to say? 'I wanna kill myself because of it, so please don't need a new shelf, ever again?' Pfft.

"You're very understanding," Castiel smiles once again, and it's a polite one - and Dean is suddenly hit by the realization that that is perhaps what Castiel is here for. To be polite and curtesical about the fact that they're disturbing the whole building. Not because he wants to have anything to do with Dean - perhaps he did this with everyone on all the floors, and gave compensation-cookies, but then ran out of them before he came to Dean, but didn't think Dean was worth that much of an effort.

Dean's subconscious does make an effort to put a pause to the annoying workings of his mind, but as always, the other side triumphed. And then Dean stands there, feeling ridiculous about himself having internally made such a big deal of something like this.

But then, Castiel start speaking again. "And, I know this is such an idiotic favor to ask for -" So there is more, thinks Dean. "And you are allowed to turn me down, okay?"

"Ask away, dude," Dean tells him. I'd literally bend over on the centerpiece for you, if you asked nicely, he doesn't say, because. Well. Boundaries and crap.

Castiel seems to be gathering his words.

Dean wonders what it could be.

He hasn't wondered far, when Castiel finally lets it out. "I - I just came from my run, and I really think I need to shower. And my shower isn't working, could I use yours?"

Dean is stunned. He didn't think things like this we're supposed to happen in actual frigging reality. Castiel - the totally hot dude from across the hallway was asking to take a shower in his apartment. Dean's brain was practically stuttering, at this point.

"Dean?" Castiel echoes.

Dean's brain goes around the roundabout, and starts to take the route back to a safer place. It's obviously not like Castiel is going to be in the shower, and then asking Dean to join. That, now that would be something that would honestly throw him off. But this is cool, right? The guy has a reason. (And no porn has such legitimate explanations, okay?) So perhaps Dean should go looking for his brain in the gutters, and respond.

"Yeah. Uh, sorry about that." He shrugs, and then nods. "You know what? Sure. You can. I mean, why would I say no, you know?"

Castiel blinked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Dean nods, way surer now that Castiel looks insecure of ever asking. And Castiel gives him a small smile. "Thank you."

A moment passes, and they're simply looking at each other, and Dean is obviously trying to alternate gazes between his eyes, and his lips. Then suddenly, Castiel clears his throat, and raises his eyebrows with a slight tilt of his head and Dean returns to the present.

"Right!" He swallows. "Right now. Okay, yeah, okay." He doesn't really know what to do for a moment there, but then he looks at Castiel, who's sporting an absolutely adorable gummy smile.

"You do know you don't have to do anything, right?" He supplies, somehow reading the tension in his body. "Just, uh, direct me towards your bathroom, please."

And Dean's brain stops short on the verge of short-circuiting - he doesn't know why, okay!? - and he just nods. "Yeah, uh. Sure. That's smart. It's this way."

When Dean has shown Castiel to the bathroom - the one attached to his bedroom, and not Sam's - he instantly fetches a towel for him, too. Kind of a 'I'm not always as slow as I just was in the living room' gesture, and Castiel accepts it with a smile. "Thank you, again."

"It's not an issue, seriously," Dean promises, still hovering, even though he's shown Castiel to the bathroom and handed him the best towel he owns. "Oh, right." Dean suddenly steps into the bathroom, remembering - Castiel follows him in, like he's obviously supposed to, but now it's just the two of them in that confined white-tiled space, and Dean's mouth feels dry. "About the, uh, thingy? Contrary to what you may infer from the symbols, left is hot, and right is cold. We actually installed it wrong."

"Oh," Castiel takes it easily. "Thank you for telling me that."

"Yeah." Dean checks himself, and then the space around him, and is sure he's done all he can do - to help Castiel, to embarrass himself, etcetera - and he takes his leave. "I'll, uh, go now. Enjoy, I guess."

And he hears a bit of a chuckle behind him, as he practically rushes out of his bedroom and back to the living room, where he sits with his legs folded on the couch, and screws his eyes shut - trying to focus all his energy on going back to a happier timr, where he hadn't said 'enjoy' to Castiel, before leaving him in a fucking bathroom.

*

Dean tries to not think about it - he really does. He tries not to listen to Cas showering, and tries not to hear Castiel's almost-mute (maybe non-existent) humming, and he tries so frigging hard to not imagine a very naked Castiel in his shower. Or what he might be doing, and - OH, that is another level of gross, even for him.

And because the world is so fair to him, he manages to stop thinking about it - for one goddamn moment, before he's now thinking of worse things. Like all the kinds of things there are in his bathroom. Fuck, there's probably some gross hair in the drain from when he shampooed a few days earlier. There's that one crack in the tiles, where Dean had fallen - one very, very complicated afternoon. And, Jesus fucking Christ, there was lube on some rack somewhere.

As Dean sits on the couch by himself, regretting all of his life choices all at once, and wondering how much easier it would be if he flees to Alaska for the rest of the time Castiel is at Stanford - he tries to tune out the sounds of the water to the backdrop of Queer Eye - and all the drilling, obviously, but he still notices when the water is turned off.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, if he's being honest, but it feels a lot longer. Sighing, Dean throws his head back against the couch, and rubs the palms of his hands against his eyes -

And that's when Castiel yells for him.

Dean is thrown off at first, but then he's rushing, because why the hell would Castiel be asking for him now - when he's clearly just finished showering - if it wasn't something important.

So Dean crosses the living room with large steps, and is going into his bedroom when he sees Castiel, standing in the doorway of the bathroom - completely naked, except for the towel around his waist.

If Dean had thought he'd been having trouble looking away before, well, he certainly had no chance against this. Castiel's arms were a feast for his eyes - his fucking biceps would've been as big as Dean's, easily. His entire torso was lean and muscled, and his shoulders combined with his pecs were something that would certainly feed Dean's fantasies for a long, long time. And all the running had certainly paid off, because he had these beautiful fucking calves, and all his -

Shit. Dean is extremely not okay, when it comes to this guy. He needs to stop.

"Dean." Castiel's voice hits him with a jolt, and Dean's eyes turn up to Castiel's - wishing with all his heart, that he had not caught him checking him out. "I'm so sorry."

"What?" He blinks. What had he done? Wait, did he somehow break his shower, because Dean kind of had feelings for that shit.

"I need to ask another favor of you," Castiel looks truly apologetic, like it pains him as much to be asking Dean to do this - as it pains Dean to not go back to staring at him. "And this one is all sorts of dumb, but I -"

"What do you need?" Dean cuts him off; the apologising routine was cumbersome.

"My clothes, from my apartment. Mine are drenched from the run." He emphasizes. "And I was about to go get a towel and a change of clothes before, but then you handed me that towel, and I was too distracted - I mean, I wasn't thinking of it then, and Dean - I obviously need clothes." With his jaw fucking dropped, Dean waits for him to finish. "And I don't think I should go into my apartment like this," He looks down at himself. "There's other people working there."

Some part of Dean wants to hang onto the part, which hints that Castiel is fine being this way in front of Dean - but not in front of those workers, but then he instantly realizes that's dumb and nothing romantic at all. There is no comparison.

"Dean." And now, he's giving him a full on puppy stare. Sam-level. "Would you please -"

"Wait." Dean hears himself speaking, though he's almost sure he's not thinking those things through. "That's not smart. I wouldn't know where your stuff is, and I'm not going to pick out pants and shirts for you. It would be easier if you just wore something of mine. We're basically the same size." And this time, Dean has somewhat of an excuse to space another glance to Castiel's naked upper-body.

"But," Castiel looks like he might try to protest, but then he doesn't. "I do think that is the smarter option. I just hope you don't mind."

It's better than me playing dress-up on you, Dean thinks. 'There's no way I'd survive looking at your wardrobe, even.' But he keeps it to himself. "I don't. You can, uh." He leans in and slides open one door. "Pick anything from here."

"Okay." Castiel swallows. "Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah." And it comes out a little bit strangled, because now Dean has another thing that makes him feel suffocated, but in all the best ways. Castiel, in his clothes. And also because he's still staring at him, a little bit.

"Thank you for everything, Dean." Castiel sighs, and Dean - for a fleeting second - imagines that he's gonna get a hug but then it's like they both remember in the same instant that Castiel doesn't have clothes on.

Now that would've been a surefire way for Dean to have finally gotten the attack he's been on the verge of, since the moment there was a knock on his door.

*

Almost an hour later, Sam stumbles back in. He might be in last night's clothes, but he looks tardy in the 'all-night-group-study' sense, and not the fun sense - and Dean wouldn't put it past his geek of a brother.

But Sam comes in to find Dean has a guest over from across the hallway - and the-Cas-guy is wearing Dean's AC/DC shirt (or maybe Sam's just sleepy) and they're having grilled cheese while sitting too close on the couch, as they watch Queer Eye.

(Dean fills him in later, that because Dean had kinda helped Cas out that day, he says with a bit of a blush, Cas had offered to make him breakfast to repay him; but Sam knows that's Dean's cereal bowl in the sink, but he can easily imagine how Dean must have leaped at the the offer of a second breakfast, as long as Cas, the cute guy Dean hundred-percent has a crush on, offered to make it - and in turn, stayed some more.)

***

I'm finally back to destiel! It took me a while ;) but I found my way back ~ this was so fun to write, and I almost lost my draft for a bit there and then it came back and I was like, THIS ISN'T SAFE IN QUEUE, POST IMMEDIATELY (≧∇≦) Anyways, thank you @petrichoravellichor for the prompt! I keep thinking, I'll do the cookie fic next, and there's this huge hype around it, and then I think that maybe I'm not ready yet and I start creating something else Ψ(￣▽￣)Ψ The next is gonna be Sabriel, I think!

This time, I'll just tag the list as it is, because it's destiel: @ctrl-alt-design @emmii4 @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @elvenlicht @legendary-destiel @noemithenephilim @galaxy-charm @trenchcoatsandfreckles @naitia @ladywaywarddsc @zoerayne2426 @thekidsmaybealright @hellfire37 @3dg310rdsupreme @impulsivedandelion @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect List is Open! Send me messages, I guess, if you wanna be added/removed.

That's all for today! Maybe leave me a comment to gush about. Hope you all have an amazing day ~ Keep it sailing ~

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 10

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.6k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

The week was almost over and Y/N and Steve had fallen into a comfortable routing of being around each other. Every morning, Y/N would get up and start the coffee and then head into her office to answer emails. Steve would get up some thirty minutes later and bring her a hot cup and a kiss. He’d then head out to Bucky’s and be with the club while Y/N worked through the day.

 But today was different. Y/N had a meeting with a new client and Steve had never seen her so antsy. she ran around the house trying to get herself dressed and ready while mumbling to herself about selling points and skills she could offer. She almost ran into him for the third time.

 “Babe, take a breath.” He tried to grab her arm to stop her bustling but she slipped away.

 “I'm breathing just fine, Steve.” She snapped.

 Steve's brows raised and Y/N sighed. 

 “I’m sorry. I get so nervous with first meetings. I'm about to be finished with three clients so I need this new one but what if he doesn't like me?” She pressed her forehead into his chest.

 “You're meeting a guy? By yourself?” He couldn’t help but be bothered by it.

 “I mean, I think it’s a guy.” She shrugged as she went back to her stack of papers on the kitchen counter. She had a habit of printing everything out and Steve loved that about her, kind of new-aged, old-fashioned. She lifted up one sheet and studied it. “Email address says Chris but there's no other tell so it could be a girl I guess.”

 “But you don’t know.”

 She sighed. “No, I don’t. Being drilled by your jealous tendencies isn’t helping.”

 He shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I just-”

 “I know, I know.” She waved him off.

 Steve snaked his arms around her again. “I gotta protect my girl.” He kissed her neck and she stilled. 

 “But you do trust me right?” The look in her eyes was sincere. “You know I’ll call you if anything doesn’t feel right.”

 “Yeah, I know.” And he did. He trusted her. He just didn’t trust anyone else with her.

 Thunder rolled in low and deep as the faint sound of rain pattered over the house.

 “Great and now my hair will be a mess.” Y/N huffed.

 “But a beautiful mess.” Steve smirked. “You just make sure to drive careful. Don’t rush or speed. Your client isn’t worth your life, baby.”

 “I know and the same goes for you on that bike.” She pointed a finger at his nose and he chuckled. “I’m serious, Steve. Don’t get cocky and get killed-”

 It had meant to be a semi-serious comment but somehow it ended up giving her flashbacks of Danny.

 Steve watched the life flash from her for a moment. She almost turned white. And she looked like she was suddenly really worried he might die.

 “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She stuttered shaking her head and coming back to the present.

 Steve pulled her back into a firm hug. “Hey, don’t worry. I promise I’ll be careful. I promise.” He kissed her head and she nodded. “You good, baby?”

 “Yeah,” She said quietly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I do need to get going, though. I don’t want to be late. That’s not a very good first impression.”

 And there she was again. Bright and smiling. Steve just hoped it wasn’t an act.

 “Okay, let me know when you’re done and I’ll meet you somewhere for lunch.”

 “That sounds perfect.” Y/N said as she threw her bag onto her shoulder. She kissed him quick and was out the door. 

 Steve watched as she fumbled with her umbrella for a second before getting in her car and driving off. Then, he grabbed his helmet, set the alarm and left for the club.

 Thankfully, Steve’s ride wasn’t wet for long. The rain let up only a few minutes after he left, making the rest of his twenty minute drive humid and sticky. When he pulled up to the club house it looked like something was wrong.

 Prospects were watching Bucky and Nat hurry onto their bikes with Sam and Luke shouting orders on who’s responsible for what until they got back.

 Steve pulled up to Bucky who flagged him down.

 “Where is your phone, punk?!” Bucky shouted and swore.

 “In my pocket, why?” Steve growled back at the unwelcome tone.

 “You need to be able to answer it. Even when you’re riding, you know that!”

 Steve did know that but he’d promised Y/N to ride safe and it seemed like a distraction especially on wet roads. 

 “Y/N was in a car accident.” Nat explained as she buckled her helmet. 

 Steve’s heart fell to his boots and without a word he revved his bike, turning on a dime and speeding out of the gravel lot.

 The next thirty minutes were the worst of his life. He probably should have let Nat finish talking but he was too scared to stick around. Y/N had told him which coffee shop she was going to and he knew what route she’d most likely taken so, now, he was just waiting to see the flashing lights.

 And sure enough, there they were. He got as close as he could then jumped off his bike and threw his keys at Sam, who’d kept pace with him for this very reason.

 He ran up towards the first cop he could find but his feet slowed when he saw the two cars that were smashed up. Y/N’s car had been T-boned on the passenger side. Her airbag had been deployed and the drivers side window had a huge crack in it.

 Steve ran his hands through his hair and muttered a string of curse words then pulled himself together. He found a cop talking to a tow truck driver. 

“Hey, this is my girl’s car. Where is she?” He tried not to sound panicked but he wasn’t sure how good of a job he was doing. 

 The female officer looked hesitant but pointed to an ambulance. “In the back of the bus. She-” 

 He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Y/N!” He yelled as he ran the few dozen yards to the neon-yellow boxed truck. He rounded the corner to the back of the ambulance and could have cried.

 “Steve!” Y/N’s chin quivered and her eyes watered as he grabbed her tight in a hug. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see him!” She sobbed.

 Steve pushed her back to get a better look at her. Now that he knew she was alive, he wanted to know how bad she was hurt so he’d know how long to make the guy who did this to her suffer.

 She had a massive cut on her head that was bruising all around. There was dried blood on her cheeks and she was holding a white towel that was almost completely red. Her shoulder was bruised and her left arm was in a sling.

 He turned to the paramedic. “What happened to her?”

 “You the boyfriend?” The paramedic asked. At Steve’s short nod, the man in the blue jacket sighed. “She wouldn’t let us take her until you got here but she needs to be checked for a concussion. She was a little dazed when we got to her but I think it was mostly shock. Her shoulder and head took the brunt of the blow and she’s going to need at least four stitches on this gash, here. Her shoulder should be fine but I recommend an x-ray.”

 Steve nodded. “Thank you. You can take her now.”

 “I don’t want to go to the hospital, Steve.” She almost pleaded with him.

 “You’re going to be fine but you need to let them do their job. You need to see a doctor.” He gently helped her back to the spot she’d been sitting in and, after checking the cut himself, put the towel back on her head since it was still bleeding. 

 “Steve, please.” She looked terrified. He knew this reminded her of Danny’s accident and he figured going to the hospital was freaking her out.

 “You’ll be fine. I’m coming with you.” He reassured. He turned to the paramedic. “Can you give a me a minute before you go?”

 The paramedic shrugged. “That’s up to her.”

 Y/N nodded. “I’m not leaving without him.”

 Steve looked back to the wreck. He could see Bucky speaking with a man that he assumed was the man who hit Y/N. “I’m going to talk to Buck real quick. I’ll be right back.” He gave Y/N’s hand a quick squeeze and was off.

 He walked with a gait that screamed ‘murder’, both Bucky and Sam had to step in front of him to get him to stop.

 “It’s not his fault, man.“ Sam started.

Bucky put a hand firm on Steves chest, holding him back. “Sam’s right. This guy isn’t who you want.” 

 “Then tell me who, Buck.” Steve demanded.

 “First of all,” Bucky started with raised brows. “You need to remember who you’re talking to. Secondly, this is club business and we don’t handle that out in the streets for the cops to see. You got me?”

  Steve took a deep breath and his jaw ticked. “Yeah, I got you, Pres.”

 “Some punk on a chopper cut this guy off and when he swerved to try and keep from hitting the bike, he hit Y/N instead. This guy says the guy on the bike had a kutte on. Didn’t know the club but we’ll get to the bottom of that later. Right now, you need to be with your old lady and make sure she’s okay.”

 Sam patted Steve’s shoulder. “Save that fire in your eyes for the man who deserves it.”

 “Get on that bus.” Bucky instructed. “Nat will ride your bike over to the hospital.”

 Steve nodded and huffed, turning back to Y/N. He stood by while they loaded her in, then he hopped into the back. 

 With a flick of the lights, the ambulance headed out.

***********

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