#and goes ‘but I didn’t want loving I wanted crisps’ (holds up crisp packet she got from my sister)

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

I just had a dream where

My best friend

Somehow went to the hospital and had a baby

Like

They weren’t pregnant beforehand or anything

They had no partner

Something something a mistake in the clinic and anyway guess who’s a parent?

I feel sad. They were having this whole experience without me. But also when I went to see them and their kid all I could do was squeal and hug them and kiss them because !!! You’re a parent!

And I was so proud ^_^

Just a little sad for me

[trentaafcsblog]

Writing Challenge - Random

“Is that...my shirt?” - Harry Winks

Thank you to the lovely @penguintransporter for this one 🤍

There’s a drizzle in the air, misty and almost intangible, and the wind that carries it is gentle, but cold, feeling fresh against his freckled skin. His hair is slightly wet, the tips stick to his forehead, and he feels like he should probably find a cover under some roof on the side of the pavement, but he doesn’t do it, afraid that she won’t see him if he steps away.

It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon, almost too quiet, and the only sound he can hear is the loud laughter from the nearby pub where the regulars are getting rowdier and merrier with every pint they consume as the aroma from the nearby chippy shop along the street fills his nostrils and makes his stomach grumble.

Hopefully, she’ll be here soon.

Not long after his stomach voices yet another complaint, he notices her while she crosses the road, for a second blending in with the crowd of Londoners, and he smiles to himself as he takes his hands out of his fish-tail parka pockets – excitement filling up his stomach, and he suddenly feels no hunger any more.

“Bloody hell, Winksy,” she stops in front of him, shaking her head as she tries to shake off the excess raindrops out of her hair, “what is this weather? Didn’t we settle for today because it was supposed to be sunny? Can we go back to Spain or wherever they have sun every day?”

Harry grins.

“Hello to you to Sophie. I’ve been alright, thanks for asking. Yourself?” he teases subtly, making her look up at him with a grin, and something inside of him shifts.

“Won’t you look at the lack of my manners, huh? Hi, Harry! It’s been a while, no?” she responds – her words mumbled as he brings her into his arms for a quick hug, aware that the surface of his jacket is wet from the rain.

As he pulls away, he unzips his parka and takes out a beanie hat from the inside pocket before pulling the zip back, all the way to his chin. “Here,” he murmurs as they start walking along the Bermondsey Street and towards their favourite coffee spot, “it’s not exactly an umbrella, but it’ll do until we get inside. Keeps that bird’s nest of yours dry,” he adds to make it more light-hearted.

“And what about you?” Sophie inquires as she looks up at him, blinking away the raindrops that were trapped in between her eyelashes. “Plus, this feels freakishly expensive. Is it merino wool? I am afraid I will stretch it. Take it back, Harry, I know I will stretch it.”

“Sophie, you’re rambling,” Harry points out, sticking his hands back into his pockets, “just put it on, or I will be forced to do it myself. It’s just a hat.”

Sophie doesn’t say anything but smiles before putting the beanie on, gently pulling it over her ears until they were neatly tucked in.

Harry and Sophie have known each other for a bigger portion of their lives – way before they realised that one cannot get cooties by kissing someone, and way before they acknowledged the fact that being adult is not as cool as they thought it would be. Harry was five and Sophie four years old when they met for the first time, tagging along with their fathers to one of their regular pints-before-the-match meetings around Hertfordshire.

Sophie was an odd-ball, with fine, straight cut hair – a bit chubby and with pale cheeks that were constantly stained with a blush while Harry was a lanky, hyperactive boy who was able to recite all the strikers that ever played for the England’s National Team.

Growing up, week after week, they kept tagging along, sometimes actually eager to watch the match, but mostly just running around the dark pub, knocking over things and making other people and pub-owners annoyed with their antics, but, once the tiredness overpowered them, they always ended up doing one thing – sitting together in between their fathers, drinking juice and sharing a packet of crisps.

Twenty years later, despite growing up, changing interests and music tastes, schools and extracurricular activities, neither Sophie nor Harry forgot how strong their friendship was when they were kids. Even if they had different circles of friends, schedules and timetables, ambitions and aspirations, they always made sure to at least devote one day in a month for one-another.

“How’s school?” Harry asks as he walks back from the till where he had been picking up their drinks – a flat white for himself and some weird mocha-something for her, but before he has time to set the mugs down on the wooden table, he stops in his tracks, watching Sophie shrug her coat off. “Is that… my shirt?” he asks as the warmth fills up his body, and he feels his stomach do a flip.

Sophie blushes and sits down before pulling on the sleeves of Harry’s Champion’s crewneck. “Yeah,” she admits,  smoothing the collar a little, “it somehow ended up in my suitcase when we got back from the holidays, and I forgot to return it.” Sophie smiles as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Forgot or didn’t want to?” Harry teases as his mind goes back to their last trip to Mallorca together, a year ago – a trip where Harry realised that Sophie wasn’t the same chubby, pink cheeks, and missing front tooth girl he used to play tag with in a dimly lit pubs.

“Both,” Sophie responds, looking away, trying to hide her blush from Harry’s curious eyes, but he notices it and tries to hide his smile.

Harry has always had a soft spot for Sophie, and if asked to why, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to give an answer. Maybe it was the fact that they met at such young age, or maybe it was the constant prodding and poking of their mothers, subtly hinting that they would be a perfect couple. He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, recently it only became stronger, and it made him feel a certain kind of excitement whenever he texted her, whenever they face-timed one another, and whenever he knew that she was watching him from the stands, wearing a shirt with his name on the back.

“It looks as if it has stopped raining,” Sophie murmurs as they both look through the window of the cafe where they had been sitting for the past three hours, chatting their afternoon away.

Harry nods, glancing at her and lets his eyes linger on her for a second, watching her observe the clearing sky on the outside, and his stomach makes that familiar flip yet again. “Do you want to go somewhere for a pint? I probably shouldn’t, but I fancy one.”

“Only if you buy me a packet of crisps,” Sophie smiles, and he pulls a face at her, but he knows that he would buy her the world, if she asked him to. They quickly get up, putting their coats back on, and  he makes sure to hold the doors open for her before they step out in, now, with sun streaked London street. Sophie sighs happily as they start walking before reaching out the beanie towards him. “Thanks, but I don’t think I will be needing this from now on. But if you’re wondering what to get me for upcoming Christmas, I am letting you know that one of these, merino, alpaca or whatever hats might be a good idea, but it doesn’t have to be fan—,”

“���Careful!” Harry interrupts and Sophie yelps a little as he pulls her closer to his side.

“Jesus,” she whispers – side of her face still pressed against his side.

Harry is grinning now as he looks down at her. “Sorry, but you almost stepped into a huge puddle. See there, and I have no spare socks to borrow you if you get yours wet.”

“Oh,” Sophie breathes out, but quickly feels the temperature rise in her body as she glances at where Harry was holding her hand in his, and it makes him stop as well – his boyish smile disappearing for a second, but he never drops his hold on her hand. Instead, he intertwines their fingers together – his thumb stroking over her soft skin before he smiles again.

“I like this,” he mumbles, “I don’t know about you, Sophie, but it feels nice. Can we hold hands for a bit longer?”

Sophie is quiet, looking down at her shoes as she tries to gather her thoughts, but she doesn’t need to say anything in the first place because her blush is answering all the spoken and unspoken questions.

“I like it too, and I’d love to hold hands with you,” she answers, and Harry only grins as they start walking again – hand in hand, and with their stomachs filled with thousands of little butterflies, dancing on the beat of their hearts.

This imagine is in collaboration with Cancer Research UK 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you’ve got the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have an online shop where you can buy products for yourself (mugs, notebooks, blankets) or something for those affected by Breast Cancer (anxiety help books, mastectomy bras, support cushions) - all of which have the option to be donated to out to those affected by the disease if they can’t afford these things themselves, or would prefer to receive something physical instead of a donation, with all of the proceeds going directly to the same causes as general donations x

[writemekpop]

Kiss the Demon | Kang Seulgi

Pairing: Kang Seulgi x Reader & Red Velvet (OT5)

Summary: Demons don’t exist, right? Wrong. On a camping trip with Red Velvet, your girlfriend Seulgi decides to tell a ghost story. The horrible thing is, as she tells it, you realise that it’s not just a story… And what happened to Irene?

Genre: Horror, Suggestive

Word Count: 1k

Seulgi pushes you down onto the stiff floor of your tent, her hair splaying over your shoulders as her hot mouth devours yours.

Her fingers clench your hair, and your stomach flips.

You feel Seulgi’s teeth fasten on your lip and you gasp. Then her teeth are biting down, hard, too hard, and your lip starts to sting, and you taste rust seeping into your mouth and-

An owl screams.

You push Seulgi off you and feel your swollen lip. Your fingertip comes off crimson.

“What the hell was that?”

“I was experimenting…you didn’t like it?” Seulgi’s pearly-toothed grin glints in the darkness.

“No! Of course not! I love you babe, but don’t-don’t experiment, okay?”

“Okay…” Seulgi shrugs, flipping her dark curls. You shudder. That was just… messed up.

You hear a rustling in the shadows beside you, and grab Seulgi’s arm. Her cackle is like wind whistling.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You flash Seulgi your dirtiest stare. “You don’t know what’s…out there.”

“I’m soo scared. What if there’s a bear, or-or a tiger, or a demon?” On the last word, she pounces on you, her hands bared into claws.

You flinch, but Seulgi only laughs harder. What is up with her today?

“I’m not joking! There are creatures out there!” you yell. But Seulgi has already turned away.

“Hey- don’t leave me here! How come I’m sleeping alone in this tent?” Freezing wind rushes in as she zips the tent open.

“I didn’t even want to go camping!” you cry, but Seulgi is long gone. As you wrap your shivering arms around yourself, you realise that you are very, very alone.

---

Desperate for some human comfort, you get out and crawl towards Red Velvet’s tent, which is filled with shifting figures.  

You zip their tent open with trembling fingers. When you see what’s inside, you freeze.

The girls are all in their silken pyjamas, with torches under their faces and half-finished crisp packets forming a rustling carpet. But that isn’t what shocks you.

Every girl is staring straight at you. Everyone has an identical head-cocked, teeth-flashing smile plastered on their faces.

You gulp.

Wendy laughs, a harsh clanging sound that makes you jump. “Tonight, we’re telling ghost stories!”

You realise that you’re sitting in a circle with them, though you can’t remember moving. There is a clinking of rings as each girl holds hands. Reluctantly, you let Yeri hold yours.

Cold spreads through your bones. Something’s wrong.

“Wait a second. Where’s Irene?” You rack your brains, but you can’t remember whether you saw her here before.

A wave of disapproving tuts rushes around the circle. Rolling her eyes, Joy spells out her answer like you’re a child. “She’s in the hospital, remember? She broke both her legs in that… nasty accident.”

Joy shakes her head slowly, wiping her dry eyes with a sleeve. There’s a chorus of mm-hmms from the other girls.

“Look, do you want to hear the ghost story or not?” Yeri shrieks, red-faced. A second later, her anger vanishes, replaced with a gentle smile. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You nod slowly. You realise with a shiver that you’re not allowed to say no. The girls all turn to stare Seulgi, who clears her throat and holds her torch closer to her face.

“They say that this very wood lives a haunted by a spirit of the most terrifying kind.”

Seulgi has taken on the voice of an old woman, shivering and grating like sandpaper. The tent is silent except for the cicadas clicking like snapping jaws.

“The spirit is a demon-woman, who lurks in the treetops on frosty nights like these, waiting for her prey.”

You hear a faint panting sound, a kind of whimpering wheeze. You jerk your head to look at each of the girls’ faces, but they all seem to be silent.

“Her meal of choice is…human flesh.”

“She is dressed in only rags and has a huge mane of tangled hair down to her toes. They say that her hair is full of the bones of her victims… and if you listen carefully in the night, it crackles as she moves.”

You hear a faint crackling noise, like twigs cracking. Ice shoots down your spine and you grip Yeri’s hand tighter.

Cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.

“They say, she slits the throats of her victims,” Seulgi violently mimes chopping her neck, “and hangs her victims upside down on trees. But that’s not the scariest thing about her.”

Your heart is racing, and you’re shivering from head to toe. You’re done with this. You want to go home.

You try to tug your hand out of Yeri’s grasp, but her pointed nails clamp down on your wrist like a handcuff.

Seulgi’s face stretches in a shark-grimace.

“The scariest thing about her…is her feet. They’re bent completely backwards, so that her toes stick out behind, and she walks heels-first.”

All the girls pounce towards you. You shriek and try to yank the tent zip open. The idiotic thing is stuck. You curse, pulling like your life depends on it. Your life does depend on it.

You can hear them cackling as they crawl nearer. Your body turns to ice. This is it. This is where it all ends.

Finally, you succeed in yanking the door open. But when you see what’s outside, you wish you’d stayed inside.

Irene is standing before you, but it’s not her at all.

She’s dressed in one ragged dress that reveals her sickly skin to your eyes. A mess of hair packed with milky bones crawls to her feet. Her skin is stretched like paper over her skull and her fingernails are jagged claws.

The puzzle solves in your fear-stricken brain. The accident…the injury… Your eyes slide down her body, but you already know what you will see.

Irene’s bloodied feet are twisted backwards, so her toes face behind her and she walks heels-first.

You hear a hair-raising scream as Irene grips your throat in her claws.

Then, everything goes black.

[oyesmendes]

i keep on missing you

a/n: so remember when i said there would be a part two to “all i wanted was a happy ending” ? ya its here.... this was largely inspired by Missing You - The Vamps and i miss you, i’m sorry - Gracie Abrams. hope you guys got some tissues ready HAHAHA sorry in advance! @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @lonelyreputation​ 

read part one here

'Cause I'm sat here in my front room with a girl who ain't you / Hopin' and prayin' you're breakin' up with another fool

The sunlight that streams through the small crack between his curtains is what wakes Shawn up. He has his hand draped across a body - or should he say, his girlfriend’s body and he finds himself frowning at the lack of the olive skin he’s grown so used to waking up to. He’s quick to change his facial expression once he sees the body roll around to face him. The girl grins at him, stroking his cheek and pressing a soft kiss on his lips which he struggles to return.

“Morning, sunshine”

“G’morning” He mumbles back. They don’t say much, only sharing a few kisses and cuddle for what felt like too long before they both stumble out of bed into their morning routines.

Shawn is sitting at the dining table, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram like he was reading the morning papers. He likes a couple pictures posted by friends back in Toronto, before he lands on one that makes his breath hitch.

@kiara_hammani: everyday is worth celebrating with you. happy three months, sweet pea!

It was a picture of her - Kiara. His finger hovers above her face, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his. She was in that blue sundress they bought on impulse during a trip to Hawaii two years ago, and she was posing at the beach. Wrapped up in the arms of another man. He’s contemplating if he should zoom in or tap on the tagged account of the man, but decides to just stare at it for a couple more seconds instead. It’s only been less than five months since she moved out, how could she have moved on so quickly?

“Shawn? Hey you there, gorgeous?” Shawn blinks his eyes a couple of times to bring him back to reality. He quickly places his phone face down on the table and smiles softly.

“Yeah? Sorry I got a little distracted.”

“That’s alright, would you like coffee or green tea today?” She was holding up a French press in one hand and pack of teabags in the other. She smiles sweetly at him and Shawn feels himself cringe internally. This girl was everything but Kiara. The tone of her voice constantly laced with sweetness, and pale skin covered with fake tan which made her look orange. He thinks back to all the times that Kiara would purposely use a high-pitched voice to mock the waitress or random girl that was trying to get in his pants and they’d have a good laugh about it. He knows she would’ve done the same right now. Shawn looks at the girl standing in front of him and he hides the disappointment that fills his chest when he realises that she’s not here.

“I’ll have the tea, thank you Chris.” She nods and spins around to make him a mug.

Christine was your typical LA girl. Yeah, the ones that have beach blonde hair, holding a hydro flask and wearing cut off denim shorts all year round. How she and Shawn ended up together for the last two months? Ask management. They initially paired him off with another girl but she was way too much of a blonde that Shawn ended up ditching her on their first meet. He put up a strong fight with the team afterwards and they eventually settled on Christine. She was no where near Kiara, but according to Shawn’s publicist - Christine was the cure to his falling reputation.

So they’ve spent every single day together for the last two months, drowning out all the dirty news of their breakup. Shawn didn’t hate it completely, Christine was too nice to him that he forced himself to enjoy every moment. But he does catch himself comparing her to Kiara, and he can’t seem to shake himself out of it. He watches as Christine turns around, two mugs in her hand. At first, he doesn’t notice the pastel pink mug that belonged to Kiara. But as she places it down on the table, he sees the faint lipstick stain on the edge of the mug and he stops her from lifting it up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asks when Shawn’s hand lands on top of hers.

“Throw it out.”

“What? Babe, I just made this-“

“I said THROW IT OUT!” She jumps slightly in her seat when Shawn raises his voice and he immediately regrets it. Christine pushes her chair back, letting them scrape the hardwood floor because she knows how much Shawn hates it when she does that. She gets up from her seat and stalks to the front door.

“You can throw it out yourself.”

Nothing happened in the way I wanted / Every corner of this house is haunted

The front door slams and Shawn is left with the same deafening silence from two months ago. His eyes focus on the mug and then roams the house. Every corner was filled with the essence of Kiara. After their heated argument, she moved out the next morning, taking everything that she could without the need to turn back. Naturally, she left a few shared pieces in the house which Shawn never touched, and it was starting to feel haunting. Each object that she had left - the dark blue curtains from Ikea, the cream coloured throw from a boutique in London, and even that chipped porcelain vase she bought from a kid at a yard sale held three years of happy memories. Memories he couldn’t bear to relive or throw away. Shawn would much rather be alone than to share this special place with someone new, but he couldn’t lose Christine now, especially when his career’s on the line. So he forces himself to grab his keys and pull himself out the front door. He’s out on the streets and thankfully, Christine hasn’t made it too far from the apartment building.

“Christine!” She increases her footsteps but before she could make the corner, Shawn grabs a hold of her arm.

“What do you want, Shawn?” He pulls her closer to him and she’s resting her hand on his chest. Her touch felt different. But Shawn settles for it in the moment.

“You, me and the grocery store.” He smirks at her. A small smile erupts on her face and Shawn knows he’s immediately been forgiven. It’s been a vicious cycle that’s got them through the last 8 weeks - Shawn does something stupid, then he makes it up by suggesting Christine’s favourite activity which he would hate, on a normal day. He knows this isn’t the way to love someone, especially someone who only has good intentions for him. But he needs Christine to stay, at least he thinks he does. She makes the silence less deafening, and it stops Shawn’s head from reeling into his horror movie of thoughts. She was his imaginary safety net, somewhere he could fall into for a moment and not think until reality hits him like a truck again.

-

The store was quiet, and Shawn is thankful for it. He doesn’t need to put on a loving couple front for the cameras or fans that would recognise him from a mile away. He’s pushing the trolley behind Christine, empty focus on the squeaking of the wheels.

“Should we try cashew milk this time? I was watching Claudia’s vlog the other day and she was raving about this brand.” Christine holds up the cartons in front of Shawn’s face. He smiles at her, knowing well that he has to give her some sort of attention or care in order for this relationship not to crumble.

Kiara couldn’t care less about the type of nut milk we had at home. He stops himself before he dives further into that part of his brain.

“Well if Claudia says it’s good, I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it.” Her face immediately lights up when Shawn showed the slightest interest in her rambling. She drops the carton of cashew milk into the trolley and scampers off while he trails behind her. They wander around the fresh produce, and while Christine goes on about which kind of salad she wants to make next week, Shawn hears the distinct laughter and voice.

His eyes dart around the store until they land on a specific couple and he sees her. In all her 5’7” glory, Kiara stood next to the same man that was on her Instagram post, trying to catch her breath from all the laughing the pair had been doing.

“You’re telling me, you microwaved eggs?!” She’s still laughing, shaking her head as she placed the carton of fresh eggs into the trolley in front of her.

“Hey, no shame in that! We were in college and really dumb. Besides, you’re the one that burnt the kettle to a crisp while making tea last week.”

“Well, we’re both to blame for that.” Shawn watches as Kiara gives the man one of those cheeky smiles that she used to give him. He watches as he attacked her sides, tickling and then peppering kisses down her neck as she squeals in excitement. Shawn should look away, he knows he should before he gets caught, but he can’t help himself. Before he knows it he hears Christine next to him,

“Shawn? Did you hear me? What are you- Oh for god’s sake!” The couple turns when they hear Christine raise her voice and Shawn snaps out of his trance. His eyes meet briefly with Kiara’s and her face falls just enough for Shawn to notice. Christine shoves the packet of spinach she has in her hands back on the shelf. She shoots Kiara a death stare before pushing Shawn out of the way and storming out of the grocery store. He doesn’t go after her, instead his hand tightens its grip around the handles of the trolley and he forces himself to breathe. The man with Kiara is rubbing both sides of her arms, a concerned look on his face as he mumbles something to her. She’s shaking her head, giving him a reassuring smile as they continue with their shopping, not taking another look at Shawn.

I still love you, I promise / Nothing happened in the way I wanted

Shawn abandons his cart, the Canadian in him feeling guilty about not placing the stuff back on the shelves. But his mind is running too fast that his legs couldn’t comprehend his own actions. He finds himself squatting outside the store, baseball cap pulled far down on his face. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some damned miracle to happen. Something to fix his heart.

“I’ll drive the car up here? That way we don’t have to push the cart back.” Shawn recognises the same voice and he peers up slowly.

“Sure, I’ll wait here.” Kiara.

He waits for a couple moments before he scrambles to his feet and it makes Kiara jump out of her skin.

“Pinché pendejo.” She mutters under her breath. Kiara’s about to push her trolley further away, when she recognises the white and pink Dodgers baseball cap that used to belong to her.

“Shawn?”

He feels like a deer caught in headlights, looking down at her with widened eyes. The look on her face was unreadable as she puts her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie. He tries to drink in as much of her looks as he can - the change in the way her hair now falls just above her shoulders instead of having it in those long beach waves; how she now has the confidence to be out in public with barely any make up on. The moment of staring doesn’t last too long though, when Shawn hears a voice call out for her.

“Babe, you good?” Kiara and Shawn both seem to be shaken back to reality quickly. She’s pushing her hair out of her face and smiling softly to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Let’s load her up.”

And I know you said that we're not talking / But I miss you, I'm sorry

“Wait.” Shawn says barely above a whisper. Both of them stop in their tracks and look to him.

“Can I-can I talk to her for a second? I promise you it won’t take long.” Kiara’s boyfriend is already dropping the bags back into the cart, trying to go in front of her to give Shawn a piece of his mind.

“Ryan,” She pulls his arm toward her and he switches his attention to his girl, “I’ll talk to him. I won’t take too long.” Ryan looks at Kiara then back at Shawn and he stalks toward him, chest out, looking like he’s ready for some brawl. Kiara’s holding her breath as she watches him walk, the anxiety in her chest just become worse by the second. Ryan has his pointer finger up, voice low as he stares at Shawn in the eyes, “you hurt her again and I guarantee you, I will ruin you.”

He turns back around, kissing Kiara on the cheek before he loads the groceries into the car.

Shawn smiles awkwardly at her, “well, he seems nice.”

“I’m so sorry, he’s just protective.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them and Kiara think’s this is probably the worst idea in the entire world. To be standing out on a cold day in LA, next to her ex, with her boyfriend waiting less than 10 feet away. She’s wrapping her arms around herself, bouncing on her feet to keep herself warm. Shawn doesn’t say anything for awhile and Kiara’s growing frustrated by the second.

“Did you want to-“

“So I-“

They start at the same time, and it makes Shawn chuckle. But it makes Kiara sigh and she’s hugging herself tighter. Shawn finally sees the hint of annoyance on her face and his mind scrambles for the right words. (Though, I’m not exactly sure these are the write words, Shawn)

“How are you?” Kiara gives him a look, and she couldn’t believe her ears. After standing out in the freezing cold weather, he just wanted to ask how she was doing?!

“Get to the point, Shawn. I don’t have the time for small talk right now.” He’s fiddling with the loose thread from his sweater, trying to avoid Kiara’s intimidating brown eyes when he speaks.

“I just-I, I just miss you, Ki.” Kiara scoffs, very audibly and she takes a step back to look at him.

“Cariño,” He recognises the same sarcastic tone that her mother uses, “don’t you have a girlfriend you should be with?”

Breaking dishes when you're disappointed / I still love you, I promise

“Yeah I do, she’s standing right in front of me.”

“You did not just-“ Kiara mutters under her breath, shaking her head violently. She looks around her to ensure that there’s no one in earshot, then steps toward him and pokes his chest.

“Shawn Peter, you do not just squat out here wanting to talk to me after you argued with your current girl and then say that you want me back. You do not just walk up to me and say all those things after what you did, how you hurt me and-“

He grabs both her wrists and Kiara stops mid-sentence.

“What are you doing?” She mutters under her breath. Kiara knows that Ryan would be watching them both, and any bigger movement would send him running out of the car to punch Shawn in the face. She looks over her shoulder and she already sees the door of the Range Rover opening slowly.

“I miss you, I really do. I still love you, Ki, I still fucking love you.” He tries to lean in and Kiara finally had enough, pulling her hand out from his grip.

“Fuck Shawn, I’m happy now can’t you see? We’re over, it’s over.” Kiara turns around, her eyes meeting Ryan as he stands next to the car. She musters up a smile for him before she hears Shawn shout from behind her.

“Does he love you like I do?” She stops in her tracks and looks over at him.

“No Shawn, Ryan has done a better job in the last three months than you ever did in the three years I’ve known you.”

With that, Kiara walks away, and Shawn is left with half of his heart and the image of her back burned in his mind.

[cherry3point14]

Cookies & Milk

Pairing: Dean x British!Reader Warnings: Established D/s, mind you don’t fall down the crack Word Count: 2,172. Summary: Dean buys you some cookies. You call them biscuits. Arguments ensue, lines are drawn and restraints are required. A/N: Have any of y’all met @winchesters-meaty-feast? She’s my pal and partner in crime. We have extensive conversations about many a subject but one day the most important topic arose. Biscuits. I’m a dunker, she is not. It almost tore us apart but luckily we’re stronger than that. Anyway, I drabbled this Dom/sub biscuit thing in our chat and the following CRACK is what snowballed from that. (This is meant to be dumb ok. Don’t come for me over this weirdness.) 

Ao3 if you prefer.

You should close your laptop.

In the late afternoon—underground where the time of day doesn’t matter—even then the light it’s emitting is too blue. Sure, you could turn down the brightness but it’s too little too late. Your eyes are already starting to ache from the strain.

You're not even doing anything important. You started scrolling a few hours ago; a news story that might have been something, but turned out to be nothing. Less than nothing, it was mundane. Dull as dishwater, as your mum might say. You would have closed your laptop then if it hadn’t been for that link at the bottom of the page. To another article, this time about an unexpected cold snap. This leads you to look up weather trends in Kansas, which becomes reading the articles on weather.com. Who even knew weather.com had articles? Still, they do and they’re very informative. The problem is that their data all points to it being cold as balls soon (your term, not theirs). So, now you’re shopping, with a pair of snow boots and two winter coats in your basket. And you’re debating a new scarf to put you over the free shipping threshold.

It is really time to shut your laptop before you go ahead and checkout. Dean hates having to pick up your parcels in town. Always complains that you have a problem. Pretty hypocritical considering the number of breweries he keeps in business. Besides he doesn’t even have a reason to complain, Marta loves seeing him, she lights up like a Christmas tree for him. You walk into the post office and you get a ton of side-eye, plus a ten-minute wait, but Dean? Well, he’s always at the front of her line.

You’re so engrossed in shopping that you don’t immediately look up at the sound of the bunker door. It’ll be Dean, you know that much. He’ll have a couple of brown bags from his supply run and you don't want to insult him by insinuating that he needs help.

It’s for the greater good anyway, the longer you sit here the more chance there is of you buying him snow boots too. Maybe he'll let you buy him a hat too.

Once he’s finished stomping his way down the stairs he sets the paper bags down next to you. It just so happens that's the exact moment you finally look up at him. A grateful smile on your face and over the top fluttering eyelashes—to remind him how loveable you are.

He shakes his head at how obvious you are. “I didn’t buy them for just you.” His unnecessary emphasis is all the permission you need.

“Is that smoke?” You sniff the air, one arm sliding inside the nearest bag, “must be the fire in your pants.”

He tries. Bless his heart. He tries to hold out. You can see him chewing the inside of his mouth as your arm moves about inside the bag to liberally finger his goods. The haul from the supermarket anyway. But he cannot resist your lame jokes and it ends the same as always. He cracks. A twitch of his lip, shaking his head and then an eye roll even Sam would be proud of.

“Other bag, Sherlock.”

“Ah-ha!” You grin when you switch to the other bag. Instead of fresh fruits and vegetables, you’re treated to food of the more processed variety. Plastic bags filled with crisps, a pie carton and, oh he really does love you, biscuits.

You slink back down to your screen, tearing the package open with your teeth as you do. Revitalised by the imminent influx of sugar. Dean sighs but doesn’t say another word. He picks up the rest of the groceries and carries them away. Presumably to the kitchen by the distant sounds of him putting everything away.

It’s another five minutes when he returns with a glass of milk that he puts down next to you. With a determined thump of glass on wood, as if the sound is an entire explanation.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t…”

“Take the damn milk.”

Normally you’d be irritated for being cut off mid-sentence, but it’s his exasperated tone that catches your attention. You even deign to look at him again, ignoring the popup that’s offering an extra 15% off if you enter your email. “You ok?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw while he tries to internally talk himself down from the ledge. “Nothing, nothing. Drink the milk, please.”

You look from him to the glass and frown at the white liquid. There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It looks like a perfectly good glass of milk, the kind you might see on a ‘got milk’ ad from the nineties. It’s not that you hate milk, you just prefer your biscuits to have a little bite. Dean should know that by now but if he’s forgotten then you are more than happy to remind him. “You eat your biscuits how you want, let me eat mine how I want.”

In your attempt to be rational you have failed to notice the desperation in his, 'please'. And now you’ve managed to tick him off.

“Cookies,” he grinds out.

“What?”

“They’re cookies. Dammit, you’ve lived here long enough to call a cookie a cookie.”

The outburst is not Dean’s fault. He’s not exactly hoarding MAGA caps and asking you to go back to England. No, this outrage is the product of a very specific joke that you might have taken too far.

Ordinarily, you switched back and forth between American and British all the time. As easy as breathing. You’d lived in the good ol’ US of A for long enough that your brain simply picked out the first word it could reach. A lot of the time it ended up being American without much intention, people understood better. 

And then a few weeks back you’d been on the way to a hunt, sprawled in the back seat. Despite the fact that you were still strategizing with Sam you were comfortable. You could have fallen asleep right there if Sam hadn't kept talking. The word had slipped out on a whim. You called Baby’s trunk a boot.

Dean—being an absolute drama queen—had slammed on the brakes and eloquently asked what the fuck you called his Baby. Apparently, it was the first time you’d said that particular British word.

If you hadn’t found his reaction utterly hilarious that would have been the end of it. Except you did find it funny. The way his face soured, that little crease in the middle of his brow, he was so offended by four little letters. It was beautiful.

Now it’s been a few weeks of very purposeful language choices. Asking to borrow his mobile to make a call, or to wear his hoodie. And you’ll admit the ‘pip pip cheerio’ as he left the bunker earlier had been excessive. That isn’t even a real thing people say.

You’ve been torturing the poor guy with British slang. And because this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a joke too far, you’d usually hold your hands up and apologise. You’re good at apologising. He likes when you have to apologise because you always make it worth his while.

The problem is, biscuit had been an honest-to-god slip of the tongue. It had been the most natural word for your brain to conjure and so his anger seems a tad unjustified. Utterly out of proportion.

“It’s a biscuit.” You repeat as you take a bite, noticing the way his left eye seems to twitch at the crunch.

“It’s a cookie. It says right there on the packet. It’s a fucking sandwich cookie.” He points at the ripped plastic on the table for emphasis.

You sigh with the kind of effort that forces all the air from your lungs. “This country can’t spell half the time, why should I trust the packet?”

“Because you’re eating from it.”

He’s got you on a technicality. And he knows it. He knows it by the telling pause before you speak and the flash of panic in your eyes.

“So?”

It’s not an argument that’s going to win world-class debates but you couldn’t go ahead and let him have the last word.

Dean's problem now is he thinks he’s got you on the ropes, so he goes and gets cocky. He puffs out his chest a little and bites back a smirk.

“So? So… cookies and milk is as American as apple pie-”

“Invented by the Dutch.”

“-whatever. It’s a thing. Which means you gotta sit down, shut up and drink your fucking milk.”

You always love it when he does that. Argues his way to a conclusion whether he’s right or not. It’s kind of ridiculously hot.

Or at least that’s how you justify putting your half-eaten biscuit down. Slowly rising from your chair and crawling onto his lap. You lean in, slow enough to tease him, letting your breath settle over his skin as you whisper in his ear. “I know a way we could settle this.”

“What’re you doing?” He manages between teeth that are grinding against each other. The muscles in his arms are tense where he’s pulling at the rope that holds him.

Any other night and you might calm him down at this point. Remind your good boy that he shouldn’t hurt himself. Or depending on the game you’d remind him who he belongs to, who he’s foolishly directing his anger towards. But there’s no soothing touches or harsh reminders bestowed upon Dean tonight. This game is different. This is a battle for dominance, unlike one you’ve played before.

For the first time, he wants to win as much as you do.

There’s no mutual satisfaction in the room because you’re both out for blood. Where blood equals being right about snack goods. And unfortunately for Dean, he didn’t figure it out before he let you tighten the ropes around his wrists.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. I wanted something sweet.”

His eyes flick between the glass of milk he’d seen you carry in and the cookies plated up beside it. Well, you’d call them biscuits but that’s not what this argument is about.

“Don’t you dare.” There’s a threat in his voice.

For a moment it surprises you and you’re quick to counter him, “I’ll do what I like.” Your tone is reminder enough for him to remember his place.

He retreats a little, gives an inch so that you can take a mile. A breath rattles through his chest doing little to calm his tightly wound body. At the very least, he switches anger for desperation. Dean knows you love it when he pleads, “please Princess. Please, I’m begging you. Dunk it.”

Your entire body glows a little when he calls you by your name. The change in his attitude only urges you onwards though, with a smirk turning up the corners of your mouth.

Your hand finds a treat, fingers picking it up with deliberate, delicate movements. His eyes are wide as he watches you hover the biscuit over the glass as if maybe you’ll appease him. The whimper he lets out when you bypass the drink is almost fulfilling enough that you’re no longer hungry. Almost.

The room takes on an eerie silence as you part your lips and take a bite. A loud, crunchy bite. Crumbs fall onto the table beneath you—probably in slow motion— and chewing only seems to increase the volume.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters as you swallow, “you’re crazy.”

You hadn’t planned on it but you walk across the room then, half a biscuit in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face. He’s slumped in his chair a little. He’s defeated since he knows he won’t defeat the knots keeping him in place.

“Come on, try it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

It's your turn to roll your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic, you’ve been to hell. This can’t be that bad.”

As you reason with him, you slide into his lap again, which will be torture enough because he can’t touch you. Except you also hold the biscuit to his lips.

“Please. For me. Be my good boy.” You coo as if you're not toying with him.

His thighs twitch beneath you at the use of his nickname and, because he’s always your good boy, he opens his mouth.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

[sarcastically-defensive17]

New Man - T. Holland

@starshonerose and I love Tom Holland a bunch and this kinda just exploded into my brain when I was listening to King Ed Sheeran.

Hope y’all like this! I was happy about it when I finished it but idk how y’all will feel!

Original story by Sarcastically-defensive17

Send in a request if you want! (And if you don’t mind waiting while I drown in uni work)

Anthony was... something. He was a careless boyfriend, a liar, a cheater, and just an all round twat.

Tom couldn’t help the anger he felt every time he saw his overworked, muscular arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist.

I heard he spent five hundred pounds on jeans, goes to the gym at least six times a week.

Sure, Tom worked out. A lot. He was Spider-Man, he had a physique to uphold, but Anthony was something else.

Letting Y/N go was one of the worst decisions he had made. They didn’t part on bad terms, they simply didn’t have time for each other and decided it was best to break up.

Now, he can’t help but wish he was Anthony, and wish he didn’t have to hear about her new man.

Wears both shoes with no socks on his feet and I hear he's on a new diet at watches what he eats. He's got his eyebrows plucked and his asshole bleached; owns every single Ministry CD.

The man was the definition of a douche bag, and Tom knew his only chance was to remind Y/N of the woman she was before Anthony worked his way into her life.

The type of woman that she would pride herself on being.

Tribal tattoos and he don't know what it means but I heard he makes you happy, so that's fine by me.

Being Harrison’s little sister, she was around a lot. And so was Anthony. He couldn’t deny how obviously happy he made her, and that in turn made him happy.

Sure, he was determined to get through to the woman, but if she told him to back off then he would listen to her.

Still lookin' at your Instagram and I'll be creepin' a lil'. I'll be tryin' not to double tap, from way back ‘cause I know that's where the trouble's at.

“If you are looking through my sisters Instagram again, mate, I may have to smack you,” He heard Harrison’s voice ring through their shared house.

Somehow his best friend always knew that he was creeping on the old memories they shared.

“Can’t help it,” tom mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but notice how much happier she looked when she was his. Before she found Anthony.

He can’t help but think she is faking her happiness.

Let me remind you of the days when you used to hold my hand, and when we sipped champagne out of cider cans. I guess if you were Louis Lane, I wasn't Superman just a young boy tryin' to be loved so let me give it to ya.

His heart basically stopped one night when a notification chimes on his phone. A DM from Y/N’s Instagram account. His heart raced, trying to figure out if he accidentally liked a picture from long ago.

The message was simple: You busy? I can’t stop thinking about you.

She tried to convince him to spend the night with her, and he was considering it, until he remembered that she was with Anthony. He hated the man, but he knew it wasn’t right.

This isn’t the type of person Y/N is. How unhappy is she?

I don't wanna know about your new man 'cause if it was meant to be you wouldn't be callin' me up tryin' to... 'Cause I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

A few days after, Harrison spent the day with his sister, consoling her after an intense argument with her significant other.

Tom didn’t know what it was about, but he was ready to pull his brown hair out in frustration when the following day the two were all over Instagram professing their love for one another.

Yet, Tom still receives messages from her, reminiscing on their relationship and subtly flirting. He couldn’t help but let his feelings flow through his fingertips and engage in the flirtatious comments.

I don't wanna know about your new man; We'll get there eventually. I know you're missin' all this kind of love but I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

She was so different. He noticed how unhappy she was deep down. She hid it well. How she would spend hours forcing herself to slim down. She changed her diet, he noticed that she was selling the near hundreds of books that she had read countless of times.

It was like she became a new woman for Anthony.

He had just hoped she made the changes for herself.

You were the type of girl who sat beside the water readin', eatin' a packet of crisps, but you will never find you cheatin'. Now you're eatin' kale, hittin' the gym keepin' up with Kylie and Kim.

He took the plunge and knocked on her door one afternoon. He was met with her, wearing athletic wear and a frown deeply set on her lips that he had always admired.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He practically barged his way in. “Anthony here?”

She shook her head, following him as he took a seat on the lounge.

“He’s out with some work mates.”

He gazed around the house. It was as if Y/N didn’t live there. The comfortable quirkiness that used to inhabit every room she occupied was fading, and he hated it.

“What’s going on?” He repeated his question, eyeing her carefully as she dropped her gaze to her feet.

“Nothing? What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, and her posture radiated discomfort.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and hold her like he would before.

He should never have let her go.

“What happened to my Y/N?” He was sad. He was angry. He was frustrated. He was worried.

“I’m not your Y/N, Tom. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Why’re you selling your books?”

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Why?”

She huffed through her nose, “what is your point, Tom? I have stuff to do.”

“My point, darling, is that you are a completely different person,” he stood, placing his hands on her shoulders softly. “What is going on?”

She refused to meet his eyes, instead stalking off to the kitchen where he noticed a distinct lack of real food.

Y/N was the type of girl who loved to indulge in a greasy burger or chips from the local fish and chip shop. Now, all Tom could find was protein shakes, weight loss supplements, kale. His face contorted in confusion.

She noticed Tom eyeing the open pantry, and the grocery bags full of vegetables.

“Anthony convinced me to try this new diet. Said it wouldn’t hurt to lose a few kilos,” her voice was quiet, fearing the reaction from the brown eyed man.

“He told you to lose weight?”

She nodded softly, eyes downcast.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“If Harrison knew about this-“

“Harrison won’t know about anything tom!” She snapped, her eyes meeting his. He practically melts at the view, despite the fierce look on her face. “There is nothing for him to know because nothing is wrong.”

He pulled his brows together, frowning at the woman who he knew deserved so much better.

“Y/N, he is trying to change you! You are already so different to the person I know you are and it’s scaring me. You aren’t the type of girl to waste her time trying diets and dressing up just to post a photo to Instagram. You are the type of woman that is who she is. You’re the woman that prefers to be comfortable and happy rather than lose a few kilos and put your health at risk.” He had moved a lot closer to her now. His hands were on her face, wiping a tear away that she didn’t realize had fallen. “You’re the woman I am in love with.”

That struck a nerve inside of Y/N. She wasn’t angry, nor was she upset. She was simply confused.

She had tried for so long to move on from Tom, as they both decided they needed to focus on their own lives, especially with Tom traveling here and there to film.

She found Anthony when she was at her lowest and she can’t bear to lose another man that she had in her life. She couldn’t tell herself that she loved Anthony. She knew her heart still belonged to Tom, but she was determined to try to move on.

But Tom’s words through a metaphorical spanner in the works.

Okay, you need to be alone

And if you wanna talk about it, you can call my phone

“I-,” her voice was shaky, her mind racing to think of what to say. All she knew was that his hands on her face was conflicting her thoughts. She shrugged him off, “I need you to go. I need to be alone, Tom. Please.”

He nodded silently, moving towards the door before pausing.

“If you need me, give me a ring, Y/N. I mean it. You deserve better than him.”

I just thought I would tell you, 'cause you oughta know. You're still a young girl tryin' to be loved, so let me give it to ya.

The late nights messages stopped for a few days, until one night a simple message read: “Am I really that different now?”

His heart broke as he apologised to her. He didn’t mean to upset her that badly, he simply wanted her to acknowledge that Anthony was changing her so much. The man grew more controlling as the days went on; even limiting her from visiting her brother because of Tom and his brothers being around.

Everybody was quickly getting fed up.

Baby, I'm not tryin' to ruin your week, but you act so differently, when you're with him, I know you're lonely.

The messages ended in a phone call, Y/N’s sob filled voice flowing through the receiver and Tom whispering sweet nothings and reassurances through the device.

“Darling, you don’t need to stay with him,” he told her. He kept his voice low as to not alert Harrison to their call.

If he found out his sister was in such a tough spot with her controlling boyfriend, he sure as hell wouldn’t let it go on without his fist connecting with Anthony’s face.

“I don’t know, Tom. He loves me,” she replied, her voice as turning up in a question at her last word.

He simply sighed, “If you decide you want to leave him, you know where to go.”

He told her the same thing every time he ended a phone call.

Please remember you're still free to make the choice and leave. Don't call me up, you need to show me.

Almost a week later, a soft knock reverberated through the wooden door, and Tom opened it to revel Y/N in one of her oversized shirts and skinny jean combos that he adored so much.

She smiled wider than he had seen in the entire time she had been with Anthony.

“I broke up with him. He didn’t want me to see you anymore because he saw our messages. I couldn’t lose you again,” her voice was soft, the way it normally is. “You up for a burger?”

Tom’s beaming smile matched hers and pulled her into a bear hug.

His Y/N was back.

I don't wanna know about your new man

[birdsandspades]

I Was Never Good at Waiting (Sugawara X Reader) Chapter 8

- It was your last year in highschool, everything had been going smoothly until you got assigned the new teacher. Sugawara Koushi was handsome, maybe too handsome for his own good. Be he wasn't flirting with you right, teachers shouldn't do that....I guess we will see where this year goes.

Word Count - 3,369

----

“I’m so excited for this game today. Our first official match of the year!” Yua was skipping down the hallway, arms wrapped around Hiroto and you. “The last game we played you almost knocked out Sugawara-sensei. Maybe you could do that today too!” She pulled you closer, leaning her head on yours, giggling like a little school girl.

“Are you sure F/N-chan is ok to play, you don’t look like you're doing so well today...” Hiroto had noticed your mood visibly decreasing with every step towards the classroom, feet practically dragging behind you as your friends pulled you on.

“Yeah, I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, that's all.” You technically weren’t lying, you did indeed get no sleep last night. 

Once you finally walked into your house, closing the door behind you. The feelings flooded over you, a wave threatening to crash. You tried to hold it in, just like you had been doing for days. But as you watched Sugawara pull out of your driveway, his headlights growing dimmer in the distance. The wave broke, silent sobs wracking your body as you crumbled to the ground. You were happy for once to come home to an empty house, completely alone as your heart shattered. Everything had just been too much these last few weeks, the weight finally breaking what strength you had left. 

You had wanted the night to go differently, wanted everything to not be so constantly confusing. If he had just left you alone, let you wait to go home. But he insisted on driving you home, insisted on tutoring you that day. He had leaned in first, bridging the distance before it even crossed your mind too. He wanted something(whatever that may be) just as badly as you did. But he wasn’t there, he was never there.

You liked Sugawara, you really liked him. You had felt that your feelings were clear, always out in the opening whenever you were with him. This was something you actively wanted, but did he? He was so unclear, so indecisive with his intentions. You were growing tired of the emotional whiplash of it all. 

You had picked yourself up off the floor a few hours before school, body aching. You didn’t want to come to school today, you didn’t want to do this today. Still, you made a promise to your team to not leave them again. But you would be lying to yourself if you said you knew what to do next.

“Oh F/N-chan, don’t be nervous. You're the scariest member on the team. You made three girls cry last time, and all in one game!” Yua had an odd way of reassuring you, always slightly missing the mark.

You remembered that day, it was the first time they invited Aoba Johsai to this semi tournament. You had played two games already when you got paired up with a smaller school from Sendai. 

The school was new to the world of highschool volleyball, never having had enough players to compete until that year. You could tell they were inexperienced as everyone made their way onto the court, the referee already correcting their positioning. They looked terrified when you went back for your serve, like deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. 

You had to be honest, you were being a little over aggressive with your serves that day. Spot serving to break spirits, that's what your coach had told you to focus on for the day. 

You had made the first girl cry before you even got the ball in the air, her hands shaking as you locked eyes with her. The other two broke as your scored point after point on their weak receives. At a certain point they stopped trying to receive your balls, watching ideally as each one hit the floor. 

It was now the hand me down tale the team used to scare the other schools in the area. They loved to tell any team they came in contact with just to watch the look of horror on their faces as your miniature frame made it's way into the gym. You were famous on the court for all the wrong reasons now.

“Can you please stop bringing that up. No wonder I can’t make any friends at tournaments, they all think i'm a monster.” You shimmed out of Yua’s hold, scowling.

“You don’t need new friends, you have me and Hiroto-kun!” Yua beamed as she pointed between the two of them.

“That's exactly my point.” You teased, walking into the classroom.

Sugawara sat at his desk, looking over the previous day's quizzes as he put them into his laptop. He looked up as you walked into the room with your friends in tow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Though it didn’t last long, quickly fading as you glanced his way.

“Good morning Sugawara-sensei! We're here to pick up our work for the day before we leave for Date Tech!” Yua chirped, stopping in front of Sugawara’s desk.

Sugawara looked up at Yua and Hiroto before tilting his head to peak at you behind them. Your small body hidden behind, eyes glued on your tennis shoes.

“Let me just grab it from the office.” He disappeared for a few moments before coming back with two packets of work. He handed one to Yua, “I see you guys are all ready for the tournament.” his other hand extended toward you. 

You reached out, gripping the edge of the packet as you pulled it from his hands. Your name was written on the top, crisp and neat. You looked over at the pages that hung from Yua’s hand, hers blank. 

“Yeah, we have our new uniforms on and everything!” Yua unzipped her jacket revealing her brand new number 10 jersey. She did a little spin, showing off her printed name on the back.

The team had chosen the new uniforms over the summer much to your dismay. They had switched out the regular jerseys for their sleeveless counterparts, opting for a tighter fitting fabric as well. With the form fitting shirt came an easier glide on the gym floor. The shorts had as well been switched for a thicker, more form fitting pair. Modified for less friction as you moved. The fit was awkward and uncomfortable, you hated them. 

“They look nice, what number did you pick L/N-san?” He gave you a soft smile, the best he could muster as you finally looked up at him. You looked tired, eyes red and puffy. Your movement lethargic as you reached up to unzip your jacket. You shimmed it down your shoulder just enough for your number to peak out, the colors blinding compared to the vacant look on your face. “Number 2 was my jersey in school as well.” He was happy to see the number embellishing your jersey. He had figured you would take over Oikawa’s number, but that was after all reserved for the captain.

Nodding slowly, you slipped the jacket back over your shoulders. Zipping it back up to your neck. You felt cold, you had since you got to school. Like all the warmth had been left in Sugawara’s car, just out of your reach. 

“Hi Yoshiki-kun, you're here early!” Hiroto smiled as the blonde boy peaked his head inside the door. 

“Yeah, I wanted to see F/N-chan before you guys left. Uh, do you have a minute?” Yoshiki stepped into the doorway, hands clasped together as he toed the door threshold. 

 You smiled, nodding as you moved to meet him.

“Good luck today L/N-san, I’ll be here after school if you have any problems with your work.” Sugawara stepped with you, reaching out to pat your head. 

You took a small step back, nodding. “Thank you sensei, i’m sure i’ll be ok.”

“I guess we're back to not talking again.” Sugawara frowned, watching you walk over to Yoshiki.

You nudged the boy, giggling. “You didn’t have to come in so early to see me Yoshiki.”

“I know, but I wanted to give you something.” He rummaged around his backpack for a moment, pulling out something silky. ”Since I can’t come cheer you on like I usually do, I got you a good luck charm.” He handed you the small blue fabric wrapped amulet, grinning as you turned it over in your hand. “I know you don’t need it, but I wanted you to know that...i’ll be thinking about you while you're away.”

Crimson creeped up the apples of your cheeks as you ran your thumb over the soft fabric. “I’ll only be gone for the day, but thank you.” You chuckled at the equally red boy, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He hesitated before wrapping his arms around your middle. “Ah...um of course. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about…” His thoughts cut short as Yua popped up beside you.

“Let's head to the bus, we can get good seats in the back if we hurry.” She looked between you and the flustered boy, smiling awkwardly. 

“It can wait, i’ll see you later.” Yoshiki smiled, waving goodbye to you and Hiroto as Yua dragged you both down the hallway.

Sugawara watched you and your friends, sliding the door closed as you disappeared down the stairs. He took a deep breath, sitting down on a nearby desk. He didn’t know why he was jealous watching Yoshiki talk to you. He didn’t have a reason to after he had denied himself and you last night. But seeing him wrap his arms around you like that, seeing the affection he could so freely give you in the hallway full of students and his peers. It hurt.

----

You had already played four matches by the time the teams broke for lunch. The day was going well, all the teams were equally matched making the games interesting and intense. You had even managed to make a few new friends, despite your teammates trying to warn them of your past matches. 

Sugawara couldn’t say the same. Homeroom was easy enough, despite the looming emptiness that sat at your desk. He had a hard time not looking at it, his eyes always landing on your spot as he scanned the room. You were normally there, smiling back at him as he taught the days lesson. But today it was only Hiroto, his confused eyes locking with Sugawara’s everytime he looked that way. Sugawara tried his best to busy himself, anything to keep his mind from wandering.

But it was his period with Yoshiki that was the worst. He could tell he was texting you under his desk. His eyes lighting up as he reached into his backpack. The first time was excusable, but now it was every few minutes. His hands reaching for his bag as he rushed to reply. He was probably talking to you, asking you about your day. You would tell him about the funny things you did, a messed up serve, an awkward interaction. He would be the first to know how your games went. If you had lost or won. He could comfort you, tell you how amazing you were, promising you it would be better next time. 

“I’m going to scream.”  Sugawara wanted to beat his head on the chalkboard, nothing working to rid you from his mind.

---

Sugawara wished his students a good lunch, closing the door behind the last student as they left. He made way for his office, locking the door behind him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. It had felt heavy all day, his fingers itching to text you. He had yet to do so since he gave you his number, unsure of what he would even say. He wanted to tell you he made it home safe last night, an icebreaker to start a conversation. But he knew you wouldn’t want to talk to him, not after he saw the look on your face as you closed the car door.

Sugawara clicked on your contact name, five pink peaches lined up in a row. He had opted to use icons instead of your actual name, just in case someone came across it. It had taken him hours to pick the perfect one, something that was only for you.

“Maybe hearts, but that's kinda corny. I could do flowers, she would be a pink marigold if she was a flower. They don’t have those...Maybe a bee, those are kinda cute.” His fingertips were numb as he pressed on the fruit, each tap solidifying in his mind that those were the right choice. He liked them because they reminded him of you, soft, sweet, a little bitter, and a huge pain in the ass to deal with.

He didn’t know what to text you now that his phone was in his hand. Would you even want to talk to him after last night? 

“I could say “Just thinking of you, I hope you're doing well.” He erased that. 

“Maybe,”Do you have any questions on your homework?” No she probably hasn’t even looked at it yet.” He erased that as well. 

“How about “I’m jealous of Yoshiki talking to you all day, so how about you text me instead?” Erased again. 

“Ok, ok. “Are your games going ok?” He pressed send, laying the phone flat on his desk.

----

Tucked away in a far locker your phone buzzed in your jacket pocket. You were warming up with your team for the last game of the day. It was a team from a small school in Tokyo, they were average in skill level but high in intensity. The game was exhilarating, going all three rounds. But you managed a win, beating them by just a few points. The day had taken your mind off the mess you would have to deal with tomorrow, but it was over now as everyone packed up to leave.

You hugged old friends goodbye and exchanged numbers with new ones as you got on the bus, excited to see them all at the spring tournament. 

You sat down with Yua, the bus pulling away as you waved one last time at the teams exiting the practice building. 

“Did Yoshiki text you back yet?” Yua questioned, smiling down at the device in your hands.

“I don’t know, let me check.” You clicked the power button, looking for the familiar name in your notifications. You two had been sending memes back and forth all day long, a way of cheering you up. He had noticed your sour mood in the classroom this morning as well, concerned with the details. You had opened up to him about the last few months, leaving out names and faces as you vented. 

You cycled through everything on your screen, no sign of a text back. Sugawara’s name instead popped up in his place and you clicked on his message. You scanned over the screen before sighing, shoving your phone back into your pocket.

“What's wrong. Did you get a weird message?” Yua tilted her head, looking down at your now empty hand.

You shook your head, “No, just one I don’t want to answer.” 

The bus pulled into the school a little bit after the last classes of the day had wrapped up. The school was quiet as you helped unload the equipment. 

“No practice today, coach says to go home and rest!” Semi told everyone, closing the supply closet. 

“Want to walk home together?” Yua smiled, walking with you towards the back gates of the school. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Yoshiki’s name now popping up.

“I saw you guys pull in, come meet me in the courtyard!”  

“It’s Yoshiki, he wants to meet up. Talk to you later?” You shrugged, turning around to walk the other way.

Yua wiggled her eyebrows at you. “ Yeah sure! Just text me when you get home!” 

----

Sugawara was watering his plants when he saw you walk across the courtyard, running towards a waiting Yoshiki. “Of course she’s with you.”  He rolled his eyes, setting down the spray bottle. He leaned up against the window sill, mocking Yoshiki as you laughed at his joke. Not only did you leave him on read, but now you were with this kid. You never laughed at his jokes like that. He scoffed as you playfully pushed the boy in front of you. He really didn’t want to see this.

----

 “I know these uniforms look ridiculous, but you don’t have to make fun of me” You laughed as Yoshiki teased you.

“You still look nice, just kinda like a toothpaste tube.” He pointed to your white shorts, leading up the mint colored stripes that ran down the side of your jersey. 

You playfully pushed him again, groaning at his remark. 

Yoshiki ceased your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

Your laughter died into an awkward chuckle as you fidgeted in his grasp. “Yoshiki, what are you doing?” 

“I still need to talk to you F/N-chan. I didn’t get a chance to say what I wanted too this morning…” Yoshiki held your gaze, leaning in closer.

“We can just talk right?” You wiggled your wrist free, taking a step back. 

“I tried too last time, but you never showed up F/N. I waited all night for you at that festival…” Yoshiki mumbled, closing the gap between you. “So this time i’m just going to say it.” He reached up, cupping your face as he leaned in closer. “F/N-chan, I really like you.”

Panic set in as his lips brushed yours, his chest flush against yours as he kissed you. Your mind raced as you looked for a way out. It was tender, soft as Yoshiki held you. Pouring into you every emotion you didn't reciprocate.

Yoshiki pulled away, the prior confidence gone. He had expected you to kiss him back, but he felt nothing. “You don’t feel the same way, do you?”

You shook your head, eyes falling to the stone path beneath your shoes. 

“I shouldn’t have done that, I'm sorry.” He took a step back, his sullen eyes meeting yours.

You took a step towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder.“ Yoshiki, you really are an amazing guy. But I like someone else.” 

He nodded and gave you a sad smile. “I know, I see the way you look at him.” 

You were again at a loss for words, did he really know? 

“It’s ok.” He was now comforting you, running a hand down the side of your head. “Let's be friends at least, I should have just left it at that.”

“I would like that.” You smiled, the uneasy feeling lifting off your chest. 

You both walked together to the station, but one thing still picked at the back of your mind. “So how did you know I liked…” You paused, unsure. 

“Sugawara-sensei? I’m not sure, at first I just thought you two were friendly with each other.” He finished the question for you, pressing the crosswalk button. “But one day after school I came to his office to ask him about a problem and I saw him with you. He was probably helping you with homework or something. You were working on a problem, and he just stared at you so endearing. Like you were the world to him. I thought that was weird, ya know, because he's our teacher. But then he started explaining something and you looked at him like he put the stars in the sky. That's when I knew you were in love with him.” The signal sounded for you to cross, Yoshiki walking off in front of you.

“Am I in love with Sugawara-sensei?” You pondered the possibility, running to catch up with your friend. 

----

Sugawara sat at his desk, head in his hands. He had watched as Yoshiki pulled you close to him. Leaning in to place his lips on yours in the middle of the court yard. It was a romantic gesture, a confesion. 

He had pulled the blinds closed after that, not being able to watch anymore.

----

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

----

[sunsetsover]

i'm so sorry about the election result, it's pure shite :( for headcanons/fics, god PLS do either mama highway coming back oR callum and lexi x

don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault :-( it’s david cameron’s fault.  he literally started this whole shit storm and now he’s pissed off somewhere meanwhile the rest of the country is fucked lmao danny dyer was RIGHT

i would love to talk abt mama highway tbh but i feel like in order to do the subject justice i’d have to really sit down and go back to see what callum/stuart/j*nno have said abt her in the past bc i remember little bits (like didn’t callum talk abt getting a valentine’s card from her last year? but then stuart told whitney that they hadn’t spoken to her in years? so did they retcon that out? idk i have Questions) but i probably don’t remember loads so maybe i’ll come back to her another time and do a proper post abt it. but i do really hope she comes into the picture at some point in the future bc i think it would provide some really good conflict for callum (like just imagine the undeniable anger he’d feel towards her for leaving him with j*nno vs his desire to have a mum and some semblance of his own family... trying to figure out if he wants her around and if can forgive her or if he even WANTS to forgive her... like what if callum wanted to forgive her but stuart wanted nothing to do with her and it caused a rift between them? there’s so much the writers could do w that and it would be so GOOD) and some much needed background/history for callum and stuart. like there’s so much missing there bc none of the highways have really spoken abt her or what happened at all so all we really know is that she left and has (assuming the valentine’s thing has been reconned) never really had anything to do w her sons... but like why did she leave? WHEN did she leave? did she go bc j*nno was an alcoholic and scumbag, or did her leaving make him like that? did she leave for good and basically have nothing to do with any of them, or was she still a mother to them initially? did she try to take them with her, or was she happy to leave them behind and live her own life? does she have other kids now? like??? there is SO much there and it would be so good to explore and it would be so much fun to write.... @ ee hire me

(also lmao i said i wasn’t gonna talk much abt her but look.... i just can’t help myself apparently)

but callum and lexi... god their relationship really is so sweet and i am especially emo abt it today.... i just think it’s so interesting how ben having a kid has never ONCE been a problem for callum like he embraced her straight away and is more than happy to be a part of lexi’s life and god yeah i just love them sm

here are some headcanons for ur enjoyment (i’m sorry i didn’t write u a fic but i do have a lot of callum/lexi in the fics i’m gonna be posting soon so i hope ur not too disappointed 🥺️):

callum is really nervous initially to spend time lexi outside of like normal everyday stuff - like taking her to school, for example, or being around during her bed time. it’s not that he doesn’t like her or doesn’t want to be there, he just doesn’t want to impose. and he worries that he is imposing by doing stuff like that, or maybe she didn’t actually want him there - or around at all - and is just too polite to say. ben assures him, when callum tells him that, that if lexi hadn’t wanted him around she would definitely not have a problem letting everyone know. callum had appreciated him saying that, but didn’t believe him until one day when he was stood in the school playground with ben waiting to pick her up, and she had burst out of the building and went straight for callum, eager to show him the picture she had drawn for him during lunch, when they’d been kept inside because of the weather. ‘oh that’s nice, innit?’ ben had said, feigning insult, ‘you draw a picture for callum, but you don’t draw one for your own dad?’

they bickered playfully while callum had just stared at the picture, a little bit confused as to what it was he was looking at, but appreciative of it all the same. it even had ‘to callum’ in spiky, childish letters written in the top corner.

he turns back into the conversation just in time to catch ben saying ‘no, you can hold callum’s hand if you like him so much’, to which lexi whines and tries to pull ben’s arms away from his chest where he’d crossed them tightly so she can take his hand. he caves a moment later, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder and running off with her. a few other parents look over when they hear the commotion - lexi is half laughing, half screaming, and ben is tickling her sides, growling something that sounds like ‘you’re my baby, mine’ - but ben doesn’t even seem to notice. he just stops by the gate, looking back at callum, waiting for him to catch up.

the picture goes straight on his fridge as soon as he gets home. he doesn’t doubt what ben tells him about lexi ever again.

the first time callum and lexi spend proper time alone together, it’s the school holidays and ben is ill at home, and lexi is going a little stir crazy being stuck in the house, which really isn’t helping ben feel any better, but no one else can look after her bc they’re at work or out. so callum offers to take her out for a little while, get her out of ben’s hair so he can rest. he’s never seen ben so grateful.

they only go to the park, but lexi seems excited anyway - holds his hand on the way there without him having to ask, doesn’t wonder too far away from him. he pushes her on the swings for a little while then sits off a ways to watch her play with the other kids at the playground. 

at one point she trips and falls while running and callum absolutely freaks out bc she’s scraped up her knees and palms, but lexi bothered at all. she doesn’t even cry. in fact she’s already stood herself back up by the time callum gets to her, dusting the gravel off her raw knees and palms. she even makes to run off again - callum has to stop her so he can take her somewhere and get her cleaned up.

he’s still freaking out, so he takes her to the pub, figuring mick would know what to do. mick, much to his dismay, laughs when he sees the state callum is in about the whole thing (compared to lexi, who is very much over it), and pulls out a first aid kit for him to use. callum sits her on the bar, and lexi chats to mick about what they’d been doing as callum cleans the dirt off her scrapes, then slathers them in antiseptic cream and carefully puts plasters on both of her knees. he honestly thinks he’d been less stressed dealing with literal war wounds.

callum orders her a lemonade and a packet of crisps out of sheer guilt, which makes mick shoot him a look that screams ‘soft touch’ even as he pulls out a glass and starts filling it. then, as callum passes money to him across the bar, he can’t help but ask mick ‘what am i gonna tell ben and lola? they’re gonna kill me’. mick just laughs. ‘they’re not gonna kill ya. she tripped and scraped her knees, halfway; she’s a kid, these things happen.’ and then he’d passed him his change, and they’d both looked at her, drinking too fast through a straw, kicking her legs against the bar from her stool. ‘look at her,’ mick had said, ‘she’s absolutely fine, ain’t ya?’ and lexi had just smiled around her straw and nodded.

(for the record, ben and lola had not killed him when they had found out. in fact, lola had laughed nearly as hard as mick had when she’d seen how guilty he felt.)

less specific but lexi loving to sit on callum’s shoulders bc he’s so mf tall that she feels like a giant

lexi inviting him to come see her in her school play and callum getting embarrassingly emotional about it

callum being the ONLY ONE who can make her eat her vegetables........ like she will only willingly eat them if she knows callum has cooked them.... it’s actually a bit of a problem bc now she won’t ever eat vegetables anymore....

ben coming home to find lexi AND callum sat on the floor colouring, so immersed they don’t even realize he’s there

callum and lexi being the early risers in the house so most weekends they’ll end up sitting on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching cartoons in the morning while they wait for everyone else to get up

i could literally talk abt callum and lexi all day but i’ll stop there bc this post is long enough as it is but just know i Love Them

💖💖💖

[blankietaegi]

impossible

jimin x reader drabble

“it’s impossible for you to get over him. even if, he himself, was impossible.”

-

park jimin was your neighbour, your friend and your classmate. you knew him for over a year after his family decided to move into the house next door. from then onwards, you loved him.

jimin was not only your crush, but also your study buddy. you’re parents grew pretty close after the move and decided to set you and him up for a study ‘date’ every once in a while.

of course, jimin didn’t mind this. he was good at almost every subject so the time went by no problem, but unfortunately for you, it did not. you constantly worried if you got the wrong answer or even worse, didn’t understand the question. you were so scared jimin would pick up on your stupidity and pick on you for it. but he never did, he just corrected you and you went on with your studying.

another study date is set up for tonight, you and jimin are studying chemistry which is actually one of your good subjects. you were in a good mood for tonight and started revising before jimin even got there, just so you would know everything and be able to pay attention to him. gosh, he was perfect.

you bounce towards your kitchen to collect some crisps for jimin since he offered you some in his house last time. you opened the big packet and poured them into a bowl before popping the same packet back into the press. you grab a few coke cans just in case and start the walk back up the stairs.

it was 17:15, 15 more minutes until jimin arrived.

you place the food on your desk neatly and start the swipe the crumbs off of your fingers until you see jimin’s figure leaving his house, you note his smile. you can’t help but smile .

but your smile disappears once you see a girl from your school leave his house whilst holding his hand, staring at him lovingly. your heart drops instantly. you never imagined be with jimin but it still hurt to see him together with someone, especially since you knew the girl.

you sit down in your desk chair in disappointment and stare at the crisps. you pick up one and pop it into your mouth, your hand lazily falling by your side. you tilt your head back, not in the mood for a study date, nevertheless see jimin.

the doorbell rings and you hear your mother answering it. “jimin!” she shrieks with happiness, your whole family was quite fond of jimin actually. it was like he was your brother, a really really hot brother.

“good morning, ms l/n.” jimin politely greeted your mother. she loved that. jimin was a charmer, you always knew he’d find someone. then it hits you again, his girlfriend.

“is y/n upstairs?” jimin asks, the sound of his shoes enters the house as you think he shuts the door behind him, since he always does.

“yes, i don’t know why she didn’t come down. she seemed so happy a minute ago.” your mother says and jimin chuckles effortlessly. your chest tightens hearing it.

“okay, thank you.” jimin adds as you hear his shoes run up the stairs. you sit up quickly, rubbing your eyes from the tears of disappointment and pretend to study.

a knock appears on your door and you murmur a small ‘come in’, your voice is choked back from the sadness. you turn and see jimin smiling with his bright pink hair. he was wearing black jeans and a blue sweater that was paired with a small cold train that laid effortlessly on his chest. you smile up at him.

“you’ve started without me?” jimin joker before he closed the door and sat down beside you, you pulled over your stool from the corner of your room for him. his eyes light up at the sight of his favourite crisps and pops one into his mouth before opening his little backpack he brought with him, taking out his books.

“oh, here,” his voice catches your attention but as you turn, jimin holds out a gift for you. it’s a white box wrapped in a red ribbon. you take it with two hands, surprised.

“where did this come from?” you asked lolly at it closely. jimin chuckled and pointed at one of the ribbons and gestured for you to pull it. you do and it unwraps itself to see a gold chain with the word ‘hope’ spelt out. you can’t help but smile.

“it’s for our one year anniversary of our study dates,” jimin adds before you can speak. you look up at him and remember the date, it reallt was. you hug him, softly not wanting to be weird or anything.

“jimin, you really didn’t have to.” you tell him as you continue to thank him. your heart sinks when you realise you hadn’t gotten him anything.

“if i knew we were exchanging gifts, i would’ve got you something.” you tell him. jimin shakes his head.

“it’s only because i know you have your college entrance exam soon, and i want you to wear this, okay?” jimin adds making your heart flutter, even if he was your big fat crush, he was still a caring friend.

you can’t help but hug him again. you take the chain out of he box and run your fingers over the gold material. jimin stands up and walks behind you, he holds his hand out and you give his the necklace. he wraps it around your neck before fastening it at the crook of your neck. he sits back down and looks at you.

“beautiful.” he almost whispers, you swallow deeply. he turns to the desk and picks up his pen, searching through the text book.

the study date goes as planned, no more surprises from jimin, thank god. you wouldn’t think you’d survive if there was any more.

“so what’s going on in your life?” jimin asks as you reach the end of your ‘date’.

“not a lot, studying i suppose?” you chuckle as so does jimin.

“what about you?” you ask, expecting to hear about his new girlfriend but he hesitates.

“i- i know this girl.” jimin tells you but your heart sinks, knowing that you’ll have to pretend to be the caring friend and help him with his girl problems. not that you didn’t care.

“oh? do tell.” you add with a smirk but jimin sits up and stares into the corner of your wall with a ‘hm’ noise.

“she’s really nice and cute.” jimin tells you.

“i haven’t known her long, and she’s perfect for me,” jimin continues to drool over his new girlfriend, you don’t notice that your smile as dropped until jimin looks at you with confusion. you smile back and tell him to continue.

“and...” jimin trails off as you bite your inner cheek and brace yourself for a fuck ton of pain. but it never comes, considering the shouts of your mom downstairs pulls his attention away.

“jimin! don’t you have dance?” your mother asks, she almost memorises his routine. jimin’s eyebrows raise as he goes to collect his stuff in a hurry. he quickly grabs his textbooks and shoved them into.

“i’m really, really sorry.” he adds before standing up. you stand up also, and shake your head.

“you don’t need to apologise, and thank you very much for the gift.” you remind him, smiling at his blushing red cheeks in embarrassment.

you both say your goodbye’s at your front door before jimin rushes towards his bus stop, smiling and waving at you as he does, always. you can’t help but forget his girlfriend, and imagine him and you. god, it seemed impossible.

-

after dinner, your mother decided to speak to you about your neighbour.

“jimin’s pretty cute, right?” she insists, dragging the brush across the floor. you look up from your place on the couch at her.

“yeah, i guess.” you tell her, trying to steer yourself away from the subject she brought up. your mother doesn’t note the hint.

“so—“ she stops herself when she sees your new necklace from him. she gasps.

“y/n! it’s gorgeous, come over here.” she insists, gesturing for you over to her. you don’t know what she means until she’s holding the present in her hand, her fingers caressing ‘hope’ spelt out in gold.

“oh yeah, jimin gave it to me.” you told her as her eyes light up. you knew how happy she’d be to have jimin as a son in law, he was perfect and polite, practically the perfect son.

“it’s to help me through my exams.” you say quietly, your voice pulled back as you fiddle with the chain below your chin.

you look back up and see the smile that rests on your mother’s face, pride. you fake a smile for a second, knowing that things weren’t what she thought they were.

“i’d say jimin really likes you, y/n.” she says, resting on her stood up broom, dazed at the gift. you advert your eyes to the ground.

“he really doesn’t.” your voice is smaller this time, could be considered sad. your mother scoffs at your words.

“what do you mean? he got you a necklace!” she exclaims back and you smile at her enthusiasm.

“trust me, he doesn’t.” you murder your last words before walking back upstairs.

you close your bedroom door, after you do, your back hits the wooden frame, sinking down to the floor in defeat. you bring your hands up to your face, rubbing your swollen eyes. you imagined how things could be different, if you hadn’t looked outside at that exact moment, you might’ve missed the romance and be happily oblivious to it.

if that was the case, right now you’d be smiling uncontrollably on your bed, staring up at your ceiling with pure happiness.

but you’d had to find out sometime, nothing stays a secret forever. not even with jimin.

whilst wallowing in self pity, a knock appears at your window. it’s a small, weary knock, your eyes dart up to see jimin’s smiling face in the window. in the moment, your startled until you pull yourself together to let him in.

“hey,” is all he can say as he climbs through your frame. luckily, the outside of your window goes straight out onto the extension on your porch, so jimin made it here safe but you were still confused as to why he was here.

“hey.” you breath out, still surprised by his sudden arrival.

“sorry that i came through the window, i didn’t want to ring the bell and wake your family up.” jimin scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment but you shake your head and smile at his nervous antics.

“it’s fine,” you tell him, closing the window behind him to stop the cold air blowing in.

it’s silent in your room, but it doesn’t look like jimin minds. you turn and see his figure smiling, walking around your room like he’s never been there before, even those he was an hour ago. he looks tired and sweaty, probably just back from his dance lesson. you bite your lip slightly, praying for him to give you an explanation.

jimin turns around to meet your confused self and he chuckles.

“it’s pretty weird that i’m here, right?” his voice is happier than normal, he’s a little giddy.

“the weird thing here is the way your acting.” you joke, jimin smiles and licks his lips softly.

“you’re right.” is all he says, you look at him as his face falls, he sits at the end of your bed. he holds his head in his hands, elbows resting on his thigh. you sit down on the chair in front of him.

“are you gonna tell me what’s up?” you ask, very concerned. jimin looks up at you.

“yeah, okay”. he coughs before continuing.

“i saw you today, obviously. you bought me chips from the shop and i gave you a necklace.” jimin wants to keep going but you want to stop him almost immediately after he begins.

you wanted to ask why he was replaying today’s moments like a story you’ve never heard. but something else comes out of his story, he saw you buy the chips for him?

“wait— you saw me buy the chips?” you ask, your head tilting. jimin tenses up and starts fidgeting with his fingers nervously, like a child who’s been caught eating sweets before dinner or something.

“yeah...” his voice is low.

“and you didn’t say hi?” you ask suspiciously but jimin shakes his head. “why?”

jimin’s eyes meet your gaze with a guilty expression. your eyebrows are furrowed.

“i-i was just awkward... i thought it would be weird.” he admits.

“why would it be weird, jimin? i’ve known you long enough for us to say shit like that.” you explain but jimin doesn’t seem to get it.

jimin stands up out of frustration with your words. he’s angry at you. why? you don’t know. but you do know he’s being a little bitch, no matter how much you love him.

you follow him when he goes to look outside, you try to see what he’s looking at. it’s nothing but your front garden.

“what are you on, jimin?” you spit out, you’re normally shy but not now, your words hit jimin like a burn from a candle, harmless but it hurts.

“i used to stand right there—“ he points right outside your house.

“every single morning waiting for you, but just playing it off as a coincidence we ran into each other.” he chuckles at his antics, making you more confused than ever.

“what?” you almost whisper. it’s now his eyes meet yours and it’s only now you realise how close you actually are.

“our study dates. i asked my mom to organise them, to see you.” your breath hitches while jimin states intensely at you.

“don’t you get it?” he asks you seriously but you stay still. frozen in time.

“please say you love me.” jimin almost begs you, his hand moves to your jaw, holding your face up to look at him.

“i-i love you.” you tell him and he smiles, his lips come closer to you but stop.

“close your eyes,” he tells you, you do so.

jimin steps back from you, looking at you for a second longer. you wait for him, but he just comes close to your ear.

“thank you.” jimin tells you. after a second or two, you open your eyes but jimin’s gone but your window is open.

he left you, retreating back to his frustration. he was absolutely impossible.

[kirigaya-art]

Round Robin Ch 5

SIMON

I bite my lip, glancing around the room as I tug on the collar of my jumper-- no. Of Baz's jumper. I'm still wearing his bloody jumper, feeling like the biggest knobhead in the world. Honestly, Baz was right. What kind of mage can't even hold their wand the right way round?

At least now that classes are over for the day and I'm back in my own room, I can grab some fresh clothes that aren't singed, including the jumper I didn't put on this morning. The only problem is I'm still not sure what to do with Baz's.

He said it was okay if I just put it on his bed, right? I wanted to come during lunch, but time got away from me, and Penny was rushing me to our next class together before I could even think about returning the jumper. I ended up wearing it all day.

It was kind of distracting. The smell, I mean. It reminded me of when he and I were curled up so close to each other, after I spelled the room cold… like he was laying on top of me all day, drenching me in his rich earthy smell. Like his arms were still wrapped around me. Like I could still hear his teeth chattering, feel him burrowing his face into my hair. I nearly fell asleep like that in class, resting my head on my arms and breathing in the scent.

But now I'm done with the jumper, and I'm not sure what to do. Just throwing it on his bed seems like something that would actually make him angrier. He'd probably throw a fit over how I'd let it wrinkle, or how I hadn't put it on just the right part of his bed, or any other excuse to start a row with me. (Some days I think he likes fighting with me.) It's enough to make me hesitant and paranoid, and I'm scared to even slip the jumper off until I know where to put it. He usually doesn't come back to our room for a few hours, so I can't ask him either...

"If I were Baz, where would I put my jumpers?" I mumble to myself, lifting a hand to my chin (and subsequently slapping myself with the extra-long sleeve).

I throw open his wardrobe first, squinting around. It looks like he has mostly blazers and shirts in here, but not jumpers. He must not hang them up, which means they're folded in a drawer somewhere. That makes this hunt a little more difficult.

Kneeling between our beds, I pull open the first drawer on his bedside table. I'm surprised to see how neat it is, used to my own drawer full of gum wrappers, crisp packets, and other assorted necessities. His is tidy, with a few things in perfect little rows: a wand case, a small container for hair clips, and a couple of pens in different colors.

Satisfied there are no jumpers, I close the drawer and move on to the next one. This one seems to be designated for school things. There are folders, stacks of paper, and textbooks. I rummage for a bit, checking to make sure there's nothing underneath it all.

I open the third drawer, hoping I won't have to look through the many others in the room. This one is a little less neat than the others, filled with loose sheets of paper and what look like art supplies. Charcoal pencils sit in little tins, and a metal box labelled watercolours is sat on top of some. I suppose Baz is an artist, then. I rummage about, grabbing his artworks to look. It’s mostly unfinished sketches-- I recognise his younger sister from the background of his mobile. (He’s still got it, even though the Mage instated a new rule this year saying we couldn’t have them on campus.) There’s a few coloured drawings, too-- a closeup of a blue eye, a profile shot of someone with just the dirty blonde hair detailed, a study of a mouth with lips bitten pink. He’s not bad, actually.

And then I see it. A hard corner, poking out below the drawings. I push the sheets aside and reveal the true secret of this drawer: a notebook with little hearts and flowers outlined on the cover. The largest heart is in the middle, and written inside it is From NP. His girlfriend, I assume, though I can't seem to remember any girls at Watford with those initials. (A Normal, maybe?) (How scandalous for a Pitch.)

I sit back, peering at the book in my hands. Surely it's filled with romantic poems, or sappy love songs, or otherwise vile expressions of passion, from both him and the unlucky lady. Prime blackmail material.

I try to open the book, eager to see what's written inside, but it won’t budge. It must be spelled shut.

“Open sesame,” I hiss. The book springs open in my hands, and I lean back against Baz’s bed, admittedly proud of my spellwork.

The first page has a date written at the very top, one that's not exactly recent. I have to do some mental math to recognize it as just before our first day of classes at Watford. Intrigued, I start reading.

Being back at Watford is not nearly as cathartic as I had hoped it would be.

I frown. Is cathartic a good thing or a bad thing?

I wish you were here.

'You'? Does that mean the girlfriend?

I miss you. And I don't know if I can stand being here without you. I feel like I'm the only sane person here. You wouldn't believe who the Crucible just paired me with.

So this is from the day when Baz and I became roommates. But who was he writing to? Maybe it was a Normal girlfriend after all-- a tragic story of lovers who couldn't see each other because she wasn't allowed at Watford. I'm just surprised he was dating so early. And if he still has the book, does that mean he still loves her?

I continue.

Simon Snow is the most beautiful idiot I have ever met.

I think that's actually the nicest thing he's ever said about me.

And the Mage is insufferable.

I pout. What does he get out of complaining about the Mage so much? And what girlfriend would want to read his rants?

I skip to a later page.

Today, Snow forgot how to spell demolish when writing me what was supposed to be a threatening note. I couldn't stop laughing.

Flushing, I turn to another section.

Snow fell right on his face when--

Skip.

I can't believe Snow actually--

Skip.

And when Snow was--

Skip.

He was gorgeous.

I freeze, stopping to reread the sentence. Surely that doesn't say what I think it does?

Snow cried last night. He was gorgeous. How does he do that? Even when he’s yelling and sobbing, he still looks like a bloody model. I can't stand it.

I swallow hard, glancing at the top of the page. It's from a few days ago-- the day after the chimera.

It's like he's trying to make me soft. How could I not comfort him? I think I would have died if I'd had to see him so upset any longer.

I know he already told me he comforted me that night. He admitted it when we were stuck in here. But it feels different, reading his perspective directly.

I hate seeing him upset. But I'm usually the reason he's upset. It's all a damn self-destructive cycle that makes me want to

and then there's something frantically scratched out, standing out from his neat handwriting. I wonder what it said, but I'm also not sure I want to know.

I'm in too fucking deep to stop now. But for just one night, I wanted to be there for him, as backwards and asinine as that is. I wanted him to

More scratched out writing.

I just wanted to

Scribbles of ink again.

I hate that I know exactly what he looks like when he cries.

The rest of the page is blank, but that sentence doesn't feel like a proper ending.

He doesn't like seeing me upset? He wants to comfort me all the time? He hates seeing me cry? It doesn't sound like Baz. And I'm getting the feeling this isn't meant for a girlfriend.

I go back a few pages, scanning for something, anything, that might explain all of this. Why he can’t go a paragraph without mentioning my name. Why he’d make me cry when he doesn’t really want to. Why he goes from attacking me to comforting me to pushing me down the stairs to holding me as I fall asleep.

I’m so in love. And I hate it.

In love?

I would do anything if it meant I didn’t have to be in love with

“Snow.”

My head jerks up, and I meet Baz’s gaze.

“What in the World of Mages do you think you’re doing?” He asks. His eyes are cold grey, like impenetrable steel.

“I… uh…” Well, I’m reading his diary, aren’t I?

He stalks towards me, and I can see him starting to lose his grip. His expression is slipping out of its calm disinterest into something dangerous.

“Give that back,” he growls. “It’s not yours.”

For some reason, I hold it tight, like I have a reason to protect it.

“Don’t test me, Snow.” But he doesn’t look like he’s going to bite my head off. His face is all red, but it’s blotchy, and his eyes are shining. I think he’s going to cry. “Just-- just give me the damn book.”

“You love someone?” I ask, like an idiot.

His hand shakes as he grabs the book, trying to tug it out of my grip. “That’s none of your business.”

“Who’s N. P.?” I insist. “Your Normal girlfriend? Is that why you can’t see her?”

He takes a deep breath, expression shifting a few times. I think he’s trying to calm himself down. “N. P. for…” He shakes his head. “For Natasha Pitch.”

My stomach drops to the floor, and my grip on the book loosens enough that he’s able to snatch it away. He clutches it to his stomach like it’s made of glass.

“She was going to give it to me when I started school,” he mumbles. “To celebrate, and so she could be with me all the time, even when she was busy.” He won’t meet my eyes. “Obviously she… she’ll never really read it. But I write to her.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I mean it.

He glares at me with a passion I’ve never seen before. “How much did you read?”

“Not much,” I lie. “The first entry.”

“You asked me if I was in love,” he reminds me. “How much did you read?”

I swallow. “I… didn’t see who.”

He grits his teeth, pulling his wand from his sleeve. He casts a spell I don’t hear, and the book glows for a moment. He shoves it under the artworks and slams the drawer shut. The sound echoes in my mind for a few seconds.

“Give me my damn jumper,” he hisses, and my face flushes as I remember the point of this escapade. I pull it over my head and toss it to him. He throws it onto his bed, still crumpled into a ball, and grunts, “I’m going to take a shower.” I think it’s because of the tears threatening to spill, but I just nod.

He disappears into the restroom with a change of clothes, and I’m left leaning against his bed.

I didn’t see who he’s in love with, that’s true. But my mind is swimming with everything I did see. What he said about wanting to make me happy. How I made him regret everything he did to me. How his causing my misery was a “self-destructive cycle.” And really, there’s only so much that could mean.

I glance to the door of the restroom. I can hear the water start to run.

Carefully, I pull open the drawer again. I pick up the notebook and try again, keeping my voice low. “Open sesame.” It pops open in my hands, and I gently turn. the pages to find my place.

I would do anything if it meant I didn’t have to be in love with Simon Snow.

I’m frozen in place for a moment, gears turning.

I close the book, too panicked to think of a spell to lock it, and shove it into the drawer, closing it quietly. I’m scared he’ll hear how loud my heart is pounding in my ears.

I stand, find one of my own jumpers in my wardrobe, and slip out of the room. I need some time to think.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Kicking Roses, Folding Cranes

Author: @zombiekittiez

For: @irl-miu-fuckin-iruma / @miu-has-commoncold

Rating/Warnings: Teen, Language, Suggestiveness, Unhealthy Relationships

Prompt: 1) some cuddles 2) soft kisses 3) anything angsty

Author’s notes: Heyyyy it’s, uh, like really way longer than I meant and is way more 3) 2) 1) but then it was due so like… I hope you like it!

It starts, probably, when they find the pallet of triple-wrapped boxes at the back of the warehouse. It takes some maneuvering to uncover what was so carefully preserved, so the whole class ends up making a day of it. While Nidai leads a veritable army of Minimarus to the challenge, Imposter takes bets on the contents, writing each name and guess and wager in neat, even strokes. Mostly, Hajime thinks, the bets are centered more on wishful thinking than any concrete proof. It is highly improbable that Saionji will find a “fuck ton of gummies” or that Souda will stumble across a “disassembled liquid fuel cryogenic J-2 engine,” but he supposes that they are having fun and that is what counts.

While Nidai and Sonia eagerly attack the plastic sheeting, Hajime becomes aware of Komaeda, standing two steps back and to the right. It’s a habit he’s developed, since waking up, deferential hovering like some lady-in-waiting. It annoys Hajime, who has learned better than to confront Komaeda directly about things like <i>equality.</i> Rather, he takes a perverse sort of pleasure in thwarting Komaeda indirectly whenever possible.

Hajime takes the book from Imposter and makes a show of frowning at the page. “Komaeda,” he calls. He holds the page so closely that Komaeda must lean in, long hair falling in his face, to follow his line zig-zagging down the columns, scarcely any space at all between them. “I don’t see your bet.”

Komaeda laughs softly. “Wouldn’t that be rigging the game?”

“Depends on your guess.” Hajime points out. “There is a certain amount of logic involved in gambling, one reason you’re so good at it.”

“Logical… is that how you see me?” Komaeda asks, bemused. “I suppose I could make an educated guess.”

“Humor me.”

“Something totally impractical, most likely.” Komaeda hums a little to himself, turning to face Haime fully, his back to the unboxing. Souda and Nida work the crowbars at the top of the crate. “So much wrapping means it’s probably easily ruined by wet weather…”

The crate is open. Owari looks inside and gives a loud snort of disgust. Can’t be edible.

“Stationary? No, that’s too general…” Mioda picks up a something small and square and colorful. She gives it a shake.

“Origami paper,” Komaeda says brightly, smacking a fist against his open palm just as Mioda drops the packet, small perfect squares of colorful paper scattering across the floor. Collectively, class 77B groans.

Souda leads the charge, ignoring Komaeda’s protests with “it counts, it totally counts!” so Komaeda leaves weighed down with various odds and ends according to the bet book- konpeito, a seashell in the shape of a dinosaur, a seaweed based health tonic, pictures of a particularly cute dog, an alarm clock that sprays the sleeper with water, a set of mostly unbroken watercolor pencils, a peach cobbler, a tarnished silver pendant in the shape of a rabbit, slightly squashy strawberry chocolates and several hundred sheets of origami paper. Hajime, as instigator, is voluntold to help carry the items back to the first island cottages.

“For your services,” Komaeda announces at the door, dumping the candy and pastries into Hajime’s arms.

“And because you don’t like sweet things.” Hajime sighs. “You don’t have to keep all their junk, you know, Komaeda. We can find some use for the paper. It probably burns well.”

“No,” Komaeda says firmly, and while he generally does what he pleases, he is rarely so confident affirming it. “That would be a waste.” Hajime blinks.

“Oh.” He makes a note to tell the others to leave the remaining paper alone. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. It’s nice, he decides, for Komaeda to show interest in something. Whatever reality he was living in when dead and buried under layers of code, it left him subdued. Without the fanatical desperation of his looming luck or the drive of despair, he seems a little empty. With his white hair and his pale face and his fading smile, he has become something like Hajime’s personal ghost, only scarcely glimpsed in mirrors or around corners of buildings. Hajime half expects to wake to see Komaeda in his cottage in the middle of the night, looming over the bed. He wonders why that thought is less disturbing than it should be and chalks it up to a Kamukura thing.  

Komaeda tends to work salvage shifts in the library with Sonia who reads thirty-two languages, though, she admits, her Hindi is abysmal. He sorts and cleans wonderfully, and, Sonia assures Souda regularly, is a perfect gentleman.

Two days after what Mioda dubbed <i>The Origami Incident of ‘85</i> for no discernible reason, Sonia distributes tiny metal cards to everyone at breakfast. Each is embossed with a name and a tiny scanner.

“Library cards,” she explains. “The library committee has decided to allow checking out up to three items at a time.”

“You just scan the book’s UPC code like this-” Souda aims his card at a book in Sonia’s arms titled <i>Baphomet and You! Occult Leanings in 19th Century France.</i> The card gives a little beep, a light on the side blinking green. “Blammo! You got two weeks.”

“What happens if you keep them past the due date?” Hajime wonders, holding his card up to the light. When he lowers it again, everyone in the room is staring at him in disgust.

“I know that conditions are different than what we have, in the civilized world,” Sonia says very slowly, as though talking to a child. “But we are not animals, Hinata.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, unable to summon the patience or the interest to defend himself. “Where’s Komada’s?”

“It was his idea, so, of course, he had first choice.” Sonia explains.

Komaeda, sitting at the table by the window, drinks his blackened coffee and flips through a copy of <i>Origami for Beginners</i>.

“Huh.” Hajime puts his card into his pocket and gets up. It’s his turn for dish duty.

Later, Hajime finds the origami penguin in the downstairs lobby, balanced on the bar top across from the arcade machines. The lines are a little uneven so it stands lopsided on one end, like it’s hunched over protectively from the invisible cold. He picks it up and looks it over before setting it gently back into place.

An origami fox sits on the library shelf above the DIY section. Its ears were creased in the wrong direction at first so they curl under a little, giving it a hangdog sort of expression. Hajime picks up a book on water purification systems. He scans the book jacket with his library card until he hears an approving sort of beep. Sonia waves goodbye when he leaves. She is the only one he sees.

When Hajime goes up for lunch, the bar penguin has a friend. The second penguin is a little crisper and neater.

“I haven’t seen Komaeda around much today,” he brings up to Souda over curry rice. He tries to make it seem off-handed.

“It’s probably that thing,” Souda says unhelpfully.

“That thing.” Hajime echoes.

“The paper thing.” Souda gestures with his spoon. “He’s getting pretty good. Those invitation whatevers turned out kind of neat.”

“Invitations.”

“Yeah, how they opened up like flowers? Koizumi put mine back together for me after I couldn’t cause I’m clumsy. I put it on the mirror in my room. Maybe that’s girly, I dunno.”

“Invitation to what, Souda?”

“That origami meet up on Thursdays,” Souda says like it’s obvious. “It was on the invite, man.”

“I didn’t get an invite, Souda,” Hajime explains with what feels like infinite patience.

“Oh.” Souda pauses. Hums. Takes another bite and a swig of banana milk. “Probably he just didn’t want to bother you,” he decides.

After lunch, Hajime pauses on the stairs, seeing movement. Down below, Komaeda folds a half sheet of paper, eyes narrowed in concentration, adding to his Arctic tableau. After a few minutes of careful creasing, a half-sized penguin nestles between the two bigger penguins in a little penguin family.

“Can I try?” Hajime asks and Komaeda startles.

“Ah… yes, of course.” Komaeda hands him a sheet and steps to the side, cradling the How-to book to his chest. He doesn’t offer to show Hajime the diagram and Hajime doesn’t need it. He folds a crisp and perfect penguin without even trying. He hardly ever feels like he’s trying, when it’s not people.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Komaeda, who looks over its flawlessly symmetrical lines with a neutral expression. He walks to the end of the bar top and puts it down, far away from the messy loving penguin family.

“Don’t you think they’d want to stick together?” Hajime asks lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like… don’t you think he wants to be friends?”

“He’ll be happier over there,” Komaeda says with finality, stepping back to admire his work. If he moved the penguin any further away, it would fall off the counter.

Hajime sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately.  

On Thursday, Hajime decides to sort through the junk bins in Electric Avenue like he’s been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. It’s better to do this sort of thing alone, he reasons. It is tedious, automatic work, and by the end he has a solid organization system going. He sets a couple of things aside, bundling them into his bag and bringing them back across to the main island via schooner.

The kitchen is dark. The meeting must still be on. Hajime makes himself a sandwich and eats it with his feet in the pool, which Koizumi hates because she’s worried about crumbs. It’s nice, in a childish sort of way.

It’s not like he’s <i>waiting,</i> exactly, he reasons. He just happens to be out here, aimlessly footing around. He plays some Gala-Omega. He plays some Pac-Man. He peeks outside periodically, feeling like a creep. Souda is the first one coming around the bend and that might be his luck working because this is probably the best possible solution.

“Hey, c’mere a second.” Hajime gestures him into the downstairs lobby.

“What’s up, soul friend?” Souda grins at him cheekily.

“Here.” Hajime shoves two bundles at him. Souda pulls open the first.

“Heck yeah, you found me one! I thought if you had your luck you might.” He pokes at the Liox Li-air battery pack with obvious glee. “What’s this other stuff?”

“Komaeda needs it for the prosthetic upgrade.” Hajime clears his throat. “Can you do that?”

“You want me to work on his robo-arm? You wouldn’t let me near it during development, like it was your damn baby. What gives?”

Hajime’s eyes focus off in the distance, toward the bar top. “I’m just… busy right now.”

“Busy.” Souda looks at Hajime, bare footed with the cuffs of his pants rolled up, still a little damp around the bottom. He then looks pointedly at the new row of top scores on their two working arcade machines.

“Really busy,” Hajime insists.

“Hey, man, if this is about-”

“Ultimate Mechanic,” Hajime interrupts. “I bet you want to do all kinds of upgrades.”

Souda shuts up, eyes gleaming at the thought. “What about-”

“Not a rocket launcher. Not with his luck,” Hajime admonishes.

“You never let me have any fun,” Souda gripes, taking the parts and heading back outside.

Hajime takes his perfect penguin back to his cottage. He thinks about crumpling it up, but Komaeda is right. It would be a waste. He puts it on his desk, the single ornament in a plain and boring room for a plain and boring person.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, and he goes to bed. Even after resting, he has a hard time focusing.

“Are…. a-are you doing okay?” Tsumiki asks hesitantly during inventory at the pharmacy. They’re in the back with all the really strong stuff, checking expiration dates and carting what’s salvageable to the hospital dispensary.

“Yes. The Ultimate Pharmacist talent is an easier one,” Hajime assures her, flipping through the steroids. The Prednisone is still properly sealed. He shakes the box a little and then puts it into the usable pile.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Tsumiki murmurs. There’s a bright green origami rabbit peeking out from her apron pocket. “You haven’t been coming around much, and w-we were worrying-”

“If no one asks me for help, it’s because they don’t need it. If they don’t talk to me, they don’t need to talk to me.” Hajime discards several thoroughly crushed blister packs of allergy medicine. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? Because you asked. If someone asks me, I’ll help them.”

“W-what if Komaeda asks?” Tsumiki asks timidly.

Hajime snorts. “Komaeda is never going to ask me for anything,” he says with finality and after that they work in silence.

~~

Nagito is in the back practicing penguins like usual when Hinata next comes to visit the library. He stays out of sight, but the open door lets him listen in as he presses folds into blue and white paper.

“Your mortal shell lacks vigor,” Tanaka notes from behind the counter where he is helping Sonia remove the unsightly relics of time lost past- his phrasing for wiping the dust jackets free of dirt and pollen. Hinata’s returned the book on electrical system hybridization, so Nagito supposes that the rewiring has gone off well. Lately, Hinata’s productivity has been at a record high. It is abominably conceited for one such as himself to take even the slightest credit for such an endeavor, but he can’t help feeling a little personal pride.

Hasn’t he kept his distance beautifully? Hasn’t he distracted the others and kept them entertained so as to not disturb Hinata’s most important work?

Origami Thursdays are a terrific success, he decides. Perhaps he’ll ask Mioda about a Karaoke Friday or something.

“We have not seen you for breakfast recently,” Sonia tells Hinata worriedly.  

“I’ve been getting an early start,” Hinata says.Nagito chances glancing up as he leans over to pick up a fresh sheet of paper off the pile. Hinata has not noticed him, or is ignoring him, perhaps. His eyes are fixed on the high shelf behind the counter. There’s a little fox family there now, too. Three little kits. They are a disgrace. The Papa Fox has to be discreetly propped up using the corner of a children’s book. Hinata should not have to look upon such trash. Nagito’s fingers fairly itch to hide them away.

“Do you like them?” Sonia asks, noticing Hinata’s gaze. “They are so very cute! Komada has been putting them around. We’ve been helping.”

“The ice-visages in the den of inequity are particularly enchanting,” Tanaka agrees.

“I do so love penguins! Though I thought I saw four, earlier. There’s only three now.” Sonia says thoughtfully.

“You must have miscounted,” Hinata shrugs.

On his way to lunch, Nagito checks.

Hinata’s penguin is gone.

Well. That’s fine.

Hinata’s origami was so obviously superior. Ultimate Handicrafts, probably, or something of that nature. To put his creation alongside Nagito’s amateurish mess was an insult. It probably had a much better place to live now. Perhaps he should check.

When Hinata goes for a run by his lonesome after dinner, along the sandy beach, Nagito takes a quick look inside his cabin. It’s not hard to jimmy the lock, with a hairpin and a bit of luck. The penguin sits on Hinata’s desk and Nagito feels a small swell of pride at that too, though undeserved. It was his paper, his past-time, perhaps even his influence. He picks it up and looks it over, admiring its perfect creases. He gives it a tiny kiss on its little beak, feeling a bit foolish and lovelorn and yet… it’s nice. Hinata made it, after all.

He locks the cabin and leaves without disturbing anything. It might be a bit creepy, but then Nagito is perfectly aware of his own glaring faults. Besides, it’s not as though he breaks into Hinata’s cabin often.

Once or twice a week, at most.

Rarely when he’s sleeping.

~~

The thing is, Hajime isn’t without sympathy. This used to be what it was like for <i>him,</i> wasn’t it? Komaeda.People just putting up with you. Of course they like Hajime, of course they do. He saved them. It’s just- he’s kind of creepy, right? And even when someone talks to him, he’s not great at it. No Ultimate Conversationalist skill, ha-ha!

It’s only fair, he reasons. Ultimate Sociologist totally gets it. Pack dynamics. Social identity approach. Secondary Interpersonal attraction. These terms apply to class 77-B, with shared history and loss and recovery. This current hierarchy, with him perched along the top, is different altogether. The Ultimate Despairs are an emergent response group. Temporary bonds formed according to external trauma. And now they are dissolving.

Because Komaeda has memories with them, memories of before, memories with Nanami. All Hajime has is shared Despair.

Hajime is helpful. He knows he’s helpful. He’s a human multitool, for crying out loud. And he keeps them in line, mostly. Keeps them from breaking anything too important. It had been annoying, all the hovering and fluttering but now it’s gone. Respect. Reverence. Not love.

But maybe that’s not good enough. Not when you’re looking for reasons to stay.

It isn’t like he sat down and planned it out, his leaving. It’s just that he looked up during dinner, in the middle of a table, in the midst of conversations that do not invite him in and realizes he is an empty chair. This would be the same either way, and wherever he goes, he will be just as hollow.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that before,” Komaeda says quietly, when he picks up Hajime’s dishes. He’s on clean up duty tonight. Hajime shrugs. It was a smile of relief. Once a problem is identified, it can be corrected.

Physical work always helps his mind clear, so it’s a few days later when Hajime takes a break from ripping the piping out of the walls outside the factory, the sweat running down his face and soaking his shirt. It’s too hot for this, just a little past noon, but he doesn’t want to sit still. Busy, he decides, is better.

He pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe his face. When he looks up, Komaeda and Saionji have stopped where they were coming down the middle of the path. Komaeda stares.  

“What?” Hajime asks, annoyed.

Komaeda turns on his heels and heads to the warehouse.

“Good talk,” Hajime mutters, throwing his shirt to the side of the path.

“He’s probably just really grossed out,” Saionji says, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re pretty disgusting right now, bro.”

“What are you two doing out here anyway?”

“More origami paper,” Saionji grins. “I’m giving <i>private lessons.</i>”

“Gross,” Hajime says with feeling.

“Are you jelly? Lime green jelly?” Saionji crows. “I’m a master of Japanese arts, you know!” She smirks up at him and Hajime just feels exhausted.

“So go get your paper and leave me alone,” he mutters.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Saionji sings, disappearing from view.

By the time Hajime finishes converting his irritation into manual labor, he’s got a sky-high pile of copper pipes and two pulled muscles in his back. He hobbles into the warehouse, looking for something to use as a walking stick till he can get to Nidai’s healing hands and sees the open crate, still ridiculously full of paper. On top, haphazardly discarded, is a single paper crane.

Komaeda’s paper crane. He can tell by the way the edges overlap slightly to the right. It must be particularly hard to do, with one robot hand. He imagines Komaeda unfolding and refolding, unfolding and refolding, mouth twisted to one side in concentration, wonders what it would be like to mess that up for him, to touch that expression.

He folds one. Two. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. By the time he gets to one hundred, his breath is even and his back hardly throbs. Speedy recovery and all that. He puts them in an empty box and slides it behind the crate.

When he gets to the dining hall, the chaos is in full swing but he still feels calm and centered. Souda notices him in the doorway after a bit and waves him over to try and make room, but Hajime just grabs an orange juice and waves.

“I need a shower, I’ll eat later.” Komaeda’s eyes follow him out of the doorway.

He can’t remember the last time he was in such a clear thinking mood. Ten days, he decides. Ten times one hundred is one thousand. Ten days is plenty of time. He will prioritize the repairs, focus on the ones that require varied talents, and then he will leave a thousand paper cranes and this island behind.

~~

Nagito is suspicious.

Ever since he’d caught that peculiar smile on Hinata’s face, he’s been suspicious. Nagito is not particularly clever or capable or even useful, but he does have a head for delicate tasks like cleaning or folding origami and he is the resident expert on Hajime Hinata.

Of course the others had noticed and asked and of course he had answered them vaguely, with a reassuring smile but underneath it all, Nagito watched as he always did and waited and thought.

It was so <i>hard</i> to maintain distance, sometimes.

Hinata, sweat slicked and muscles stark as he worked outside in the unforgiving sun.

“Put your tongue back in your fucking mouth,” Saionji had sneered once she’d found him in the warehouse after their run in, hugging his own arms tightly and blinking brightly at the wall, overloading on the memory. She threw a piece of paper at him and he had caught it and folded a perfect white crane. The motions calmed him back to normalcy and he left it on the top of the crate, whimsically.

But he doesn’t like how hard Hinata is working. Like there’s a kind of deadline approaching. He goes for a walk, letting his feet carry him along. With his luck, he’ll figure it out in no time. It takes a day or two to figure out where in the warehouse his luck is telling him to look.

One hundred paper cranes.  

“I-I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Tsumiki says happily as Hinata closes the panel of the MRI, the light on the side glowing a sudden reassuring green.

Two hundred paper cranes.

“Ibuki is totally gonna write a song about this!” Mioda crows when the lights flicker on properly backstage at the Titty Typhoon and the fog machine whirs to life.

Three hundred paper cranes.  

“I thank you for your dedication,” Imposter murmurs imperiously as Hinata brings the diner oven to a steady, even flame. Imposter has a basket of oysters under one arm, ready to roast. He might be drooling a little.  

Four hundred paper cranes.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Kuzuryu blinks when Hinata makes the adjustment and then his bionic eye flares to life. “I feel like a goddamn superhero.”  

Komaeda checks nightly and sees the number growing and growing, strung together in long strands. What is it for? What does it mean? Every crane is so perfect and Hinata is working so very hard. He sets up Koizumi’s dark room. He works on the desalination station. The greenhouse. The atmospheric purifier. Communication encryption.

Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred.

“You look tired,” Nagito says nervously, running into Hinata in the the storage room accidentally-on-purpose. He takes two large steps backward.

“I’ll take a break soon,” Hinata explains, shutting down the back up generator now that it is running smoothly. “Then I’ll sleep for a week.”

“We will take pains not to disturb you, then.” Nagito assures him and Hinata just smiles vaguely in response. Nagito loves Hinata’s smiles. Not that one, though.

Nagito’s luck had fizzled out that morning during dish duty and caused a power outage for two hours, just long enough to collapse the delicate souffles Hanamura had planned for a special dinner treat. He decides that it’s better to keep his distance for now, in case there is more bad luck on the way. Nagito heads to the warehouse, to drag out the crate from under the worktables and to count the paper cranes. It’s wonderfully soothing. He wonders what will happen when Hinata reaches one thousand. Something wonderful, he bets.

In the crate, there are nine hundred perfect paper cranes. Beside the crate is a knapsack. It has dried rations, a portable water purifier, a multi-tool and a stun-gun. Crumpled in the pocket is a draft of a note. To him. To all of them.

<i>By the time you are reading this…</i>

Nagito takes a deep deep breath. His mouth twists up on one side.

What terrible luck.

~~

After Hajime finishes the last of the essential repairs, he decides to head back to his cottage to shower up and to try writing his farewell note again. All the eloquence of the Ultimate Literary Genius, unable to write a short and sweet goodbye. Pathetic. After dinner, he’ll slip over to the warehouse and finish the last hundred cranes. His one small bag is already packed and waiting there. The shower he takes is a long one, and very hot. He enjoys it- it may be the last hot shower he has for a while, the world being what it is out there. He’s still toweling his hair roughly when he walks back into his bedroom and sees it- a single, perfect crane on his bed. White.The same crane he’d first seen in the warehouse, he realizes, picking it up.  

Then someone clamps a rag around his nose and mouth from behind and everything goes black.

It is some time later when Hajime wakes up in bed. It is soft and he is comfortable. Someone has tucked him in on all sides, something he can’t remember ever experiencing before, even as a child. He blinks sleepily. Someone is banging on the door. It’s very annoying but he can ignore it, if he likes, so he does. There’s yelling now, too. What is it they’re saying… Fire? Someone is yelling <i>Fire, Fire,</i> how cliche.

He’s nearly asleep again when he recognizes Souda’s voice.

“YO!” Souda screams. “Get the fuck up, </i>Komaeda set the warehouse on fire!</i>”

Hajime blinks. He sits up.

“…Again?”

~~

Nagito whistles tunelessly as he watches the building burn. As an after thought, he pulls the origami penguins from his pocket. One, two, three from the lobby, one from Hinata’s cottage, liberated during what he likes to think of as the <i>Sleepytime Phase.</i> Mioda had been less than amused by that, actually. She’s over with the others, staring at him and the fire and him and the fire as though something will change. It will not. He wanders closer to the building and they shy away. Nagito drops all the penguins into the fire together.

“If you’re going to burn, better to burn together,” Nagito murmurs, smiling.

He’s not crazy. He isn’t.

Probably.

~~

“Wow.” Hajime crosses his arms, watching the Minimarus fighting the flames. It is both adorable and futile. The rest of their classmates huddle in a little group on the other side- as far away from Komeda as they can manage.

“The accelerant was a bit more potent in real life, I’m afraid,” Komaeda smiles cheerfully, two careful steps behind.  

“Komaeda?”

“Yes, Hinata?”

“… why did you set the warehouse on fire?”

“You only had a hundred left,” Komaeda says, like it’s obvious. “You had to be stopped.”

“You set the warehouse on fire because of <i>paper cranes</i>?” Hajime wonders sometimes if he’s actually just having some kind of aneurysm and this is all some long, drawn out hallucination sequence.

“No, Hinata,” Komaeda says very slowly and Hajime swallows back the urge to hit him in the mouth. “I set the warehouse on fire because you were leaving.”

Hajime blinks.

“I knew you were up to something when you started working yourself to death. That list,by the way, the one you keep in your desk? Not the order I would have put those tasks in, but I’m sure someone as talented as you had your reasons. When I saw you had already packed your bag last night, I knew I had to act quickly-”

“Wait, when did you-”

“When you were sleeping, obviously,” Komaeda continues, as though this is the least important detail, “But I think you were really quite unfair, you know. I’m not sure what else I could have done. I was trying to be considerate, distract the others to let you have some breathing room, and then you go and do a thing like that. Honestly, I’m disappointed, if that’s as far as your hope can take you.“

“Can we go back like… to step three? Or something? Because…” Hajime trails off.

“The point is that you’re not allowed to leave the islands.” Komaeda shrugs carelessly. “Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I’m not allowed?”

“Nope.” Komaeda smiles again. “No more cranes, no more leaving.”

“The two aren’t… I mean, I could just… make more paper cranes.” Hajime says, bewildered.

“Most of the origami paper was lost in the fire. Turns out it does burn well! You’re so clever, to have known that. But if you find more or you make more, that’s okay. I’ll just burn those too.” Komaeda’s face settles into a peculiar expression. “But there’s no need for that. Someone as important as you has to be here! I can help. I can stay further back, if you like? Three… no,five steps? I can stop speaking to you directly, if the sound of my voice is too unpleasant to bear. Maybe I could only come out during the night, once everyone is asleep, so no one has to see trash like me? Those are just suggestions, please feel free to direct me how you please-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hajime runs a hand down his face in utter exasperation. With his free hand, he grabs Komaeda by the wrist and drags him over to the others.

“Tell them you’re sorry,” Hajime orders.

“I am very sorry you must all co-exist with such a garbage human being,” Komaeda chirps.

“About the fire!”

“Oh. Did you want me to lie, Hinata? That doesn’t seem very nice.” Komaeda temporizes, tilting his head to the side.

“You are such a freak,” Saionji sneers.

“Crazy son-of-a-” Souda clutches at the front of his jumper, gritting his teeth.

“Somebody oughta put you down,” Kuzuryu says darkly and Pekoyama puts one hand on her bamboo sword.

Komaeda nods and nods. “But it was necessary, you know! For hope. And now our hope will stay.” Komaeda turns huge adoring eyes on Hajime. So does everyone else.

“Wait… what is he talking about?” Koizumi asks suspiciously.

“You were gonna <i>leave?!</i>” Owari bellows.

“Where the hell d’you think you’re going, punk? Too good for us now, is that it?” Kuzuryu turns on him and Pekoyama puts her hand back on her bamboo sword.

Hajime holds up a hand. “No. Stop. Look. I thought… and I was… it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving,” he says. “Anymore,” he adds. They look thoroughly unimpressed. And there’s Komaeda, looking friendly and gentle and sooty and only maybe one tenth as insane as he actually is, but. Also. Didn’t it… wasn’t it… sort of… working?

He isn’t leaving, is he?

“Fuck, I’m tired.” He groans, almost to himself.  

“Chloroform does that to people,” Komaeda agrees in a knowing sort of way.

“I need to lay down.” Hajime says after a solid thirty sixty seconds where he just covers his face and breathes heavily. “Now that the fire is contained, I need to <i>lay down.</i>”

Komaeda nods sagely but is then suddenly dragged up and along the path back to the bridge and the first island.

“Hinata?”

Hajime increases the pace. He can feel something building up inside of himself, as inexorably as the ocean. He just needs to get inside. If he can get back to his cabin he can sleep.  

“I can see that you’re upset with me. Completely understandable! I’m imposing upon you with my presence. The very air that I breathe is like poison around you. It would be best if I stopped my disgusting voice altogether-”

Hajime grabs Komaeda by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he orders, but the buzzing in his head is so thunderously loud that he can’t be sure the words are coming out at all. Komaeda’s mouth is still moving. Words are still pouring out.

Hajime shuts him up. He puts a hand against Komaeda’s mouth and holds it there. “Stop,” he begs. “Stop holding back. Stop putting me to the side. Stop ignoring me. Stop whatever you’re doing to make them ignore me too, Komaeda… I can’t do this. I can’t take this.” Tears of frustration are escaping but he doesn’t care. They’re still in front of the ranch, haven’t even made it back yet, but Hajime just wants to lie down in the dirt. “Pay attention to me. Be around me. Be normal, okay? Be your normal, be your regular weird fuck self, I-” his voice breaks.

~~

Nagito reaches up with his free hand and pulls Hinata’s hand off his face. He turns it around, till the fingers curl up toward the sky. He looks at Hinata impassively.

Had he always been so weak and soft? A little space and he doubts their love already. Utterly faithless. Utterly disappointing.

Nagito loves that part of him too.

He presses a kiss into Hajime’s fingers. The knuckles. The wrist. Each is a soft and reverent thing.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asks, between kisses. “Poor Hinata. You must be so tired.”

Hinata lets go of Nagito’s wrist and reaches up to scrub angrily at his face. Nagito takes that hand too. They’re standing in the middle of the path where anyone can see them, but if Hinata isn’t going to kick him into the dirt over it, he can’t be bothered to care what the inferior talents will think or feel. It’s Hinata’s decision, so if he chooses to have such appalling foresight as to allow Nagito free reign, well. <i>Nagito</i> won’t be the one to tell him he’s making poor life choices.

Komaeda leads, this time, their fingers laced together, and they go back to Hinata’s cottage. He makes no move to open the door; likely as not, he’d forgotten the keys in his haste. Nagito knows that fires tend to do that to even the best of people. Luckily, he has a hairpin.

“You’re too good at that,” Hinata sniffs warily.

“Thanks!” Nagito grins as he pushes open the door. He locks the door behind them. Hinata shucks his shoes and his shirt on the floor, which is a bit messy, but Hinata has had a rough day, so Nagito will let it slide this time. He tucks Hinata in on all sides and leans against the foot of the bed, head resting on his elbow, watching with a contented smile.

“You’re so goddamn creepy,” Hinata complains, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep from seeing him. “And embarrassing. And awful.” Nagito nods along. “Get off the floor,” he orders.

“The floor is too good for someone like me, but surely you don’t want to leave me unsupervised?” Nagito suggests. Hinata hauls him up by the elbow.

“Get in the fucking bed,” he says, and Nagito does, sliding happily between the sheets. He’s so warm, this steady physical presences that dips the mattress so they lay close together on the tiny bed. Nagito traces the path from Hinata’s shoulder down to his hip.  

“You smell wonderful,” Nagito sighs, face buried against Hinata’s shoulder, curled into the shape of his body from the back. He smells a little sweaty from the run, but clean and quick, and still a little like shampoo. He nuzzles the back of Hinata’s neck and Hinata shivers.

“You smell like smoke,” Hinata says flatly. “Take your clothes off.”

~~

Hajime would like to tell himself that he didn’t mean those words to come out that way. That this, like the thing about the origami, like the thing about leaving the island, was just a big mistake. It’s just that when Nagito slides back into bed, warm, soft, completely naked, and starts kissing the back of his neck with those same slow, even, deliberate kisses, he doesn’t want him to stop.

Komaeda’s hair still smells like smoke.

Hajime rolls over to face him anyway.

“You’re so fucking crazy.” Hajime murmurs, pulling him close. He holds Komaeda properly, holds him close to his chest like Komaeda might dissolve if he doesn’t. He might slip right through Hajime’s fingers and into the mattress and into the dirt. He might slip off in the night and set something else on fire. He might hurl himself off a cliff. Hajime kisses Komaeda’s cheek. His ear. The side of his nose. The corner of his mouth. “I can’t leave you alone. What the hell would you do?” He doesn’t let Komaeda answer, pressing his mouth against Komaeda’s and leaving it there, just breathing the same air. Occupying the same space. Komaeda kisses him back, gently. The wet slide of lips. Languid. Sleepy. Loving.

“You brought me back,” Komaeda reminds him, slipping his arms around Hajime too, dragging fingers down his broad back gently, making Hajime squirm. “Take responsibility.”

Hajime does.

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | The Innocent and The Sinful

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes 

|| opposites attract oneshot series ||

A/N: Yoongi’s one, I actually dusted up quite a bit so there aren’t any notes, just pure writing. I was ready to write an extended, very steamy scene in this but I guess that intimidated me and made me mentally shut down when writing this knowing that I had planned such a scene for the future of this oneshot. Don’t get me wrong, I was really excited to be writing smut for the first time...but, I also get nervous really easily and I’m a perfectionist+procrastinator - not a good combination! 

WARNING: May contain some conflict and violence nothing 

✚          ✚          ✚

The probability that two drastically opposing worlds should collide was highly unlikely, even more so the fact that they should harmonise under aesthetic melodies, and yet, despite this common perspective, it seems as though the path of two repelling ways of life magnetise along their way, and consequently, cross directions.

Such an innocuous stammer within one's path appears as irrelevant as the frequent act of unnamed strangers brushing shoulders, but an interaction must never be underestimated as the world's way of making an individual's tilted stage right again, can be a very peculiar thing.

☆

A night out with the usual gaggle of friends was well underway, falling upon its second hour the instant the clock ticked past eleven thirty (evening).

It was clear from the many blokes, who flashed ill grins upon catching the glint of uncertainty in your eyes, that this was an unfamiliar atmosphere for you, and suddenly, your friends' offer for free food and subsequent peaceful nights-in, no longer seemed worth-it as the sweat of discomfort tickled your brow.

"You look very tense there sweetpea!" Jia, the usual 'mother' of the group and your roommate, shouted from beside you, barely succeeding in overcoming the suffocating blare of music, "Have a drink and lighten up!" she encouraged, being strangely negligent to the obvious consequence of alcohol, especially in your circumstance. Not only were you a lightweight but everybody else within your group was drunk beyond the line of no return and someone needed to be responsible. 

It wasn't going to be Jia, definitely not - leaving only you.

"No thank you Unnie, I think I'll just go out for some fresh air." hefting a heavy sigh, you flashed a reassuring smile before making your way out. A clearing of the mind requires a cleaning of the air.

☆

"You're telling me," Yoongi stressed, an influential figure despite his diminutive build, "that nothing can be done to solve this." his voice hard and his eyes cold, a visible shiver rattled the spine of his unfortunate man of business.

"I'm sorry b-" the man attempted, only to be talked over by a booming voice.

"'Sorry' isn't going to fix things you little bastard, now, if you don't want my men coming after you, and the people you care about, then you better shut that bullshit-talking mouth of yours and get things done because I don’t pay you to hear crap fall out your asscrack of a mouth - got it?" the fire in his eyes was raging and untamed, hoping to rampage and set ablaze all that dared confront it - the poor man before him being the first victim, with licking flames already setting his toe-curled feet ablaze.

"Y-Yes S-“

"Now get the fuck out of my sight." once the stammering man had finally left, pudgy face sweating bullets of liquid fat and spindly thin hair clumping at his expansive forehead, Yoongi turned to his men. There was evident stress knotting his usually undisturbed brows. "I'm going for a smoke. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

☆

Hissing at the bite of your stiletto heels, you attempt to savour the crisp night air without grimacing at the filth surrounding you, only able to fully disregard it by tilting your head towards the star-dusted night sky. Slowly, your mind began to clear and a small smile pinched your flustered cheeks, bad experiences truly brought out the good in all the little things - much like the majestic beauty of the night.

So spellbound by the charm of the late evening, you were innocent to the approaching danger, coming at you in the form of an intoxicated, stout man, drenched in a scented smog of liquor. He had no real intention of anything ill and would've let you be if he hadn't drowned himself in the immoral fluid beforehand.

Now, all acts and thoughts were unfiltered and ethics were cleared off his table of prioritised considerations.

At the sight of your figure, hugged tightly by the dark fabric of your dress, an animalistic growl of unadulterated desire left his chapped lips and, noticing your impervious state, he strides forward carelessly.

Taking a chance on his luck, he smiled satisfactorily when he stumbled into your frail figure and smirked at the vulnerable squeal that left your delicate lips when his heavyset frame fell onto yours and forced you against the cold brick wall.

☆

Regardless of Yoongi's pronounced reliance on nicotine during times of distress, he never truly liked the act of smoking; he always grimaced in the seconds leading up to lighting the cancer stick before inhaling a breath.

Another thing that he absolutely detests, in spite of his criminal line of work, was the sight and racket of harassment, especially now, when his wick of tolerance had already been burned up to only a hair's breadth from the night's deficient chain of events. Using up the last of that wick, Yoongi could only stand for less than a minute before he stuffed the cigarette back in its packet and approached the inebriated attacker.

"Hey, asshat," he grumbled, waiting for the man to turn before landing a heavy blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold with the propelled force of his frustrations. It was definitely a good way of de-stressing and Yoongi would have taken up boxing if he wasn't so indolent with the burdens of his position. Hence why, when Yoongi knew the harasser was down for the count, at just one hit, he stepped away and finally lit his cigarette - he probably wouldn't finish it completely after such relief. 

He didn't care for the girl the man was molesting, he only wanted peace and quiet when having his smoke but probably secretly wanted to punch a man as well - any man - after such vexing news was delivered to him tonight. For that reason, he didn't pay you any mind and selfishly savoured the silence as he took a drag. 

This man was something unworldly to you. He had taken on a bozo twice his size and won with just a single hit, now, he was lighting a cigarette, going about his business as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Stepping closer and scrutinising his anatomy within the moonlight revealed how truly exquisite he was. His lean, ample limbs were garbed in a fitted black suit, darker than night and appearing silky under the rough stare of yellow street lamps. 

Supple ivory skin stretched over the features you were able to see bare: his face, neck and hands. The milky expanse of his nape silently pleaded for the sinful mark of bruising kisses, unsatisfied with the ink of a spiralling tattoo that climbed three delicious inches up the side of his neck, leading your mind to darkly ponder where it starts under the collar of his shirt. The hand he had holding the cigarette had long fingers with bulging veins decorating its back, leaving a simply intricate ring to embellish one elegant finger. His mysterious eyes were half hooded by a shadow containing undisclosed secrets that you yearned to acquaint yourself with, loving how the breath of smoke he exhaled spiralled into distinctive art before disappearing. 

Building up the courage, you stepped further forward, "u-umm..." you timidly began, “Thank-"

"Go home." he blatantly hissed, not sparing you a glance and, instead, took the time for another puff. Your morals weren't as such, however, because you needed to thank someone whose actions were worth appreciating, but as you stuttered to protest, he brushed you off once more.

"C-can I at least buy you lunch?-“

"Look, I didn't do it to help you, I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, if you have half the brain that I think you do, then you'll take this chance to get the fuck out of here.”

Naturally, you were hesitant but complied with his harsh command. You didn't think any less of him because of his confession; it doesn't change the fact that he saved you from a traumatising experience, so he still deserved your proper gratitude. He wasn't willing to accept it and it's his decision whether or not he does, yes, but you were determined to repay him.  

☆

It was unusual for you to frequent a bar, even more so if the bar was the one where you were physically assaulted at. Your behaviour was very suspicious and your friends were quick to catch on, confronting you the night you're about to leave your shared apartment once more. You always left at the same night, at the same time with the same intentions in mind - you just need to see him again. 

"I'll be leaving now," you announce, slipping into your heels as your reflection stares back at you with satisfaction. 

"Babes, you've told us what happened to you that night, right?" your roommate confirms as she stood beside the door, causing you to raise a brow as you gave a reassuring nod. "Everything?" she pressed as you gave another nod, “Then…why do I feel like you're leaving one very crucial detail out?" her eyes are piercing you judiciously as you struggle to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Jia, I've told you everything," you promise a white lie. 

"Oh really?" the stare she sends you is chilling, "Because, it doesn't really make much sense if the first time a girl goes out in forever, gets harassed and suddenly makes it routine to visit said bar on the same night, at the same time, weekly!" avoiding her eyes, you attempt to cover your endeavours, "Well?...Did this guy threaten you or something? (Y/N), you know that I'm here for you." the hard front she puts forth slowly wore down with concern until only watery agony was present in her eyes.

"I-It's not like that Jia.”

"Then please tell me, Sweetie. You know how I hate being kept in the dark about these things." clearly, the stress was getting to her and you felt extremely guilty for causing such strain on her everyday deliberations; she already had many other things to reflect on, she didn't need you forcing more stress atop that. You remember how you told her your altered story of the night - one where there was now a mysterious, cold-hearted stranger saving you - and she was close to tears, apologising for not being a good enough friend, proven in her failed act of saving you. "I''m not here to judge you...I'm just concerned. Please tell me so that I'm self-assured that you'll be fine…and that I don't need to stalk you just to make sure you're safe." it was a joke that you embraced with a half-hearted laugh, encouraging you to tip the scale in favour of her apprehension. 

"Alright...I'll tell you," and that, you did. As promised, she didn't judge you but put forward her own advice, the lines of stress no longer creasing the space between her expressive brows. 

"Is he so handsome that you have to go so badly?" she jests, her enquiry still half-serious. 

"Very!" you giggle. Staring up at the clock on the wall, you gasp, already half an hour late.

"Sorry for keeping you but I'm thankful that you've finally told me." 

With a hug and a quick farewell for the night, you were off, taking care not to fall in your adequate stiletto heels. 

☆

It was the same scenario. This had become so routine that you were running through the upcoming events of the first few minutes into the club in your head. Everything flowed like clock work, which would be - to a normal person only wanting the norm - perfectly fine but you didn’t crave the norm, you were craving, yearning, and pleading to a non-existent god that he be there tonight. And yet, what should you do if he did show? In his mysterious, slender frame, enveloped in it’s cloud of mysterious musk that you were only barely able to savour briefly in your even more brief encounter. That night seemed to occur eons ago and it was eating you up inside. 

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter Seven: Woe Is All I Possess.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Part Six. 

Anonymous said: Can these two in The Tutor do the naked pretzel already? Hwat!

Getting there, anon, getting there. A wee bit of slow a burn. 

I hope Sunday is treating everyone well...here’s part 7, enjoy <3 

Kicking at the dried mud that lined the pavement, Claire wandered aimlessly in the dark. The credit card (the only one in her own name) burned a hole in her pocket as she considered simply booking herself into the nearest hotel for the night. Pure stubbornness kept her walking onwards though. It didn’t matter that it was *her* card, Frank could still track her spending and the moment she checked into somewhere, he was sure to turn up and she was in no mood to face him again.

As the night slipped on, Claire walked herself out of her small neighbourhood and closer to the city centre. It was clear where her feet were taking her, back towards The Mitchell, but it was certainly closed by now. She sighed. With no mobile phone she had no way to contact anyone. Jamie had given her his mobile number and Claire’s heart skipped a beat as she realised that it was scrawled messily in her own handwriting in the back of her Moleskine.

The trouble came with finding a working phonebox, she was still in a mostly residential area and the advent of mobile phones had virtually decimated all of the red BT boxes that used to litter the streets.

“Shit.” She cursed openly as she trudged onwards.

It was the lights of a pub that caught her eye as she remembered Jamie saying something about his uncle, who managed the pub somewhere in the city. Walking with more purpose now, she headed into the outskirts of Glasgow until she managed to find a phone box that seemed to actually have a working landline hooked up to it.

Dialling the number she held her breath as she waited for him to answer. It rang out for quite a while but just as Claire was about to replace the receiver when a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?”

He sounded sleepy and Claire immediately felt bad for waking him.

“Hey, Jamie, it’s Claire,” she said holding the old phone close to her ear, “I didn’t know who else to call...I mean,” she continued stumbling over her words, “I *have* nobody else to call.”

“Dinna apologise, lass,” he said, sounding more awake now, “what’s wrong? Do ye need me to come and get you?”

“I--” she began, not knowing what to say now she actually had him on the phone, “I’m close to the library. Frank and I, we had a row and I walked out. I just left. I’ve been walking around for hours not really knowing what to do. I know I can’t go back to the house and I can’t book into a hotel.”

“Ye dinna need to be alone, Claire, tell me where ye are and I’ll come and get you, aye? Dinna fash.”

“I’ll walk to The Mitchell and meet you there.” She replied, the nervous butterflies in her stomach easing at his suggestion. “And Jamie?”

“Aye, Claire.” “Thank you...for this.”

“Nay bother.” He said, smiling as he replaced the phone and grabbed his car keys.

--

Claire had been silent for the entire journey back to Jamie’s flat which sat above the public house. The patrons of his uncle's pub were still drinking away when they pulled into the car park.

“This is me. Murtagh’s running the late shift tonight so we can go straight upstairs if ye like, or we can go for a wee tipple? Whatever ye fancy, Claire. Have you eaten?”

The questions bubbled over as Jamie took the keys out of the ignition and turned to Claire who was still sat, stoic, in the passenger seat. Wanting to give her time to relax, Jamie hadn’t worried about her being quiet on the drive over but curiosity was getting the better of him now they were sat in the empty lot.

“A drink would be perfect. I don’t think I can sleep just yet.”

Nodding, the pair exited the car and walked the short distance to the entrance of the pub. Jamie opened the door, letting the warm air waft over them as they found a small table away from most of the action.

“It wouldna usually be this busy but the football was on earlier. It always gets quite jolly…” he said diplomatically as Claire looked around, glancing at the more than inebriated clientele of the bar.

“Jolly.” Claire echoed, chuckling under her breath. “Great description.” Her shoulders sagged a little as she sat back in the comfy booth.

“Whisky?” Jamie asked, taking a punt on the type of drink she might like.

“God yes.” She replied, a large smile forming on her face at the suggestion.

“Anything ye like in particular?”

“I don’t mind too much, just no single malts.” She said, winking as she twiddled a beer mat between her fingers.

When he returned, Jamie had two tumblers in his hands and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps between his teeth. Placing the doubles on the beer mats and the crisps on the table, he sat beside Claire and pointed over to the heavily bearded man behind the bar. “That’s my uncle Murtagh. Him and his wife, Suzette, bought this place outright a few years ago. They work really hard to keep business booming. Susie cooks in the kitchen mostly and I help when I have free time - in return, Murtagh lets me stay in the flat above.”

“It’s close to the university and the library,” Claire noted, “a very good deal, I’d say.” Holding her glass up, she clinked it against Jamie’s before slugging back the amber liquid in one shot.

“Christ, lass,” Jamie exclaimed, his eyes wide, “if ye keep that up I’ll be carrying you upstairs in an hour when yer legs go from under ye!”

“Are you saying you think I can’t hold my booze, sir?” She returned, a naughty glint in her eye as she held up her now-empty glass. “Because I can assure you, Jamie lad, I am very...adept...at drinking. Bring it on, Fraser.”

--

“Ye have to tell me,” Jamie said, his voice steady and sure with no hint of the huge amount of alcohol he and Claire had just consumed, “what de ye and...erm…”

“Frank,” Claire interjected, nudging Jamie’s side. He knew Frank’s name, Claire was certain, but the more drunk they got, the more playful and daft Jamie became. It was like a breath of fresh air to be out having fun instead of stuck in a stuffy old hall, mansion or Masonic lodge, surrounded by consummate professionals talking business and quaffing ridiculously small glasses of port.

“Aye, that’s the fella. Ye and Frank, what did ye fight over?”

“I’ve spent too much time being his trophy wife, the mostly silent woman on his arm. I’m fucking sick of it.” She replied, her jaw clenching with anger as she thought back on their heated argument.

Taken aback by her swearing -he’d never heard her curse before- Jamie spat a mouthful of whisky back into his glass and spluttered until he’d regained himself once more.

Claire quirked a brow, clinking her wedding ring against the crystal tumbler as she placed it back on the table and grabbed another crisp from the dwindling packet that Jamie had opened out onto the varnished wood that separated them. “He came home early. We had an engagement in the diary and I’d gone out for the afternoon, I didn’t even check so I had no idea and when I finally came back he was waiting for me. Frank lives his own life, he goes to work, buggers off for weeks on end to events and then expects me to be at home like a good little wife. But he didn’t even have the decency to tell me when he was coming back, never mind the funding dinner he’d arranged. So I told him where he could shove his patriarchal bullshit attitude...and left.”

“Yer so brave, sassenach.” Jamie returned, his eyes growing heavy as the pub grew quiet around them. Most of the drunken football fans had filtered away throughout the last hour but Claire and Jamie had been so lost in one another that they’d failed to notice Murtagh locking the front door and sneaking off to bed.

‘Brave?” She replied. “Or stupid?”

Jamie shook his head and placed his hand over hers, rubbing the backs of her fingers with his own. “Definitely brave.”

“For so long I’ve been plodding along, all *woe is all I possess…* like Cathy in ‘Wuthering Heights’ and when I came home to Frank’s bad attitude, something in me just snapped.”

“He doesna ken what he has.” Jamie whispered, his head bending closer to Claire’s as she shifted closer to him.

“We used to love one another, I think.” she sighed, closing her eyes as she tilted her head. She could feel Jamie’s breath now as it fanned across her face and immediately forgot what she was trying to say, her mind thinking only of Jamie and what he might feel like pressed against her.

“I can stop…” Jamie murmured, his mouth coming dangerously close to hers, “I dinna want to, but I will.”

“It’s alright,” Claire replied, her free hand coming up to cup his jaw as she ran her fingers through the short bursts of stubble that had grown in throughout the day, “because I don’t want you to stop either. Is that wrong?”

“Nah.” He sighed. “No’ wrong at all.”

“Good,” she said before her lips moulded to his, stealing the rest of the words from her mouth as his tongue caressed hers - neatly fitting one to the other in the dim light of the West End family pub as the grandfather clock in the corner chimed midnight.

[askalt2d]

Sweetness

Over a cup of mid-afternoon tea, 2D pauses in his recounting of Susan from daycare’s daily dose of gossip to check his phone. “Oh, I got a notification from the coupon site fingy– it’s couples night at tha’ fancy Italian place.” He looks up, excited. “I know it’s not, like, official date night ‘til Friday...but–”

Stuart smiles. “A nice dinner out sounds lovely.”

2D surges up to give his husband a kiss, nearly upsetting his teacup in the process. “Aw, Stu, fank you!”

With their tea forgotten, they begin to plan their evening.

Ever the enthusiastic aunt, Noodle immediately agrees to watch Parker for the night– “We’ll do our hair and mess around on your papa’s keyboard, Twochie!” she’d said to Parker over the phone, and had been quickly shot down on the second part by 2D– and she comes to pick up her niece just before sunset.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, you two,” she warns cheekily, buckling Parker’s car seat into her Jaguar.

2D grins. “No promises!”

Given the circumstances of the month, though, they’re bound to keep that promise either way.

The Pots dress to the nines, even though it’s only a local restaurant. Stuart wears the cornflower tie from their wedding with a crisp black suit, and 2D even tucks a pocket square into the breast pocket of his sleek navy jacket.

“You look stunnin’, bluebird,” Stuart murmurs as their taxi pulls up. 

2D blushes and gently shoves his shoulder. “Ya ain’t too bad yourself, love.”

The two of them kiss in the cab ride to dinner, but it isn’t lustful or wanting– quick, sweet pecks and a soft meeting of their lips instead of Stuart’s tongue down his husband’s throat. The driver glances back disapprovingly a few times, and 2D bursts into giggles, blushing like a teenager at being caught.

When they arrive, and after generously tipping the cabbie, Stuart takes 2D’s hand like a real gentleman and leads him inside.

Soft candlelight and dimmed electric lamps light the warm interior of the restaurant. There’s music playing– classical, not really to their taste, but it suits the mood. The tables are draped in red and adorned with a single fabric rose each. Only a few other couples are present, given that it’s a Wednesday night, so the Pots are led to a free table right away.

“Remember when we took Parker ‘ere,” 2D says, once the waiter leaves, “an’ she spit up on the menu?”

Stuart holds back a snort of laughter. “That was here?”

“Yep! We were sittin’ just over there.” He points to a table near the front of the restaurant. “Ya tried feedin’ her mashed potatoes...”

“You’re the only one who can convince her to eat food she doesn’t like, bluebird.” Stuart grins and takes a sip of his wine. “I really think you’re her favorite.”

2D’s face falls comically fast. “Oh, Stu, don’t say tha’!”

“I was jokin’, love.”

“Yeh, but still...” He reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand. “She loves ya so much, Stu. She loves both of us equally, I jus’ know it. Yeh, I can get ‘er to eat nasty stuff, but you– you change the batteries in ‘er hearin’ aid so quick an’ delicate while my fingers just shake all over the place. You never panic when she gets overwhelmed an’ starts screamin’, ya just hold ‘er and sing and it works like magic.” 2D smiles softly at him. “You’re a good dad, Stu– you’re a great dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeh.”

Stuart leans over the table to kiss his husband. “I think you’re great, too.” 2D hums happily into the kiss, letting the rest of the world melt away. Stuart’s lips are warm and a little bit chapped, tasting of the wine he’d been sipping and of Stuart’s own underlying sweetness.

There’s an embarrassed “Er...” from above them. 2D pulls away, blushing, as the waiter politely examines the ceiling instead of the kissing couple. “Are we ready to order?”

“Spaghetti, please,” 2D says, dabbing his lips with his napkin. He peeks up at Stuart, and stifles a laugh. His husband still looks a bit spellbound. “Love? Wot d’ya want?”

“You– er, I mean, what you ordered. Same thing. I– yeah.” His face is flushed. 

As soon as the waiter leaves, 2D kicks him gently under the table. “Frisky.”

“I didn’t mean it in a randy way,” Stuart mutters, a bit embarrassed. “At least, not completely.”

“Well,” 2D says in a very matter-of-fact way, reaching for the bread, “ya can’t eat me for dinner. I ain’t very nutritious, I’d imagine.” 

Stuart huffs out a fond sort of sigh. He picks up a packet of butter and warms it in his hands before handing it to 2D. “Hush and eat your bread, bluebird.”

Both their spaghettis arrives not long after, and despite it being an accidental order on Stuart’s part, he isn’t disappointed at all in his meal. He and 2D both fall silent for a long while, with only the clink of forks serving as conversation. The pasta is warm and buttery, with a rich, meaty tomato sauce over the top. With that and with the bread as an appetizer, it’s no wonder that once 2D clears his plate, he settles back with a bit of a groan.

“Mm?” Stuart raises his eyebrows, mouth still full of spaghetti.

“Tummy ‘urts a bit,” 2D says, shifting in his seat. “Fink I ate too fast...or too much. Or both.” He suppresses a small burp.

Stuart sympathetically pats his husband’s hand. “Wanna go home?” he asks once he’s swallowed his spaghetti. “I know we planned an evenin’ walk in the park after dinner, but if your stomach hurts, then we can just go right home. Watch a film or somethin’, maybe?”

“It’s so lovely out, though.” 2D bites his lip. “I– I wanted to stargaze for a bit. Snog on a park bench, look up at the sky...” His stomach interrupts with a loud gurgle, and he goes red with embarrassment. “Don’t. Laugh.”

Stuart puts his hand over his own mouth, but his eyes sparkle with laughter nonetheless. “Aw, bluebird...”

“I-it ain’t funny!”

“It’s a bit funny.”

“You’re bein’ mean, Stu. Mean an’ cruel an’ rude.”

Getting a hold of himself, Stuart lays a hand on 2D’s crossed arms. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Belly rubs when we get home?”

2D pretends to mull it over, but his decision had been made the second the words left his husband’s mouth. “...Yeh, alright.”

As a further apology, Stuart pays for their dinner. He calls another cab for them, and 2D nearly dozes off on the short ride home, his head leaning heavily on Stuart’s shoulder.

The house is quiet and empty, a rarity these days. Stuart flips the lights on as 2D shrugs his jacket off and makes a beeline for the sofa. He undoes the top button of his trousers and sighs with relief. “These fings’re too restrictitive,” he mutters as Stuart joins him, turning the TV on to a random movie channel. “Now I get why I don’t wear ‘em much...”

“We don’t have much occasion to dress up much, anyway,” Stuart says, gently guiding 2D to lie down with his head in Stuart’s lap. “Though I gotta say, you look damn handsome all dolled up.”

2D wriggles, getting comfortable. “You’re always ‘andsome.”

“So are you, you big flatterer.” He leans down to kiss his forehead, and starts rubbing gentle circles on his belly. “Feel better?”

“Mm-hm...” 2D hums happily. He’s silent for a bit, warm and content. Stuart’s hands feel like heaven on his aching stomach, rubbing his pain away and nearly lulling him to sleep. 

After a few long, blissful minutes, Stuart moves the massage upwards, working the knots out of 2D’s shoulders. A deep groan drifts from his husband’s mouth. “Blimey, Stu,” he sighs, opening one dark eye to peer up lovingly at him, “wot’d I ever do to deserve ya?”

He’s silent for a moment. “You smiled at me,” Stuart finally starts, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You smiled at me, and you sang under your breath, and you laughed at your own jokes, and you made me fall in love with you. You changed my mind about wantin’ to start a family, and you gave birth to the most beautiful little baby I’ve ever seen. Our baby. Our Parker.”

2D’s eyes are welling up a bit, but Stuart keeps going. “You kiss me goodnight and good mornin’ every day. You sing in the shower. You walk around naked when your laundry’s in the wash because you don’t want to get even more of your clothes dirty in the meantime. You fall asleep while watchin’ your favourite films and then get sad that you missed the best parts. You leave scribbled song lyrics all over the house. You always tell me about cute dogs you’ve seen– even if you only remember to tell me when we’re in the middle of havin’ sex.”

“Tha’ was one time!”

“You dirty talk like a damn professional,” Stuart continues. “You make such pretty noises when– well, I don’t want to push the whole, er, no nut thing. But damn, you’re so fuckin’ good in the sack.” 

“Ain’t half bad, yourself,” 2D says, giggling a little. There’s still a tear lingering on his lower lashes, and Stuart brushes it away with impossible tenderness.

“You made me fall in love with you,” he repeats softly, voice growing more serious and yet more adoring. “You said yes when I asked you to be my boyfriend, and you said yes when I asked you to be my husband. Most importantly, though– you’re you, 2D. You’re wonderful. You’re beautiful, kind, talented, funny, sweet, so many other things that it would take all my life to list all the reasons why I love you.”

“Oh, St-Stu...”

“That’s what you did to deserve me, bluebird.” He cups his husband’s face. “You exist. Somehow, impossibly, you’re here. You’re here in my arms, in my life. Everythin’ I do for you...it’s to show my thanks for you. My love for you. And 2D, you deserve all of it and more.”

2D’s face is a mess of happy tears. “St-Stu,” he says again, sitting up and perching on his husband’s lap. “You– you shut up, an’ you kiss me. Right fuckin’ now.”

Stuart obeys, drawing him close and brushing a thumb over his love’s trembling lips before meeting them softly with his own. 

He doesn’t stop for a long, long, long time.

[vanmccstan]

#1 a lazy day in bed

Morning light streams through the window, a tiny glimpse of the day ahead. The rain telling you that it wouldn’t be a good one, though. There had been storms for days and today was no different, with the rain lashing down on the window in a strangely relaxing way.

Rain had always relaxed you, as a kid, your mum would put on special rain music to make you go back to sleep after you’d wake up from a nightmare. If anything, it mostly just made you sleepy.

There’s small movement from next to you which wakes you up even more. You burrow your head under the pillow and pull the crisp, white sheets of the duvet closer to your body.

“Morning, darlin’.” Van says from next to you. You poke your head out from under the pillow and look at him. He’s propped up, head resting back against the headboard. Like it always is in the morning, his hair is messy and all over the place. It bares some sort of resemblance to when he’s just finished playing a gig and his hair is everywhere. In the morning though, it’s a softer kind of look.

His half moon necklace hangs in between his collarbones and every time you see it, you wonder when you’ll finally have it passed on to you.

Maybe you’d never get used to seeing him like this every morning, you were sure that Van was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

You wriggle under the duvet towards him and you place your head onto his chest.

“Good morning.” You say, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.

It had got warm in the night and he’d gotten up at around 3am to turn the fan on and had taken his shirt off at the same time.

“Sleep well?” He asks, kissing the top of your head where a mound of hair is scooped up in a messy bun. You nod gently, taking his necklace into your fingers and twiddling it around.

“Did you?” You return the question.

“No. Had a nightmare.” He says casually. He’d been having them a lot recently. He was home from touring for three short months and each and every night he’d dream of horrific things which would wake him up in the early hours.

“Another one?” You ask.

Sometimes he’d start to cry in his sleep, which really just hurt your heart. Sometimes he’d call your name and beg for you to stay, for you not to leave him, and you’d have to do your best to reassure him at 4 in the morning that you weren’t going anywhere and you never would be. He’d spare you the details every morning after he’d had one, telling you that they didn’t matter. They do though, they always matter.

He just nods his head and detaches himself from you and getting up to get some tea from downstairs.

——————

“Come on, time to get up.” Van chuckles. The forth cup of tea had been drunk and all biscuits in the packet consumed. You shake your head and pout your bottom lip out, frowning slightly. “Darlin’, come on. Stuff to do, people to see, dogs to walk.” Little Mary pops her head up from her space in the bed when she hears the word walk which causes you and Van to laugh slightly.

“Can’t, Van. Too tired.” You whine. He’s sitting on the wooden flooring of your bedroom folding the freshly washed clothes up and putting it in piles of your stuff and his stuff. Your stuff mostly consists of colour and stripes whereas Van’s is just several pairs of black skinny jeans and black button ups. There’s a white one which he sometimes wears which sends you into overdrive.

He looks up from the washing and laughs. “You were sleeping for more than eight hours, y/n, how are ya still even tired?” That’s the thing about Van, all that touring has fucked his body clock up in such a way that he doesn’t even need more than five hours a sleep a night to survive. Almost every morning, like clock work he’s up by seven and out walking Little Mary in the field which backs on to your house, the time precision is so perfect that it’s like a military mission.

Today, however, Van had got a much needed catch up on sleep and had a lie in with you.

You star fish your body out across the bed and groan loudly.

“Get back in bed,” you beg. Your phone buzzes from the bedside table with an Instagram notification and you chose to ignore it. Mostly, your Instagram is now just filled with Catfish fans speculating about you and Van. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to suss out what’s going on between you two. There are countless pictures of the boys playing gigs from the side of the stage, videos of Bondy messing around and pictures of Van lazily playing guitar or sipping coffee.

Your favourite post though is one of you on Van’s shoulders at Glastonbury three years ago, it was the summer after the balcony had been released and it was their first major festival they were playing.

After their set, you’d all mingled into the crowd the Courteeners which is when that picture was taken. It was a special day for each and every one of you.

“No, darlin’. We gotta crack on today, I promised Bond I’d go see him to work on something new.” He stands up from the floor, holding both piles of washing and then starts to put them away in the correct drawers. What a sweetheart.

“Bond can come here. Just one more hour, please?” You snuggle down under the duvet, just your eyes and the top of your head showing.

“Come on, y/n. Do I have to get you out myself?” He asks. He puts his hands on his hips and you laugh at how sassy he looks.

“Ahh... yeah.”

Van takes out a pair of black leggings a one of his hoodies from the pile of clothes and moves towards you, leaving one of the drawers hanging out with clothes stuffed into it. His hoodies are your favourite thing in the whole world, they’re big and soft and smell of him even after being washed many times. Another thing that you love about his hoodies are that they’re a ‘home’ thing. He’ll never go out wearing them, meaning that his adoring fans are left wondering how he’d look in one, whereas you can see that whenever you wanted.

Time to get up.” He laughs softly. He dips down to the bed and wraps his arms around your body and in one swift movement, you pull him back down into the bed and he comes crashing down on top of you. You laugh, throwing your head back and holding onto your chest. Van grins at you, shaking his head slightly in disbelief before planting a gentle kiss on your lips.

——————

An hour in bed turns into two, which turns into three and four. When Bondy rocks up at 3:30, baring a box of four red velvet cupcakes and with his epiphone flung over his shoulder, you think he’s going to laugh at you and Van wrapped up in the white sheets watching old re-runs of Gavin and Stacey. Instead, he kicks off him boots, rests his guitar against your wardrobe, hands you the cupcakes and lies across the end of the bed watching the show with you.

You fall into a light sleep whilst the boys watch the television, occasionally making conversation about the new and upcoming third album. At one point, Van tells Bondy to get his guitar and Bondy goes quiet for a bit. “Nah, can’t do that Van. Look, she’s sleeping.” You grin, covering your face and making sure neither of them can see you and do your best to sleep once again.

When you finally wake up, Van and Bondy have left you and you can hear them in the spare bedroom, which Van had converted into the ‘music room’. It was mostly just a place to store all his guitars and empty cases. Whenever the rest of the band came around, they’d almost always be in there together, whether that’s creating music, writing music or just listening to it, you’d always hear laughter coming from in there.

It’s the room that in a few years would become your first born’s bedroom, and eventually they may share it with a sibling. For now though, it’s a place for the band to mess around in and write the third album.

Bondy’s quiet whilst Van talks intently about the third album, expressing all his ideas, from the cover art, to the name, to the track list and why number eight is going to be his favourite. You get up from the bed quietly, trailing the duvet behind you and you make your way to the spare bedroom. You open the door, letting yourself in silently and sitting down on to the floor, covering yourself with the duvet.

The boys briefly look up from what they’re doing and smile at you before going back to discussing the album.

You smile to yourself. All is well in the world.

[ronyxfic]

Educating the Victim - Act VI, Chapter VI

Pairing: Topaz/Topaz

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: none for this chapter

Read it on AO3! - Support us on Patreon!

Educating the Victim Masterpost

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CHAPTER 6: Trip

 Marina was at the airport, three hours early. She'd exchanged some pounds into euros, and was now pouring sugar into a latte by the departures.

Being this early had its disadvantages.

   Asleigh and Hunter Topaz lagged behind a little bit.

“Marina, wait up,” Hunter called, tugging her wife along, “We’re going into that Cafe there before security, we have loads of time.”

 "You should know by now that I need three cups of coffee before twelve," Marina huffed, folding the sugar packet and disposing it into the bin. "I don't want to miss our flight."

 Ashleigh laughed. “We’re three hours early,” she said. “We’re not going to miss our flight.”

She leaned in to kiss her wife on the cheek. “Well, Marina. Would you like to join us on our date?”

 Marina rolled her eyes, pursing her lips. "I guess, since I'm already here. I like the cafe Nero here."

 Ashleigh tilted her head. “Well, let’s find a table then.”

Hunter smiled at her. “I’ll order! The usual for you, love?”

Ashleigh blew her a kiss. “You know me so well.”

“What would you like, Marina?” Hunter asked.

 "Crisps and mocha. Do you want money?"

 “Absolutely.” Hunter grinned at Marina.

 Marina dug into her pocket and pulled out a fat roll of twenties. "There. Salt and vinegar, all else is heathen."

 “Thank you!” Hunter went towards the counter to order while Ashleigh settled in, arranging their luggage and keeping the seat next to her for Hunter.

“So, Marina,” she said, “You still haven’t told us anything about this mission. We’re at the airport now and can’t really bail out easily anymore, so...?”

 "Should be a breeze. We're just checking out and snooping on an old wine farm to see whether there's anything fishy happening. There's some kind of unlawful takeover happening and I've got a couple of people here I'm looking to talk to." Marina pulled up her shoulder bag. "Here's a few of them."

   Ashleigh frowned at the papers. “If it’s an easy mission, why did Azure want us to come with you?”

 "Beats me. It all looks like corporate people... and some woman, but she's not been seen for years, so I doubt she's going to matter."

 “Oh, who’s that?”

 "Roxy Dayman. We don't even have a picture on file." Marina pulled the corresponding document. It was short, just a few paragraphs of text. "I think she might be dead from the account, but Azure threw it in the pile."

 “Well, that certainly doesn’t sound like it’s going to be important later.” Ashleigh looked up, just as Hunter returned with their orders.

“Here’s your caramel latte with a hazelnut shot and soy milk,” she said, sliding Ashleigh’s drink to her. “And yours, Marina.”

She sat down next to Ashleigh. “What’d I miss?”

 "We were just talking about the job." Marina looked over her shoulder. "Did you two buffoons really not even think to look at the mission before you left home?"

 “We had a glance. But we’re just the muscle. We do as you tell us.” Hunter shrugged. “But it’s nice to know what we’re doing anyway.”

 Marina withdrew the documents. "I'll let you both study up on the flight. Right - we've been allocated a couple of weeks and I figure if we work quick, we can have it done in a couple of days and afford a couple to explore." She gave the two a smirk. "Anything you want to check out?"

 “Hmm.” Ashleigh reached over the table to snatch the documents away from Marina. “Where’s this place we’re going? I want to see what’s in the area.”

 "The flight goes to Bordeaux," Marina looked at her phone, "But we need to take two trains after we get there. Azure booked us an airbnb in some tiny village."

 “That sounds fun! Bordeaux sounds lovely,” Ashleigh said.

“We could get a romantic evening in,” Hunter said, winking at her. “If we get any time off,” she added, grinning at Marina.

 "Ew, you two can do what you want." Marina stuck out her tongue. She searched for the area on her phone. "I wouldn't mind checking out some restaurants. Little French villages always have some hidden gems."

 “Don’t say ew, that’s homophobic,” Ashleigh said, straight-faced. “Should we hire a car, maybe? Hunter can drive.”

 Marina rolled her eyes but nodded. "Sure. It's in the budget. Feel free to organise that."

 “Sure!” Hunter took out her phone. After a few minutes of searching, she exclaimed, “Hey, look, there’s this really cute castle! I want to visit it! How long do you think we can drag out this mission?” She showed it to Ashleigh.

 "Don't get too crazy." Marina eyed them up and turned her nose before returning to her browsing.

 “You could join us. I know you like castles,” Hunter said. “You could interpret for us, you know how the French are.”

 "Tsch, fine." But Marina looked amused by the prospect. "I guess I wouldn't mind that."

 Ashleigh finished her coffee, leant back and yawned while stretching. “Well, will you look at the time. We... still have more than two hours. Though at least the checkin should be open soon. Marina, why did you drag us here so early? We could have slept for another hour.”

 "You know me. I like to be prepared."

 “We still would’ve been plenty prepared if we’d gotten here an hour and a half early,” Hunter said. “I’m so tired.”

 "Drink your coffee and deal with it."

 Hunter pulled a face. “I’m gonna nap.” She took out her hearing aid and snuggled up to Ashleigh.

 "If we get through security soon, we can look through duty free for a while. I like to get a few bottles and chocolate while I'm there," Marina said to Ashleigh, finishing her drink.

 Ashleigh patted Hunter’s head. “Really, you want to get alcohol here, when we’re going to Bordeaux?” she said, amused. “Aren’t we literally going to a vineyard?”

 "Spirits! I want spirits!"

 “Really, are we that unbearable?”

Hunter took that moment to snuggle closer, and Ashleigh turned and kissed the top of her head, before turning back to Marina.

 Marina looked away. "Indeed you are."

 --

 About an hour later, they were finally ready to go through security. Ashleigh and Hunter shared a small suitcase as hand luggage, and were holding hands as they made their way to the queues.

“Looks like it’s not too bad,” Ashleigh said, “we should be through pretty quickly.”

 "You lot didn't bring anything to slow us down, did you?" Marina tapped her foot impatiently, her coat already neatly folded.

 “Course not,” Hunter said. “Did you?”

 "What do you think I am? Some kind of amateur?"

 “Well, you never know.” Hunter grinned. They’d already reached the belts, and Ashleigh took out a tray.

 Marina stood and waited, watching the people go in front of her and scoffing at an elderly man who'd forgotten to remove his wristwatch. "Honestly. There's signs everywhere."

 “Not everyone flies twice a month, Marina,” Ashleigh said. “And some of these are just dumb. I can’t believe you still can’t take liquids.”

“And I have to take off my shoes,” Hunter said, plonking her heavy boots into a tray. “Alright, ready to go.”

 "They're holding everyone up." Marina fiddled with her pockets. "I'm sure there's people in the queue who need to get on sooner rather than later."

 “What, like us?” Ashleigh said, grinning. “We only have an hour and a half to get on our plane!”

Hunter stepped forward, through the body scanner. It beeped loudly. The security assistant frowned at her. “Step over here for a minute.”

 "Oh come ON!" Marina exhaled.

 “Oh.” Hunter blushed. “My hearing aid, I always forget.”

“Take it out, please, and send it through in a tray,” the security assistant said, motioning her over to the belt.

Hunter nodded, following the instructions, then looking up to grin awkwardly at Ashley.

“Now if you’ll step through the scanner again,” the security assistant said.

Hunter didn’t move.

“Um, ma’am?”

Ashleigh nudged Hunter.

“What? Oh. Sorry, can’t hear ya.”

 Marina gave an annoyed grunt as her foot began to tap repeatedly on the ground. Her impatience growing by the second.

 Hunter finally went through the scanner. Ashleigh followed her. Which only left Marina.

 Finally. Marina clenched her fists and stomped to the gate. "Look at how quickly you can get through if you just prepare -"

It was then that she passed through the gate itself, at which moment the alarm began to wail.

 “Please step in here,” the security assistant said. “Stretch out your arms. ...Ah, something in your pocket?”

 Marina groaned upon the realisation that she'd left her second phone in her back pocket.

She audibly swore when she saw the expression on Ashleigh's face.

 “Ah. You’ll have to go back and go through the scanner again,” said the security assistant, her voice bored.

“Man,” Ashleigh said loudly, “always these silly people holding up the line. Surely there are people here who need to get to their flights quickly.” She grinned at Marina.

   Marina complied, but stuck out her middle finger at Ashleigh - discreetly enough so that only she could see.

This was going to be a long trip.

> Act VI, Chapter VII