#and thanks again these words give me hope and confidence to keep my cursed creativity 💖💖💖

[7finalgirl8]

people who draw billy all hot n shit are looking past the fact that this man is a wet rag. he is the definition of the sound a wet rag makes when it’s wrung out. i just know this man smells like vinegar and cat hair. respect to all of the hot billy enjoyers but i like my men like i like my rags: thrown into a wall , torn to shit, and covered in the weirdest stains comprehensible by my feeble mind.

@fishedeyelenz , @fina1b0y , and @7finalgirl8

draw him so well it’s insane

[oneoftheprettynerds]

So We Meet Again: Dark! Stucky x Reader

Requested: Yes, based on a prompt by @heavenlyseb

A/N: I was halfway done with LACs next chapter but the inspiration died Idk why so I thought I’d invest the creative energy somewhere else and then try my hand at that again. Thank you to you for dropping this request in my ask box, @heavenlyseb​. 

WARNINGS: Non-con, Mental breakdown, spiking a drink.

Summary: Reader tries to escape her past but it’s harder when your past includes dangerous men.

Word Count: 1.3 K {so drabble I think}

The entire day something had felt wrong. Maybe it was the universe’s way of sending you a message, foreshadowing misfortune in ways it knew. 

For the first time ever you had messed up breakfast, spilling the coffee and burning the toasts. Then you had forgotten some very important papers at home that Steve thankfully had a soft copy of on his laptop. After you left office earlier than him like you always did to go home and cook, you had your car die on you and leave you stranded. This series of unfortunate events didn’t end there; unfortunately, it followed you home. 

The streak continued with the laundry getting messed up, all whites turning pink and colored fabrics getting bleached. You fingers got stuck in a drawer, yours toes also getting stubbed. Nevertheless the day wasn’t even close to beating the worst day of your life; more like the worst few months of your otherwise simple life.

A shudder ran through you as the thoughts and memories you had buried so deep surfaced again. With one uncurbed thought that gave rise to the unpleasant memory train, you were back in that posh glass office again.

 It was New Years Eve. The decorations were still hung up around the large rooftop arena, from Christmas a few days ago. The bars had the strongest alcoholic drinks wearing pretty shades of blue and orange. There were plants draped in ornaments, a lot of them. You remembered chuckling about how the potted plants were a show of wealthy people, all affluent people pretending to have a green thumb or care for the Earth.

You greeted the people you knew and joked about resolutions. You remember hanging out with the only actual friend you had there, the receptionist Lucy. Anyone else you talked to at the company was merely a coworker, some of them plotting your downfall even. But Lucy was genuine, and so your only friend.

Said friend however, did abandon you few minutes prior to midnight with poor, half a hearted apologies, running in preparation for her midnight kiss. You giggled and honestly, weren’t even offended, just amused by her antics.

You planned on sulking in the corner with the other singles who weren’t ready to mingle and saying goodbye as soon as the clock hit twelve. That plan failed when your handsome hunk of a boss, whom you had seen only a handful of times and encountered for even fewer, brought you a drink and asked for a few minutes of your time.

You don’t know what made you go then, nor do you have any better take on the situation even now but the gist of it all was that you did oblige. It could have been the alcohol coursing through your veins, the encouragement by others’ jealous stares and Lucy’s wink or even the slight crush you had on the man with the cerulean eyes.      

However, going to his office and him fucking you on that sandalwood desk wasn’t your choice.

You remember him kissing you at the midnight stroke, a kiss sizzling with passion and yearning. When you both pulled away, you felt flushed and giddy but the carnal desire in his eyes after just one kiss alarmed you. Still, you offered to exchange numbers for a follow up, he was your boss after all but your dazed mind could not even remember your own number.

Your mind began to lose consciousness as you sweated and your skin heated, head and folds burning alike. You slipped in and out of articulacy, fragments of memory in your mind.

You shook your head as you realized you were shaking, keeping the knife down on the board and halting the slicing of tomatoes. You wiped your tears as you chided yourself for almost getting into another accident, a fatal one even, zoning out like that with a sharp knife.

The sound of the door opening and closing made you calm, Steve was home now. You hadn’t told him everything about your past yet, just bits and pieces, but you had never felt unsafe with him. He was nothing short of a gentleman, courted you properly and even waited months when you weren’t initially ready.

He let you progress the relationship on your terms, his support always there whether it was the question of spending a night together or moving in. His arms were where you felt the safest, his strength a promise of protection. 

A second set of footsteps made you furry your eyebrows, Steve didn’t inform you of company tonight. You pushed your anguish aside, putting on a facade for his guest as you got back to chopping. 

“Honey, I’m home.” Steve’s holler made you easy, his presence itself was comforting.  

“I’m in the kitchen.” You sung back, the nickname making you smile. 

“I brought a guest for dinner, hope you don’t mind.” He called out from the living room, the slight thud of furniture telling you they sat there.

You checked the broth, dinner for three would take time, even more so as your bad luck kept you on your toes today. Switching off the stove you sighed and made you way to the living room.

You planned to ask Steve to order and simultaneously greet his guest but ice froze in your veins when you entered the square doorway. Your planned again and at this point, one would think they had a knack for unsuccessful plans.

You could never forget the broad shoulders, the silky brunette locks and the sapphire blue eyes of James Buchanan Barnes, the handsome devil that haunted your existence.

You remembered waking up to your senses getting slaughtered. The drag of a cock in your hole as you clenched as tightly as a boxer’s fist. The squelching noises, the breathy moans and the sound of skin slapping skin. It took all you had in you to open your eyes every time you slipped out of consciousness.

You remembered being taken on every surface in his large office, against the glass panels looking onto the city below, on his velvet sofa, even his private elevator.  

Barnes had whispered sweet nothings in your ears that night and every night after like he was your lover, not your assaulter. How he cornered you with the obscene footage the night after when you threatened to press charges. You both knew then that you had no hope, no chance of winning against him and would have no dignity either if released some footage with some faces blurred.

He used and abused you and his power, until the day you finally gathered your guts and went far way, a new place, new start. 

You believed you didn’t leave a trail behind but then how was the devil himself greeting you in your own home? 

Your whole body shook like it did minutes earlier and you found Steve gently cradling your face. You flinched at his touch, skidding away, “Get this man out of here, Steve!” If looks could kill, the brunette would have dropped dead.

James Barnes had the audacity to smirk as you brushed a hand through his hair, ever so confident and smug, your shaken form amusing him.

Steve hung his hand around your shoulder and wiped a tear that had escaped. His arms were your haven and such you had believed until a moment later, “That’s no way to greet Bucky, sweetheart.” 

Your head whipped at light’s speed as you looked in horror at Steve, the hold on your shoulders tightening and keeping you alongside him.

“He was kind enough to give you months to adjust but now he misses you more than he can endure.”

  “Steve, you don’t know what your bastard of a frien-” You started hoping it was a misunderstanding on your part.

At the curse, Steve’s grip became bruising as he cut you off, “Trust me sweetheart, I know. Bucky and I don’t have secrets.” 

[startanewdream]

The road home

Summary: Lily watches Harry and Ginny finding their way back to each other following the end of the war.

Note: For @madhulika18, who asked for more Hinny moments as seen by James and Lily. I could never decide if this is really part of Eyes Glistening (because Harry and Ginny have drama really, and I don't like them having drama), but it works either way, so I hope you enjoy these moments (also, I have a soft spot for Lily and Harry talking, so...)

_______

It’s all about the words that aren’t being said.

Once, a long time ago, Lily lived that with James. But it was different and, though, of course, it didn’t seem like that at the time, it was easier too. Her problems were unknowing her feelings, not understanding why she enjoyed his company and why she craved his smile, his light. She had fancied him for a long time before she understood what it was what she really felt for him — and until then it was only her heart beating faster when they would touch each other without meaning too (a brush of hands, sitting together closer than necessary), enjoying the perfume he’d left on his trace, finding excuses to be with him.

But after she had understood what she felt for him, somehow it had been easy. Awkward, sure, that first date when she was feeling stupid near him — until she remembered this was James, and being with him was good and blissful and then kissing him had felt as natural as breathing —, but there was never a question about how they felt about each other, never doubts that they would be together.

They had fought over many things, until they perfected the art of compromising, of understanding each other’s view, but there was never a breakup, never something that really kept them apart.

They are lucky on this, she knows.

Especially when she sees the look on Harry’s face, the way his eyes can’t help but follow Ginny as she walks around between the tables of the Great Hall, stopping to share words with her friends.

They haven’t talked yet. Lily knows this because Harry was gone with Ron and Hermione after the battle and then he slept for a full day. When he woke up, he called his parents and they talked then — the most difficult conversation Lily had ever had in her life and the one she knew she needed most. She and James. They needed to understand what had happened, why it had cost Harry’s life and what it had meant, but nothing had really prepared her to know her son had died.

Only the thought of it sends shivers through her body.

Harry is fine now, having come down to the Great Hall to lunch; there are fewer people at Hogwarts two days after the Battle, so they manage to find a place for them to sit quietly. It’s almost peaceful.

Except Harry is clearly not at peace.

‘Go talk to her,’ she whispers to him, and Harry turns to her with those eyes that are full of ghosts lately — he has seen and lived and died too much.

‘She doesn’t want me,’ he answers, breathing heavily as if the words are physically hurting him.

‘How do you know?’ James asks, exchanging a confused look with Lily.

‘Because she hasn’t come to talk to me.’

Lily thinks Harry didn’t go to her either, so maybe this is just a case of miscommunication. But she doesn’t say anything, because she believes things have to happen at the right time. And she has been watching Ginny too; every time Harry looks the other way, she glances in his direction, an expression on her face that Lily cannot understand exactly.

It seems to be ablaze.

_______

Later, Lily will define it as a dance where the dancers aren’t supposed to touch each other but still they synchronize their steps perfectly.

It’s unnerving, really, and she doesn’t know how they are really managing it, but if there is a quality she could attribute to both Harry and Ginny is stubbornness.

They can’t ignore each other, not really, not with how much they encounter each other — funerals and homages and dinners over the Burrow and rebuilding Hogwarts —, so instead they adopt a sort of relationship that’s just a shadow of how much they got along together.

Lily saw them before they even dated or had acknowledged their feelings for each other, and Harry and Ginny had shined together with chemistry as if they were two ingredients in a potion that demanded to be together. It was only friendship but there was sparkle and understanding and compassion and brightness. Lily remembers thinking that even if they didn’t develop romantic feelings for each other, they were truly soulmates.

And this is just one of the reasons why their current formal courtesy with each other bothers her so much. If they wanted to be only friends, there wasn’t much she could do. But they are not even friends lately, just two people who had gone through so much and hadn’t been able to share anything with each other despite wanting very much.

That’s the other thing that annoys her. They want more. Both of them.

She knows Harry, of course — he shares the same expressions and he wears his feelings on the same sleeve Lily does, so it’s easy —, and Lily likes to think she knows Ginny too, for the times they met, for all they’ve talked and for the fact that Ginny is usually blatant on her feelings when they are at the edge.

Usually. This time, it seems their stubbornness is getting the better of both of them.

They are alone most of the days of May. Hermione has gone to Australia to find her parents and Ron went with her, and Lily thinks this would be perfect for them to get together again – to have time to talk and to truly live their relationship without the threat of a storm above their heads.

But they don’t go to each other. They stay apart, even though Lily sees the cracks in their stubbornness when Harry breaks a glass after hearing Ginny talking about exchanging letters with an ex-boyfriend, and when Ginny suddenly leaves the room after Harry mentions Kingsley’s proposal to start the Aurors course.

James sees it too. He is always frowning when they are in the same room, and Lily knows no one rooted more for that relationship than James. So she is not surprised that he approaches her one morning when they are cleaning the mess the Death Eaters made in her office.

‘Do you remember when you forbade me from intervening in Harry’s love life?’ he asks in a nonchalant voice, cleaning a stain that looks a lot like blood on the carpet.

Lily nods with her head.

‘Maybe it’s time to change that rule?’ James asks then, now sounding hopeful.

Lily throws him the briefest of the looks, without turning away her attention from the cauldrons she is supposed to check if anything is worth saving.

‘Harry would hate it if we did anything.’

‘Harry would hate it if he knew we were doing anything.’

‘And James Potter can be discreet? How many detentions did you get just because you couldn’t help but flaunt your work?’

He raises his eyebrows challengingly.

‘That Slug Club dinner on my birthday. I was so discreet no one ever found out what we were doing.’

Lily blushes. He was absurdly quiet that night, indeed, despite her attempts otherwise.

‘Fine, you’ve got a point. Go on, but I’m warning you, if Ginny realizes what you are trying to do, she will hex you and I won’t stop.’

‘As long as she hexes me on their wedding day, I won’t complain,’ James says unabashedly, and Lily has to grin.

She is not feeling much confident — James’ love plans took him three years to her agree to date him, after all, and even then she had fallen in love with him when he had given up on any plan at all —, but she can’t deny James is creative and it’s better trying anything than watching Harry sigh all over the place, heartbroken and unhappy.

During the year they were out, their house has been searched over and over; their furniture is broken and there are spots of red ink — or blood — in every room, with curses or slurs written on every wall. They could just easily destroy the house and build a new one, but it feels good to clean the place; it feels like a new beginning.

Maybe this is what James is hoping to give Harry and Ginny because he asks for her help in rebuilding their house. Ginny accepts surprisingly quickly, probably guessing that Harry will still be occupied with the work at Hogwarts.

‘Thanks for the help,’ Lily says after she and Ginny manage to clean the debris away from the stairs, so now the first floor is available for them to start cleaning up the rooms.

‘No problem, it’s good to be out of the house,’ Ginny notes, drying the sweat on her face. ‘Sometimes it feels… too claustrophobic there.’

Lily raises her eyebrows, indicating around the hall, where the number of things still to be organized makes the corridor seem a lot smaller than it is. Ginny gives a small chuckle.

‘It’s just — Mom is trying to compensate, I think. Ron is not here and I am the youngest and she needs to take care of something, after — after everything that happened. So, yeah, I need some time to myself.’

‘Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to do?’ Lily asks, concerned now. Ginny just shrugs.

‘Since I can’t fly, this seems like the best available option,’ she says. ‘And it feels good to be doing something — and there is so much to do here. The Death Eaters made a mess.’

‘That could be said for everywhere.’

‘And everyone,’ Ginny adds softly, and she returns to the cabinet she is trying to fix without saying anything further, but Lily doesn’t think she needs to. She saw Neville’s bruises, she saw Luna’s scars and she has a pretty good idea of how it was at Hogwarts under Voldemort’s regime.

But Ginny keeps her marks quietly, and Lily knows there is only one person she will be able to talk to.

The next day, James comes home earlier from Hogwarts with Harry. There is an awkward moment when Harry and Ginny meet in the kitchen and James mentions that now the main work over Hogwarts is done, Harry volunteered to help get his home back again.

‘Any problem?’ James asks genially, making both Harry and Ginny jump.

‘No,’ they say at the same time, and it doesn’t convince anyone.

Lily never noticed how big their house was until she realizes Harry and Ginny still manage to avoid each other except during mealtimes, so she decides they can get past subtlety. She and James start to ask them for help for the same rooms until they eventually are paired in the same tasks.

She doesn’t hear them talking, but it seems to work, albeit at the slowest pace ever.

‘You won’t believe who asked Sirius for an interview,’ James says one night after they settled for the day and they are having dinner before Ginny returns to her house. ‘Rita Skeeter.’

‘What scoop does she want now?’ Harry asks, rolling his eyes. ‘I am still awaiting her biography about me.’

‘What will be called?’, Ginny asks, and Harry turns to her with his eyes already shining with the joke.

‘Easy. Harry Potter, chosen or undesirable one?’

She laughs – it’s a short tentative laugh, but it’s there, and Harry smiles too. James exchanges a look with Lily, but she shakes her head warningly to him.

‘What Skeeter wanted with Sirius?’ she asks, putting the conversation back into place. It was just a shared joke. There is still a long road ahead.

‘Oh, gossip on you and me, actually, which unfortunately is something Sirius thinks it’s too funny to pass – and also he has a soft spot for Skeeter.’

Harry chokes on his drink.

‘Soft spot?’

‘Oh, please, don’t tell me –‘ Ginny raises her eyebrows, exchanging a bewildered look with Harry. ‘Sirius and Rita Skeeter?’

James chuckles.

‘No, he just likes her because of the animagus stuff. He says he can’t fault her for being one.’

‘Oh, much better,’ Ginny sighs. Then she bits her lip before looking back at Harry. ‘Can you imagine them together? Rita Skeeter as your godmother?’

‘I would have to quit Sirius from his job as godfather,’ Harry says, pretending to gag. ‘He would clearly be underqualified.’

There is another small giggle and that’s it for the night.

They are talking again at least, even if it is still not like it used to be. There are no whispered words during their time together during the day and they don’t seem to be secretly snogging. But they talk sometimes, and once or twice Lily hears a laugh when she passes the room they are in.

But it’s only two weeks later that something seems to happen.

Lily is in her room, finishing to set up the bed so she and James will finally be able to sleep there, when the voices catch her up on her window.

‘You are bleeding.’

‘It’s just a cut, Harry, no big deal.’

‘It was a splinter, there can still be something there.’

‘I told you, I took everything off. I will just press it, it will stop bleeding in a minute.’

‘I can help you, I – I know a lot of healing spells.’

There is a pause.

‘Me too, but I also know that the bleeding will stop. It’s not deep.’

‘How do you –‘

‘Same way you know, Harry.’ There is a note of tension in Ginny’s voice. ‘I had to learn.’

‘Ginny –‘

‘What? Do you think you were the only one who had a hard time?’

And she storms inside, giving him no time to answer.

Harry is subdued that night, even more reserved than natural, and when she passes his room late at night, she sees the light is on. For a second Lily wonders if she should call James, but then she sighs and knocks on his door.

‘Harry?’

In answer, the door opens quietly. Lily enters his room to see Harry fully clothed on his bed; he is holding something and, with a start, she realizes it’s the Marauder’s Map. That’s a weird thing for Harry to be consulting in the middle of the night.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair comfortingly. He shrugs. ‘Anything to do with that fight with Ginny?’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Hearing behind doors, Mum?’

‘No need, you were talking under my window.’

‘Next fight I will make sure we are far,’ he says with a grimace.

‘There will be a next fight?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits, and this prospect doesn’t seem to make him better. ‘If I asked you something, would you be honest with me?’

‘Wasn’t I always, Harry?’

He smiles for a second before his expression is grave and uncertain.

‘Do you think I am self-centred?’

Lily blinks.

‘No one would accuse you of being selfish, Harry, I mean –’

She doesn’t know where to begin, considering all the sacrifices she had seen Harry make over the years — he gave his life —, but Harry shakes his head.

‘Not selfish, I mean – the summer after my fourth year, when Voldemort was back, I said plenty of things –’

‘You were under a lot of stress, no one –’

‘I know, but I was complaining about how everything happened to me and now I am thinking that maybe, somehow, I never stopped to think that things happen to other people too.’

Lily squeezes his hand.

‘It is not a suffering competition, Harry.’

‘I don’t know if I see it that way. I mean, when I saw Neville for the first time, with all his bruises and looking so hurt, I still wished it could be me, staying at Hogwarts and fighting because it seemed easier and it never occurred to me that she could – they could – have had a difficult time too. It still seemed… just school.’

He pauses to pick up the Marauder’s Map, opening it even if there is no map showing there.

‘I used to take the Map last year to watch over her,’ he whispers, his face flushing. ‘And I saw her dot and I never thought that she could be in trouble. I knew they were rebelling, but… it didn’t feel like it was something real.’

‘Well, that’s why you should talk to each other. None of you will understand if you keep avoiding each other.’

‘She is mad at me.’

‘Of course she is. You are avoiding her.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘You need to talk, Harry. Go there. Try it.’

He blinks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Are you suggesting that I go visit my ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night?’

‘I’m pretty sure you will just talk if she doesn’t hex you first,’ Lily says brightly. Then she smiles softly. ‘You could wait until tomorrow, Harry, but I have the feeling you both have been waiting too long. And this isn’t any of your styles. You are both people of action.’

Harry grins now, standing up.

‘I will go then. Thanks for the tip, Mum.’

Lily accepts the soft kiss he gives her on the cheek.

‘Just be safe, Harry.’

_______

Harry seems to be in a better mood the next morning, despite the fact that he slept a few hours that night — Lily knows he returned by five, just as the sun was rising.

But she doesn’t say anything, just smiling to herself when Harry’s face lights up when the fireplace erupts into emerald flames and Ginny appears, dusting her clothes. They exchange a look that it’s still not there yet, but it’s soft and promising. James looks in her direction, surprised, and she promises to explain later.

It’s not Summer yet, but the days of May and then June get warmer and then Harry and Ginny are spending more time outside, though there isn’t much to fix there.

At least, not material things.

James keeps an eye on them — he wouldn’t resist not doing so —, telling her that most of the time they just seem to be taking long strolls and talking.

One day they return from their walk holding hands, and Lily has to lock James inside the room so he doesn’t say anything. Harry and Ginny are still not there.

The road home takes time.

On the second weekend of June they have the hottest day yet and they take some time off; James transfigures a pool in the backyard that neither Harry nor Ginny seems to enjoy other than to sit at the edge of the pool and take off their shoes to wet their feet. Instead of helping to ease any tension, the pool seems to create some weight over them, making them more silent than usual, so James suggests they go flying instead.

‘My Firebolt is gone,’ Harry remembers, wincing, and Lily knows it’s not the broomstick he is really missing right now. Harry lost a friend that day.

‘Mine was burnt by the Carrows last year,’ Ginny adds, her voice casual as if it’s nothing important.

They don’t end up doing anything after that.

In the afternoon, James gets a call from Sirius and Lily decides to just stay home, finishing the Wolfsbane Potions she will need to deliver to Remus by the end of the week. She is quietly lost in her favourite potion world when she hears the voices, and it’s just because they are whispering, rather than talking normally, that it draws her attention.

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny is asking, her voice unusually hesitant.

‘Only if you are,’ he whispers, sounding just as unstable.

Lily approaches the window and withdraws the curtains as little as she needs. Harry and Ginny are still by the pool, standing facing each other, and without looking away from Harry, she takes off her shirt, to reveal her bikini under it.

Harry gasps, but Lily knows that what is taking his breath away are the marks on Ginny’s torso — faint scars of cuts and small yellowed bruises that remained from the battle, over a month ago.

Ginny bits her lip, her arms trembling as if she wants to cover herself. Harry finally takes a step in her direction, looking her in the eyes now.

'Thank you for showing me,’ he whispers and then he sighs. 'My turn'.

His hands are shaking as he goes to unbutton his shirt, until Ginny raises her hands.

'May I?'

Harry nods slowly.

Ginny keeps her head high, not looking away from Harry's eyes, until she finishes opening all the buttons from his shirt and taking it off.

Then her eyes fall to his chest and Ginny freezes.

Lily knows what she is seeing, even though Lily can't see it from her angle: Harry's new lightning scar, across his chest, over his heart, where the Killing Curse hit him for the second time in his life.

'Harry,’ Ginny sighs, pain evident in her voice. She raises her hand, looking at him, questioning him silently. Harry nods once more.

Then Ginny takes a step closer to him, touching his chest, and Lily knows that she must be feeling his heart over it.

She lets the curtain fall and returns to her potion.

She is not surprised when they return home holding hands and she only tells James later (so he doesn't say anything during dinner because she knows her husband) that Ginny kissed Harry softly on the lips when she thought no one was seeing them.

[meliorist-midoriya]

chasing the sun

synopsis: there’s something screaming in familiarity—in mourning—deep in his soul at the sight of you, a complete stranger. this is the price you pay for resurrection, the sun whispers as it rises.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au

warnings: mentions and depictions of death, major character deaths, mentions of war (+ description of a battlefield scene), injuries, blood.

word count: 11.7k

a/n: happy (extremely belated) birthday, bird boy. and aaaa my baby’s here, she’s finally here! i’ve been working on this fic for a little over two months now, and i’m so happy to see it fully fleshed out! thank you to @dimplesum​ for beta reading, and the tumblr chaos server for listening to me yell all the time abt this fic :’) disclaimer, i did as much research as i could, but any historical depictions are not 100% historically accurate and i have taken some creative liberty, so please take the historical scenes with a grain of salt! 

important: there will be songs linked throughout the fic to be played in accordance with the scene, i do hope you listen to them for the full experience! it is okay if the ost ends before the scene as that is also on purpose. the beginning of the song will start with 【 ☀︎ 】 with a link to the song. with that said, i hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

crossposted on Ao3

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Keigo, the youngest government official in the empire, stumbling upon a lone concubine in the eastern lotus garden. 

He’d been searching for solitude, away from the viper’s nest of samurai-turned-aristocrats, strutting around the castle with their now-useless weapons strapped to their hips, discussing poetry and politics instead of battle and war tactics.

It’d been disgustingly easy for them to make the switch from warrior to bureaucrat, taking the status boost in stride. Those who couldn’t, they stayed with their lords if they were lucky. The warriors who weren’t… Keigo would need an abacus to count the ones who weren’t so lucky, the countless rumors and reports of wandering rōnin with familiar names never failing to reach over the palace walls to get to him.

(Oh, what he would give to join them.)

Of course, he’d been intending to brood ponder over this in the seclusion of the garden he’d discovered a few days ago, staring at the green buds of the young lotuses in the water until his head spun. The sight of the concubine sitting in his spot (that he was certain was too secluded to be found) told him fate had other plans, however.

He cleared his throat and forced down the grimace once he saw the concubine jump, startled, before trying her best to smoothly turn and bow without looking too flustered.

“Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning—”

He smiled through the static in his brain at the mention of his surname, messily tacked to the honorific that he would never get used to. 

That name… it’s not mine. Don’t call me that.

A discordant mess of jumbled kanji that sounded nothing like the powerfully elegant names in the court. The ill-fitting characters standing out like an eyesore on his documents, the syllables falling awkwardly off the tongue in conversation.

Wholly fitting for an outsider like him, really.

The mention of that name grated something terrible in him, and he settled for keeping his teeth grit into a smile. A sheltered concubine wouldn’t know, of course she wouldn’t know. Practically no one did, so he had no one to fault but his own cursed sensitivity to a name he wanted to burn.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The slight twitch in her demure smile was answer enough, but he’d set aside time for this escape, and damn if he was going to let it go to waste.

“Of course not. Please, don’t mind me, my lord.”

He dipped his head in thanks and you bowed in return, the silence hanging in the air settling into something stiff and awkward. 

A minute passed… 

Then another… 

Then five… 

Keigo was going to go mad at this rate. Neither of you had any intention of leaving the rare pocket of seclusion, and the competitive whisper in the corner of his mind told him that leaving first meant conceding, meant losing.

(In his world, losing meant death.)

Keigo’s had enough of losing in life despite his dumb luck, thank you very much.

So, he did what he knew he did best. He talked. Shattering the awkward silence in an effort to coax the tranquil silence he was searching for back into the little gazebo by the pond. Maybe if he ran his mouth long enough, you’d get tired and leave.

“You’re a new face in the palace.”

With an expectant gaze, he watched the telltale shift from awkward to apprehensive, the rigidness of your stature sharply contrasting the flowing brocade of your kimono as you looked back at him with a too-sharp gaze before casting your eyes away to the green buds in the water. Had he been any slower, Keigo would’ve thought that the conflicted expression you quickly smoothed over was solemn (it was anything but). 

“I would say the same to you, my lord, but every face in this castle is a new face to me.” You tilted your head with a thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Although… I’m sure an official who just arrived at the castle for his yearly residence would be an especially new face. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Keigo blinked. Once, twice, his jaw relaxing into a disbelieving smile at the sight of your steely gaze bright with a challenge and a smile sharper than the blades at his waist, the unsaid words ringing clearly. 

Two could play at this game.

Well, now, this was new. 

Perhaps it was your defiance that remained steadfast in this castle, or the blissful ignorance that made you one of the few to look at him straight on instead of down your nose. A little voice whispered that this would change in due time, the politics and power struggles confined within the castle never failing to break down even the most resilient. Those that didn’t know how to play the game correctly simply… vanished.

“Someone’s well-informed, I see.” He folded his hands behind his back, his wish for tranquility long forgotten. “I heard a new concubine has just entered the castle as well. A consolation prize, of sorts, from the farthest reaches of the country. Of course, as I’ve been gone for a year and have only been here for four, I’m not too sure.” He flicks his gaze to you, accepting your challenge with a knife-sharp smile of his own.

“I am curious as to what this concubine’s name is, however.”

You arched a brow, the thin-lipped smile widening into something sweet (that looked better on a fox rather than a beautiful concubine), and you bowed. Any trace of that stiff apprehensiveness dissolved into a graceful fluidity that seemed to disappear within the rippling silk of your kimono.

“Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

To this day, he’ll never admit how surprised he was at your reverence, nor how his heart did a funny little flip in his chest when you giggled at his flustered response. What kind of fool gave respect to a commoner picked up from the slums?

You. Except you were no fool, and maybe that’s why he kept coming back like a moth to flame.

Time passed, and he found himself in that little garden day after day, morning after morning. Listening to the concubine who told vivid stories of lands he could only dream of, foods he found himself craving, and tales of warriors past. 

The conversations at dawn soon turned into stories of the past, the laments of the present, and dreams of a bleak future. With delicate hands and gently prying words, you two unlocked every bar and lock you’d put over your souls and allowed yourselves to lay them bare for each other, the intimacy of a bond forged in secrets and solidarity far stronger than any alliance or contract.

You two confided in each other in that garden, staring at the dew on the lilypads as you two whispered how you didn’t belong in the palace. How the confines of grand walls with ears and eyes were no place for the adopted commoner and a concubine far from home. Two people in this big world who were just lucky enough, fortunate enough to end up within this lavish palace, your lives guaranteed splendor and comfort. 

Then again—you two would share a conspiratorial laugh—maybe you two were unfortunate instead. What was splendor and comfort when you had to constantly watch for a knife in your back or poison in your cup? When a single misstep could cost you your life? 

Conversations shared with you, the concubine with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, were the most fulfilling he’s had in ages. Maybe it was the sense of formality that the intimacy of the waterside gazebo stripped away, or the unraveling realization that he hasn’t breathed this freely in ages, that he was looking forward to these moments in the morning. The intimacy shared in the garden he selfishly liked to call his own little world.

Keigo catches the smile you hide behind your sleeve when he steps into the gazebo, and he realizes you’re being selfish, too.

He didn’t know how the conversation got here, he didn’t know why he had a hairpin meant for you tucked into his sleeve. All he knew was that when it came to you, he was helpless to the whims of rambling and buying a pretty hairpin made of red jade because it reminded him of a sharp wit with a pretty smile.

“I live for this country and I die for this country. Well, not that there’s anything much to die for anyway.” Keigo’s laugh is empty, and your melancholic gaze even emptier. A fog had blown in that morning, covering the pond in a soft cover of white, and your soft voice and softer touch on his arm (careful, almost) silenced his dry laughter and left his throat even drier. 

“What you would die for is also an excellent reason to live, is it not?”

Your words, whispered into the stillness of the moment, resonated so loudly within his soul and forced a shaky breath out of his lungs as he gazed in awe at you. At the soft, ethereal glow in the fog cast by the rising sun breaking through the clouds, the scent of bloomed lotuses wafting in on the breeze that rustles the dangling pieces of your hair ornaments. He is weak to whims when it comes to you, so he pulls out the hairpin burning a hole in his sleeve to slip into your hair with shaking hands unbefitting a swordsman. Keigo watches your eyes sparkle like the gem in your hair, and his heart lifts with hope as he whispers his devotion into the warm morning, carried by the wind into a sea of blooms.

“I’ll live for you, then.”

And with a smile, you fall in love.

(Keigo falls even harder.)

【 ☀︎ 】

He should have known.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from the son of a criminal.”

He really should have known.

“What was that fool thinking, taking a street rat like you in all those years ago?”

Honestly, he’d like an answer to that, too. Too bad the old man was dead and left him to inherit a position he didn’t even want. To think he’d agree with the emperor for once in his short life.

“Tsk, a son will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.”

Keigo should be concerned that he couldn’t feel how the coarse dirt dug into his knees anymore, his cheek still aching from where the guard had punched him. 

(Okay, yes, he deserved it, but he could’ve done without tasting iron.)

The sadistic glee in the guard’s face after he landed that “disciplinary strike” told him otherwise. With a bitter grimace, he spat red into the dirt.

How long has he been kneeling here? Minutes? Hours? The words echoing over and over in his head pulled him away from his present reality, bringing him back to the blur that was the past two days.

(Three? He couldn’t be sure, time passes oddly in a prison cell.)

The servants whispering about a concubine being expelled from the harem, the handmaid being promoted to concubine suspiciously quickly, and sudden memories of too-loud rustling coming from the treeline that he’d foolishly brushed off. All of it culminated in the form of palace guards dragging him from his study all the way to the harem to throw him at the emperor’s feet.

“Could the street rat not keep his hands off the women of the court? Plenty to pick back where you came from.” 

Keigo wanted to vomit at the cloying stench of sake, unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of his mind and forcing his limbs to lock from age-old fear. Not like he could use them anyway, with heavy hands on each shoulder pinning his knees to the tatami and his blades having long been tossed away in the struggle to drag him here.

“Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard?” A sickeningly saccharine voice pulled the man’s attention away to coo at the woman curled into his side, cradling a bottle of warmed sake. “Apparently the small-time nobleman who adopted him, did it knowing he was the son of that criminal you were having trouble with all that time ago.”

The grip forcing his head down loosened from the resounding laughter that rippled around the room, just enough to allow Keigo to glare at the loose-lipped concubine. Your opportunistic maidservant who’d been all too willing to take your place in the harem, having taken her chance and fleeing with it. Her tittering giggles and power-drunk grin grated his ears, and he kept glaring. Daring her to look back, to look him in the eye without feeling an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

Almost as if she heard his furious challenge, she took a glance at the man pinned to the floor (trying to look down her nose like she had been looked down on. Pathetic fool.)  only to jump at the righteous fury burning in his gaze, fear clouding her conscience for a precious moment. 

More, Keigo urged, rage bitter on his tongue, Guilt, shame, despair, all of it.

I hope you regret this for the rest of your life. Lament, as punishment for ruining hers—

“Don’t assume what I have and haven’t heard, woman,” The drunkard grunted, holding his cup out for her to pour with shaking hands and a meek surrender, “But, the man was losing his mind from age. What was that fool thinking, taking a dirty brat like this in all those years ago? Too useless to bear a son nor keep a wife, so he had to stoop low enough to take in a criminal’s son from the slums.”

Righteous fury welled up in his chest, and his body moved before his brain could catch up, spit landing at the emperor’s feet. Almost immediately thereafter, his head whipped to the side, cheek smarting from the sharp strike the guard’s knuckles had indented into his swelling cheek. He grit his teeth as that same cheek came down on the tatami, someone pressing his head into the ground.

“Years upon years of trying to force yourself into nobility, and you’d think you’d learn some respect along the way.”

Had he not been the one with his face pressed into the ground, Keigo would’ve laughed at the shade of fury-red the man’s face was turning. Sake did not treat him well. The concubines at his side, fearing for their lives, immediately rushed to whisper soothing words and calming pleas. Somehow, it worked, and he reclined back into his seat with a heavy sigh, draining the sake in one gulp.

“The son of a criminal shall inevitably become a criminal. Now that I think about it, this is a wonderful opportunity to get rid of an eyesore. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.” A sadistic grin split his lips around the cup, chortling with laughter at his own (terrible) wit. “Being buried next to his criminal father! What a filial son!”

The table shook from the force of a fine porcelain cup slamming down on it, as if the emperor were stamping his death certificate right then and there.

(He was.) 

“Get him out of my sight. The next time I want to see his head is on the gates of Kozukappara.”

Keigo the official had died in that room, and the man that was dragged out by his shoulders left the castle as a criminal.

“Done saying your prayers?” 

Slowly, he looked up from the white paper fan set in front of him in place of the tantō that should’ve been there for his use (obligatory seppuku, his muddled brain supplied with annoyingly familiar haughtiness, so the ex-warrior could die a warrior. What a joke—) to the man he’d chosen to be his executioner. Normally, he would’ve snapped back with something witty, something sharp, but going days without water wasn’t treating him well. A heavy sigh, and the man ran a frustrated thumb down the bright blue wrap of his katana hilt. 

“The concubine, of all women? An imperial concubine, at that. I’d expect you to know better than that, my friend.”

Ah, the static in his head was a little stronger today. Wonderful.

“I thought I knew better, too. At least I get to die to someone with a steady hand.”

He scoffed, thumb running over the blue hilt again. Keigo idly remembered seeing the man rub his burn-leathered skin the same way countless times, the anxious habit having stubbornly ingrained itself into his being since childhood.

“Must you be so dark?”

“When am I not?” He managed to muster up a slow grin. “I’m hurt, I thought my closest companion would’ve known this after years of keeping swords out of each other’s backs.”

The heavy gong announcing his execution sounded, and he watched his best friend’s melancholic gaze glaze over into soulless steel that mirrored the blade drawn from its hilt. Keigo dipped his head with a solemn smile and shut his eyes in resignation.

I really… should’ve known…

“Keigo!”

Everything paused for a breath, in shock at your shout breaking the stillness of the moment. He didn’t have to lift his head to know who was crying out, trying to delay the inevitable certainty. A sharp smile and an even sharper tongue reduced to nothing but cries and desperation.

“...I’ll continue.” The executioner ignored your desperate “No!” as he shifted his stance, scarred hands steady as he placed the blade against the back of his neck despite the pain Keigo knew he was in. 

It would’ve been nice to hold you in his arms, at least once— 

No, for eternity.

The blade came down and, like a lotus facing the sun in supplication, you screamed your despair into the heavens. 

That day, the blood red sunset matched the crimson pooling on the execution ground’s floor.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Private First Class Takami Keigo marching into a small city on the way to the front lines, rifle slung over his shoulder and feet aching.

They’ve been marching through the night, and for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful for Japan’s humid summer nights. He’d take sweat over losing toes from frostbite any day. 

But, he decides, sighing in relief along with the rest of the company at the sight of a town once they crested the hill, there was nothing like the relief of a warm bed and any food other than the tasteless military rations.

“Tired already?” The low voice beside him would’ve made him jump had it not been so familiar.

“Aw, what’s this? Is Touya-kun worried for little old me?” Keigo shot a grin at the man marching next to him and dodged the elbow that he aimed at his side with a short laugh.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier.” A pause, and the next response came backed with a dry laugh. “Not like it’d affect you and your monstrous instincts, anyway.”

“Yes, as we’ve been told a thousand times, General.” The teasing tilt to his voice came easy, and he let his best friend elbow him this time, too busy laughing at his annoyance. 

Should he have been a little more worried of the captain catching him messing around? Yes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Judging by the restless shifting rippling through the soldiers, no one was too worried about getting a scolding when they were so close to a warm meal and rest.

“Think the inn will be big enough to house all of us? Another night sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound all that nice to me.” 

Touya scoffed as if his question was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day, keeping his gaze straight as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, the company shifting around them into formation as they approached the gates.

“You’re complaining like it’s anything new to us.”

“Harsh.”

The conversation faded after that, the rough dirt under his boots soon transitioning into the packed earth of the town’s main street as residents gathered to whisper and gawk at the soldiers passing through, the sight of their uniforms a jarring eyesore in this sleepy town. 

A sleepy, familiar town.

Keigo’s mind was spinning. His restless gaze kept flicking around the too-familiar buildings and shops and people that remained after all these years. The restaurant with the broken kitchen window that was too easy to sneak into, the grocer who still kept his trash bin too close to the alley, the old woman sitting in front of her izakaya who always had ginger candy and a meal to give. 

They slowed to a stop in front of the large inn, and he stared up at the building that looked much smaller than he remembered, the interior much less grand than he’d imagined it to be as they filed their way in, and he found himself in the room he once dreamed of sleeping in. There, Keigo sat in near disbelief, on the futon that wasn’t as soft as he thought it would’ve been.

“How time flies, huh?” He looked up to see Touya dropping his pack next to his futon and sitting down across from him with a melancholy grin.

There was too much Keigo wanted to say, nostalgia bitter in the back of his throat, so he settled for a matching smile.

“Old Man Yasutaro never got around to fixing that boarded up window.” 

Touya barked out a surprised laugh, Keigo’s smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.

“You ever think he did that on purpose? He always did stock too much food.”

“Are you kidding?” Keigo shuddered at the phantom pain of the beatings he earned. “He was scary whenever he caught us, there’s no way mean ol’ Yasutaro would do all that just for a pair of orphans on the street.”

“Mm, I don’t know, he was always pretty sweet to Granny Tamayo, so anything that made him look good in her book.” Touya leaned back on his arms, the melancholy melting into the ease of bittersweet nostalgia. It was easier to smile through the painful memories rather than dwell on the past, so Keigo let himself toss his head back with a laugh.

“God, her ginger candy was the best.” 

“You sure it was the candy? Or the granddaughter who always snuck an extra piece to you?” That earned Touya a frustrated noise of protest and a half-hearted kick he dodged.

“That was ages ago!”

“And you still react like a little boy!” 

Keigo groaned, burying his face into his hands as if that would tune out Touya’s cackling laughter. It was short moments like this that took the weight off his shoulders, the murmurs of public dissent, the leaked plans of a planned riot, the magnitude of his actions tomorrow morning.

(Civilians. Of all things, why did it have to be civilians?)

He suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the heavy weight having pushed itself back onto his shoulders and slotting the familiar hum of alertness back into place. Touya gave him a knowing look that he, decidedly, ignored in favor of getting out before his mind swallowed him whole.

“Dinner is supposed to be in a bit, we should get going.”

“Wonderful job of changing the subject, really.”

“Wonderful job of being annoying.”

Touya dodged another swipe of the leg, laughing at his displeasure as he stood to follow.

“Why thank you, I try.” His grin widened with a certain glint in his eye that Keigo found himself dreading. “Now let’s get going, I heard some of the guys are at Granny Tamayo’s izakaya.”

“What?”

“My, isn’t that little Keigo? And little Touya?” 

Keigo faltered halfway through the entrance, smoothing his grimace into a smile as he watched the old lady totter over from her seat with all the coddling of a grandmother. The soldiers within earshot (who were already drinking and eating away. It was barely sunset—) paused to gawk and grin at the endearing interaction.

“Not so little anymore, Granny.”

“I’ll say. Are you eating alright? Is the military treating you well?”

“Granny!”

“What’s this? Speedy and Torchface have some history here?” Keigo kept his smile smooth, only shifting it just the slightest bit into what he knew would look like a sheepish grin instead of the pained grimace underneath the surface. Boisterous laughter that only alcohol could bring rippled around the spacious izakaya, the men cracking jokes over drinks and food.

“Careful calling him Torchface, he has the temper to match.”

Ah, there it is. Touya shouldered past him to stalk towards the offending table with a scarily wide grin, pulling the loose-lipped rookie into a chokehold, his wide grin unmoving.

“‘Has a temper’ my ass, you’re just jealous that a guy with a bunch of burn scars has an easier time with women than you idiots.”

The laughter only grew louder, Granny Tamayo’s expression softening at the interaction before turning back to Keigo with a nostalgic smile.

“Not so little… I see.” She motioned to the table Touya had made a space for himself at, shoving the rookie (who was still in a chokehold, poor kid) aside to make room for him. “Take a seat, dear, and the drinks will be right out.”

The too-loud laughter and incessantly clinking glasses filled the space up with ear-grating noise, and Keigo wanted to leave. Search for peace and solitude in the quiet streets in a way that was strangely familiar. 

(For a fleeting moment, he thought a quiet garden would be nice.)

However, he’d rather eat with the company of drunks rather than the void of his own mind and the horrors silence tended to bring, so the migraine starting to brew in the back of his head was a small price to pay. As was the heavy arm slung over his shoulder from some random soldier, alcohol-loosened and heavy, and the awkward conversation he found himself following along with perfectly tailored humor.

“Alright, I have two beers as well as a few rounds of edamame and—” 

The familiar voice stopped short, and Keigo felt his heart stop in tandem. Slowly, he looked up and saw the girl who used to sneak out an extra candy when her grandmother wasn’t looking, now a woman in the izakaya uniform balancing trays in one hand and two mugs in the other. 

“...Keigo?”

Almost as if the locked gates had been thrown open, a new rush of memories past had overcome him. Jaunts through the town disguised as adventures, clumsily dancing around an old gramophone and calling it a waltz, and the start of blossoming love. Keigo simply smiled, easygoing and familiar, like it hadn’t been years since you saw him run to the military with Touya the first chance they had, drawn by the promise of food and shelter. Like he hadn’t left a malnourished boy and come back a man with more scars than skin.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“‘Been a while.’” You rolled your eyes, setting down the mug in front of him with a huff. “The two most important people in my life run off to join the army without so much as a word, and that’s what you say?”

His words stopped halfway up his throat the moment he saw Granny Tamayo come up behind you to pinch you on the arm, the half-formed response morphing into a laugh as he watched you flinch back with a surprised (and betrayed) yelp.

“Y/N, darling, don’t be rude to the customers.” You pouted, rubbing at the sore spot on your upper arm.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s fine, Granny. Nothing new, right?” At the sight of his cheeky smile, the old woman scoffs, something endearing, before nudging him out of his seat despite your noise of protest.

“Well, since you two seem to be talking of nothing but the past, why don’t you go take a walk down memory lane?”

“Wha— Grandmother! There’s still customers—”

“Kaede can handle it just fine! Shoo, shoo, get out of my hair.” 

Without missing a beat, Granny Tamayo smoothly plucked the trays from your hands and nudged you two towards the door as the soldiers watching roared with laughter and cooed jokes at the two “childhood lovers”. Keigo turned towards Touya, almost desperately, in a futile search for— what? Escape? Wasn’t he looking for escape in the first place?

“Wait, Granny, come on. Touya’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

“Don’t drag me into this, a trip down memory lane isn’t for me!” With an arm still slung over the now-wheezing rookie’s shoulder, Touya raised the cup of sake he’d ordered as if in toast. Whether it was to Keigo’s mortification, or to the potential opportunities this meant, Keigo didn’t want to know.

Probably both.

(...Probably the former, if he were to be honest with himself.)

A flurry of drunken laughter and lighthearted jokes, half-hearted protests that fell on deaf ears, and insistent pushing at his back later, he found himself standing outside the izakaya, blinking up at the full moon before looking over at you.

“...Did we just get kicked out?”

“I think we did.” You snorted, scuffing a mark into the dirt path with your heel, and Keigo wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. What was he supposed to do? Stuck with the remnants of a rekindling love, the awkwardness that tended to come with years of estrangement and words that failed him when it came to you. 

Well, there’s really only one thing he could do.

Talk.

“So, what’s new with you?” He immediately cringed at his choice of words, forcing himself to school his expression over into an easygoing smile instead of recoiling like he so desperately wanted to do. 

Nice going there, Keigo, really.

“...Same old.” Your quiet answer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head, almost like he was beckoning you to continue. “Same old town, same old job, same old life. I pretty much walked the path everyone knew I was going to go on as the granddaughter of the izakaya’s owner.”

You looked up with a sheepish grin, the bright moonlight casting the world (and you) in a silver glow, and Keigo felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Not the most exciting to a man from the military, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen a lot—” Keigo rubbed at the identification tag hidden under his clothes by force of habit, the leather cord heavy around his neck. He has seen a lot. Too much, to be exact, but how would he even begin to explain the horrors of man to someone… “normal”? How could he?

For someone whose wit and silver tongue helped him survive all these years, he was awfully tongue-tied tonight. Or maybe it was just you, and the surreal lightness settling into his soul that had him stumbling over his words.

“But you’ve seen enough?” You finished his sentence with a wry grin, and the surprised laugh found itself past his lips before he could catch it. How could he forget? You were always, always a step ahead of him. Back then and even now.

“Enough of my barracks and Touya’s face? Yeah, definitely.” You swatted his arm with a huff, and the familiar action made the next laugh come a little easier, his chest a little lighter as the awkwardness slowly dissipated into something… comfortable. Normal.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” 

“Well, that’s your answer, Y/N. Don’t know what else to tell you,” He shrugged in mock ignorance, and you groaned, going back to worrying at the deepening scuff in the dirt. 

“What, so, we both had boring lives?”

Far from boring.

“...Yeah, I guess so.” 

You pursed your lips and stared out at the quiet street, the beat of silence almost bordering on awkward by the time you broke it with a resolute sigh, starting to walk forward into the moonlight.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make up for it somehow.” 

“And how would you do that?”

“By going back to when life wasn’t so boring,” You hummed, spinning to face him and grandly spreading your arms, as if you were presenting the lantern-lit street to him, “C’mon! Tonight, this main street is memory lane!”

“Aren’t you taking me out of town at one point, though?”

“Oh, hush. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, coming.”

Oh, your smile was radiant, and Keigo had to force himself to keep moving instead of gaping like a fool.

(Was it possible for him to make you smile like that all the time?)

For the next hour, time seemed to stop. The moon stood frozen in the sparkling sky, watching two star-crossed lovers go around town, laughing and reminiscing on what could’ve been. What could be, if Keigo were to be bold. You took him down Main Street as promised, and he found it hard to relate to the memories you spoke of, associating each store with scornful stares and pitiful ignorance. Eventually, you two looped around to the outskirts of town. To the river that looked more like a creek now, and the quaint houses and maze of alleyways. To familiarity.

He smiles as he watches you skip rocks in the creek, laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the dog that always seems to only bark when you two pass by Old Man Yasutaro’s gate, and revels in the memories.

“You still suck!”

“Hey! It’s not like we skip rocks all the time in the military.”

You merely rolled your eyes and continued to skip ahead, the slow and awkward trudge from before revived into the enthusiastic step he remembered, fueled by the joys of nostalgia and escape. 

This, Keigo realizes, is nostalgia.

Not the pain of remembering a past he wanted to forget, not looking at alleyways to remember what used to be his childhood, not thinking of the shops as someplace otherworldly. Rather, it was this. The joy of reminiscing on good times. The joy of breathing new life into old memories.

The joy he now knew was to be found in you.

“Hey.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see you grinning, the moonlight illuminating something akin to mischief in your eyes. “Remember that old gramophone we could never figure out when we were little?”

“You mean you could never figure out. I didn’t want to touch it because Granny Tamayo is a scary, scary woman.”

And a dirty street orphan’s hands had no place on such an expensive thing.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, following along anyway as you set off down the path with a new purpose. The route was familiar, and Keigo already had an idea of where this was going, but who was he to speak when you were nearly buzzing with excitement?

“What I mean to say is: I figured it out, so—” You spun in place again, taking his hand, and his heart damn near stopped, “—would you like this dance? To some actual music, this time.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? A proper lady needs the proper etiquette, after all.” His cheeky grin betrayed the politeness of his words, and you scoffed, tugging him along.

“Like you would ask me first.” Keigo’s tongue stalled around a response, scrambling for a proper comeback because you were right. Deep down, he knew that he still never would’ve asked you first for anything. It wasn’t his place. First, as a kid on the street compared to the granddaughter of the izakaya owner. Now, as a man with blood on his hands compared to an innocent civilian, untainted by the shadows of war.

Who was he to ask anything from a normal person?

“Lead the way, then.”

There was that radiant grin again, brimming with excitement and sending him reeling. Keigo couldn’t help but let your enthusiasm rub off on him as he followed you to the little communal courtyard behind Granny Tamayo’s home, where he knew that she liked to keep that Western gramophone to play for guests. You broke away to go and try and work the old machine, mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with the knobs and rifled through the records filed away in the ornate cabinet it was sitting on. 

He took the chance to look around the empty courtyard, struck with the realization that it hadn’t changed at all in the years he was gone. He left all those years ago, only to return to a town that seemed almost frozen in time. It was too far from the cities for all the modern inventions to catch up with it, so the only things that changed were, well, the people. Keigo most of all. What if he hadn’t—

The sudden burst of music and your shout of victory cut off his wandering train of thought, and you walked back into his line of vision with a triumphant grin.

“I still don’t know how to fix the tempo, so the song’s a little slow. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” You offered up your hand and tilted your head, still smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Like you’d ask me first.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo grinned in well-earned defeat, and his hand slipped into yours with the other on your waist. The music swelled, and he took the first step.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

With too-slow, clumsy steps, the two of you slowly began waltzing your way around the small courtyard. You still kind of didn’t know how to work the gramophone—the song almost eerily slow, despite the years of fiddling—but that didn’t matter in the face of the giddy smiles shared, your soft laughs when he spun you in a flash of spontaneity, and the nostalgia of old times.

Before, he was a scrawny kid on the street who clumsily tried to follow the steps of the pretty girl playing a song on her father’s gramophone. Tomorrow, he would be Private First Class Takami Keigo, fighting for his life on the battlefield. Tonight, he would be normal again, slow dancing to Clair de Lune playing off an old, off-beat gramophone with you in his arms, mourning a start he didn’t get to have.

(As normal as a kid scrounging for scraps on the street could’ve been.)

Your voice, soft and wavering, broke the stillness of the moment, as if it were something taboo that shouldn’t have been uttered into existence at all.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

You flushed at the endearment, the next words shattering his illusion of happiness within nostalgia with the renewed vigor of confidence in the face of the impossible.

“Will you come home?”

Home.

A simple word, really. And yet it dropped like a stone in his chest. Home meant a roof over his head. Home meant warm food on the table. Home meant a simple life in a sleepy rural town. Home meant the promise of a new beginning.

To you, “home” probably meant nothing more than the place you had known all your life.

To him, “home” meant you.

So, like a dreamer in love, he answered with all the confidence of a fool.

“Yeah... I will. I don’t care how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come home.”

He thought the shaky lilt to his voice would’ve given him away, or the way his step faltered in the already clumsy waltz as if trying to step around what he knew should’ve been the answer. 

Instead, you laughed. Something soft, and let him spin you once more.

“Well, I’ve already waited a couple years, what’s a little more waiting?”

Keigo had to keep himself from double checking if this was real. Dancing with you in the moonlight as he tried to step around the reality of that answer with all the awkward grace of a scared child.

One, two, three, one, two, three… 

Truth be told, the both of you knew the answer long before you had pushed the question into desperate existence, searching for a shred of hope. That his simple answer should have been an realistic “I don’t know” or a pessimistic “no promises”, instead of a foolish “yes.”

Instead, he slowed the waltz to a sway, pulling you close to both ingrain the feeling of you into his soul and to hopefully hide the resigned melancholy of a soldier being carted off to uncertainty.

And, for a traitorous moment, Keigo wondered.

Dreamed, even.

What would it have been like to have a “normal” life? Instead of grasping the hand of desperation, would he have grown out of the side alleys and homes made of boxes into a “respectable” man? Maybe he could’ve gotten a job at the grocer’s, at Old Yasutaro’s restaurant, or maybe even Granny Tamayo’s izakaya. Could he have—he pulled you closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your temple—could he have courted you the “right” way? Brought you flowers and honey-sweet words of praise and promises of a happy future, instead of a single night dancing in the moonlight with a brittle promise hanging in the tense air that the both of you clung onto like a lifeline. A promise that Keigo wasn’t even sure he could fulfill.

He would later come to regret this single moment. Of this, he was sure.

(But, as you lifted your head from his chest with glassy eyes and a shaky smile, he knew he wasn’t alone in this regret.)

Keigo knew the words that you wished to let fall into the night air, in hopes of making that brittle promise tangible. Of giving life to a bright future with three little words. The reality crawled up his throat like poison, bitter and cloying, something that he knew shouldn’t be said. Keigo settled for gently wrapping his hand around your head to pull you closer, filtering the harsh truth into something a little softer, the bittersweet tone marking the unspoken truth as a reality instead of the dreams of a future.

One… two… three… 

“Don’t,” He muttered, heart tightening as he felt you go rigid in his arms, “I know. Please, God, I know—”

You slowly relaxed in his arms with all the bitter acceptance of a night before battle, and he murmured the next words into another ghost of a kiss. A whisper against your lips, seen only by the fading notes of a song in the moonlight.

“—but don’t.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo’s breath was rattling, ears ringing with war cries, death wails, and everything in between. The once-blue noon sky was now a startling haze of ash gray, thick with the choking scent of the world burning.

He couldn’t even tell where the carnage started or ended anymore.

(Would it ever end?) 

How long has it been since the first shot?

(Too long.) 

Would he live to see the sunset?

(Of all times to worry about this, why now?)

The incessant drill of artillery fire was nothing new to him, as was the stench of the battlefield that could only be described as death.  What was new, was something that pushed his aching body to keep moving, the autopilot state he usually entered backed with something raw. Something like fear.

Something like the will to survive.

The pain that set his nerves on fire has long since faded, all the pain of countless wounds blending together into something numbed by the adrenaline of survival. Were the wet patches on his uniform sweat? Blood? Both? He couldn’t tell anymore, all he knew was survival and the persistent voice whispering deadly distraction in the back of his mind.

Civilians. You’re fighting civilians, you mur—

The skin of his back prickled, the telltale whistling of something flying screeched in his ears, and his reflexes yanked him to dive out of the way before his mind could catch up. Not even a second later, another explosive detonated behind him and heat blazed across his back. His nerves screamed fresh pain into his senses and he grit his teeth, ignoring the concerning sound of sizzling over the ringing in his ears in favor of ducking into cover, collapsing against the wall of a destroyed building. 

Since when did regular people know how to make bombs?!

In the next breath, someone else had ducked into the small shelter he’d found in this hellscape of a city. 

Well, the remains of one. All hell broke loose once the other side brought homemade explosives into the fray and now, as he stared at the burning and destruction, Keigo wondered if those Westerners who muttered meaningless blessings whenever they passed were right. 

If this “Hell” they spoke of really was on Earth. 

He turned his head, suddenly sluggish, to the man that had joined him in the makeshift cover, and grinned at the familiar face.

“Hey, man.”

(Maybe giving his body a chance to slow down was a mistake.)

Touya ignored his exhausted greeting, instead opting to yank a rag from his pouch as he pulled Keigo to sit up so he could press the rag into the deep gashes the shrapnel had gouged into his back. Keigo immediately groaned in protest at the stinging pain, despite how necessary he knew it was.

“Fucking— how did you even survive that?”

“Dunno,” He let out a weak laugh, “Don’t think I will—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.” Despite his harsh threat, Touya pressed the slowly darkening rag deeper into his wound. A desperate (futile) attempt to stop the life pooling onto the floor underneath them, steadily flowing from the deep gashes in his back and all the other wounds peppering his body.

“Isn’t that the exact opposite—” He hissed in pain at the pressure on his wounds, “—of what you want?” 

“Shut up.”

“You know you don’t want me doing that.”

(He was right. Keigo running his mouth meant that he was breathing. Meant that he was alive.)

Touya pressed his lips into a thin line, Keigo blearily tracking the way his burn scars pulled with the movement. 

Grounding himself, that’s what he’s supposed to do during times like this, right? Hell, he didn’t know. Not every day he came so close to death. Touya really needed to look into something for those sc—

“For the love of the gods, I am begging you to shut up.”

Ah, he said all that out loud? He managed to muster up a sheepish grin, despite Touya’s grim expression.

“Ooh, Touya? Begging? That’s a first, I should stay awake to hear it.” Keigo didn’t have to look to know that the rag was soaked through and Touya was fighting against the inevitable at this point. Keigo? He… he was too tired to fight to keep his eyes open. Too cold.

“Maybe you should stay awake to go home, loverboy.”

“I should.” He fumbled to find purchase, pressing his palm into the ground and scooting his feet closer for leverage. “Can’t leave Y/N waiting after all.”

Maybe it was the delirium from the blood-loss, or the desperation of this cursed situation, but Keigo tried to pull himself up. To move, to get somewhere safer, somewhere where he could survive. His palm slipped on the blood-slick floor underneath him and he came crashing down once more, his strength disappearing along with it as he slumped against Touya.

“Ah—”

“Shit, I’ll get you to the medic.” 

Keigo groaned at the pain of his wounds being jostled as Touya tried to haul the deadweight of his sluggish body up. The reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders (or was it his strength leaving him?) and he licked his chapped lips, whispering the grim truth into the ash-hazy air.

“I’m not gonna make it to the medic.”

“How many times do I have to keep telling you to shut up?” Another attempt to pull him to his feet, and Keigo managed to push out a weak laugh.

“Just a couple more times.”

“Hey… hey, c’mon now, I still have to make fun of you and Y/N for being the most disgusting couple I’ve ever met.” He carefully shook Keigo, trying desperately to get him to keep his drooping eyes open.

“Aw, don’t tease Y/N too badly.”

Something changed in Touya’s voice, a block in his throat that he had to force his words through, and he clutched the dripping rag closer to his wounds as he muttered out his response.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good,” Keigo’s hands clumsily fumbled for the cord wrapped over his chest, tugging at it until it came loose. “Hey, can you tell Y/N that I’ll do my best to come home? In any way I can.”

“...Just do it yourself.” 

“Mm, that would… that would be nice. Coming home, I mean. I promised… Y/N… I would…”

His words faded, and Touya froze, arms suspended in midair around the slumped form of his best friend, his stunned gaze locked on the identification tag hanging from a limp, bloody hand.

“Kei...go?”

【 ☀︎ 】

Waiting was agony.

You used to think you were a patient person, years of dealing with drunks, horrible customers, and everything in between training the patience of a saint into you. 

Today, however, revealed that you were anything but. The moment the company had crested the hill and out of sight, your anxieties slowly overcame you the farther they went. Working in the izakaya helped, the constant flow of customers and orders kept you on your feet and your thoughts off the battle that was no doubt waging mere miles away. Every so often, a wandering patron would come in murmuring that they heard bits and pieces of the battle, and you forced yourself to forget again.

All that effort was lost once the company’s runner came barreling through the town, shouting that the soldiers were on their way back. That they needed spaces cleared for the wounded and their lodgings secured. They called for the doctor, they called for food, they called for supplies. 

If you didn’t know any better, it would’ve sounded like a cry for help.

Word spread like wildfire, and the rush of serving customers turned into the rush of trying to help prepare for the soldiers’ return. None of it helped get your mind off the one thing you didn’t want to worry about. If anything, it just shoved all your worries to the forefront of your mind, accompanied by the dull headaches of something you hoped were just random fantasies.

(Fantasies of a lotus garden, a guarded grin, a red hairpin, a betrayal—)

Would he have to be wrapped in the bandages you were carrying? Would he have to rest in the bedding in your hands? Would he be able to eat the food your grandmother was preparing?

Then, they came. 

A slow straggle of wounded and weary men, leaning and limping on each other as they slowly trickled in through the main street.

There were many things that wouldn’t happen, you would later realize, watching the company trudge back into the town. Their formation was shaky from the hobbling wounded, and you felt your heart drop as you desperately searched the noticeably thinner crowd, trying to peek through the uniforms and bandages and dented helmets for any sign that he had come home. That he had survived.

How many men did they lose?

(Too many.)

You watched the flow of soldiers slowly follow their commander to their lodgings and the doctor, the once boisterous crowd now silent and battle-worn. The rookie that had just been under a chokehold the other night was now cradling bandaged wounds and a gaunt expression that only told of his first brushes with death.

One soldier broke from the crowd to make his way towards you, and—for a fleeting moment—you hoped. 

And just as quickly as it came, that hope you had soon sunk into despair once you saw who it was, and what he held in his scarred hands.

Across the street, a man broke rank, with a heavier burden than most would’ve thought and few would ever experience. He hoped that no one would have to experience this, a death and the task of delivering such news weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Life, Touya thinks, is cruel.

It left such a brilliant mind like Keigo to starve with him on the streets.

It forced him to run to the military in desperation, searching for steady food and shelter.

It snatched away the one man who had salvation waiting for him.

Death, Touya grieves, is even crueler.

Keigo would never get to go home.

He wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face once you welcomed him home with open arms. 

(How could he? When your expression twists into something akin to dawning horror instead of joy, watching Touya make his way up to you with downcast eyes and a heavy bundle of fabric carefully cradled in his palm.)

He wouldn’t get to start the new life he deserved, in a sleepy rural town with the one he adored.

He wouldn’t get to fulfill his promise to you.

A promise that everyone knew was too risky a promise to make. Yet, he believed enough to make it to you.

A promise that Touya holds back on his tongue because he knew this—a little metal disc on a bloodstained cord—wouldn’t fulfill it, not when he hands you the neat square of scrap fabric and watches your tears flow before you even open it. Not when you slip out a worn identification tag, holding it up to the sunset to try and make out the letters you already knew were there.

A lantern illuminates what the fading sunlight could not, casting the stamped characters of Keigo’s bloodied name in an amber glow, and you crumble.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Professor Takami, Head of the Sociology Department, first through the doors of the campus café with essays to be finished grading in one hand and his laptop bag in the other.

The cashier greets him with a familiar warmth as he steps up to the counter, his staple order already halfway punched into the register with a knowing smile that he forces himself to return. There’s a nervous energy simmering under his skin that he can’t seem to shake, and it shows. The barista (Touya. His name is Touya. He literally has one of the guy’s essays in his hand, fucking hell. Get it together, Keigo) shoots the normally easygoing professor a worried look as he slides the warmed pastry across the counter to him, the full sleeves of swirling blue and black ink a stark contrast against the smooth wood of the counter.

“Everything good with you, Professor?”

“Perfect, now that I got my pastry. Think I’ll be even better once I drink some coffee.” 

Nothing was perfect, and he couldn’t even put a finger on what it was. 

He plastered a convincing smile on his face as he picked up the too-heavy plate, careful to hold it steady before making a beeline for his usual table. The faster he got to sit down at his usual corner booth and sort himself out, the better. 

He knew that he would just drown himself in grading papers instead of figuring out what was making him feel off, but it was the thought that counted.

The hum of energy under his skin was nothing new to him. Something deep inside that made him almost jumpy, wary of the peaceful days that had consumed his entire life, lying in wait for… something. For what? Keigo wished he knew.

(For battles yet started, for warcries yet sung, for survival yet fought for.)

All he knew was that the strange hum that threatened to vibrate him out of his own skin was different this time. Wrong. It didn’t help that his sleep had been suffering for the past week, plagued by dreams and nightmares both of eras past, the blurry picture of the same person a constant sight in the swirling mix of history. Images flickering between a secluded lotus garden and an elaborate kimono to an old izakaya and Clair de Lune at moonrise. Images of yearning and blood and tragedy and endings before the beginnings.

At least his conversations with the once-intimidating Japanese Literature professor got a smidge more interesting.

With the resolute click of a red pen, he swept away the thoughts clouding his mind as he resigned himself to his fate of just dealing with the strange mood for now, fully intent on getting to work. Years of repetition and muscle memory had him opening up his email with practiced ease, quietly sighing to himself as he waited for the doubtlessly endless emails from students and colleagues alike to load. 

Would procrastinating just the tiniest bit by fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his sleeves or pushing up his glasses for the nth time help at all? 

No, but it let Keigo expel the weirdly restless energy in what ways he could, the creeping sense of foreboding setting his nerves into overdrive. The page loaded and he frowned at the onslaught of emails he knew were going to flood his inbox. 

Hell, he expected them to.

What he didn’t expect were the contents, the subject lines all variations of “Did you know?” and “There’s no way” and “I can’t believe it” from colleagues he didn’t even talk to regularly. Sure, the email from the cultural anthropology professor made sense, but the graphic design professor? The head of the business department?

Before he could open the first email of many, his laptop chirped out the familiar ‘ding!’ of a new email, the sound rippling through the café as everyone’s phones and laptops lit up with the same message. 

A schoolwide email? Okay, th—

The world slowed to a crawl, everyone in the packed coffee shop silencing almost at once and the shocked whispers rippling throughout the space only serving to make the silence all the more deafening (“Hey, check your email.” and “Look at this.” and “No way.” and it was too loud someone please make it stop—), his ears near ringing as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the picture embedded at the top of the page.

“Looking a little rough there.” The cotton suddenly stuffing his ears muffled the barista’s voice and would’ve made him jump out of his skin had he been focused on anything but burning the email into his eyes. God, he’d barely even registered the guy coming up to serve his coffee, what was wrong with him? “Professor? Was it that email?”

“Y-Yeah, I just read it.” He cleared his throat and slid the mug closer to himself, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to ground himself as he stared at the picture of you. 

The barista merely arched a pierced brow and muttered a soft “ah.” before going back to his spot behind the espresso machine, vibrant blue eyes tracking the rattled professor suspiciously. Keigo was too preoccupied to thank him as he usually would’ve. Too preoccupied with what was staring back at him from his laptop screen.

A picture placed right under the subject line plastering “Unfortunate news about Prof. L/N Y/N” across his screen, the few words in the body text (that he could pick out through the sudden tidal wave of memories past clicking into place) painted an image that he couldn’t help but mourn.

After being reported missing… remains found… will be missed.

Will be missed… 

Well, now that he thought about it, Keigo had been missing you all his life, hadn’t he? 

Both figuratively and literally, always arriving after you left and vice versa, never really seeming to connect in person. Any emails were shrouded with a veil of professionalism that he couldn’t pierce through. Yet, there were things so irrevocably you that he knew to pick out now. The jovial note at the end of your emails, the unapologetically confident sharpness to your words, the extra mug you left for the next person that passed through the faculty lounge (that somehow always ended up being him on the days he was rushing to his next lecture). 

All these things, all these moments, and the fool had passed all of them by.

The restless energy humming under his skin through his entire being disappeared much quicker than it had come, its job done, leaving a gaping  void in its wake that was shockingly familiar. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time this had happened, where the curtains never raised on the beginning you two could’ve had. He took a shuddering, stabilizing breath (that didn’t work), too numb to feel the freshly brewed coffee scalding his tongue that he had hoped would pull him back to reality, hoped the sweet taste would wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and the splitting headache of years upon years of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Professor Takami had work to get done.

Keigo could mourn later.

Even as he convinced himself of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to brush the dead lotus petals off his work, the sight of the wilted centerpiece only bringing more pain. The cruel coincidence of the once bloomed flowers now dead in his hands didn’t go unnoticed, and Keigo desperately tried to bore the printed words laid in front of him into his mind. 

As if doing that would sear away the sudden onslaught of memories, dead lotus petals igniting a yearning for a long-demolished lotus garden and a pretty concubine who didn’t belong in the palace (or was it a small town and the life he could’ve had?) and the love that slipped through his fingers once more.

Did you go through this too? When he—

The half-graded essays lay untouched for the rest of the day, red ink disappearing in the crimson light cast by the setting sun.

【 ☀︎ 】

When did I…?

He blinked down at the concrete under his feet, stunned, before looking up to see an endless sea of trains passing in front of him. The incessant rushing of the trains around him had replaced the silence of the hotel room he was supposed to be sound asleep in, the too-rhythmic noise of the train tracks surrounding him in an almost ethereal white noise. 

I had just gone to bed… How did I end up at a train station?

He winced at the glare of the midday sun reflecting off of the last car of the train passing in front of him, before stopping short at the sight of someone standing on the other side of the tracks—alone—revealed by the passing train. His heart leapt into his throat and pushed a name he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember out of his lips. There was no way he knew her, the multi-layered kimono and elegant hairpins looked like something out of a millenia-old ukiyo-e print and wholly out of place in a modern train station. But... something deep in his soul knew that it was right, and it sang as he watched the woman turn around. 

“You’re dreaming right now, Keigo. Go back to sleep,”

“What…?” 

“It’s true,” The woman tilted her head with the soft smile that he’d missed so much (missed? Wasn’t this his first time seeing it?) and the ancient hairpieces jingled and swayed with the movement, his gaze locking on a familiar crimson gemstone catching the sunlight, “Don’t believe me? Try to count some numbers, then. One… two…”

Another train hurtled past, blocking his view once more as her painted lips moved soundlessly around the final number.

“Three.”

Keigo sat up with a gasp, staring at the soft shafts of light the sunrise painted on the walls.

It was the start of a new day, and he found himself mourning something lost that he couldn’t even remember.

Dawn finds Hawks, the number two hero, leaping out of his Tokyo hotel window, wind catching on vermilion wings to buffer his descent to the sidewalk.

He was far from home, his current mission dragging him all the way to Tokyo from his agency in Fukuoka. Sneakers touched concrete, and he started down the path where he was supposed to meet with the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially after that mess with the High-End Nomu. He shuddered, spreading his wings as if to remind himself that they were all there, recovered after that hellish fight.

Come to the location on foot, he’d been told, and don’t be conspicuous.

Weird request, and it was kind of hard to remain inconspicuous when he was the number two hero and had a pair of bright red wings announcing his identity to the world. Alas, he needed to cooperate or else he’d end up jeopardizing the entire mission, so Keigo settled for ditching his hero costume in favor of casual clothes and a cap to hide his identity. He pulled a mask over his nose and tucked his wings closer to further help conceal himself as he walked down the street, dipping into the first alley he saw.

His path through the grid of alleyways and side streets had already been mapped out the days before, so it was just a matter of making the short trek there. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t the best, and Keigo found himself slowed by sidestepping trash and the occasional bottle of liquor. The scent of stale alcohol only brought unpleasant fragments of memories, and he pushed them aside in favor of quickening his pace.

“My, not every day I see such a bigshot hero pass by.”

He almost tripped over another bottle, wings ruffling in surprise as he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

There was an old woman sitting there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she sat outside her quaint little storefront. 

A flower shop, in this secluded side street? 

“Ah, sorry, ma’am, you have the wrong person. I mean, me? The number 2 pro hero?” He was quick to deny her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. She merely hummed and took another sip of her tea.

“Do I? Well, this old woman’s eyes aren’t what they used to be after all.” She set down the cup and stepped out of her chair, shuffling over to the water feature on the other side of the doorway that served as an attraction. He could see why, the soft rush of the small waterfall and fragrant lotuses drawing his attention the more he stared.

Suddenly, the woman plucked one of the younger lotuses, patting the stem dry before handing it to him with a smile.

“Uh—”

“You saved my son that day, from the Nomu attack in Fukuoka. This is the least I could do.”

Against his better judgement—he really needed to get going to catch the train in time—he took the half-bloomed lotus in his hands and pulled down his mask to smile at her.

“Your eyes are… actually pretty sharp, ma’am. Thank you.”

She laughed, sitting back in her seat and sent him on his way. The rest of the walk went smoothly after that, and he soon found himself jogging up the stairs to the station, muttering under his breath as he checked his watch. 

Right on time.

【 ☀︎ 】

A strange sense of deja vu creeped into his chest as he stepped onto the platform in Minami-senju station. He’d been feeling off all day, and the weird sense of familiarity that had been tugging at the back of his mind didn’t help. Luckily, he’d managed to arrive in time to catch the noon train so the rest of his schedule should hopefully go smoothly from here. A departing train screeched into motion, and he winced at the rippling glare of sunlight that reflected into his eyes, the strange deja vu rearing its head again.

Keigo stared at the train passing in front of him as he idly twirled the lotus stem in between his fingers. The words left his lips before he could catch himself.

“One… two…” He cut himself off with a sigh, dropping his head and dragging a hand over his face.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Keigo.

His head shot up at the sound of his name, the world darkening under the shade of a passing cloud. Did he just imagine that? He had to. The train station was practically stranded, and there was no one even close enough to call his name without shouting across the station (if they even knew his name in the first place). Despite his better judgement, he wet his lips and shut his eyes, the strangely familiar words passing his lips once more as he desperately tried to recall the familiarity he longed for.

“One…”

I want to see you.

“Two…” 

I don’t even know who you are, but I miss you anyway.

“Three—”

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the train tracks silenced and left him with the raging drum of his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the person standing on the other side of the tracks. The emerging sun smiled upon him, casting the world in light once more as his voice locked around a familiar name he’d never spoken.

It started as a hushed whisper, and he swallowed the lump in his throat to call the name thrice ingrained into his soul.

“Y/N!”

The familiar smile that bloomed across your lips was answer enough as he pushed through the newly arrived train to the other side, to you. He reached out, clawing through the rush hour crowd (why were there so many people? Why were you so far? Closer, closer, closer—) and he nearly sobbed in relief as you fell into his arms, clinging to each other as your souls finally, finally, melded together as one. Now and forevermore.

The questions could come later, but now... he had a promise to fulfill.

He was home.

notes: minami-senju train station is located in very close proximity (a two-minute walk) from what is left of the kozukappara execution grounds, where a temple now stands in its place. he’s made quite the journey to come full circle, hasn’t he?

[ventura-starlight]

𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭

hello everyone :)) I am so sorry I have not been active. I think my chemistry teacher knows I write and doesn't like it so she assigns like 3 hours of homework a night. I also have been casted in my schools production of The Secret Garden so that has kept me busy. I am trying to stay afloat at school and have inspiration to write but that is a lot harder than I expected. if you have sent in any requests I am going to work on those as soon as I can but I haven't had the most creativity :') I hope you aren't upset and enjoy this as compensation for my lack of content.

SUMMARY-> ron weasley as your boyfriend :)

KEY 🔑 -> Y/H- your house at hogwarts

WARNINGS-> curse words, snape slander 😌, not edited, but otherwise pretty sweet domesticity

*+.-°><°-.+*

how does it feel to live my dream?

this man is a grade A simp and I will die on that fucking hill

would he ever admit it?

hell no

does everyone know?

yes

how you two met

let me set the scene 😌

you were just going to potions class, you hated Snape and weren't afraid to show it to the snake of a professor [period 😼💅]

ron and harry were only sat a few chairs away from you so they normally laughed at the interactions you shared with the potions teacher

and so when Snape had some smart stuff to say to you,,,,,well lemme just;

"L/N I suggest you keep that smart tongue to yourself unless you want to end up in detention" Snape quipped with a slap of his wand again your desk

"I do apologize professor" you said with sarcasm dripping off your tongue. you sighed and brought a hand to your forehead, "I do hope you forgive me Professor Snake- oops! I mean Snape" you snickered as the other students giggled, including the red headed weasley boy

"Detention and 50 house points deducted from Y/H" Snape shouted with a scowl only for your giggles to grow louder. From that moment on, Ron Weasley had a crush on you

my man here was struggling to even talk to you

you exuded this aura that was honestly very intimidating to him

shy boy indeed

how you two got together

so Ron's crush on you obvious to anyone who had eyes

you just didn't see it

I mean you of course had seen the boy around school before, everyone knew of him

you may or may not have liked him as well

but when people told you he felt the same you deadass looked at them like "🤨"

this situation was much like the case with ron

for some dumbass reason you just didn't see why he would like you

everyone knew you liked him

except him

hermione and harry were kinda tired of hearing him be so lovesick

they were happy for him, just annoyed with how,,,,sappy he was

with the help of the twins, hermione and harry brought both you and Ron to a small party in the griyffindoor common room

basically they threw you two in a closet at the party

"JUST CONFESS YOUR UNDYING LOVE FOR EACHOTHER ALREADY!" yelled George from the other side of the door. you heard some light crying

"Oh Georgie our little brother is all grown up!" Freddie sniffled as the duo walked away

you and Ron were really just standing in the closet like "🧍‍♂️🧍"

yeah it was awkward

after a while you spoke up,

"so uh do you like me back?" you said with a faint warmth spreading across your face. he frantically tried to explain himself,

"I NEVER WANTED YOU TO BE UNCOMFORTABLE BUT I-I WAIT" his eyes widened as his brain registered what you had said, "Like you back? of course I do! Are you an idiot or something?"

you only scoffed, "Well sorry I'm not the most obvious about it" Ron only looked down and apologized for his outburst,

"I didn't mean to say your stupid, I just thought it was obvious, I suppose I wasn't as obvious as I thought" he stated simply, as if it was a fact that you would find in any textbook

you shrugged "Im a little oblivious sometimes I suppose," turning your full attention to his face you simply said "Well I guess that's good huh? We have something in common!" you laughed slightly. He held your hand hesitantly,

"Yeah I guess it is" he replied with a smile.

"AWWWW YAY!" the two of you heard the twins says more people began to cheer from outside the door.

semi anticlimactic but it was sweet

relationship headcannons

So, to start, love languages <3

Ron's love language for you is gift giving and physical touch

this boy,,,,he has to be holding onto you in someway at all times you are together

it kinda grounds him and brings him a lot of comfort

(unless of course if you are uncomfortable with that! he is very respectful of your boundaries)

so in turn he also loves giving you gifts

I think he like does either wood carving or something like that

so expect handmade gifts!

he paints rocks for you 🥲

if you display them in your dorm?

man might cry

he just loves seeing you love the things he gives you 🥺

His preferred love language from a partner is either physical touch, which I have discussed previously

but his other one?

acts of service

he doesn't necessarily expect gifts or anything like that

he just loves it when you do little things

like for example you left him a note

it was a day of a match and Ron was honestly nervous about it

it was nothing too fancy

simply,

have a good day today! you are gonna do amazing hun, I'll be in the stands cheering you on! love you :)

-Y/N <3

he keeps that note now in a box under his bed

that box holds every note or doodle you have ever given him

if you want to help him study he is gonna be so thankful

he loves dates taht are spontaneous

you two have become Snape's worst nightmare since you started dating

double trouble >:)

SO MANY SNACK DATES

LIKE YOU GUYS JUST LISTEN TO MUSIC OR WATCH MOVIES AND EAT SNACKS WHILE CUDDLING

it's heavenly 😌

Speaking of cuddling!

he loves lying on your chest

it's kinda just his safe space

credits to virid on tumblr!

he is a caring lover, his biggest concern is is making you happy in the relationship

he wants to be the person that helps you grow, not by force, he wants to support you through whatever you are going through

you help him be more confident in himself, believe in the good in the world

honestly you changed his life

and he couldn't say thank you enough for being in his life

I don't think he can sing so he hums instead. this happens a lot while lying on your chest so yeah

songs that I think fit your relationship

This December- Ricky Montgomery

How Can I be Sure- Durand Jones and the Incantations

Sinatra- Forrest Nolan

Like or Like Like- Miniature Tigers

-----------

he just loves you so much please my heart can't handle this right now 😭

*+.-°><°-.+*

@70swonderpoisonstark ​ @peterandtheparkers ​ @brianmydear ​ @casuallywriting ​ @fantasticnewtimagines ​ @silversslytherin @sugawaraaaa @ghullehh ​ @living-through-the-fictional ​ @fire-in-her-veinz ​ @regalillegal ​ @a-hopeless-fan ​

[glassessence]

PGR - OC

I got so inspired by everyone’s creativity that I created my own OC ^^” Even though she’s a member of the Purifying Force, I hope she’ll still be received warmly. Special thanks to @punishing-gray-raven-ocs​ for their detailed posts about character creation that really made me think about Lydias! 

Warning: I may have gone a bit overboard with the detail. It’s a long read! Also, I threw in a not-so-subtle reference to the most traumatic Memory Rescue mission lmao. So proceed with caution, I guess HAHA

Name                          Lydias: Umbral

Type                            Offensive Support-type Construct

Service time              1 year

Psychological age    24

Activation date         15 March

Height                         167 cm

Weight                        59 kg

Vital fluid type          O

Faction                        Purifying Force

Rank                            A

Weapon                      Chakrams (preferred) /  Gun

Damage type            ��70% Dark, 30% Physical

Lydias is a support-type Construct modelled after Watanabe’s Astral frame. She has extreme stealth capabilities and excels at tracking, making her ideal for the execution of rogue and infected Constructs.

Her missions mostly involve infiltration and spying, although she’s also been deployed on assassination missions. Those orders come straight from Nikola and their records are kept top-secret, inaccessible even to Bianca.

Her frame is designed for long-range sniping and comes equipped with visual accuracy enhancements and superb calculative powers. However, Lydias prefers to engage her targets in close combat. Killing Constructs from afar feels cruel and cold, like they really are meaningless machines instead of former comrades.

She truly believes in the good of the Purifying Force, but hates the things she has to do. She doesn’t feel like she belongs, but also can’t see a future for herself anywhere else.

Her fighting style is very graceful, featuring a lot of spins and flips that are reminiscent of a dance. Her signature move is called “Blade Dance.”

B A C K G R O U N D 

Lydias was born to a wealthy family in Babylonia. Her mother joined the war effort as a Commandant shortly after she was born and is known as the leader of the elite task force, Cybele. Since then, Lydias has always wanted to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps.

Originally a Commandant of the Black Wolves, a certain incident caused her to give up the position and apply for reconstruction. Despite having low compatibility for Tantalum-193, her application was approved after negotiations with Nikola. Following her surgery, she was transferred to the Purifying Force.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Shows affection through actions rather than words. Bakes cakes for the humans of Babylonia in her free time

Philosophical, often ponders on the nature of humans and of the war

Likes to make dirty jokes and tease others

Obedient to a fault because she doesn’t trust her own judgement

Comes across as cold, but is just awkward with introductions

Doesn't think very highly of herself. Ignores it when other Constructs call her "traitorous hunting dog" but secretly thinks they're right

Loves the sea and the fathomless depths yet to be explored. Likes to go swimming at every opportunity

Prefers to work alone, but overprotective of her comrades when in a team. Frequently throws herself in harm’s way to shield her teammates. Knows it’s not good, but is too haunted by her past

Trusts easily, but is very guarded with her heart

Knows how to dance a lot of old-school styles like ballroom and ballet, but is too shy to ask anyone to practice with her

S E C R E T S

Has memorised a lot of poetry from before the Punishing Virus outbreak

Gets intensely lonely and jealous when seeing close squad camaraderie like Gray Raven’s

Avoids Kamui because he reminds her of someone she’s lost

Has spied on Watanabe extensively under Babylonian orders and is deeply fascinated by him

Doesn’t trust Nikola, but is unable to disobey his commands

Secretly harbours doubts about Babylonia’s mission to reclaim Earth

Has obtained special permission to download the data of the Black Wolves and often reads the records to keep them alive in her heart

V O I C E   L I N E S

“Team leader? No, I refuse. You’re making a grave mistake.”

“I’m not suited for protecting people.”

“My opinion on the Forsaken? They’re hardworking, loyal, and--Nevermind. We seem to share a similar goal.”

“The Black Wolves? Where did you hear of that name?! Don’t mention it again!”

“I baked a cake today. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I can dance. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others…”

“I can teach you to dance. Privately, if you’d like. Haha, just kidding.”

“Becoming a Construct was a decision I made rashly. I don’t necessarily regret it, but…”

“Are we really doing the right thing? This endless war… All these years… What have we really achieved?”

INTERLUDE

D U S K F A L L

A voice cracked over the intercom. “...dant…Com...ant...Commandant, do you hear me?!”

Lydias blinked. The urgency in his voice caught her off guard. Ferdinand kept his cool even in the most dire of situations. Something was very wrong. “Tell me, Ferdie.” Static. “Ferds? Come through!” Nothing. Communications had been poor ever since they’d entered this area, but they’d managed until now. For it to suddenly fail like that… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shit,” she said, turning to the other two Constructs with her. “On guard, guys. Something’s coming and comms are down.”

Ilya grimaced. “Sure it’s not one of Ferdinand’s pranks again?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Flora offered, even as she tightened her grip on her lance. “Pesky little bastard would find it hilarious.” Lydias said nothing. She was too tense. There was a taste in the air, a metallic tang that churned in her belly. Sweat dripped into her eye. Suddenly, a hand slapped her on the back. “Relax, Commandant,” Ilya chuckled. “We’ll protect you like always. No need to be so scared all the time.”

Something in her loosened, just a bit. “Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” she retorted, trying to project confidence. “You guys with your fragile little M.I.N.Ds?” Flora laughed, a deep-belly rumble that Lydias loved. The knot in her stomach unravelled some more. “You do that, Commandant,” Flora said. “We’ll just twirl our pointy sticks at the bad guys.”

Lydias was just about to say something snarky when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She swirled, gun at the ready. There was still no word from Ferdinand. “I’m sensing a large Corrupted force in our perimeter,” Ilya reported. His voice had lost its casual lilt. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

Lydias cursed. “How’s that Memory retrieval coming along?”

“Slowly,” Ilya replied unhappily. Flora clicked her tongue. The Corrupted were visible now. They weren’t like anything Lydias had seen before. They carried advanced weapons - chainsaws and spears and bows - and seemed to be organised into phalanxes. Dread coiled in her belly. “We’ve been ambushed,” she breathed in horror. “Ferdinand tried to warn us. They must have blocked off comms.”

“Well, shit,” Flora grunted. The Corrupted army was within gunshot range now. “When the fuck did they get so smart?”

“Someone must be leading them,” Ilya said. “How did the information leak?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lydias said. “We need to retreat. Now.” A bullet flew by her head, burning the shell of her ear as it passed. Her heart hammered. “Back off,” Flora growled. She twirled her spear, eyes flashing as she impaled the Corrupted soldier. Beside her, Ilya stepped forward, fast as a flash, and stabbed one through the neck. Lydias fired off three shots, watching in grim satisfaction as two buried themselves in the heads of two infected Constructs.

The scene descended into chaos just as Ferdinand’s broken voice sounded in her ear. “...n...way! Comm...ant!”

-----------

Flora stumbled back. She was breathing heavily. Vital fluid leaked steadily from several places, staining her coat a rich purple. Ilya was behind her, grimacing. His left arm was gone, torn away at the shoulder. Sparks flew from the exposed wires within. Beside them, Lydias swayed unsteadily. She clutched at her stomach. Red blood seeped through her fingers. All their attempts to break through had failed. Things were looking more hopeless by the minute. 

“Commandant,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Turn off my pain receptors.” Flora nodded. “Same here.” Lydias coughed wetly. Her vision was growing dim. “It’s dangerous,” she admitted, wishing she could shut off her own terrible pain. “But there’s no other choice.” She authorised the command. Her team’s face relaxed immediately. She met their determined gazes and nodded. “We’re all gonna go home. Together.”

Ilya smiled. Flora grinned. But there was a sadness in their faces Lydias didn’t want to acknowledge. Her connection with Ferdinand was still blocked. He could be dead for all she knew. She turned away from the thought. Just survive, Lydias. And take the Wolves home.

Together, the Black Wolves rose. Ilya with his dagger and Flora with her spear. Unseen by Lydias, they nodded to each other. An agreement, a pact. A promise. Renewed, they threw themselves at the Corrupted like cornered animals. Slowly, inch by painful inch, an exit was being forced open. Corrupted weapons dug into their bodies, but they pushed on. 

Lydias fought beside them, swinging her chakrams haphazardly. Her gun had run out of ammo long ago. She stumbled, half-blind, and almost skewered herself on the end of a Corrupted sword. She could hardly think straight; blood loss was making her weak. Suddenly, a voice crackled in her mind. “Commandant!” Ferdinand’s voice tumbled through her hazy thoughts. “The signal jammer is gone. What’s your status?!”

Her heart soared, bringing with it a brief burst of clarity. “Ferdie! It’s an ambush. We need support!”

“I’ve already informed Babylonia,” he said urgently. “Reinforcement is on the way. I’m coming to you, Commandant. Just hold on!” His signal blinked to life, moving rapidly towards their location. Lydias smiled grimly. Ferdinand was on his way. Support was coming. Surely, they would be okay. They would make it out of this. She just had to hold on for a little longer. 

Flora’s signal pulsed unsteadily and Ilya’s grew fainter with every breath. Lydias clung with desperation to the unstable M.I.N.Ds of her Wolves. I will protect you.

-----------

“Coming through!” A ray of energy tore through the Corrupted wave. Lydias spied Ferdinand’s face through the sea of blades. She almost wept with relief. “Retreat,” she said hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. “Black Wolves, retreat!”

On cue, Ilya and Flora rushed through the tunnel, half-carrying Lydias with them. Between one ferocious breath and the next, they’d broken through the Corrupted circle. She tumbled bonelessly into Ferdinand’s open arms. He took a brief moment to survey her and paled. “The meeting point isn’t far,” he said. “Support will be there.” He picked up Lydias and turned to run, but Ilya and Flora didn’t follow. 

“Sorry, but this is the end of the road for me,” Flora said wryly. “Didn’t think it’d end like this.” She spat out a wad of purple fluid. “At least these fuckers will go down with me.”

“And you get the privilege of dying by my side,” Ilya said primly, readjusting his grip on his dagger. Flora laughed, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Yeah, old man, I guess I do.”

Lydias stirred in Ferdinand’s arms. “No,” she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Unfortunately, Commandant,” Ilya said. “This time it’s not up to you.” He raised his remaining hand in a salute. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Go on,” Flora growled. “We’ll make sure nobody pursues you.”

Ferdinand pursed his lips, but nodded tightly. Lydias fought in his grip. She hardly even felt the pain. “No!” she screamed, or tried to. It was hard to tell where her voice was. “Don’t! I forbid it! That’s an order!” He started running. She watched helplessly as the distance grew. “Stop! Go back, we have to help them! Stop!”

In the fading light, Ilya fell and was immediately consumed by a horde of Corrupted hands. His signal weakened then blinked out. A scream tore itself from her throat. She thrashed in Ferdinand’s grip and felt his hold on her loosen. White-hot pain shot through her body as she tumbled to the ground. Mad with grief, she crawled forward desperately, mind blank except for the desire to be with her Wolves. 

Strong arms lifted her up. Ferdinand’s lively voice was dull. “Please don’t do this, Lydias.” 

“Let go, Ferdie,” she said angrily. “We have to--” Flora’s signal flickered out. Lydias felt her spirit break. “No,” she cried. “Please, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Words abandoned her. The world seemed to shrink, compacting to a single thought: she had failed. 

-----------

She woke to white light. Something beeped steadily beside her. Tubes ran from her body to several machines like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Her entire body hurt. Immediately, she reached for the Black Wolves, but their signals were absent, leaving her mind uncomfortably empty. Panic settled like ice in her veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. 

Surely, they had recalled their consciousnesses. Surely, she’d simply woken up early. And where was Ferdie? Gasping, Lydias stood, dragging her broken body to the wall of windows. She brought a fist to the cool glass. Nikola watched her from the other side. “Where are they,” she croaked. “What happened?”

He shook his head sympathetically. “They didn’t recall their consciousness. According to our records, Ilya and Flora died protecting you from pursuit. Ferdinand was infected.” His eyes were grave. “He guarded you until reinforcements arrived.”

She didn’t know if she could bear the answer, but she asked anyway. “And then?”

Nikola studied her for a long moment before giving in. “And then the Punishing Virus took over his M.I.N.D. He escaped because we prioritised your survival.” A desperate hope sparked to life within her. “So he’s still alive? Then there’s still a chance! Please, let me find him!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He turned away from her. “The Purifying Force has already been sent after him. I’m sorry, Lydias.”

-----------

Three weeks later

“Are you sure?” Nikola asked, studying her with intensity. “Your chances of success are only 47%.”

Lydias stared at him blankly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Commandants are valuable to Babylonia. Perhaps even more than Constructs. Few possess the will and compatibility to stabilize M.I.N.Ds. Someone as experienced as you is not expendable.”

“Then I quit being a Commandant. I refuse to lead another squad.” She looked away. “I couldn’t protect any of them. Not a single one.” Her voice broke. “I’m not… I don’t think I can--I just can’t.”

Nikola considered her with some pity. “What do you want then, Lydias?”

“You know what I want. I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know you’re not afraid, but it seems to me like you seek it.”

She said nothing. Nikola sighed. “I’d rather not lose you completely. You have experience and ability. The Black Wolves were specifically chosen for that mission for your competence. Aife will increase our combat power significantly against the Corrupted.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfortunate, but these things happen at war.”

“Say whatever you want,” Lydias said stubbornly. “But this is my final decision.”

“Fine,” Nikola said. “Your attempt at redemption is admirable. I’ll grant your request, but if you survive, you’ll work directly under me. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

INTERLUDE HIDDEN CHAPTER

F A D I N G   L I G H T

Flora: Fairfrost - Voice Log 

*sounds of fighting* I hope this reaches you, Commandant. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer and… *grunting* I just wanna say goodbye. The old man’s already gone. I felt his signal die out a while ago. He went down taking a blade for me, can you believe it? Even though I’m the Attacker Construct. *panting* You know what his last words to me were? “It hurts.” As if our pain receptors weren’t turned off. I know what he means though. *blades clashing* After all, we all wanna go back home with you. But life’s a bit unfair, eh? For once, I don’t mind. Protecting your back… it almost makes me feel like a hero. That ain’t something you experience every day, y’know? *metal tearing* I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. For being someone worthy of love. *crash, wet coughing* It’s been my honour and privilege to have been one of your Wolves, Commandant. You’ll remember me, won’t you?

-----------

Ferdinand: Aegis - Voice Log 

Lydias… This will probably be my last communication with you. I never would have thought this would be how it ends, but… Well, I’m just glad that I get to spend my final moments with you. I can feel my M.I.N.D. slipping, but Babylonia will be here any second now. They’ll take care of you, the way I wish I could. *sigh* Ah, there are so many things I want to say. I have nothing to lose anymore, so I hope you’re ready to listen. *deep breath* I love you. The way you laugh at my jokes and tease me. The way you can talk about anything. Your smile, your lips. I love the way you kiss me. And of course, I love our late night activities… Such as you trying to teach me to dance. *short laughter* Were you expecting me to say something else, Commandant? You--*grunt, glitching* Looks like my time is running out. I should go, but promise me one thing, Lydias. Promise me you’ll keep your heart open, so that someone else can love you as you deserve. I--You--*glitches*

DATA CORRUPTED.

[judediangelo75]

Crushed

Okay, so I mentioned an a random post that I wanted to show the two halves that make, well her.

A painfully timid and skittish side (which mainly developed when she started living with her mother when she came to London. While she can hold her ground against her a bit more, she still fears her mother) and the coldhearted side (which developed at Hogwarts, where all the issues, tragedies and so on harden her).

I was on my Wattpad where I can a collection of Judith and Talbott stories (though there’s not much backstory or structure on there) and this story definitely would show that timid side of her. I tweaked it so it can be better than what I have posted over there.

Just to be clear: This side DOES exist. It’s her most vulnerable side of her. The reason it’s not shown is because Judith doesn’t like showing that side of her. Where she feels like a piece of glass that can break at any second.

She struggles with anxiety. She doesn’t like having too many eyes on her, she feels like people are constantly watching for any mistakes like her mother and exploit it. It gets pretty bad to where she gets anxiety attacks (she usually runs and hides out for awhile until it’s over. Like I said, she doesn’t like showing this side of her, and WILL NOT share this side unless you pry it out of her).

While she doesn’t show it often, she does talk peoples’ words to heart at times. Which doesn’t help her low self esteem.

She does her best to find coping mechanisms to help over the years and does build genuine confidence. But it takes time.

Alright there, you have a back of backstory of that side of her.

Just FYI, this is just to show that side of her (like if her more dominant side; because usually when you push her, that cold side would seep through a bit. You would hardly ever see her skittish)

Okay, I rambled on enough. ON WITH THE STORY!

(Judith Harris)

"There goes Demented Harris," I heard someone whispered to their friend before they broke out into snickers as I walked out of my Transfigurations class. I just kept my head down and walked past them. 

Sometimes I think that coming to Hogwarts was a mistake.

Ever since the incident with my brother years ago, everyone suspects that I'll be just like him. 

Become hellbent on finding the Cursed Vaults, getting expelled, and disappear. Never to be heard from again. 

I have broke a few curses since my second year but I stayed pretty sane. I’m a good student and sought to become a Healer when I graduate. I don’t plan on dropping off of the face of the Earth...

Even though I’m sure nobody would miss me if I did...

I sighed. I would’ve thought some people would at least be a bit grateful for what I’ve done for them, for the school, thus far. But like my mother always said, I’m asking for too much in life. 

It’s fine though. If I can't find love and appreciation in people, then I can in magical creatures at least. 

"Miss Harris?" I blinked, coming out of my thoughts to look down. Professor Flitwick smiled up at me once he saw he had my attention.

"Good day, Miss Harris," he greeted. I gave a shy smile and nodded, whispering a soft hello.

"If it’s not too much trouble, if you're free, I was wondering if you can assist me in a class for first years. One of my top students already agreed to help, but I would love one of my favorites to join in on the lesson," he said. My smile widen a bit before I nodded once more, following the small man to the Charms classroom.

There were times I wished I joined Ravenclaw. I enjoyed spending time with the ex-Dueling Champion. He was one of the few people who treated me with kindness. He didn’t see me as my brother, but for me.

I loved to help him, when it’s for tutoring, helping for the younger students or even for helping the Frog Choir whenever he needs extra help (he’s disappointed that I didn’t actually join, but settled for this arrangement).

I even spend my birthday, which was also his, with him. Something I haven’t done since Papa died.

I let out a mental sigh. But I wasn’t a Ravenclaw. Which might as well be a blessing, seeing how I have an easier time avoiding him.

"Ah, here we are!" I almost missed Mr. Flitwick's delightful cheer when we entered the classroom. All I could focus on what the feeling of my blood going cold when I saw who was the other teaching assistant. 

Talbott Winger...

I quickly ducked my head when he turned to look over in Mr. Flitwick and I's direction. How did that saying go?

Speak of the devil and he shall appear? Whoever said that was on something...

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting, Mr. Winger," Mr. Flitwick said as he hopped up on his tower of books. From the corner of my eye, I saw Talbott give him a small smile.

"Not at all Professor. What will we be helping you teach today," he asked. As Professor Flitwick explained today's lesson, I stood quietly a few feet away from Talbott, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. Flitwick pointed to the basket of feathers and had us place one at each seat. I remained silent as I handled my task from one side of the room.

I developed a crush on Talbott when he helped me become an Animagus. To this day, I don't know why he agreed to help me. Maybe because I have access and knew things that he didn't? 

Either way, I couldn't help but to fall for him.

He just seem so handsome to me. From his neat, slicked back hair to his beautiful red eyes. 

I appreciate the fine art of sarcasm, which he seems to be a master in (next to me of course). I find him hilarious whenever he’s feeling sassy or playful.

 Helping him find his mother's necklace made me realize that there is a beautiful heart and creative mind that he hides under that aloof and unapproachable exterior. 

Which made me fall faster. 

The smile that spread on his face when he said that we were friends just melted my heart in a helpless puddle of love...

But I wouldn't really go as far we were "buddy-buddy". More like acquaintances, hell I'll be lucky enough to call us that even. I would see him around, maybe give a wave. Half of the time he rarely sees it though, making me look awkward in the process...

I don't know why I try to get his attention. It doesn't matter because I know he doesn't feel the same way about me. I remember his reaction when I confessed to him, clear as day.

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

Flashback

"Rather than erase pre-existing memory, it might be easier for you if you tell Mr. Winger a new piece of information. Something that he didn't know before and won't forget, then use the Memory Charm to erase that memory," Flitwick suggested. I heard Talbott made a noise of agreement. I turned to find him sizing me.

"I'm okay with that. If you're just gonna erase my memory of it, you might as well tell me an interesting secret, Judith," Talbott suggested, a hint of mischief dancing in those red eyes. I bit my lip and shyly glanced at the Ravenclaw boy. Maybe I can confess my feelings and see how he feels about me...

"Th-Then this might be a g-good opportunity to tell y-y-you that... I-I-I fancy you, Talbott..." Flitwick and Talbott looked at me in shock.

"Oh my!" Flitwick gasped. I felt my face burn with embarrassment and shame as Talbott looked anxiously at me.

"Wh-what? Are... are you serious," he exclaimed. I rubbed my arm sheepishly, waiting for him to say more.

"Why? I mean... er..." I felt a bit of dread build in the pit of my stomach. Was he surprised? Or was he uncertain on how to let me down gently?

"Thank you," he finally said, though it came out more like a question. I buried my burning face in my hands.

"This probably wasn't the right time..." Or any time for that matter. 

The boy rarely looked in my direction, why would I even think he would express some kind of interest in a witch like me?

"Ahem, perhaps now would be a good time to try casting Obliviate..." I never agreed with Professor Flitwick more. I quickly pulled out my wand, pointing it at Talbott.

For a moment, I could’ve sworn a look of protest in his red eyes, but didn’t want to dwell on it too much.

Talbott was not leaving this room with that memory, not if I can help it.

After casting the spell, Talbott looked lost then a little frustrated, like he was struggling to remember something.

"What do you remember, Talbott," I asked as I withdrew my wand. I needed to know if the spell worked or not so I determine if I should go into hiding for the rest of my time at Hogwarts...

"I remember you choosing to cast Obliviate on me, then... nothing," He replied. I let out a sigh of relief.

"That means Obliviate worked," I cheered. Talbott looked at me suspiciously.

"Now you've gotten me curious. What did you tell me," he asked. 

Ha! You're hilarious if you think I'm repeating that situation twice. I'd sooner jump into the Black Lake.

"I'll tell you later," I smirked. By later, I mean never. 

Like ever. 

He returned the smirk.

"I'm going to hold you to that..." Over my dead body, Winger...

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

Ever since then, only two people know of my crush on Talbott. 

Professor Flitwick and Penny. 

I'm pretty sure he forgot about that whole situation and I'm more than grateful for it. I wasn't gonna confess again back then and I'm not looking to confess now.

Once the classroom was set up, the first years filed in and took their seats. Professor Flitwick introduced both of us to the class. As Flitwick went over the basics of the lesson, Talbott turned to look at me. I almost jumped out of my skin.

"How are you, Judith," he asked, a small smile tugging on his lips.

"I-I'm o-okay... and yourself," I stuttered. Judith, words! Use them!

"I'm doing good... I must admit, being here together brings back memories," he said. I fidgeted, already knowing what he was implying.

"O-oh," I asked, trying to play dumb. He looked me in my eyes.

"Yeah, where we came to Flitwick to learn the Memory Charm... I'm glad you talked me out of using it on Merula by the way," he admitted, his smile growing. I felt a blush blossom on my cheeks. 

Gods, why is he so handsome?

"It's not a problem, Talbott," I said softly, looking down so he wouldn’t see my red face. He hummed before saying,

"You know, you never told me what you said to me when you erased my memory.”.

"Miss Harris, do you think can come and demonstrate the proper stance and help the class correct their stance?" I darted away to help Professor Flitwick. The Gods are looking out for me today.

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

(Talbott Winger)

I frowned when the young Hufflepuff basically ran away from me to help Flitwick. 

Judith seems naturally shy, but never have I ever seen her outright run from something. She took on Cursed Vaults, but she runs from a simple question.

Ever since she erased my memory of whatever she told me, the situation would pass through my mind from time to time. I just wasn't sure how to approach the topic with her. Today seem like the perfect opportunity to broach the topic with the cute Hufflepuff.

Yes, I said cute. Because she is.

I admit I didn't like how she was so pressed to help me in the beginning but I slowly grew fond of the girl. 

Plus, she was very beautiful.

Ever since I hit my growth spurt, I towered over the Hufflepuff by at least a good 5 to 6 inches. She was a bit on the short side, but where I was standing, she seems small and it was adorable. 

Her sweet face was one of my favorite things to look at. Despite her shyness, her facial expressions usually spoke for her sometimes. The way her nose would scrunch up in distaste when she heard something unpleasant or she didn't like. The way her brow would crease in concentration when she's in class or studying. The way she would hide her flushed cheek behind her hand when she's embarrassed. The way her eyes would speak for her when she can't formulate words...

I normally wouldn't pay much attention to the opposite sex as far as physical appearance but I must admit, there was a time or so where I wondered what she looked like in more form fitting clothes, instead of her House robes or her trusted yellow hoodie.

Her shyness made her all more endearing. 

The way her gold eyes would widen slightly when someone focuses their attention on her. The way her sweet voice would sometimes stutter when she tries to talk. Sometimes hitting a higher octave when she feels insulted. How she would bring the bottom half of her hoodie to cover her face when she's blushing. How she fiddles with her dark brown hair when she's nervous.

She was cavity-inducing...

"Mr. Winger, can you come up with Miss Harris to cast today's spell?" I heard Professor Flitwick call. 

I smiled as I walked up to stand beside the suddenly flustered Hufflepuff. Together we were able to levitate our own feathers, flying them across the room. I peeked over at Judith, seeing a beautiful smile spread on her face. My heart fluttered at the sight. 

Such a shy and quiet beauty.

"Excellent, just excellent," Flitwick praised. Judith looked down, shuffling her feet. We soon went on the opposite sides of the room to help any students with the spell. I stole some glances at her, finding her smiling and laughing with the first years, applauding them when they successfully cast the spell. 

She looked so happy...

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

Once class was over and we finished cleaning the classroom, Judith was already gone before I could question her again. I softly cursed beneath my breath.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Winger," Professor Flitwick asked. I perked up a bit. Maybe he knows, he was there after all...

"I was wondering if you could help me with something... about Judith," I said softly. He nodded.

"Do you remember what Judith told me the day you taught us the Memory Charm?" He looked surprised and mused over what I said.

"So I'm assuming Miss Harris never told you what she said that day," he said. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winger, but it is simply not my place to tell you," he sighed. I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly tired. Will I ever know what that girl said?

"May I ask you something, Mr. Winger?" I looked up the the short man.

"Is it possible you fancy the girl? I've noticed how you looked at her during class," he asked. I felt a blush working its way up to my neck. 

Am I obvious?

"Of course not, Mr. Winger. But you are in my house, I take the time to learn my students throughout the years," Flitwick chuckled. I glared at the man's teasing.

"Yes... I started to grow fond of her and she is rather endearing," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. The professor smiled at me.

"Although I can't tell you what she said, I'm sure you can get your answer if you spend some more time with the girl," he offered. I frowned.

"But I rarely see her around, except for class and in passing," I said. The girl was extremely scarce, despite having her own friends. Flitwick looked thoughtful for a few moments before saying,

"Why not ask Hagrid for her whereabouts? I know she spends a decent amount of time with the man." Not a bad idea...

"I'll go do that now, thank you Professor and enjoy the rest of your day," I smiled, walking out.

Time to catch me a little Hufflepuff.

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

"Hello, Hagrid," I said, approaching the giant man. Hagrid turned to me with a big smile.

"Hello there, Talbott! What can I do fer ya?" Fang barked and ran up to me. I chuckled and bent down to pet the dog.

"I was hoping if you could help me find someone," I said as I rubbed Fang's belly. The man laughed cheerfully.

"Why of course, m' boy! Who are you lookin' fer?," he asked.

"Judith, have you seen her," I asked, silently praying he'll agree to help. Hagrid looked taken aback at my request.

"I- er..." I rose a brow at him.

"I don't know Talbott... Judith made me promise not to tell anyone where she goes when she has free time," he said, looking a bit sad.

Here I thought I preferred being alone, but clearly she has me beat...

"Why is it that she wants to be alone so much," I asked. I was a bit upset that I couldn't find the girl as easily as I would like.

"There are some cruel kids in this ‘ere school, Talbott. The girl has a lot more weight on her shoulders than anybody realizes," Hagrid sighed. I frowned.

"What does that mean," I asked.

"Pay close attention to what people say when she's around," Hagrid simply said.

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

Taking the man's advice, I watched the girl as closely as possible the next few weeks. I must admit, it hurt me seeing the girl being pushed around.

Demented Harris.

Jinxed Judith.

Jamal #2.

The shoves.

The laughs.

The public humiliation.

Those hurt gold eyes, shimmering with unshed tears.

No wonder she's so quiet and hardly around. Any form of attention brought to her is negative. 

I miss seeing her smile...

Today I planned on confronting her, hopefully to provide some comfort. 

In my Animagus form, I silently followed the girl as she walked out of the castle in the direction of the Magical Creature Reserve. Perching myself in a tree nearby, I watched as she walked in a grassy field, carrying a bag of creature feed. 

As she approached a Niffler, Knarl, Porlock, Diricrawl, and Abraxan all perked up at the sight of her.

"Feeding time, my loves," she called, her voice sweet and full of affection. The creatures all bounded towards her. Her Niffler, bounded up her legs, torso to rest on her shoulders. The Knarl rolled around her feet before bumping into her left foot. The Porlock trotted up to nuzzle her right calf, it's tail waging. Her Diricrawl nuzzled her left leg, flapping its small wings. The Abraxan trotted around her, nuzzling her hair. 

The girl was giggling at her creatures’ enthusiasm.

"One at a time, everyone. You will all get your turn," she said. She looked so cute, surrounded by all these creatures. 

Once she fed them all, she and them all walked around the field and to my hiding place. The Abraxan looked directly at me and huffed. It turned and used its hide legs to kick the tree. I let out a surprised squawk and flew out before I could fall.

"Angel! What's gotten into you, it's just an eagle," Judith cried, running up to the winged horse to soothe it. I landed a few feet away and her Porlock stared at me warily. 

Can her creatures tell I'm not really just an eagle? The Porlock went up to me, sniffing me before letting out a soft huff of distrust. 

Yeah, they can...

Giving up the act, I transformed back into my human form. The Porlock let out a small startled cry and ran to Judith, hugging her leg.

"What's wrong, Baron-" Judith froze when she saw me standing there. I let out a bashful smile.

"Talbott! Wh-what are y-you..." she trailed off, looking down. I slowly walked towards her, doing my best not frighten her.

"I just wanted to see you, Judith," I said softly.

"Why," she asked firmly, turning to face me. I took in her full appearance and blushed a bit. 

She was wearing a floor length sundress, white on the top that gradients to a soft shade of yellow. It was form fitting, hugging her curves perfectly. Her full chest, small waist, her abs, her slowly rounding hips. 

Her hair was in twists. Most of it was pulled back in a low ponytail while the rest formed her bang that occasionally sweep over her right eye. 

Her face was free of makeup, save a gloss over her plump lips. Her skin was basically glowing...

I swallowed thickly. 

She was...uh... rather developed for someone was just 16. 

Oh boy...

"I want to spend some time with you," I said, reminding myself to breathe. Her pretty gold eyes widen and she shifted uncomfortably on each foot.

"S-spend time with m-me," she repeated, sounding lost. I nodded, getting closer. We were only less than a foot apart now and I could smell her perfume. I tried my best to keep my breathing even, even though I was to take in more of that pleasant smell. 

I held out my hand. She looked down, extremely confused.

"We could start with a walk around the Creature Reserve... if you'd like," I suggested, silently hoping that she'll say yes. 

A few moments past and I could feel my nerves starting to take over. Before I could pull back, Judith laid her small hand in mine, stepping close.

"Okay... but we're visiting the rest of my creatures in the meanwhile," she said, staring at my chest. Slowly, I grasped her chin to tilt upwards so she can meet my eyes. 

She had one of prettiest eye colors I've seen, I could get lost in them all day...

"Of course, anything for you," I said with a smile. Her eyes went wide and she abruptly buried her face in my chest. I felt my heart stutter at her unexpected closeness but didn't push her away. 

Gods, she was so cute...

"C'mon, what other creatures do you have," I chuckled, gently nudging her from her hiding place. She flustered at our proximity to one another and simply held my hand, leading me to other parts of the reserve.

The entire time, I couldn’t help but to notice the feeling of her hand in mine.

Her hand had a few callouses on her fingertips and a bit on her palm, assuming from all the writing and physical work that she does. But her hand felt soft overall. 

To me, it shows how strong she is, all while still having a gentle touch.

Perfectly her...

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

I made some decent progress with Judith the next few weeks. 

She was able to open up to me and allow me to help her take care of the creatures she adopted. It was nice to see her laugh and smile around me. 

There was moments of slight awkwardness, like some of her creatures pushing us closer together. The bigger creatures were especially known for this. One time, Griffin, her Hippogriff, purposefully picked up the girl and set her on his back, as if going on flight. He never gave her adequate time to properly hold on, so when he took off, she would fall over and I have to race to catch her. I always found myself holding her protectively against my chest, our faces just an inch or two apart. 

More than once, I've been tempted to kiss her. 

But I simply set her down while she shyly thanked me and scurried off.

We were sitting side by side each other, under the shade of a large tree. Another sundress hugged her frame, this time white and royal blue. Her Porlock, Baron, was cuddling up against her as she scratched behind his ears.

"Hey Judith," I called out softly. Her pretty gold eyes shyly glanced at me.

"Yes," she answered. Taking a deep breath, I brought up the question,

"Why wouldn't you tell me what happened in Charms class that day?" she stiffen a bit and Baron let out a soft huff of worry. I reached out for her hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Please don't shut me out, Judith. I just simply want to know," I said softly. I watched as she gave the young Porlock a final scratch behind his ears before sending him off.

“I-I... I’m scared to see your reaction again,” she quietly admitted. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, we’re a bit older and mature now. I’m sure I can handle it better this time,” I told her. She peeked at me from her short curly lashes before looking away.

She mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that," I asked, scooting over closer. The sweet smell of coconuts and cocoa butter greeted my senses, and I wanted to close my eyes in bliss.

"I...Talbott," she said a bit louder. Growing bold, I gently grasp her chin to look so she can face me.

"One more time for me, Judith..." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she let out a soft whimper.

"I fancy you, Talbott," she quietly sobbed, trying to pull away from me. I froze. Judith likes me...?

She feels the same way.

My lack of response made things worse as her eyes grew wide and frantic.

"I-I-I'm sorry! I di-didn't- you-you don't ha-have to-" her ramblings with a soft gasp. I pulled the girl into my lap, hugging her. 

Judith went still, her nerves undoubtedly getting the best of her.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, little bird... I fancy you too," I whispered into her hair. She shyly met my eyes, hope shining brightly in those gold orbs.

"Y-Y-You do," she asked, trying to blink away any tears in her eyes. I gently wiped her tears away from my thumbs, she let out a soft breath at my touch.

"I do, Judith. And I want to prove it to you. Everyday... While at Hogwarts and beyond," I said softly. Feeling bold, I peppered kisses all over her face. Her eyes fluttered closed as I did this, her breathing slowly evening out. When I pulled back a little, she clenched at my robes with a whimper, pressing herself against me.

"T-Talbott, I-I-I..." Her expression was uncertain and fearful. I noticed how her gaze would land on my lips before darting back up to meet my gaze. 

Rubbing her back, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. 

She readjusted herself so she would be straddling my lap, her lips still moving shyly against mine. I groaned a little and squeezed her a bit closer. My hands followed the outline of her waist and hips, memorizing it. One of her hands was clenching at my robes and the other fisted in my hair. I groaned throatily. Gods, she's so perfect...

I pulled away, kissing the tip of her nose.

"You're so beautiful and perfect, darling," I cooed, nuzzling her cheek. I could partially feel the temperature rise and chuckled.

"And adorable," I added, pecking her lips. She pouted at me when I pulled away. I chuckled again.

"Don't give me that cute sad face," I told her. She grumbled but snugged against my chest. I sighed and ran my fingers through her hair.

"Talbott..." I hummed, letting her know I was listening.

"I like you," she said, kissing my cheek. I smiled and squeezed her tight.

"I like you too..."

[bratkook]

clairvoyant. (m) part seven.

masterlist.

pairing: taehyung x reader (briefly) jungkook x reader 

word count: 15k+ damn my bad

warnings: nsfw, spanking, dirty talk, unprotected sex (dont do this) but otherwise pretty tame at the end

authors note: i know i said this would go up monday but im clearly a liar i stayed up late last night writing this and it’s partially edited so if something looks fucked up dont come for me :( ill edit it later i just wanted to get it up lmfao im thinking another chapter left, maybe 2 anyways lmk what u think

Its Monday afternoon and you’re sat at your desk at work, your fingers mindlessly tapping on your mousepad as you retouch a portrait on your desktop. To be honest, you weren’t really paying it any attention, your mind kept drifting over to the text Jungkook had sent you the other night while he was drunk. Sure he had asked you to help him get his dick wet and a part of you knows he meant help as in_ help me find someone new_ but the perverted side of you hoped he meant help as in let me fuck you.

“Okay, unless you’re trying to make her skin look like plastic you need to ease off.”

Your hands jump at Yoongi’s voice and you realize the monstrosity you created on the models face, wincing as you delete the layer entirely to start over.

“Oops, thanks.” Yoongi just laughs, resting his arm on your shoulder and slouching over your seated frame as you resume editing with a slightly clearer head.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” He had been watching you during your entire shift together, today was an easier day, only slight organizing and retouching being the things on the to-do list but you had been very spacey. You were misnaming files and not being able to find them on the desktop, forgetting basic commands on photoshop that were second nature to you and you had mistakenly put coffee grounds instead of instant coffee in Yoongis morning cup and hadn’t realized.

Your hand came up to scratch your temple as you thought back to yesterday, waking up at three in the afternoon hungover as fuck in Jimin’s bedroom. Both of you had managed to go to sleep in the same exact clothes you went out in and your body was stiff which lead you to believe whatever sleeping position you chose had been very unfortunate.

Both of your phones had died in the middle of the night since the pair of you had been way to drunk to even think of plugging them in and when Jimin finally waltzed in from the bathroom, his hair damp from the shower, he suggested going out to eat so you let your phone remain dead in your pocket as you went about your day. You were blissfully unaware of Jungkook’s text sitting pretty in your inbox.

In turn Jungkook was sat in his own bed, a massive headache pounding so hard he swore his eyes were vibrating from the force. He remembered the text, hell he remembered jacking off in the shower before sending said text. So when he was finally able to sit up without wanting to vomit he was expecting his phone to have a notification from you, your typical response backed with a handful of suggestive emojis because you knew it made him blush.

But when there was nothing he felt his eyebrows furrow together, his finger locking his phone and tossing it beside him in bed as he lay back down. Had he crossed a line? His message was tame enough to leave it open to interpretation but Jungkook knew how he meant it when he sent it, he may have been high off his orgasm but he knew.

He continued to lay in bed for the majority of the day, only leaving to go to the cafeteria with Taehyung once he finally awoke, equally as hungover. He ate as much as he could stomach, not accustomed to hangovers that left his stomach feeling queasy. Unlike you who was currently stuffing as many breadsticks in your mouth as you could in the restaurant you and Jimin occupied, only leaving once your stomach was at capacity. You didn’t get a chance to see Jungkook’s text until eight o’clock that night and when you did see it your mind first went to sex. Jungkook was asking you for sex.

Sort of.

Slapping perverted thoughts from your head you responded with a simple of course i’ll help you. Leaving it at that, you knew he had sent you the first text while wasted so you were giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Those cursed perverted thoughts haunted your dreams though, images of you riding a shy Jungkook on your bed until he came noisily playing over and over and over you were surprised you hadn’t woken up with your underwear covered in remnants of an orgasm.

You hadn’t slept well at all.

You tell Yoongi this with a tight lipped smile and he nods sympathetically, “What are you doing after this?”

Looking at the clock you see there is twenty minutes left before the end of your shift, Taehyung had already messaged you earlier in the day asking to hang out and whether that meant actually hanging out or hanging out you weren’t sure but either way was fine with you. You needed a distraction to help you stop seeing the image of Jungkook cumming replaying in your mind.

“I’m seeing Tae.”

You don’t look up to see Yoongi’s reaction, not wanting to see any facial expression of judgment when you mention Taehyung’s name. Thankfully he only hums in response, watching you save your current file and start to shut down the computer and going to his own workstation to start doing the same.

When the time comes to leave you say your goodbyes, Yoongi getting into an uber to head to Jimin’s, telling you if you wanted to join them after you were done with Taehyung you were more than welcome. You hug him and tell him you’ll think about it before hopping onto the bus and heading back to campus.

The weather was getting colder in the day, its nearing the end of the first week of October and the fallen leaves decorating the sidewalks made that obvious. Once you hop off on campus you take note of the flyers plastered on bulletin boards, big posters taped on the sides of the buildings to announce the various Halloween themed events going on and you grin at all the activities that you love. This was always your favorite time of year.

As you trek your way into the boys dorm you greet Baekhyun at the front desk before entering the elevator with your phone in your hand. Your eyes are downcast as you scroll through your campus portal, skimming through the various assignments you had due this month and starting to feel the small tingles of stress creep up on you.

The elevator dings and you step out, your fingers tapping on an assignment due later tonight. Your eyes are glued to your device so you don’t notice Jungkook stood a few feet away, frozen in spot as he sees you. It’s not until you’re about to run into him that his shadow snaps you out of your daze, your eyes flicking up, “Oh, Jungkook!” You throw him a charming smile as you wrap your arms around him in greeting.

Jungkook relaxes when he feels your embrace, the nerves he’s felt since sending you that text vanish, his own arms wrapping around your body with a gentle squeeze. “Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

In retrospect he knows what you’re doing here but he needs to hear you say it. He needs to remind himself that you’re not here to see him to fulfill any sick desires he has.

You pull back still smiling, slipping your phone into your back pocket to give him your full attention. “Taehyung text me wanting to hang out so,” you spread your arms out widely, “here I am.”

He can only grin at that, of course you weren’t here to see him. You were here to see Taehyung. The man you fucked. Constantly. Not him.

You take note of his appearance, a giant black hoodie swallowing his frame and his school bag draped over his shoulder, “Are you heading out somewhere?” You speak again when he says nothing in response.

“Yeah, just to a study group at the library.” His eyes give you another once over, he wants to keep talking to you but it’s clear you have other things to get to, “I don’t want you to keep Tae waiting so I’ll be off.” He shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie with a small smile and steps around you awkwardly.

You can only mutter out a small okay because he’s acting a little strange but thats typically how Jungkook acts. He’s relatively shy, only speaking when spoken to and whenever he has bouts of confidence where he jokes and laughs and says things you’d never imagine him saying it only lasts for a moment before he’s back to shy Jungkook.

You wave at him and continue walking down the hallway to Taehyung’s room. Jungkook manages to take two steps towards the elevator before stopping and turning back around, “Y/N!” He shouts, flinching a little at his own voice and cringing when he sees you jump for a second, turning around with a curious face. “Do you think we could hang out soon? Like…” he rummages in his brain as he thinks of something else to say, “maybe after all our classes tomorrow?”

You think for a moment, you have a few classes after the creative writing class you share with him and another work shift right after so that won’t work. “I can’t tomorrow but after classes on Friday I’m free.” Jungkook doesn’t even think about his schedule, shouting out that Friday works for him as well and now your beaming smile is back and Jungkook can feel his stupid heart skip a beat at the sight.

Now he can finally leave in peace, a small pep in his step as he enters the elevator but that doesn’t stop him from aggressively jabbing his finger against the close door button so he doesn’t have to see you walk into Tae’s room.

Luckily the week passes by quickly, Jungkook had nerves bubbling up in his stomach the entire time. It wasn’t like he had never hung out with you one on one, you guys usually hung out during the free period you had after your shared class but it was something that was sort of routine. This time he had explicitly asked to hang out, he wasn’t sure why that felt so different but it did so as his professor recites his final sentences Jungkook is totally zoned out, only coming back when he hears he’s dismissed. And then hes shooting up out of his seat, throwing his backpack over his shoulders and speed walking out of the building and onto the quad.

He passes the stupid cafe and ducks his head, walking even faster to avoid the possibility of Jisoo spotting him through the giant windows. When he feels he can no longer be spotted he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing and his pace slowing down. That gross feeling he had in his chest after Jisoo had slammed the door in his face hadn’t gone away, he still felt like he had done something horrible even though he knows he hadn’t but the small glares Jisoo would send him whenever she would spot him on campus just made that feeling linger.

He was counting down the days she would graduate, or at least until she’d set her eyes on someone else because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. She hadn’t resorted to shouting things at him or anything too out of pocket but it was clear to Jungkook that she was telling her circle of friends that he had done something despicable and they were telling their friends. The whispers and small huddling that would happen when he would pass them on campus or in the rare occurrence that they shared a class made that obvious. He hated it.

Once he finally makes it into the girl’s dorm Joy greets him with a smile and he tries his best to return it. Letting her simple question erase the worries in his mind, “Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

He grabs his id back from her and looks up with a nod, that was actually what he was going to suggest the two of you do. He had seen the abundance of posters around campus advertising the event and it sounded like fun. “Yeah actually, I’ve never been.”

Joy smiles with a clap of her hands, knowing it’s his first year at this school, “It’s a good time, lots of snacks and someone always finds a way to sneak booze in. You guys will like it.” She refers to you when she says that, already knowing thats who Jungkook was here to see. Jungkook can feel someone behind him so he shuffles away to let the person sign in, waving at Joy as he makes his way up to your room.

The hallways of your floor are covered in fake spiderwebs, skeletons draped over some girl’s doors while others had plastered colored paper and drawn up their own version of spooky designs that reminded him of his years in elementary school. It was cute and honestly the boy’s dorms could take some notes because the only decoration they currently had was a skeleton sitting on one of the toilets in the bathroom.

As he stands in front of your door he takes note of the white board you and Wendy have hung up and he laughs softly when he sees whats written on it. In red marker it says *dracula voice* we want to suck your blood with some poorly drawn fangs underneath it and in the corner beside it the word dick is written with an obnoxious arrow coming up to point at the word blood to replace it.

His knuckles knock on your room door, hearing shuffling from behind it and some laughter before it’s thrown open and you’re greeting him with a smile, “Hey Jungkook.” Your lips shimmer back thanks to the clear lipgloss you’re currently wearing and his eyes zero in on them.

“Hey.” He mumbles out and you catch his eyes giving you a once over, finally making eye contact when you step to the side to let him in. He steps into the room and notices that you and your roommate must really love this holiday because you both have decked it out in halloween decorations. There’s a giant spiderweb rug in the center of the floor between your beds and a string of bat fairy lights hung behind your beds where you pinned more polaroids onto it. Theres a soft orange glow that fills the room and he notices you two have even gone as far as sticking led tape to the ceiling for the ambiance.

“Love the commitment.”

You chuckle, pointing over to your roommate with a smile, “She’s a slut for halloween and so am I so we had to. It’s not fully finished yet, we gotta grab some more stuff don’t we?”

When he looks over at Wendy’s side he spots her sat on her bed as she ties her shoes, “You bet your ass we do, I’m thinking we need different curtains or maybe a full on skeleton like Yeri has hung on her door.”

Jungkook can’t imagine how much more effort you two could put into your room but the determination set on Wendy’s face shows that she’s not joking. “Alright I’m off to go be a slave to the systems of education, pray I make it through this four hour lecture.” You laugh and clasp your hands in faux prayer, laughing harder when she rolls her eyes at you with a smile, telling you and Jungkook goodbye and dragging her feet like a child as she leaves.

“What did you wanna do today?” You ask him as you go back to your mirror to finish fixing your hair up. Jungkook sets his bag on the floor beside your bed, rolling his shoulders as he sits on it and shuffles backwards until he feels the cool of the wall against his back.

“There’s that rooftop bonfire happening later on, I was thinking maybe we could go to that?”

Your face perks up when he mentions that, immediately saying it was a good idea. That yearly bonfire was always the best, last year they had managed to bring up a giant blow up projector and played some classic halloween movies while everyone sat around the bonfire and made s’mores. Jin had snuck in a few flasks full of vodka so you and your group had been nice and drunk, bundled up in blankets while Hocus Pocus played.

“That actually sounds perfect, did you wanna head down to the store to grab some stuff?” Your attention was back on the mirror, your fingers coming to wipe at the corners of your mouth to fix any smudges of your gloss so Jungkook felt like he could stare at you and not get caught. You had your hair in messy waves, one side tucked behind your ear as you leaned forward and the cropped grey crewneck you had on wasn’t going to do much to protect you from the cold but it was obvious the outfit was for purely aesthetic purposes.

“Sure, lets go.”

The both of you head back out onto campus, two reusable bags in your hand to help you carry whatever you decide to buy. The bonfire usually had enough snacks for everyone but it was always good to go out and buy stuff you knew you liked as a safety net. The walk was nice, the sun had finally set, the last remaining hues of purple peeking away behind the buildings, allowing the floor lights to illuminate the path you were walking on.

Jungkook seemed to be out of his usual shy shell, his hands flailing around as he talked to you about the project he was working on in his intro to ceramics class. He swore he had no talent in it and was only taking it since he needed the units the class came with but you found it hard to believe since the photos he would post online said otherwise.

“You’re so full of shit.”

His mouth dropped open, his arms freezing in the position they were currently in as he tried to show you the motions of making a mug, “I swear. I’m gonna make you a mug and it’s gonna be the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen and you’re gonna have to love it because you doubted me.”

That just makes you laugh and he smiles down at you, “I’d love that, make it extra big too. Big enough so I can pour two cups of coffee in it and I’ll treasure it forever, no matter how ugly it is.”

He nods in thought, his lips pursed together because he was definitely gonna do that now. He really wasn’t the worst at ceramics but now he was determined to make you a half decent mug to drink your morning coffee. “Deal, give me a week.” He pulled the door open for the store and let you slip in first, the bells dinging up ahead to notify the worker of your presence.

You went for the chips, stuffing two bags of spicy tteokbokki chips into your bag as your first choice. Jungkook roams over to the sweets, grabbing a few of the chocopie for himself, calling your name out as he holds one up and when you nod he grabs a few more for you as well. It takes you both a few minutes to raid the shelves, huddling in a corner with the bag pulled apart to inspect the damage, “Is this enough?”

Jungkook hums as his eyes scan the contents, spicy chips, seaweed crisps, chocopies, some sausages, two small containers of banana milk for himself and a few cans of sparkling soju crammed at the bottom for you two to conceal. This seemed like enough, and you kept saying there would be more options once you got there so he didn’t think you should load up on too much. “Yeah, I think we’re good.”

Satisfied, you pay for your goods and make your way back to your building where the event would take place. You hop into the elevator and click the very top floor, he could see your big smile in the reflection, your feet tapping excitedly and he feels a smile spreading on his own face, happy that he chose an activity that made you this giddy.

When the doors open to the roof you step out onto the hallway and walk up three steps through the doors that lead to roof access. Jungkook had no idea either of the dorm buildings even had roof access so he’s amazed at that fact alone. The entire perimeter is blocked up by a cement border to prevent anyone from falling off, a plethora of plants covering it up to make it look more pleasing to the eye. Right in the middle of it all was the bonfire, thin and long and already lit up with people sat on the surrounding couch.

Besides that were a handful of bean bags and comfy chairs in case there wasn’t enough seating on the couch and if that wasn’t enough either there was a giant space open up in front of the blow up projector for anyone to lay a comfy blanket down to chill.

The snack and beverage table was placed to the left which was where you were currently dragging Jungkook to. You pulled out a few of the treats you had bought to leave them for anyone to enjoy and Jungkook couldn’t resist grabbing a piece of chocolate that was meant for the s’mores, letting the candy melt in his mouth as his eyes roamed the place some more.

“Hey, isn’t that Jimin?” He spoke slowly, not wanting the melted candy to drool out of his mouth. You were munching on a cinnamon cracker, your head turning to where he was pointing and low and behold it was Jimin. He was currently sat on the grey couch in front of the fire right next to a girl you recognized as Chaeyoung, she was holding a marshmallow on top of the fire, laughing as Jimin surely teased her for burning it.

“Yeah it is.” You smiled to yourself, seeing your best friend behaving uncharacteristically flirty, accepting a bite of the slightly burnt marshmallow smushed between the chocolate and crackers in Chaeyoung’s hands, licking his lips and plucking the snack out of her grasp to feed her the rest of it.

Jungkook walked towards them, seeing a few empty spots to their left on the smaller couch by the fire, he noticed the metal basket by the couch containing blankets so he snagged one out before he took a seat, handing it to you when you sat beside him.

“Y/N, Jungkook!” Jimin notices you two the second you sit down, popping the tip of his finger into his mouth to lick away the sticky residue from it.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be here.” You tease him, setting your bag in front of you and Jungkook and draping the blanket over the both of your laps for some added warmth.

“I wasn’t going to but this one,” he drapes his arm over Chaeyoung and she blushes at his display of affection, covering up a side of her face, “convinced me to come. Something about them playing The Lost Boys.”

She looked up at him and smiled, “It’s my all time favorite movie, I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.” Jimin just shrugs, a teasing smirk on his face and you wanna scream at how cute hes acting but you really don’t want to embarrass him. Park Jimim was not one for dates or romantics so seeing him on what could arguably be described as a date blind sided you.

“Oh, I’m Chaeyoung by the way.” She leans out of his embrace and reaches over with an extended hand. You lean over Jungkook to reach it, a giggly handshake being exchanged between you two, “Y/N. You’re a third year right? Political science major?”

“Yes, I am! I saw your photography exhibit by the way, super amazing.” Your hands come up to cup your cheeks at her compliment, suddenly feeling like you two are drunk strangers at a bar ready to spit compliment after compliment at each other.

“And you’re Jungkook right?” She speaks again, sitting back in her seat as she stares at him with an unreadable expression and you can feel Jungkook tense up slightly at being recognized because how the fuck would a third year know who he was. He wasn’t a social butterfly at all, he only knew you and your group and his other small group of friends that he studied with.

“Oh, yeah I am.” Jungkook reaches his own hand out to greet her and she does the same. Pulling her hand back after a moment and crossing her leg over the other in thought, “Weren’t you just dating Jisoo?”

There it is. Of course thats how she would know who he was. And that only proved his suspicion that Jisoo was spreading his name around.

She had a defensive cast over her gaze, her eyes boring into Jungkook to analyze him. It clicked instantly that Chaeyoung and Jisoo were best friends so theres no doubt that right now Chaeyoung is ready to chew Jungkook out for being what she thinks is a dirtbag.

You can see how wide Jungkooks eyes get at her question, readjusting himself on the couch while his mind sorts through any possible answer he can give her. How could he clear his name without sounding like the jerk she thinks he currently is?

“Uhm,” his eyes drift over to her for a moment and when he sees her unwavering gaze he looks at Jimin instead, seeing him with his lips pressed in a firm line, “we just went to dinner and the art exhibit. We weren’t dating.”

Chaeyoung’s look softens at that, his answer being a stark contrast to what Jisoo had told her. She had said Jungkook had made her his girlfriend and went on this amazing date and when she didn’t put out he told her they weren’t dating.

Jungkook continues to ramble, thinking that answer doesn’t satisfy her, “Jisoo’s a sweet girl, don’t get me wrong. We just weren’t compatible so it was best if we…moved on?”

Your hand comes up to pat his thigh on top of the blanket, comforting him slightly because you can see how nervous he got. His own hand comes down on top of yours, fingers gently wrapping around it and giving it a squeeze.

“Totally fair,” Chaeyoung finally speaks, “just wanted to make sure you didn’t dump my friend and quickly moved on with Y/N.” Her eyes flicker over to your hands and then up to you with a smile. Jimin cleared his throat beside her, his own hands coming up to rub together to try to clear any awkward tension.

“Okay,” he starts, eyes coming down to look at the plastic bag set by your feet, “please tell me you brought any sort of alcohol.”

You lift your hand off Jungkook’s thigh, leaning forward to rummage through the bottom of your bag and pulling out colorful cans of soju. You wave two of them in your hands in offering, tossing them both to Jimin when he cheers obnoxiously, pulling out another two for you and Jungkook to enjoy.

The four of you crack open the cans, bringing them together in cheers to prepare to down the entire thing as fast as you could before anyone could possibly rat you out. You manage half of it before having to pull back, the carbonation in the drink burning your nose and throat more than the soju in it, “Fuck, why did you get these?” Jimin coughs, fingers coming up to rub at his nose.

“They look like soda cans, I was trying to be inconspicuous.” Jungkook laughs at your pained expression, setting his drink on the floor to get up and grab some of the snacks to make s’mores.

Chaeyoung raises her finished can in the air in victory, licking her lips with a slight grimace, “Done!” She crumples up the can for dramatic effect, you and Jimin staring at her in shock and then looking at each other to see who could finish the rest of their drink faster.

Jimin manages three more gulps until he pulls back again, “Nope,” he coughs, letting out a burp as he pounds onto his chest, “can’t do it.” You finish your own can, tossing it into the second reusable bag you brought thats not being occupied. Chaeyoung jokingly calls Jimin a baby, taking his own can to finish off herself.

When Jungkook returns with his snacks & two metal skewers they fall into their own conversation and Jungkook is thankful because even though Chaeyoung seems okay with him he still feels like if he says the wrong thing she’ll turn and call him a fuck boy or something of that nature.

You reach for a skewer, popping a fluffy marshmallow onto the top of it and leaning forward to reach the fire. He mimics your actions, the both of you giggling when he drops his hand too low and his marshmallow burns a little too hot for a moment.

“Do you like your marshmallows well done?” He asks you as he looks at your fluffy snack hovering over the fire way too low since you were focused on staring at his, a teasing grin on his face, “‘Cause that shit is charred.”

You gasp as you pull back your now black marshmallow, frantically blowing on it when you notice its now entirely burnt and Jungkook cant help but laugh at the frown on your face. He pulls his own perfectly toasted marshmallow up towards your face to mock you, only laughing harder when you bring your own burnt one up beside it to compare them.

“I can still salvage it.” You try to convince yourself, your fingers trying to scrape and pluck away the burnt edges but Jungkook knows as well as you do that it’s beyond repair. While you focus on your failed attempt Jungkook prepares his own s’more, putting two pieces of chocolate around the gooey marshmallow and sandwiching it between the cinnamon crackers.

When he brings it up to your face with a sweet smile the frown on your face deepens at the nice motion, you take a small bite of it and let out a sound of satisfaction when the sweetness hits your tongue, “So good!”

He motions for you to finish it but you just take it from him and force feed it back to him, your hand cupping his cheek to push his lips open and its not until he lets out another laugh that you’re able to pop the rest of the treat into his mouth with no resistance. His cheeks are puffed up and he has a bit of chocolate smeared around his lips, looking absolutely adorable and you really can’t stop yourself from cupping both of his cheeks like an annoying auntie and cooing at him which only makes his cheeks warm up, his mouth coming to life to munch away to get his cheeks to deflate again.

“Cute.”

The following week goes on like normal except for the fact that now you’re slammed with work and school, barely getting a moment to see any of your friends between the chaos of it all. Jungkook has a small moment where he thinks he did something wrong since you seemed to drop off the face of the earth after the bonfire. You had both had a great time, a small buzz coursing through you from the soju and you had convinced him to cram with you on the oversized bean bags to watch the movie playing but your lack of communication even after your shared class has him slightly worried.

He’s currently sat at his desk, fingers tapping on his laptops keyboard as he tried to finish the last 300 words needed for this essay. Taehyung is sat at his own desk and it’s not until he starts to groan and furiously key smash that Jungkook stops what he’s doing to turn around and check on his roommates mental health. “You okay?”

Taehyung groans with his cheek pressed against the buttons on his keyboard, a constant string of the letter f being typed onto his own essay, “Sorry.” He apologizes when he realizes how loud he’s being, “If this is way more information than you were looking for I don’t care, but I haven’t gotten laid in over a week so I’m dying.”

Jungkook just laughs at the vulgar behavior that just comes naturally to Taehyung, until he realizes that his roommates statement of recent celibacy means he hasn’t seen you either. Taehyung lifts his head up, his fingers coming up to scratch as his faded red hair, deciding he should get to work and stop distracting his roommate with information on his personal life.

The tapping continues and Jungkook slides his phone out to send you a text to see if you were doing okay since he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen you recently. He sets his phone down after pressing send, letting the screen stay lit up as he goes back to his work, his eyes constantly darting back to check for any sign of life on your end.

When it vibrates against the desk he peers over to read your response, saying that work and school were ending your social life along with a photo of your current view at work being a desktop lined up with photos you were sorting through, a few textbooks to the left of it to show you trying your best to multitask.

Yoongi looks up from his own spot, peering over his computer to watch you stop whatever it is you’re doing to grab your phone the second it vibrates, small giggles leaving your body as you banter back and forth with Jungkook for the remainder of your shift. Yoongi knows you’re a sucker, he’s just waiting for you to realize it too.

It’s not until nearly a week and a half later that you have a minute to spare, your time already being occupied by Taehyung since he had begged and pleaded for you to help him with his hair dilemma. He’s determined to be Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul and desperately needs to bleach out the faded ass red form his hair while also tackling his roots.

You’re sat on his desk chair while he sits on the floor between your legs with a bowl of bleach being held in his hands. You have teeny tiny foils in his hair to focus on the red ends first, your hands coming down to dip the tint brush into the thick bleach to coat onto his hair and then securely fold up the foils. “I really hope this comes out.” You mumble out as you fold up the final piece of foil, placing the brush into the remaining bleach for later.

“Me too, that costume is the only thing holding my life together.”

He reaches over to set the bowl onto the desk beside the two of you, coming back to get comfortable again between your legs, “Whys that?”

He whips around dramatically, an exasperated look on his face, “Whys that?” He mocks, his fingers coming up to grip your thighs, “I haven’t fucked you in ages.” He whines out, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs harder. The foils on his head crinkle as he drops his face onto your stomach and you just roll your eyes at how he’s acting because it’s only been two weeks.

“You have a hand Taehyung.”

“It’s not the same!”

“Wow,” you laugh out, your hand coming up to awkwardly pat his tinfoil head, “I’ve just been overwhelmed with my current work load.” You explain your current situation, how all your professors were assigning massive projects back to back combined with the extra work at your job, it was taking its toll on you. You enjoy your classes and love your new job but you haven’t been able to catch a break lately.

“Let me help you ease your stress.” He mumbles out against the fabric of your shirt, his hands trailing up from their spot on your thighs up towards your center.

“I’m not fucking you while you have that shit in your hair.”

And just like that he deflates, his arms dropping like deadweight as he crumbles back to the floor like a child. “Fine.”

He stays in that same position, letting you pat your hand on his head as you both scrolled through your phones, only standing up after you had applied the bleach to his roots and deemed it ready to wash.

You make your way to the boys restroom, Taehyung shoving his head underneath the weak stream of water coming from the sink as you help him rinse the bleach from his hair. He stays with his head bowed forward, his eyes squeezed shut as you applied the purple toner you had mixed.

When you step away to rinse your hands he stands back up to stare at his reflection in the mirror, the skin around his hairline is red from irritation thanks to the bleach and the toner had turned a very scary shade of purple but he trusts you so he doesn’t panic.

“Just fifteen minutes max and then you’re good to go baby.” His eyes move to stare at you from the reflection, seeing you staring at him with a smile, he looks so cute with his hair balled up on top of his head, his eyes wide and curious.

“Then we can fuck?” Yup, and that cute innocent look is gone, but that tiny smile spreading on his face makes you crack, “Yes Tae, then we can fuck.”

So when the timer goes off Taehyung rips off his clothes, surely staining his shirt with the dye on his head but thats a problem for a later date, the shirt laying forgotten on the floor in the corner as he approaches the showers with his hand wrapped around your arm. “In here?” You shout out, your voice bouncing off the tiled room. It’s currently not occupied but you’re not sure how long that’s gonna last for.

“Why not? I don’t wanna wait any longer.” He shrugs, throwing open the shower curtain and letting out a loud scream when he comes face to face with that cursed skeleton everyone on his floor keeps moving around. You burst into laughter and he joins in, his hand clutching his chest to try to slow his heart beat. “Okay, that one’s occupied.” He closes the curtain and moves to the very last one instead.

You pick up his shirt and ball it up to toss it on the bench in front of the shower stall he chose. Your eyes roam the room again, seeing the coast was clear as Taehyung fidgets with the water temperature. He peeks back out to slip out of his sweats and boxers, wiggling his eyebrows as he kicks them to lay beneath the same bench his shirt was on. Your mind was made up, your hands lifting your shirt up and off of you, sliding down the comfy lounging shorts you have on and Taehyung groans when he notices you don’t have any underwear on.

“You knew this was gonna happen didn’t you?”

You kick your clothing over to join his, “Wishful thinking?” You respond with a smirk, squealing loudly when his arm wraps around your waist to drag you into the awaiting stall.

“Wash that off first!” You warn him, pushing his face away from yours. He sighs and crouches down, tilting his head back so you can help him rinse the toner out of his hair. When he’s all clean you pat his cheek, letting him stand up properly and tower over you. He’s giving you that half smirk, his body backing you up against the shower wall, his back successfully blocking the stream of the shower from you because he knows you’re really not trying to get your hair wet.

“You know, you look kinda hot with silver hair.” His eyebrows raise up at your statement, his head tilting slightly, “Kinda like-” You gasp when his fingers make contact with your waist, starting to trail them down, that teasing smirk still on his face as he waits for you to finish your sentence, “like a real life anime character.”

He hums, “Oh? Does that turn you on?”

You just nod, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip as you stared up at him. When his fingers pass your hips and dip down to part your lips his mouth opens up in fake shock, “Messy baby, you weren’t lying. You’re so wet already.”

The groan you let out hardly gets muffled by the noise of the shower but thats the last of your worries right now, your mind too focused on the feeling of his fingers gathering up your arousal, trailing up and down your slit teasingly, “I can’t help it, it’s been too long.” And he knows this, stepping even closer to lock your lips in a heated kiss, it’s been way too long.

He starts to circle his fingers around your entrance but you shake your head, your lips pulling back from his with a small gasp, “No, just fuck me please.” He rests his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing at how desperate your voice sounds. Something about how eager and hungry you always were for sex fueled him, always kept him wanting more.

“Whatever you want baby.” He plants a small kiss on your forehead as he places his hands on your waist, twirling you around and pressing your chest against the cold tile. Then theres a loud wet smack echoing from his palm connecting against your ass, another squeal being heard as a giggly but hushed sound of his name leaves your lips.

And as Jungkook stands at the sink, washing his hands after using the bathroom, he feels his heart stop. He had walked in a minute or so ago, hearing the sounds of a couple talking with the shower running and he knew they were gonna fuck because thats honestly a common occurrence but he didn’t know it was you.

The tap keeps running, his hands still stuck under it as his neck cranes to look to the far left where the shower section was. He sees the ball of clothes you two must have kicked off to the side. The white shower curtain being short enough to see the two pairs of feet in the shower and the position they were currently in made it glaringly obvious that Taehyung was pounding into you from behind and as if he needed more confirmation, you just moaned out for him to fuck you harder.

It was when another loud smack echoed out, mixed in with a grunt from Taehyung that he decided he needed to get the fuck out of there. So he did, not bothering to wipe his hands dry as he scurried away, his cheeks burning up and a mysterious feeling in his chest that he could feel spreading to the rest of his body. He never let you guys know what he had witnessed, not even when you both walked back into the room with your clothes clinging on to your still damp body.

The next time you see Jungkook is a few days later as you’re about to enter the cafe. You don’t speak to him because you spot him a few feet away, walking out of the arts building and in the direction of the schools cafeteria. It takes you a moment to even realize it’s him because his hair is no longer black and you have an inkling that Taehyung is the one that helped him with this.

You decide you’ll find him after you get your coffee and enter the shop. Instantly you spot Jisoo stood behind the cash register and she looks flustered when you make eye contact. Regardless you walk up to her and order a caramel macchiato, adding an americano to the mix since you plan on seeing Jungkook right after this anyways.

Jisoo raises her eyebrows when you order the americano, no doubt knowing its for Jungkook since thats always been his drink of choice here. “Thank you by the way.” She speaks up after you finish telling her your order.

Her comment catches you off guard, “Thank you for what?”

She scribbles on the cups before handing them off to her coworker to get started on. The cafe doesn’t currently have anyone else waiting to order so she stays at the register to chat. “For helping Jungkook with our date.”

You’re about to play stupid but she raised her hand to stop you, “Look, I know you’re the one who suggested both dates to him so thanks.” You’re stunned to silence, not really sure how you should respond but she keeps talking, “It’s just a shame isn’t it?”

“What is?” Your arms are now crossed defensively across your chest.

“That all boys want to do is get in your pants, no one likes romance anymore. I thought Jungkook was nice, goes to show all men are pigs.”

You don’t know why that irritates you as much as it does but you can’t stop yourself from snapping at her, “I’m sorry what exactly did Jungkook do to you that was so horrible?” That wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for, her eyes widening slightly at the sharp tone in your voice, “Because from what I know he took you on two very nice dates and you were the one that cornered him in your hallway, beyond ready to get into his pants without even speaking to him. Sounds like you’re the pig here Jisoo.”

Her face blanks, obviously not thinking you knew the details of the date. She was expecting to be able to spill whatever fake warning she had been telling all of her friends to stay away from Jungkook. “If he was truly as horrible as you’re making everyone believe he is he would’ve slept with you and left the second he got what he wanted.” At that moment her coworker came up with both drinks in hand and a grimace on his face at the interaction he had witnessed. You gripped them both and thanked him before walking out of there as fast as you could so you wouldn’t do something irrational.

Your face felt red, not from embarrassment but from holding in your anger. Jungkook didn’t deserve to have someone talk about him like this, he wasn’t a pig, he was the furthest from that. He was a very sweet gentleman who went out of his way to be as polite as he could. Jungkook was very much boyfriend material and it wasn’t fair that Jisoo could bad mouth him all she wanted because she was salty about being rejected.

You were marching down your campus, some of your drink was sloshing out of the opening in the lid, splashing onto your hand and burning the fuck out of it but it wasn’t processing in your mind as you entered the cafeteria and hoped Jungkook was still here.

You pause at the entryway to scan the room, it was full at this hour since most students came here after their 6pm class to catch a bite for dinner. Eyes roaming over each table you spot the new half blonde and half red hair that belongs to Jungkook, he’s sat next to two other boys all of them laughing and goofing off with their trays in front of them. And now you’re unsure if you should approach him, his back is towards you but one of his friends glances up and makes eye contact, offering you a weird smile. Jungkook notices and cranes around to see what the hell his friend is staring at, noticing you standing awkwardly with your two cups of coffee. You expect him to just give you a half assed greeting before he turns around but his smile gets bigger and he’s waving you over.

You shyly smile and make your way over, slipping between the occupied tables to sit in the spot beside Jungkook. “I uh, I saw you coming this way so I got you a coffee since you know.” You motion with your hands and he understands, he hadn’t had his favorite coffee in weeks because he had been avoiding the cafe like the plague.

“Thank you.” He accepts the cup and takes a gulp, exaggerating a moan to show how much he missed it. That makes his friends and you laugh as you mumble out a no problem, your hands cupping your own drink. At the thought of coffee he pauses, grabbing his bag and sorting through it to pull out the mug he promised you.

You gasp when he hands it over, its a slightly bumpy jumbo mug that he had glazed in black, the inside of the cup being glazed white with a small bat being put on the bottom. You flipped it over to analyze it some more, your thumb grazing over the engraving of his initials he put underneath it, “Oh my god, its perfect!”

Jungkooks friends see the way his ears redden the second he handed you the gift and they want to tease him but theyre scared of the beating they’ll get when you’re gone.

“It’s big enough for two cups.” It definitely is, it was deep and pretty wide. You would be putting it to use tomorrow when you needed a morning cup at work. Jungkook watches the way you stare at the mug like its your newest prized possession and he smiles, picking up his cup of coffee again to take a sip.

“Jisoos a bitch by the way.” You blurt out before you can help yourself and the entire table stays silent, your eyes wide in shock that you even said anything at all.

He holds the coffee cup by his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and the cutest pout on his lips, “What do you mean?”

You push your cup a little bit away from you, tugging your sweaters sleeves over your palms, “I mean she’s a bitch.” Point blank period. “When I ordered these she tried to take that opportunity to talk shit about you to me, called you a pig or something.” You fake disinterest, “So I went off on her.”

His friends holler at that, no doubt knowing what happened between him and Jisoo, one of them offers you a high five which you awkwardly accept. Jungkook just stares at you, in disbelief that Jisoo was trying to make him look bad to you of all people, but he was even more surprised that you had been so quick to defend him.

“You didn’t have to do that, but…I appreciate it.” You shrug, a small smile on your face which he reciprocates.

“Oh,” he puts the coffee down again and gestures towards his friends, “by the way, Y/N this is Mingyu and Eunwoo.” They greet you respectfully, Mingyu whispering something into Eunwoo’s ear before he nods and they both start snickering and then Jungkooks swiftly kicking one of their shins under the table, causing the cheap thing to shake.

You jump at the action and Jungkook glares at his friends before looking at you, “Sorry, weird spasm. Are you hungry?” He quickly changes the subject, desperately trying to get you away from his friends before they say some shit to embarrass him in front of you because he knows they will. They had been the ones subjected to the endless texts in the group chat where Jungkook went on mini rants that switched from trying to convince himself and his group that he did not have a crush on you to asking them for advice on how to best approach you.

At his question you realize you are in fact hungry so you get up with him and follow him to the food options, his now empty tray in hand, you grab a tray from the stack in the corner as you see what catches your eye. Jungkook reaches for the mozzarella sticks, plopping a good handful onto a plate and setting it on his tray with a smile. You copy his actions and grab another plate, putting a regular cheeseburger on it along with some fries. Since Jungkook had already had a burger before you got here he settles for a few chicken wings instead, grabbing a drink for himself and another for you when you motion that you want the same one.

“I like the hair by the way.” You finally speak when you’re both swiping your student cards.

He picks one hand up to ruffle his freshly dyed hair, the red and blonde strands falling slightly over his eyes, “Thanks, it’s for Halloween. I was just gonna spray paint it but Tae convinced me to dye it.”

Just as you figured, “Who are you going as, Todoroki?”

He nods quickly, his face showing his obvious excitement, “Yes! Thats exactly who I’m supposed to be. Have you thought of your costume yet?”

With both trays in hand you start the walk back to the table, “Yeah not as nerdy as yours and Tae’s but close enough.” You tease him, not aware of the stares Jungkooks friends were currently giving you two, “I’m dressing up as Raven from Teen Titans.”

He gulps at that, Raven’s costume wasn’t down right in your face sexy but something about you being in a tight black leotard with your legs bare and a cape covering you up has Jungkook’s weeb ass sweating.

And he didn’t have to wait long to see it since Halloween landed on the upcoming Saturday. All of you were gathered at Jimin’s apartment, all in full nerd gear with shot glasses in hand. The party was being held at one of his friends places which meant expensive booze and a nice house, a drastic change from the dirty parties at the delta fucking whatevers so needless to say you guys were all pumped.

It was currently 10:30 at night and you were about to order a few ubers to head over, your body was buzzing from the two shots you’ve taken, enough to loosen you up.

Jimin is currently dressed in full Joker attire, the new version, his blonde hair is temporarily dyed green with paste, slicked back off of his face and it kills you that hes able to rock any look. “You’re the bane of my existence.”

He has his hand wrapped around you with a smile, raising his eyebrows and making the painted red ones lift up too, “It’s not my fault I was blessed with beautiful genes.” You just roll your eyes, declining the third shot he hands you and he just shrugs and takes it instead, keeping his arm around you as he grimaces and slams the shot glass down on the counter in front of you two.

Jungkook is sat on the couch in the living room beside Yoongi who’s dressed liked Naruto and you finally realize what a giant bunch of losers you and your friends are. Namjoon is stood over by the record player that has music filling up the room, dressed up as Gudetama in a comfortable looking onesie, beside him is Jin and his girlfriend Arang who are dressed in matching pumpkin costumes looking adorable as ever. Hoseok is stood next to Taehyung by the liquor bottle a few feet away from you and Jimin, dressed like an inmate, a pair of handcuffs wrapped around one single wrist for show.

Your eyes move back to Jungkook, he’s decked out in full Todoroki gear, a blue tracksuit on with the white accents and belt, even similar boots and the damn burn on his face to finish it off. The way hes sat on the couch with his legs spread out is like an open invitation to be sat on, you always forget how buff Jungkook is but seeing his thick muscles pulling the fabric taut around his thighs is making your mouth water.

“I knew it.” Jimin whispers in your ear when he catches you staring at the younger boy.

“What are you talking about?”

“You are into him, Yoongi mentioned it to me and I noticed it a while back but I didn’t believe it.”

You trust Jimin, he’s undoubtedly your best friend but you’re not ready to admit to feelings you aren’t even sure you fully have yet so you shrug indifferently, “Honestly, I’m just admiring his juicy ass thighs.”

He peers over and stares at them as well, humming in appreciation, “Well you’re not wrong.”

Taehyung pours himself another shot, letting it overflow a bit as he watches you and Jimin staring at Jungkook. He has his Kaneki face mask partially tugged down to not interfere with his ability to get hammered so the weird grimace he sports is visible for anyone to see. He got it, Jungkook was attractive and muscular and Taehyung had offered to help dye his hair for his costume in hopes that it would land him a chick tonight so he’d back off of you but his plan seems to be backfiring on him.

Taehyung hates that he feels the jealousy blooming in him when he sees you walk over to Jungkook, offering him a shot with a grin, sitting down beside him and laughing at the way he crinkles his nose. He swears he doesn’t feel jealous because he likes you deeper than the current arrangement you both have, its just that stupid territorial mindset he never fully grew out of taking over. He was currently still sober enough which is why he was trying so hard to squish it down, thats all it was.

He knows if you turned around and decided to stop sleeping with him and moved on to Jungkook for that or even a relationship he wouldn’t fight you on it because you could do whatever you wanted but he was hoping what you two had would have lasted longer than a few months and you wouldn’t be setting your sights on his roommate of all people or at least had the decency to tell him. Its not until Hoseok swats his arm, giving him a weird glare, that he snaps him out of blatantly staring at you and Jungkook.

When the ubers finally come you all split up to make yourselves fit into them, Taehyung lucking out and getting stuck in the uber you, Jungkook, and Jimin were in, leaving you sandwiched between him and Jungkook in the back row while Jimin occupied the passengers seat. Taehyung is tense in his seat and you can feel it, his hands clenched and resting on his lap as he stares out the window, counting down the seconds until you all pull up in front of the giant house party.

“It’s my friend Taemin’s house, he’s honestly probably hammered already.” Jimin says once your whole group is gathered on the front lawn. He takes the lead and walks up the path laid out, opening the door to enter the booming house, loud house music being blasted from the giant speakers in the corners.

“Holy shit.” Namjoon speaks out, his eyes taking in how enormous the house was. The ceilings were stupid high, an expensive looking chandelier being the main focus in the current room but it was clear the home owner didn’t pay it much attention considering the shiny diamonds were currently covered in those fake cobwebs.

“How many people are even here?” Arang speaks up as you all make your way deeper into the house. The place is swarming with people, all in their own costumes and you don’t believe that Taemin even knows everyone here.

“Probably a few hundred people, a thousand if he’s fucking insane.” Jimin laughs, his hand coming up to point across the room as he finally spots Taemin in the second living room area he had. He was sat on the couch, looking pretty drunk but the second he spotted Jimin he sprung up and met him halfway in a clumsy hug.

“Thanks for coming out you guys.” He speaks up like he actually knows who you all are even though you’re all strangers, “Feel free to drink whatever you want, theres no rules just please don’t break my shit. Theres also a costume contest happening at midnight with some cash prizes.” When he finishes his little host speech he bows dramatically before someone else calls out for him and he’s gone.

You and your friends don’t need to be told twice, instantly gravitating towards the drinks to get as drunk as everyone else seemed to already be. The array of pricey liquor has you wanting to cry, you absolutely loved the rich for this reason only. The one thing you’re all good at is getting absolutely sauced so it doesn’t take long for you guys to catch up.

Little by little everyone slowly splitting up when the night progresses, there was too much going on in all the different areas of the house, along with who knows what happening in the backyard but you’re pretty sure theres a pool out there, something you would definitely be avoiding because it was freezing.

Hoseok and you end up together as you usually do, being designated party buddies. You’re stood at the back of a room thats currently having a very drunk karaoke concert going on, a very dramatic rendition of Dont Stop Believing being the song of choice and you’re both clapping your hands anc cheering along when the six foot tall Ash Ketchum goes out of his way to make his own adlibs.

You tell Hoseok you’ll be right back as you venture back out of the room to go grab another mixed drink. On your way there you spot Jungkook sat on the couch beside Namjoon, a very pretty girl stood beside him, trying her best to get his attention but he’s either not interested or completely oblivious to her advances because he brushes her off and starts a conversation with Namjoon instead. You’re pouring your drink into your cup when the girl walks away from him with a roll of her eyes, saying something to her waiting group of friends before they all make their way outside.

Just as you’re about to go over to him Taehyung pops up on your left, slinging his arm over you in the sloppy way that lets you know he’s been throwing back way more shots than you have. “Can I ask you something?” He slurs into your ear, choosing to stand in front of you, putting you between him and the counter behind you.

“Sure.” You say as you take a sip of your strong drink, your eyes looking up at him and seeing them glazed over, a hint of uncertainty in them.

He looks down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you, the three tequila shots he just took minutes ago doing nothing to stop him from squishing down his emotions now, “Are you fucking Jungkook?”

You quickly swallow the liquid in your mouth so you don’t spit it out, your face showing how absurd you think his question is, “What? No?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you, not entirely believing you because of how you two have been acting recently, he sees the way Jungkook acts whenever you text him and he knew you two had started to hang out more on your own. And he would’ve thought it was a normal hang out until Jimin had uploaded a video of the bonfire and he had seen you two making cutesy eyes at each other as you fed him a s’more.

You can see the gears turning in his head but you speak up again before he has a chance to say some stupid shit, “How drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough!” He shouts back and thats confirmation enough for you to know that whatever conversation he thinks he wants to have right now will have to wait.

“Okay you weirdo, get a grip please and back off.” His current attitude was getting on your nerves only because it’s something you’re not used to dealing with when it came to him. Even though you’re half kidding at your statement there’s still some truth to it and he hears it loud and clear, stepping back like a toddler and giving you some space. He mumbles something out about going to find Jimin but you don’t pay it any mind, just nodding along as you drink more of your concoction and go back to join Hoseok in the karaoke room again.

Another hour passes, a few minutes shy of midnight so you know the costume contest will be taking place soon. You and Hoseok have drifted away from each other, him deciding to go join the dance floor at the front of the house where as you find yourself watching an intense game of guitar hero being played. The giant flat screen lets any onlooker clearly see the battle happening and you don’t notice Jungkook beside you until he’s nudging you with his hip, a goofy smile on his face when you stumble over slightly.

“You really suit this character.” He’s standing there with his arms crossed and for one of the first times since you’ve known him he has this very confident aura coming from him. Maybe it’s because he’s had too much to drink to care or maybe it’s because he feels like he’s in his element in this dorky costume but confidence looks good on him.

“Should I just live my entire life as Todoroki then?”

His eyes are glassy from the alcohol and his cheeks are pink but he can tell you’ve had a bit more to drink than him, your tongue becoming too loose to hold anything back, “I definitely wouldn’t mind it.” When he notices your eyes raking up his body and back down, stopping at his thighs once more before looking at his eyes again, he just blushes and chooses to uncross his arms to take a sip of his drink.

He’s been noticing your constant eyeing of his thighs, having caught you staring at them at Jimin’s place earlier tonight, and now that you were drunk you were doing a worse job at trying to play it off. “Has anyone ever told you that your thighs are beautiful?” You finally address it.

Jungkook raises both of his eyebrows, looking down at himself, shifting his weight between both legs and stretching one out. “Can’t say they have.”

“Just wanna bite em…” You mumble under your breath and he chuckles, catching your words but not speaking on it. The shots are definitely seeping further into your blood because your hands are coming up and out, grabbing the meaty skin of his right thigh and he’s yelping from the shock, jumping slightly before balancing out so his drink wouldn’t spill.

You’re grinning sweetly as you give his thigh another quick squeeze and retreat back. You only hum in thought, your mind wondering what they look like under the pants he’s currently wearing. Jungkook is still too caught off guard, any words he wants to say getting stuck in his throat as he observes the room to see if anyone saw that.

The reality of what you just did slowly sinks in and he catches the switch, your eyes sharpening up and you take a very small step back, “Are none of these girls good enough for you?”

“What?”

You nervously swallow more of your drink which probably isn’t wise because look at what you had already done with the alcohol already in your system, “I promised you I’d get you laid by the end of this month and i’ve seen like four girls come up to you and you blew them off.”

That was true, he had done that all night but it had been such an automatic response that he wasn’t sure why he had, something about sleeping with a complete stranger in another strangers home felt wrong. That and the fact that he wanted to sleep with you was also getting in the way, but his inner self currently had that thought in a headlock, a very loose and slowly weakening headlock but a headlock nonetheless, so he was ignoring it.

“They didn’t even know who I’m supposed to be.” He lies as an excuse and it makes you laugh, tipping your cup up and pouring the rest of its contents down your throat.

“Is that you’re only reason?”

He nods stubbornly, sticking with his horrible excuse until it turns around and bites him in the ass. “Well I know who you’re supposed to be, so what does that mean?”

He blanks at that, really not expecting the turn this would take. You watch him, his big doe eyes only getting bigger at your words. He rolls his lips together in thought, his mind sorting through all the appropriate responses he could say. During his distraction he doesn’t notice his inner self releasing the headlock grip he had on his feelings until it’s too late and they’re spilling out into the open.

“It means I wanna fuck you.”

Yeah. That wasn’t what he wanted to say, at all, but his filter had clearly been lost a few shots back and when you don’t immediately slap him he doesn’t think he fucked up entirely.

“You wanna fuck me?” You repeat slowly, stepping closer to him. You had a feeling he did based on that drunk text he had sent you but you had to make sure he really wanted to and this wasn’t just a nervous response. Jimin and Yoongi were right in their observations of both of you, you wanted to sleep with him, you have ever since that night in your room and the realistic dreams involving him haven’t stopped so maybe once you sleep with him everything will mellow out in your brain.

This isn’t a crush, you try to convince yourself, this is just your hormones talking. It’s not your fault that imaginary Jungkook would moan such sweet praises in your ear while you dreamed, thats why you were stuck wearing i’m horny for jungkook glasses, and once you slept with each other all would be fine.

His eyes look around, he could see Tae and Jimin stood near the kitchen, Tae doubling over in laughter at something being said and when you see who he’s looking up it only annoys you. Taehyung didn’t have this claim on you and you knew Jungkook was just worried because he didn’t fully believe no feelings were involved between you and Tae but you were sick of people thinking you belonged to him.

You raise your hand up to cup his cheek, bringing his attention back to you, “I asked you a question Jungkook.”

He looks back over to you, seeing your own eyes staring up at him and he finds himself nodding his head. Sure you both aren’t sober at all and will he be embarrassed about this once he is, probably, but he knows he’ll regret not being completely honest tomorrow morning if he says no.

At his confirmation you smile, you had spotted the staircase nearby, knowing there would be rooms you two could occupy but when you start to tug him in the direction of it he resists.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t feel right using someone’s room to do this.” Jungkook wasn’t a virgin so you knew he wasn’t wanting this to be a certain way for his first time but he’d only ever been intimate with one person and it hadn’t gone the way he wanted at all so if he didn’t feel comfortable sleeping with you in this house it was fine by you.

“Do you want to go back to mine then?” The urgency that usually came with party hook ups was missing, you didn’t feel rushed to get in a room and tear his clothes off without speaking to each other, he wasn’t just a hook up.

When he nods his head you don’t think twice to pull him in the direction towards the front door, a loud tapping noise stopping you both in your tracks. Everyone stops talking, turning towards the source of the noise and seeing Taemin stood on top of his coffee table with a microphone in hand, his finger tapping the top of it to check it.

“Okay, fuck it works dude!” Jimin shouted out, everyones hands coming up to cover their ears when Taemin just laughs loudly into the mic.

It was time for the costume contest and as much as you wouldn’t mind seeing who won or even potentially winning the cash prize yourself, the thought of finally getting to sleep with Jungkook wins. You look back at him, your eyes asking him if he wants to wait but he shakes his head, his fingers giving your palm another squeeze. You choose not to notify your friends that you were leaving, they were all drunk enough and were already planning on sleeping at Jimin’s after this anyways so you had a few hours before they even noticed you had both disappeared.

Jungkook feels oddly calm, the nerves that had overtaken him when he was in this position the very first time not coming up, even the small sense of uncertainty he felt when it came to Jisoo was gone and he likes it. He likes the feel of your hand in his as you wait for the uber. He likes how you rest your clasped hands on your thigh, your thumb rubbing the back of his palm soothingly and when you finally manage to sneak into your building he likes the way you push him against the elevator wall, your lips slotting between his in the first sign of urgency.

When you lick your way into his mouth he tastes the strong tang of tequila that he’s sure you can taste from him as well but he doesn’t mind it. His hands coming up to wrap around your waist, the thin material of your leotard letting you feel his touch as his fingers dig into your waist to pull you closer to him. You’re on your tip toes and he’s leaning over to match your height, the sound of the elevator ding making you both pull apart with heavy sighs.

You twirl back around, your head peaking out of the elevator to make sure the coast was clear since you technically weren’t allowed to have Jungkook over at this time. Once you saw the hallway was clear you wrapped your hand over his wrist, tugging him to your door in a haste to get out of the open. You make it a few feet when the sound of the bathroom door opening makes you both freeze, Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut as he waits for someone to start to scold you both. You’re waiting for it too, especially when you turn around and spot Jihyo, your RA, standing in the middle of the hallway right in front of the bathroom door.

She’s currently rubbing her eyes, tipsy and in a revealing Sailor Mars costume. When she spots you and Jungkook looking just as tipsy and your lips swollen she just sighs, throwing her head back dramatically, “Go, hurry up and get in your room. I didn’t see anything.” You throw her a thankful look and she just shields her eyes as she makes her way back into her room, you don’t waste anymore time as you slide your key card out of your bra and unlock your room.

“Wait, your roommate.” Jungkook whispers, just now realizing that she existed. He’s stood right on the door’s threshold, refusing to come in until you literally force him, your hand tugging him in. His hands grasp your shoulders to not knock you over from the force of your pull, he finally gets a chance to look around when you flick your light on and he notices Wendy is no where to be found.

“She’s went out of town for Halloween, we’re fine, now please kiss me.” The door shuts behind Jungkook, that answer satisfies him, his hands moving off your shoulders to cup your face and bring you in for another kiss. Your mind feels like its floating as he starts to walk, leading you backwards towards your bed.

Your hands slide up his chest as you make your way to your bed, your fingers clasping the zipper of his costume and tugging it down, revealing his bare skin. He had decided not to wear anything underneath his tracksuit, he always got hot and sweaty when he was drunk so he didn’t want to add more layers than necessary, and luckily it worked in his favor.

Your fingertips leave a hot trail on his skin as you work on getting this article of clothing off of him, his hands coming away from your face as you push the sleeves down his arms, the material falling onto the floor in a heap. His lips never part from yours, his actions getting more confident, his kisses getting more urgent because he can’t seem to get enough of you.

His hands trail up to unclasp the cape around your shoulders, letting the crushed velvet garment join his top on the floor, and then its a race of getting the rest of your clothing off. You pull back from him your lips smacking together one final time when you step back, your eyes finally getting to see him shirtless for the first time.

Is he for real? Was he sculpted by the fucking gods themselves because this wasn’t fair. You always knew Jungkook worked out like a madman but you never expected him to look like this. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, the muscles in his arms rippling as he fidgeted with the stupid belt he had on and when he finally got it off and was able to slide out of his boots and pants your wishes were granted in the form of his thighs.

You had forgotten about sliding out of your leotard and belt, your boots were kicked off to the side but when his thick thighs were exposed you dropped to the floor in front of him. Jungkook wasn’t expecting that, part of him thought you might of passed out or something from how suddenly you collapsed but when your hand come up to trail his thighs he knows you’re fine.

“Are you joking?” You mumble out, your mind acting on it’s own accord, you press open mouth kisses on his thighs, your fingers giving them small squeeze as you kiss your way up to the band of his briefs.

Jungkook had fantasized about this so many times put now that you were sitting right in front of him on your knees, your mouth kissing his dick over the fabric of his briefs, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from blowing his load the second you put it in your mouth.

“Have you ever had a blowjob Kookie?” The nickname is new but he likes it, especially when he sees how you look at him when you say it, your eyes widening slightly when he shakes his head. No he’s never had a blowjob and as much as he wants to experience his first one from you he won’t ever let himself live it down if he cums before he gets a chance to fuck you.

“Can I be honest?” He mumbles out as your fingers slip underneath the band of his briefs, beginning to tug it down slowly, his legs stepping out of the material as it bunches around his ankles.

His cock springs out without the restraint of his briefs and your mouth salivates at the sight of it. Of course Jeon Jungkook would have a beautiful big dick, its veiny with a slight upward curve, the girth of it making you bite your lip in anticipation of it stretching you open. Your eyes move back up to him and you smile gently, “Yeah of course.”

He moves his own hands to cover your smaller ones, his fingers wrapping around your fingertips to lift them off his skin. “Can we…do that next time,” it slips out before he can catch it, indication of this happening again and you take note of it, the lust clouding your mind not being against that happening, “I just really wanna fuck you.” He confesses, his body bending over, his arms hooking under your arms to scoop you up from the floor with ease.

“Yeah,” you breathe out as he stands you up, his hands cupping your cheeks with care, his thumb tracing your skin as he stares down at you, “we can do that next time.”

You reach out and let your hands touch his waist, the feel of his bare skin making you realize he’s the only one naked right now. You turn him around so his back is facing your bed, your hands gently pushing him back onto it.

He catches himself with his palms, sliding back onto your bed until he’s laying against the pillows you have set up. He watches as you reach back to unclasp the ruby belt you have, letting it fall with a clank as you move on to unbutton the top of your leotard, slipping the skin tight fabric off of your body.

Jungkook can feel his dick twitch against his abs at the sight of you, you crawl onto the bed, your fingers trailing up his thighs as you straddle him in a similar way that brings back memories of a few weeks ago. The feeling of you sat on top of him with no barrier is something he never thought he’d experience and when he feels the slick glide of you grinding down on his cock his stomach caves in, a groan leaving his lips. His fingers come up to grip your hips, your own hands wrapping around his neck as you smile down on him.

“Feel good?” You ask him, a tiny gasp escaping you when you repeat your actions and his cock nudges your clit.

His eyes move down to stare at the spot where you connect, seeing how shiny you’re leaving him as your arousal mixes with his precum makes his mouth drop open in awe. “Yeah, feels good.” He whispers out, his hands gripping your skin tighter to make you rut on him faster.

You can see the desperation growing on him, the shy Jungkook you were so accustomed to nowhere to be found as he rolled his hips up to meet your motions, his head dropping back into the pillows with a moan. With his neck wide open you lean forward, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, your teeth gently nipping at his skin, making his hips stutter.

Blame mistake number one on you wanting to see Jungkook fully fall apart underneath you but you’re not thinking too much when you reach down and grasp his cock, letting the tip of it nudge your entrance. You know you’re clean and on birth control and unless he’s been lying to you, you assume he should be clean as well.

His head snaps up at the new sensation, and Jungkook may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid, “Wait–“ You think he’s stopping you because you haven’t pulled out a condom so you pause, giving him a curious look but his mind is too full of want that he doesn’t even process the fact that there isn’t a condom “it’s gonna hurt you.” He wants to finger you, stretch you open and let his fingers explore your body until you falling apart.

“It’s okay, I like that.” You admit, giggling when you see his cheeks flush. You go back to nudging the tip of him into you, the feeling of it breaching your entrance has you moaning and Jungkook drops one hand off your hip to clutch your comforter instead, his fingers clenching around the fabric as your walls wrap around the tip of him.

“Fuck,” you groan out, he was big but the feeling of him stretching you out had another gush of arousal slip out of you, only aiding in letting you slide down another inch or so. Your hands come forward to rest on his stomach as you wait a moment, Jungkook can feel you clenching around the first few inches of him, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him all around.

You relax your muscles, letting the rest of him slide into you, the tip of him just shy of nudging your cervix when you’re fully sat on him. You give him a moment to adjust, waiting until his eyes open up again, “Please move.” He croaks out, his hand coming back up to your hips to get you to do anything because the feeling of you just clenching around him was killing him.

His desperation turns you on and you start to move instantly, grinding on him to let yourself get used to the size of him before you start to lift yourself up, slamming back down, the slap of your skin connecting filling up the dorm room.

As you stare down at him you have to pinch yourself because the visual of him whimpering underneath you is an exact replica of the dreams you’ve been having. A needy Jungkook kneading the flesh of your hips, rutting his own hips up to meet you, his big eyes blown out with lust and adoration in the same damn way you’ve been dreaming about and you know you’re done for.

Jungkook can say the same, the countless times he’s dreamt of you doing this to him has him thinking he’s stuck in a dream, ready to wake up to his roommate tossing a pillow at him but it never comes because you’re actually here. You’re here on top of him, riding him like it’s something you’ve always wanted. His hand trails up from your hip to grasp your bouncing boob, giving it an experimental squeeze, his thumb and index finger tweaking your nipple and enjoying the way you moan from it.

He can feel your arousal dripping down his length every time you lift up, the remnants of it pooling around the base of his cock, he can see it as his eyes are glued to the way your lips part to take his length in. He can feel you start to get tired from the constant motion, your movements slowing down slightly so he takes it upon himself to wrap his arms around you and bring you closer to his chest, successfully flipping you over underneath him.

Your hair fans out around you and you stare up at him in shock, never thinking he’d do something like that but it only lasts a minute before hes sliding back into you. His hands are by your face, caging your body underneath his as he pounds into you.

His jaw is clenched tightly when he feels you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers trying to cling onto his back from the force of his thrusts. “Do you want it harder?” He grunts out, looking down at you to see you nodding frantically, your legs wrapping around his waist to push him deeper into you.

“Please ple–“ you gasp when he slides out before rearing back into you, starting a brutal pace that you didn’t think he was capable of. “Just like that. God Jungkook.” You cry out and he feels his chest fill with pride. You were moaning out his name, he was the one making you feel this way.

You can feel him graze your bundle of nerves every time he thrusts forward, a high pitched moan leaving you and he does another experimental thrust to find the exact spot, angling his hips until you’re gasping and then he’s grinding right into it every time. Determined to get you to cum before him he keeps it up, he can feel his climax creeping in on him, you’re squeezing him so tight its almost impossible to thrust into you but he can tell you’re close when your hand comes down to rub your clit and he almost cums from that sight alone.

Seeing you squirming underneath him as your fingers worked to push yourself over the edge just made him thrust harder into you, a deep groan leaving his mouth when you gasped out, your walls clamping around him even tighter than before as you threw your head back. You had enough sense to clasp a hand over your mouth before you moaned out at as your body twitched from your orgasm, the feeling of Jungkook continuing to pound into you only making more muffled whimpers leave you from the overstimulation.

“Fuck you feel so good.” He mumbles out, his head dropping forward to rest between your neck and shoulder as he starts to rut faster into you. Your toes are curling from the after shocks of your climax, the tingles all over your body being the cause of mistake number two, “Cum inside me Jungkook, please.”

His face lifts back up at your statement, checking to make sure you mean it and when you nod and press your lips against his for another heated kiss he doesn’t hold back. His hips rolling into yours with new found energy, your body being jostled up at his action but you don’t care when all you taste is him, your kisses swallowing the desperate whine that leave him as he nears his end. His thrusts get sloppier until he’s groaning out deeply, his hips stuttering as his cock paints your walls white. You moan again at the feeling of his warm cum inside of you, letting him roll his hips a few more times as you kiss him gently to bring him back down.

His arms fail him, his body flopping on top of you in a heap, his muscles absolutely crushing you but the way he wraps your arms underneath your waist and nuzzles into you makes you forget about your inability to breath. His face is pressed against your neck under your chin, his soft dick is still inside you and he really doesn’t want to pull it out, he’d be perfectly content with going to sleep and waking up in this position.

You keep your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers gently playing with his damp hair, “I miss your black hair.” You mumble out, breaking the silence that fell over the room.

He hums against your neck, kissing your skin gently in content when you scratch his scalp, “I’ll dye it back for you.”

You don’t know why that statement makes your heart swell but it does, your lips coming down to kiss his hair before laying back down. The both of you catch your breaths like this, Jungkook having his cheek pressed against your skin and you gently massaging his head.

He can feel the sweat on your skin start to get sticky so he decides nows a good time to pull apart, his skin peeling off of you and you’re both grimacing when he finally slides out of you, a small gush of his cum dripping out of your entrance and you squeeze your thighs shut at the feeling.

Jungkook wants to sit there and stare at his cum staining your skin but he can tell you feel icky from your face so he stands up from the bed and looks around your room, spotting your towel by your desk. He picks it up and comes back to you. His fingers gently pry open your thighs as he starts to clean you up, tossing the towel aside and motioning for you to move so you can get comfy in bed.

You shuffle around until you slide your comforter down, letting him adjust himself so you both fit comfortably. The small feelings of being tipsy are gone, your muscles completely relaxed and sleep starts to overtake you as you feel him move behind you, his arm lazily draping over you as you both start to slowly fall asleep.

“You know,” he gently speaks up, “you promised me you’d get me laid by the end of October.”

You hum in acknowledgment, and he’s smirking into your hair, “It’s technically November though so.”

You giggle softly at this, turning around in his grasp to face him, your leg slipping in between his as you get closer, “Oh how could I ever make it up to you for breaking my promise.” He lets out a fake gasp as your sarcastic response, his fingers wasting no time coming up to playfully jab at your sides, succeeded in making you squirm and laugh until his lips are kissing you again, the urgency and heat from before missing but he likes this way better.

He likes the small laughs in between kisses, the shy licks of your tongue and sighs you let out and in that moment Jungkook feels content.

Jungkook doesn’t think of whats going to happen tomorrow morning when you both wake up and the initial lust is gone. He doesn’t think of the conversation that’s gonna have to happen once the sun comes up. No he lets himself enjoy this, lets you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. He’ll worry about that when it comes.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

[yellowocaballero]

Bonus story that I regret already

A friend requested a HLVRAI/Freeman’s Mind/HL crossover. Specifically, them getting drinks, in a pub. 

I really hate to spill that I’ve seen all of HLVRAI and Freeman’s Mind, but I figure the cat’s out of the bag. It’s three pages. It’s crack. There will be no continuation. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but tw for ableist language, suggested animal abuse, and suggested slavery. So...that’s how you know Freeman Freeman’s Mind shows up. 

God, does anybody remember FM? Am I the only person who remembers FM? Am I having a stroke? Imagine if Freeman’s Mind came out in 2020. There’d be call-out posts. 

Enjoy...I think? Rest under the cut. 

********************************************

“When you think about it, dog breeding just doesn’t make any sense.”

Thank god. Gordon exhaled in relief. The guy sitting across from him in the dim, crowded pub had finally moved on from his extensive...very extensive...opinions on the IRS. Gordon had desperately tried redirecting the conversation to something more normal, like theoretical physics, or his opinion on multi-dimensional crossovers, but instead the guy just seemed very desperate that everybody know that taxation was theft.

“Right!” Gordon said enthusiastically, just trying to get word in edgewise. He knew he liked to talk, but this guy was ridiculous. “Pugs can’t give birth by themselves. It’s inhumane.”

“Oh, forget about that shit.” The guy waved a hand, burping slightly as he slammed back more of his beer. “What I’m saying is that it’s ridiculous not to train dogs to attack your enemies.”

“I don’t actually have that many -” 

But the guy was already ranting, completely talking over Gordon. Pleadingly, Gordon looked at the other guy they were sitting with for help, but he just sat there drinking his beer with eyes distantly fixed on the tacky retro diner signs hung on the wall. Traitor. 

“When you think about the entire thing’s stupid. The breed standards are just ridiculous, first off. Breeding dogs so they can’t bite, can’t bark, can’t hunt their own food? It’s stupid. What else is the point of a dog! Anybody around here remember why we breed dogs in the first place? It’s so they can help protect us, protect the pack. Dogs used to pull their own. And now they’re just shitty little lap dogs that rich old ladies use to wealth signal. It’s fucking stupid. Dogs are just freeloaders. And I don’t have any freeloaders in my house.”

“Wow,” Gordon muttered rebelliously, “did you read about that on Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia that anyone can edit?”

“So that’s why I’m proposing my new idea for dogs. A better dog. Dog 2, the sequel to dogs, if you will,” the guy continued, completely steamrolling him. “These dogs are huge, first of all. But not too huge, since you don’t want them to be a drain on your resources. I’d say definitely the size of a St. Bernard, maybe a little bit bigger. I don’t give a shit if it’s friendly to children or whatever. I don’t give a shit about children. If they can’t survive my dog attacking them, they were never going to make it to adulthood anyway. Survival of the fittest. Anyway, my dog’s going to be big. Short hair, because we live in a hot climate and I don’t want a dog that’s shedding everywhere. It’s not exactly going to be a polar rescue dog here, I need a dog that can survive the Arizona desert. But this dog has to be two things, and these two things are completely vital. Without these two things, it might as well be a Pomeranian.” The man held up two fingers. “One: the dog must be completely loyal to me. Intelligent, but not too intelligent that it doesn’t accept me as the alpha. I’m the alpha to the dog, as I’m also the alpha to the human race. Its loyalty must be complete. Like, I say jump, the dog says how high. That’s how intelligent it is too.” He pushed down the finger, keeping one up. “Second, the dog must be a cold blooded attack machine. I ain’t owning no pussy dog here. This dog is vicious. It can kill anything, and it will do it with pleasure. This dog feels no regret, pain, anguish, PTSD, hesitance, and it never fucking misses. Its teeth are huge and it’s an unrestrained attack machine. With this dog at my side, ain’t nobody’s fucking with me. Walking down the street with this dog next to me, nobody’s looking at me sideways. The chicks dig me. Everybody thinks I’m great. That’s why this is the ideal dog, above all other dogs.”

“Wow,” Gordon said desperately, really hoping that this was the end of the fucking dog conversation, “that’s great. My friend, uh, Tommy, he has a great Golden. Says it’s a perfect dog. That’s really possible actually, it survived like six turrets -”

“Idiot. That’s not what I fucking mean.” The guy scoffed at Gordon. “This perfect dog doesn’t exist. No dog is that immaculate. And if you try breeding for all those traits, you end up with some shitty inbred dog. No way. You gotta get more creative. Just wanting the perfect dog is for chumps who don’t understand genetics, evolution, dog breeding, dog training, warfare both physical and psychology, psychology itself, sociology, philosophy, or xenobiology. No. What I’m saying now is that in order to get the perfect dog, you have to breed aliens. I’m thinking headcrabs.”

Gordon distantly felt his jaw dropping. “Head - headcrabs?”

“Or those fucked up things with garbage disposal mouths,” the guy said thoughtfully. “Whatever they’re called. I don’t respect any of those shitty aliens enough to give them names. If you want me to remember your name, you have to earn it. My brain’s filled with much more important things, like theoretical physics and being better than you.”

“Garbage disposal - do you mean peeper puppies?!”

“Yeah, whatever. What I’m saying is that I’ve really cornered the market on xenobiology. I’m the world fuckin’ expert in dealing with aliens.” He looked thoughtful for a second as he chugged his beer again, which was a first. “Well. Dimensional expert. Point is, I can say with eighty seven percent confidence that, given enough time and unlimited access to a shock collar, I can train one of those shitty alien species crawling all over Black Mesa to obey my every command and slay my enemies. I could probably even turn it against its kinsmen. Get the aliens to wipe out the aliens, and humanity comes out on top. Then I turn my alien slaves against humanity, and Gordon Freeman is at top. So what do you think? Good idea or good idea?”

Gordon stared at him, slightly horrified, slightly incredulous, somehow amused. God, he had spent too much time around Benrey. This guy would love Benrey. He could never introduce them. “Terrible idea. I can’t believe we’re the same person.”

“You’re a loser. What about you, huh?” Freeman gestured with his cup at the third Gordon Freeman, who still seemed thoroughly checked out of the conversation. “What do you think? Want to invest some money into my plan? You’ll get a three hundred return on your investment, and dominion of the country of your choice.”

Gordon Freeman stared at Freeman blankly. He seemed really checked out. 

Freeman looked back at Gordon. “Is this guy retarded or something? That or he’s high off his ass, but I know how I get when I’m high and I’m never that out of it.”

“I’m not sure you aren’t on coke right now,” Gordon groused, sipping his own margarita. Which Freeman had called a ‘girl drink’. Asshole. “Why don’t you just -”

“Hey, Doc!”

Suddenly, with no more advanced warning than the overly friendly cry, Benrey - sorry, Barney - popped up at their table. Freeman groaned, ignoring him completely for favor of his drink, and Gordon waved weakly at him. He seemed - well, nice. Much nicer than Benrey. Not that it was hard. 

“You guys having fun or what?” Barney said, leaning against the table and winking at Freeman, who made a face. “We’re having a really good time at the Barney table, let me tell you. Maybe we can do Trivia Pursuit? That’ll be fun!”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually making friends with Benrey,” Gordon said, sighing. “Dude’s insufferable.”

“Blunt as ever, Doc,” Barney laughed. “Benrey’s not that bad! Just kind of a freak, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said, impossibly depressed. “I know.”

“Anyway, I actually wanted to ask the Doc if he had my keys. Hold on a hot second.” Barney turned to the aforementioned zoned out Gordon Freeman, and abruptly started waving his hands around. Wait - was that sign language? When he glanced at Freeman, he seemed interested too. 

Even more amazingly, Gordon Freeman responded, rolling his eyes and tilting his fist before digging in his pocket and pulling out his keys, pressing them into Barney’s hands. Barney winked, signed out what Gordon recognized as a thank you, and fucked off back to the Barney table. If Gordon craned his head, he could see Freeman’s Barney (whose name Freeman didn’t even seem to know) trying to drink his beer as he was thoroughly terrorized by Benrey. Gordon couldn’t fight the crush of fondness that bloomed in his chest. Benrey was fun to watch when he was terrorizing someone else - but you could say that about all of his friends, really. 

Then the implications of that exchange hit Gordon over the head. He turned to Gordon Freeman, who seemed to have gone back to checking out of the conversation. “Wait, are you freaking deaf?”

Gordon blinked at him sleepily. Gordon cursed, rummaging around on the table until he found a napkin, and Freeman passed him a pen as he wrote down in large, blocky letters ‘ARE YOU DEAF???’ and slid it to Gordon Freeman. 

Gordon Freeman stared at it. He looked up at the two of them and - oh, god, he was definitely smirking. Like the cat that caught the fucking canary. He tilted his fist in what even Gordon recognized as a yes. 

“You fucking asshole!” Gordon exploded. “You left me to suffer with this guy alone? How could you? That’s not team behavior!”

“You got pranked, bro!” Benrey called, from across the room. “Bro, you got mad pranked! El oh el, bro!”

“Shut up, asshole!”

“Hey, what do you mean?” Freeman asked, offended. “My ideas are genius. This is a unique business opportunity, here. You’ll never get another chance to make three hundred percent back on your investment again -”

“Epic fail, bro!” Benry called. 

Gordon groaned and started chugging his margarita. He would need to be a lot drunker if he was going to get through this stupid extradimensional mistake. 

[flying-elliska]

time for my kinda cheesy end of an era post, i guess. 

s5&6 kinda disappointed me, ngl, even if they had some good bits too. the lost potential makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes. but overall i’m still glad i got into this dramatic lil show. so this is me being sappy about it. 

live watching s3 was an incredible experience. it was a storytelling high, and one of the best love stories and seasons of television i have ever seen. the quality structure of the OG meeting skamfr’s talent for emotional intensity and magical moments. the chemistry, the symbolism, the perfect rhythm, the Feelings. god tier, truly. it remains my fave season of any skam, ever. and it was just so much fun and so engrossing. the fandom is also part of that, reading all the incredible meta and reactions and fics, the lovely gifs and edits, it was just such a communal rush. and so was hearing the actors and crew talking about their craft and the sheer level of passion they put in there was so inspiring. this show has so much talent in it and i can’t wait to see what they all do next. (well like the actors at least lol)

on a personal level it really give me a creative boost like whoa. it pushed me to put my writing out there in a way I had always been afraid to do and the feedback i got back was so fucking encouraging. like...this is such a fucking gift i got. when i will be done with this fandom, it’s very probable i will have written over a million words. that is insane, and such good practice, and i feel so much closer to my dreams of being an actual writer now. and just analysing the show, figuring out how it was put together, why it was sometimes so good and sometimes so bad, was so interesting, really, like a sort of speed writing course. even when they fuck up, it’s so compelling. (even tho sometimes, wow how i do not understand their writing choices at all.)

i also met a few people that became real friends, and that i intend on keeping in my life for a long time. i also had such interesting convos w people on here and anons, about far reaching subjects like interculturality and bisexuality and mental health and a lot of other things, it’s been really cool at times. thank you guys <3

so many of these characters mean the world to me. Lucas, who taught me to stop running away from my intense feelings and the importance of being real and going for what i want. Eliott, who just...inspired me so fucking much and showed me that even though i struggled with mental illness i was still worthy of love and that again, intense emotions didn’t need to always be a curse and that softness and sensitivity could be a lovely thing. Imane, who made me think about not always shouldering other ppl’s burdens and being more open with my anger, Alexia, who made me feel a lot more confident in my body and my bisexuality. And yes, Lola, too, who made me feel so many things this season, who made me reckon with my own self destructive tendencies and encouraged me to open up to my friends about my current struggles and let them help me. its flaws set aside, this show is so good at creating vibrant characters, and it’s been amazing to journey at their side. i cannot wait to read the fics about how amazing their lives are going to become. 

and the fandom...well, the fandom is a lot like the show. occasionally brilliant, probably way too intense, and often annoying as fuck. ‘i’m kinda relieved it will wind down but i will also miss it. i hope you all got something valuable from this experience. i hope it pushed you to take your dreams more seriously, that it made you feel validated and seen at least occasionally, that it made you more creative and insightful and compassionate, that you learned some healthy distance from the internet, that you met some cool people, that you at least had some fun, and i wish you all the best <3 let’s keep in touch if you want to

so thank you, skam france, you wonderful nightmare of a show. it’s been real.

and to keep it cheesy, remember, fear spreads, but love does, too ^^

[oyesmendes]

a year later

a/n: remember the person who asked for whiskey and pendants part two? and i told her no? well i was wrong. i made this a 5SOS and Shawn Mendes crossover LOL don’t killme 

@mendesficsxbombay​ hope i didnt rip too hard

One year. They’ve been broken up for one year as of today, not that anyone was counting. Y/N couldn’t be bothered to count the number of days since the supposed love of her life broke her heart into pieces and left her hanging by a thread. She had better things to worry about. Like how she was on her way to an album release party for 5 Seconds of Summer, in her favourite scarlet red dress, the fabric clinging on to her body and hugging the curves she was once too shy to show off. Her hair was now cut short, the messy waves of her hair doing wonders to frame her face. She got a tan from her recent trip to Bora Bora, figured that she would go even if Shawn wasn’t the one to take her there. It was a solo trip to foreign land, scary yet exhilarating, and somehow in-between her time in Bora Bora and the party that she was now on the way to, Y/N found herself. She started dating again, no surprise one of the 5SOS band members, Calum. But she also finally knew how she wanted to live her life by her own rules, to play the game her way. She let herself love in the ways she hadn’t done before, and honestly, she was making good progress. Y/N was happy, so fucking happy and content with her life.

“We’re here” the driver announced as the car came to a stop. Y/N thanked him before stepping out of the car, making her way into the building. She met with her friends at the rooftop bar, nursing a cocktail as they caught up and discussed the album tracks. The band had greeted her with a wide grin on their faces, throwing around too many inside jokes they had made during the course of curating the album. She then shared the deepest, most loving kiss with her boyfriend and then left him to party the night away with his brothers. Y/N was having a good time, dancing to the songs that she had painstakingly produced. That was until he sauntered in.

One of her friends nudged her slightly, turning her attention to the entrance where Shawn stood, exchanging hellos with the band. She would’ve guessed he would be here, after all he was friends with the band before she worked with them. There was a pang in her chest when she actually took in his appearance. He had an acid wash denim jacket on, signature white T-shirt with black skinny jeans, not forgetting his worn out Chelsea boots. He looked fresh as hell she wasn’t going to lie, his hair styled perfectly and the smile on his face as wide as when he first locked eyes with her. Before she could even react, Shawn’s eyes were scanning the crowd. It was as if he knew she would be there, and of course why would he not know? Her name was on the record for God’s sake. She quickly turned to face the bar, her friends providing the adequate distraction as they went on about their lives. Though it wasn’t long before a hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder, and the look on her girl friend’s faces was enough to tell her who it was.

“Hey” She breathed out. He had a beer in his hand, cheeks flushed from the influx of alcohol. Shawn grinned stupidly, babbling out a response to her. Y/N got off the bar stool, turning to face him.

“Nice to see you again.” A genuine smile was on her face now, because it was really nice to see him again, and the fact that he looked happy was good.

“I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair, and wow, this dress.”

“Thanks.” Y/N said shyly. The confidence that she brewed over the past year was now gone in an instant while she was under his eyes. She cursed at herself mentally, standing up straighter in her black stilettos. He never saw this side of her before and to Shawn, it was absolutely stunning. An awkward silence fell between the both of them, the chatter of the rooftop bar insufficient to fill the air. Y/N played with the rings on her fingers, hands still wrapped around the half empty glass.

“Can we talk? Maybe somewhere quiet?” Here we go. Y/N nodded, grabbing her glass off the table as she followed behind Shawn. They made their way through the small crowd, stopping to greet mutual friends every once in awhile. Shawn let them to a corner with less people, and a view overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. It felt like their first meeting all over again just that this time, her heart was in different place and the feelings between them far from mutual.

“This is nice isn’t it?” Shawn sighed, letting the cool wind brush his face. She hummed in response, watching the lights sparkle below them.

“I’m sorry for that night, Y/N” He tilted his body to face her. Throughout their two year relationship, Y/N was like an open book and Shawn knew her every move before she even thought about it. But right now, the book was closed, and he was trying really hard to read the words that weren’t there.

“I am too.” She turned to face him as well, and that’s when she noticed the pendant sitting on his chest. The one that she left on the floor of his apartment lobby, the one that brought them together and broke them apart. Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt Shawn grab onto her hand softly. There was no more spark, at least for her, it was just a shockwave sent through her system as she quickly pulled her hand back. Y/N watched as Shawn’s face dropped, him nodding understandingly.

“I just wanted to say I miss-“

“No, please don’t do this” She ran her hand through her hair, the messy curls now a disheveled mess.

“Let me apologise, Y/N. Let me fix this.”

“What for?”

“For the sake of our love.” Y/N let out a humourless chuckle at those words. This was some cliche scene straight out of a movie and right now, she wasn’t having it.

“For the sake of our love? Are you out of your mind, Shawn? There was no love between us the moment you led that stupid blonde chick- Sarah, come into our life. There was no love the moment you left me to clean up the pieces of that broken glass that afternoon.” Her voice was raised ever so slightly, earning the attention of some people nearby. She turned to face the skyline again. It felt like a sick joke to Y/N - now that she was happy, he wants to come rolling in? No God damn way.

“We both had a part to play that afternoon, Y/N.” Shawn stated as a matter-of-fact. Two can play this game.

“Yeah, but I didn’t have a part in sitting on your lap throughout the party that night.”

“I just wanted to apologise, why do you have to make this so hard?” Shawn sighed. Now Y/N felt the anger bubble in her chest. She slammed her cocktail down on the ledge to make a point.

“Do you think I had it easy? I look put together yes, but the scars from the heartbreak are still here, Shawn. I was hurt but I’m getting over it, I’m happy. As much as you would like for us to kiss and make up, I can safely tell you that it’s not going to happen. I’m not the same person anymore.” As if on cue, a six foot tall Australian made his way to Y/N’s side, hands wrapping around her waist protectively.

“Everything alright, love?” Calum kissed the top of her head, looking at her then at Shawn. Y/N could only smile and nod though the hurt on Shawn’s face was evidence that nothing was right. Calum acted oblivious to the situation, pulling her in even tighter. 

“Then is it alright if I steal her away from ya for a minute?” Shawn nodded with a tight lipped smile as he watched her cuddle into the Calum’s side.

The rest of the night felt like a blur to Shawn. Y/N disappeared with Calum after the encounter with him to the other side of the bar so she could calm down. Once she emerged in the crowds again, Shawn had his eyes following her as she jumped from group to group with her boyfriend, if not she was stuck to the side of his bandmates or their girlfriends. He wanted to get to her, explain everything and let her punch him if she must. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, and how much he loved her. He wanted to show her the pictures of Aaliyah’s graduation, the new song he wrote a couple of weeks ago that he thought would be perfect for her to produce. And most importantly he wanted to show her the ring he meant to give her that night a year ago. But he couldn’t.

She looked too happy and confident in her own skin that he couldn’t bear stripping that away from her. She was in love, the glow of her skin and look in her eyes as she stared at her boyfriend didn’t keep anyone guessing. A loud laugh erupted from her lips while she stood next to one of the band members. Her eyes found Shawn’s and she looked for a brief moment before returning her attention back to the group.

“If you’re going to stare, at least be more discreet, mate” Calum said as he took the seat next to Shawn. Shawn stayed silent, eyes still following her as she leaned on the shoulder of one of the girls.

“I know you still love her.” Shawn looked at Calum who was undoubtedly a little drunk, but he was right, even a blind man could tell Shawn was still head over heels for her.

“I do.”

“But you’re in love with the old her.” What the fuck was this man talking about? Shawn thought to himself. He downed the last shot of tequila, wincing as the alcohol slid down his throat. Shawn wanted to get up from his seat and bolt out those doors, but Calum’s next words glued him to the bar stool.

“I know this is stupid, and trust me mate I can’t believe I’m talking to my girl’s ex-boyfriend, but yeah Y/N’s changed.”

“In what way?”

“In the smallest as well as the largest of ways.” Calum took a swig of his beer, “She no longer drinks whiskey like how she did a year ago. Made me get rid of all my whiskey glasses.”

Calum didn’t know it was a low blow, but Shawn felt the knife stab his heart. He waited for him to continue, “She’s so confident of her work now, and she’s one of the most creative people I know. She’s comfortable in her own skin, she’s happy-“

“You don’t know that.” Shawn cut him off but Calum could only smile to himself as he set his bottle down.

“I do, she wasn’t like this a year ago in that club.” Both their eyes flickered over when a large chorus of laughs came from her and her friends. She was dancing and twirling around, something she would never have done with Shawn.

“I get why you still love her, Shawn. But that’s the old her you’re seeing. This is a brand new Y/N, I hope you know.” Calum pat Shawn on the back before joining his friends. He watched as she kissed him softly on the lips and pulled him to dance with her. She was happy.

Shawn could only push the tray of shots back to the bartender as he made his way to leave the bar, to leave the woman he once called his own.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Do You Remember the First Time?

A Dregs member with a grudge, a cruel ambush—but to Kaz’ luck, a boy named Jesper Fahey has just joined the gang and he happened to tag along.

3.1k | pre-Six of Crows | warning for attempted rape, violence, ableism

By the time the door closes, it’s too late. Kaz is curled belly-down on the floor just past the entrance in a room with Beertjie and his mates Kert, Frans and Sonna, and Beertjie—well, he’s a much better actor than Kaz gave him credit for. Or Kaz is still more naïve than he believed—it’s probably both—but before two seconds ago when the truncheon hit his head, he never expected Per Haskell’s old enforcer to pull this off. The man’s neither creative nor ambitious enough. He’s been with the Dregs for longer than Kaz has been alive, and he’s still occasionally pulling bouncer duty when Haskell doesn’t need a brawler to second for him: Kaz, meanwhile, in less than three short years, has worked his way up to doing the accounting for all the Dregs’ gambling halls. He’s working on building up Fifth Harbour. Kaz has plans.

If this trap isn’t Beertjie’s own idea, though—then whose? Kaz has watched him, and he doesn’t have any contacts outside the Dregs. Outside his three accomplices, really, and a couple of bar men. It could’ve come from the boss, but Haskell’s at least clever enough to know that he needs Kaz.

So what—

“Nothing to say now, you little brat, eh?”

“I’m trying to understand how even you could be stupid enough to attack Per Haskell’s favourite second.” Kaz uses the lowest rasp his teenage voice will go to. “Give me some time. It’s an enormous amount of stupidity to tally.”

When in doubt, rile up. Kaz isn’t holding any cards at all right now—he doesn’t know who ordered the hit, he’s outnumbered and outmuscled, Frans over in the corner has his foot on Kaz’ cane and his hand on a gun, the three new Dregs who accompanied them—who lulled him into a false sense of security—they’re on the other side of the locked door, plus they might be in on the attack anyway, and when Kaz blacked out from the truncheon for a second someone locked his hands behind his back in some iron contraption, not Grisha thank the Saints but unfamiliar enough that he’ll need a few seconds to unlock it.

When all their attention is on him—and by his position, his back— they’ll notice if he fumbles a lockpick from his coat, but if they get angry enough… well, angry men make mistakes.

Unfortunately, angry men with truncheons also hit him in the head again.

“Is that your only trick?” Kaz smirks through the pounding blur in his eyes, not that they can see it when he’s face-down in the dirt. Beertjie’s not worth straining his neck to look up. Still, it doesn’t hurt to keep the acting impeccable. “No wonder you never got further than bouncer.”

“Thieving little bitch. Just ‘cause you suck Per’s cock just right doesn’t make you a big man,” and Beertjie’s genial ruddy cheeks are stained crimson with hatred now. “Stick to your books, cripple.”

So that’s what this is about: jealousy.

“If you’re worse at your job than a fifteen-year-old with a bum leg, I’m sorry to say, that reflects more on you than it does—”

Another blow, this time to the back. It glances off, no real damage done, and Beertjie’s even terrible at his actual job. He’s losing his cool.

So is Kaz, unfortunately, although he has enough sense to conceal his growing unease. No matter how subtly he wriggles his hands, the shackles are ratcheted too tight to slip out, so tight he’s starting to lose circulation. It might not even suffice to dislocate a thumb. He’s trapped. New plan. So if he’s going to stay prone and tied up and unarmed and anger’s only making Beertjie hit him more, that does not rob him of all his weapons. He’s talked his way into and out of far more dangerous situations before. Threats? No, Beertjie doesn’t have any connections outside the Dregs. No spouse, no family. Extortion? He doesn’t have any secrets either, save the insecurity he just revealed. He does jobs for Haskell with his buddies, he drinks in Haskell’s bars with his buddies, he plays poker in Haskell’s bars with his buddies. He’s a profoundly boring man. Maybe that’s why Haskell has kept him for so long: boring men provide no leverage, much to Kaz’ current detriment.

The next strike is to Kaz’ bad leg. Another, same location. Then the healthy one. Not enough force to break bone, but still, it hurts enough that he has to bite his lip to stifle a moan, and worse yet is the way Beertjie’s bending over him in order to aim. The bouncer’s got enough core strength that he doesn’t need to prop himself up, doesn’t need to touch Kaz with anything but the truncheon, but—every rush of air from the body above him makes his heart jackhammer. He screws his eyes shut. It’s hard to think of a plan, now; hard to even have the presence of mind to be grateful his humiliating position is hiding even more humiliating panic. Another strike. Another close movement. He’ll lose another leg. Another—

“Everything alright? We heard scuffling.”

The screech of the door as it opens wider—the pain as it hits Kaz’ bad leg—Beertjie cursing as he hurries out of the way, and then three pairs of footsteps. The new Dregs. Kaz swings his throbbing aching good leg until he’s turned on his side—the wrong one, he still can’t see any faces—but though that would’ve been useful, he doesn’t strictly need it. He knows the new Dregs. He recruited all three of them, and that interruption was Jesper Fahey’s voice. Jesper is the newest, and the one with the most potential.

Their presence makes the whole unfortunate situation slightly more embarrassing. However, any mix-up also presents new opportunities, and Kaz just has to think…

“Hey. I’m talking to you.” Jesper, again. Insufferably confident for a teenage dropout gambling addict with debts in the thousands of kruge watching the person who recruited him a month ago get roughed up by a washed-up old guy.

So confident it even catches Beertjie on the back foot. The man opts for nonchalance. “Fine,” he says. “Just teaching a little rat some respect.”

The constant references to his height are starting to grate uncomfortably against Kaz’ skin. Sure, he’s almost fifteen and still hoping for another growth spurt, and the malnutrition of a Barrel kid probably didn’t do him any favours if he was ever meant to grow up tall, but in Beertjie’s wide mouth, the word takes on a more dangerous hue. Something predatory.

“Well, I was. Seems like he needs something a little bigger than a truncheon to teach him some respect. Something to replacethat stick in his ass.”

The implication alone is enough to leave Kaz’ reputation in tatters. If this gets out—if the young Dregs leave, and he wants them to leave now, but he can’t—none of this can leave this room, ever. Kaz can’t see the obscene leer on Beertjie’s face, but he doesn’t need much skill to imagine it. He can feel the movement of his vicious greedy eyes deep in his bones, can feel them travelling through his layers into his skin, and he’s wriggling in his fetters with more and more urgency. He’s managed to pull a tiny lockpick from his shirt cuff during the beating, and with just a little time he might be able to…

“Got any room for one more?”

It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal. There is no honour among thieves, and the Bastard of the Barrel’s only friend is his vengeance, but still. The new Dregs were supposed to be his. Jesper was supposed to be his. After all, it was Kaz who saw the potential in the Zemeni gambler in the first place. His quick, easy charm, his steel under pressure, his skill with a gun.

And Jesper is not as subtle as he probably likes to think, when his eyes keep flickering down to Kaz’ mouth—yeah, Kaz knows about the crush, even had vague notions on how to put it to use, but somehow, he’s never expected the other boy to just want to take what he’s been denied. Stupid, stupid.

Kaz led him to the Dregs. He had great plans for the boy. Had. Jesper’s going to die bloody. What a waste.

Something about his loathing must have bled through in Kaz’ posture, because Beertjie chuckles.

“Brekker makes his enemies quick, eh?”

Jesper laughs, too. It’s a grating sound, somehow: Kaz has heard him laugh often at the gambling tables, doing trick shots, making friends, and that’s what helps him pick out the new nuances. This laugh is breathy, high, almost hysterical. He sounds like it’s slowly sinking in what he’s planning to do. He sounds terrified. Good.

“They’ll remember your death in Ketterdam for decades,” Kaz vows. It’s all he can do, because the lock still won’t give in. “Centuries. It’ll be so gory and painful they’ll use it to terrify their children into submission. If you wanted your name to become immortal—well, congratulations, Jesper Fahey.”

“I’d like to shut his smart mouth,” Jesper says, his voice still wrong and shrill. “Stuff it, if you catch my drift.”

And then, Jesper’s on his knees next to Kaz, heaving him up. Kaz refuses to be of help, until one of the hands holding up his clothed upper arms moves down to the knee of his bad leg to bend it. Heavy boots move closer as if to offer help, either Beertjie or Sonna or young Peer, and that’s—it’s too much, not when Kaz still hasn’t found a way out of his handcuffs, not when he knows what’s going to… thank the Saints he’s still clothed and he won’t get torn bare this soon, won’t have to endure as much skin touch anywhere except his head and that’s bad enough, though at least it will thoroughly spoil their fun when he spews vomit all over…

He bites his lip bloody to halt his thoughts. There’s still time to escape. Maybe on his knees, picking the lock will be easier. Maybe—it’s Peer who came up pull him into position, Kaz can see the boy now, and that’s too much, too many people around him when Jesper’s bad enough, and so he gets onto his knees of his own accord. Peer stays.

Jesper’s hands fondle Kaz’ wrists for a second. Even through the gloves and the shirt cuffs and the jacket and the steel shackles, the trembling touch makes Kaz sick.

The fucking traitor rises to his feet, and then he’s standing right in front of Kaz, so close Kaz can smell leather and gunpower and sour sweat, his groin right in front of Kaz’ face. His still-clothed dick, as far as Kaz can tell, is soft. Good. At least he isn’t enjoying this as much as he expected. At least this won’t even be worth it for him. For a fraction of a second, Kaz steels himself by imagining biting his way through that soft rat bastard belly and tearing out Jesper’s liver with his teeth. The blood. The screams.

Jesper, though, has other concerns.

“I guess you’ll be a biter,” he says softly, as if to himself. Kaz can see his eyes flick over to Beertjie, though: he’s playing to an audience, though for what— “I happen to prefer my dick attached,” and he pulls out a gun. Uses it to caress Kaz’ temple with a parody of tenderness. “You know what’ll happen if I feel a tooth. You can touch your stick now, boss,” even more quietly, and—

As if Kaz was gonna get off from this. Is if he’s going to let Jesper pretend it’s consensual, as if his arms aren’t cuffed behind him, as if—Jesper’s grey eyes are staring down past Kaz’ face even though his chin’s still raised, and despite himself, Kaz follows his glance.

Next to his knee, there’s the bottom end of his cane. It must’ve rolled over, and before he can bury the child straining to hold onto any security that drowned in the harbour years ago he’s reaching for it, and—his hand moves.

The cuffs are open.

They clatter to the floor before his hands locks around the cane, and Jesper spins around and shoots Frans right in the head.

Kert and Sonna are next, before they even manage to take a step closer; and Peer stumbles when Kaz’ cane meets his foot and dies when the cane meets his neck. Another couple of bullets for Beertjie. Screams. Otto the other new recruit desperately rattling the handle of the locked door and Jesper glances at Kaz and Kaz shakes his head and then the boy’s brain paints the door.

And Beertjie’s still screaming.

“I’m out of bullets now, boss. Only brought the one gun.” Jesper looks almost shy now, standing in the blood splattered room. It’s strangely at odds with the ruthless fighter he was a second ago; the eager rapist he—pretended to be, with admirable quickness of mind and acting acumen, for a few minutes. Now, he’s only meeting Kaz’ eyes for a fraction of a second and then glances away again, as if it was him who was humiliated here. As if—

“He’s yours, boss.”

As if he’s an eager cat who fetched Kaz his revenge and is hoping it’ll please him. Because Jesper shot Beertjie in both knees, Kaz realises. Deliberately. He shot him in the knees and left him for Kaz to kill, and it’s almost—almost—enough to paint over the terror and humiliation of the past few minutes. He was right. Jesper will be useful.

So he stands on his aching bad leg and his throbbing bruised good one and ignores his trembling as he works his way up, breaking bones, from the thighs to the arms and ribs and, finally, the face. The shaking’s just adrenaline, pleasure, leaving early. He’s fine.

Jesper is proving his mettle even more by studiously ignoring the way he can barely stand, can barely limp over to the door.

The door. That’s what he almost missed. The unlocked door that was locked when Otto tried to escape, and unlocked when Jesper got in, and locked before that. Just like the shackles were locked until they weren’t.

Jesper’s going to be very, very useful indeed.

+

It's been six days since The Event, and Jesper’s in the Crow Club, losing badly at poker. This time, he knew he was going to lose even before he sat down at the table, but his head’s spinning, and there’s something about the familiar banter and shuffle and the weight of the cards in his hands, the practiced movements, that often helps him think. That might help him now not lose himself in bouncing questions and worries left over from The Event, even if it’ll lose him a hundred kruge.

The Event. That’s how Jesper has taken to referring to what happened, even in the sanctity of his own head: because despite what happened in the leadup to The Event, he’s not entirely convinced that Kaz Brekker isn’t a mindreader Grisha, and if Brekker’s gonna murder him for—for pretending to go along with raping him, oh Saints—if Kaz is gonna kill Jesper as the last witness, well, not provoking him needlessly will maybe buy Jesper time to write a last letter or two to his Da.

So he’s waiting on hot coals, and drinking, and losing at poker, and not thinking about What Happened. Or What Didn’t Happen, because whenever it comes up Jesper’s been going along with Kaz’ version of events: that creepy old guy was a traitor who’d turned all the other guys to his side too, and Kaz confronted and eliminated him, with minor assistance from Jesper himself. If underplaying his own initiative, quick planning, superb acting skills and cool under pressure—not to mention his perfect kill shots, but then Kaz did go back and set the house on fire to get rid of the corpse evidence—if letting Kaz rest on what should rightfully be Jesper’s laurels is what gets him another lease on life, so be it. He’ll have more chances to prove himself. Unless Kaz murders him.

He doesn’t regret the impulse that made him save Kaz. It was wrong, what that creep planned, regardless even of the fact Jesper’s maybe a little only here with the Dregs in the first place because Kaz asked him and even that first time, he liked Kaz. Maybe Kaz would stop planning to murder him if he explained—but on the off-chance that Kaz hasn’t realized he’s Grisha yet, and Kaz hasn’t brought it up so there’s at least a possibility… He was close to picking the shackles himself, after all. On the off-chance he doesn’t know, it would be pretty stupid to tell him—case in point, Jesper’s still fifty-fifty on whether Kaz will murder him—but the only explanation for why he went along with the rape pretence in the first place is that he needed to get close enough to those shackles. Maybe Kaz will just calm down on his own. Fifty percent non-murder are still good odds, after all. Better than Jesper winning today at poker.

More worrying—and just plain unfortunate, because even if he’s fucked his chances now Jesper really does like the guy—is that Kaz hasn’t exchanged a single word in private with him. They’ve barely been in the same room, and when Jesper clapped him on the back two days ago the guy actually jumped. If it wasn’t for the fact that this is Kaz, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel, who did torture a man to death a week ago even if that guy deserved it and Jesper did help him, so he really can’t claim any white vest there—if this wasn’t Kaz, Jesper would almost think he’s afraid of him now.

So he’s going to get murdered by his crush who’s also scared of him. And he’s just lost another two hundred kruge. Life is great.

But when he’s waving to the dealer to signal he’s up for another round—it’s Tom today, who’s always nice to Jesper and kind of pretty but he’s definitely no Kaz, so maybe later once Jesper’s nursed his sore heart… But the dealer’s not even paying attention to him. He’s staring straight behind Jesper. Not even a chance of a rebound tonight, then. Saints, Jesper’s luck just sucks.

A hand raps on the table next to him. Slim fingers, black gloves.

“Fahey, with me,” Kaz rasps from behind him, closer than he’s been in a week. “Geels wants a talk. I need someone reliable at my back.”

Or, just maybe, Jesper is the luckiest man in Ketterdam.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter Three

                                A special thanks to @statell​ for all the help

Previous chapters on AO3 

Chapter Three

The day after Hogmanay, the world looked completely new and different to Jamie. It always did because of his mother telling him about the new year, fresh beginnings and a casting off of mistakes and baggage from the year before. Gather yer blessins to take into the new year and forget the rest, she would say.

Jamie spent time hiking the hills where ever the snow would allow. He needed to be alone in the uncomplicated outdoors so his twisted mind could unravel, set goals for the new year, and dream about a lovely future. His mother’s voice was heard again telling him to have a picture in his mind of where he wanted to be in a year. “Make a braw picture in your in mind so yer feet will know which way to go, Jamie boy.”

By this time next year… Hmm Reunite with his childhood friends and celebrate Hogmanay together. He would see the finished barn he promised Jenny he would build for her, three years ago. Hiking and climbing once a week to build his strength and overall health. He would pay it forward in Edinburgh, he and Claire, with reading programs, book clubs and free classes for computers and creative writing.

He would have to open another store this year but this time he would find a way to pull any local bookseller into his project rather than leave them to mourn.

He would keep his workweek to forty hours, well fifty at most, when the new project was underway.

Jamie was smiling as he saw Lallybroch in the distance. He felt better and he had a plan. Throughout his hike and planning the coming year, the veiled girl beckoned him. Get outa my head temptress, ye mean nothin to me, he thought.

Claire had danced at many celebrations during the holidays and it was time to treat herself with some new clothes. She would not feel buyer’s remorse because the bank account would hardly notice the loss of Benjamins. Still, she called in reinforcement to prevent her from bolting at the first price tag.

“Geillis, I am walking into Epitome right now and if you don’t hurry, I promise to buy every beige garment I see.”

“Impossible Claire because I’m already here with a full dressin room waiitin for ye. Look up for Christ’s sake before ye crash into the makeup counter.”

When Claire looked up, there was Geillis pointing to a dressing room. Claire was surprised by all the color in the garments and she balked saying she wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing any of it.

Geillis held a beautiful royal blue sweater out for her. “Ye wear leggings underneath and boots that fit yer calf or ankle boots with a heel for date night. Jesus Claire, dinna roll eyes at me, ye need to consider going out with a man when one of them asks ye.”

“They only ask when I dance, and the shock of seeing the real me will have them running for the hills I’m afraid.”

“So we lessen the chasm between ye and the other ye and it starts with color and beautiful clothes. Dinna forget I’m with ye enough to know ye made a small fortune over the holiday. I think Omar is jealous, God knows I am. What about this one?”

For the rest of the afternoon, the girls ran from one shop to another as Claire’s back seat filled with her brave purchases. Sweaters, leggings, scarfs, boots, tops, jeans, a tailored coat and soft comfortable dresses for curling up on a couch or chair for a book club meeting. Claire was feeling braver and laughing more, until Geillis put the fear of God into her heart by stopping at a salon. It was the best in Edinburgh, so she marched inside to make Claire an appointment.

The man behind the counter was model gorgeous with jet black hair and crystal blue eyes. His wide mouth was adorned with a trimmed mustache that made his white teeth sparkle. Geillis started at the top of his perfect head and devoured bite-size pieces hoping he was tall and hung like a horse.

Claire raced in after Geillis to stop her and witnessed her friend morph into a purring, circling, huntress. His name was Joseph and he had a cancellation and could take Claire right now. Claire rapidly shook her head no, but Geillis forgot how to hear as she pulled her reluctant friend to follow Joseph. He led the ladies into his own private room and barely heard a word from Claire before he started cutting. Claire looked from Geillis to the stylist and figured neither one would be communicating with her now, so she closed her mouth and her eyes. She could hear some lady in the main salon complaining bitterly that she had been on Joseph’s waiting list for a year and this was just not fair!

Claire hated her hair since she was old enough to have an opinion. It was frizzy-curly that she tamed with loads of hairpins and detangler. It was like a curse on her feminity because she never could style it, wear it down or in a ponytail. On her rare trips to the bedroom for sex she would emerge looking quite like Einstein with a red face. He could shave it off for all she cared. It was why she loved wearing wigs so much.

Joseph was wrapping Claire’s hair in large plastic rods, allowing Geillis to flirt and toss her hair like some crazy person. Claire peaked up at the two of them and noticed Joseph was caught in her web, like a hooked fish that Claire hoped knew how to cut hair. The eyes closed and her mind practiced her new routines until she felt Joseph take her hand.

The amount of hair on the floor was staggering and Claire’s hand instantly reached for her head but only touched the plastic rods. She was seated and then laid back with her neck locked into a U shaped cut out in the ceramic sink. It was like a torture device sculpted for maximum pain that was quickly getting worse. She looked up and saw both faces above her, but they were talking to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. It can’t get any worse she thought until freezing water gushed out of a hand-held sprayer that soaked her face dripping into her sweater.

The big rods were removed, one more soaking and a towel dropped on her face as Geillis pulled Joseph into a corner to play with his hair. Claire held the towel to her dripping hair and sat down in the stylist’s chair that was unfortunately turned away from the mirror. Claire twisted her head trying to see what had become of her hair until she was jolted back by Joseph man-handling the towel and squeezing the water out of her hair. Claire glared at Geillis.

Next, a loud blow dryer was following chunks of her hair wound around a brush as Joseph’s expert hands pulled and twisted sections of hair while staring at Geillis. It wasn’t intolerable. The warm air was chasing away the cold from her wet sweater. A rather large razor edge was pulled down taught sections of hair around her face and her large eyes watched it twist and turn an inch from her skin. The blow dryer once again and then the cape was pulled off her with flourish. Claire felt the chair drop slowly as Joseph turned her toward the mirror.

Claire stared at her reflection with wide eyes that looked bigger and her lips looked more prominent. She pulled herself out of the chair and leaned toward the mirror where she looked at her features an inch from the glass. Her eyes gorged on her amazing hair for five minutes. Where did all this bouncy, straight hair come from, she wondered. Her bangs were cut very long and angled to sweep across her face covering one eye. Holy fucking Christmas, she thought, this was a mad miracle and she was desperate to find out how to style it like this.

“Joseph! I lov…” They were kissing and Joseph held her coat out to her. Guess that’s my cue to leave, she thought. Good thing Geillis had her own car. Claire tossed a folded hundred-dollar bill on the front desk and told the person it was for Joseph. Paid in full or just the first installment, Claire didn’t give a rip. For now, anyway, the cursed hair looked as good as the bouncing bobs that shined on the magazine covers. She raced home to stare at herself and try everything on, twice.

Toppled boxes and bags were strewn across Claire’s studio floor. She had pulled her makeup organizer out and was sitting on the floor in full light an inch from the mirror. Every ten minutes or so she ran to the bathroom to wash her face and start over. The laptop glowed next to her and she typed Eva Mendes into Google and looked closely at her favorite eyes in Hollywood. She was determined to learn, and scrubbed her face three more times, blinking back stinging tears to answer her ringing cell phone.

“Claire, my dahling, a pipe ruptured in the kitchen and the restaurant is closed until next week. Three days they tell me so go visit relatives and rest, aibnatu.” Claire smiled at the Arabic daughter reference and jumped back in front of the mirror. She carefully plucked at her eyebrows using Eva Mendes as a reference again. She went painstakingly slow to avoid a catastrophic patch pulled out by accident. An hour later she moved her eyeballs from one brow to the other, happy with the arc.

Claire was nervous about wearing her new clothes and hair in public. She still felt like she was playing dress-up and did not want to embarrass herself. Geillis was still not answering her cell and Claire was getting bored. She pulled her new coat on and looked at all sides in the mirror. What’s the worse that can happen? Somebody points at my ridiculous clothes behind my back? No biggie. She reached for her purse and left.

Jamie would be long gone at this hour, so she decided to check out the bookstore in his absence and take a look at the side rooms used for kid stories and adult book club meetings. It was a perfect place to find her confidence. Brightly lit, she would know if people were laughing at her. She parked and exhaled a billowing cloud of steam in the twenty-degree interior of her car.

There were two large carousel doors in the front of the store and stepping into one she looked up at a man on the other side of the glass pushing his way outside and staring at her. Claire looked at the floor convinced the man had dropped something. Looking up she realized she missed her opportunity to exit into the store and had to go around again. I am sure no one saw that she decided.

The store was gigantic, and Claire felt her heart race as she read the section names placed high on the shelves to lead people to what they sought. Claire knew where Jamie’s office was from the one time she was here and made sure it was dark before venturing in. She was free to explore the store unnoticed and felt a rush of excitement to see as much as possible.

Jamie pretended to eat as he pushed the peas and carrots around his plate making small talk with Jenny and his best friend Ian. He was lost in his daydreams of spinning veils and exotic eyes, hoping Jenny would not ask him about it. Strangely, Jenny and Ian were getting on like two peas in a pod and hardly noticed him. Once supper was cleaned up, he slipped away and headed for the restaurant and the dancer who would not leave his head.

The closer he got the faster he drove until he looked up at a dark building and empty parking lot. He circled around and read the note about the closure due to plumbing. Christ, he would surely implode waiting until next week to see her. He rolled out of the parking lot heading for the bookstore. Dropping in on the night manager and his staff could pay dividends in future months. Maybe the night wasn’t a total bomb after all.

Once inside the store Jamie kept close to the shelves where he could observe the staff, happy and helpful, going from music to video games and back to books, assisting customers. It made him content to see such productive employees looking for people to help. He continued to stroll through the store, watching for problems, or lazy staff running out the clock. He watched his newest hire helping a petite brunette in the classics section. She moved away and Jamie continued his lazy spying as he walked through the store. He smiled thinking he should get back to Ian before Jenny chewed his ears off with her continuous conversation. He walked along the row of rooms and offices noticing the brunette sitting inside a room with comfortable couches and chairs. The walls were glass so he could watch her as he walked. He felt something vaguely familiar about her but realized her glorious ass and legs would have been cataloged in his head, like every other pretty girl in Edinburgh.

Jamie leaned against the door to open it enough to speak to her.

“Excuse me, lass. This room is dedicated to the book clubs. There are couches scattered throughout the store if ye like to read a bit.”

“Book clubs, that sounds interesting. Who leads the club if I might ask?”

“Claire Beauchamp is in charge of our community programs.”

“Is she any good?”

“Oh yea, quite good.”

Jamie was trying to back out of a conversation he never wanted in the first place. When long legs were uncurled from under the woman, he was momentarily halted so he could watch skin tight jeans and boots. He could be running down the street with his hair on fire, but he would stop to watch gorgeous legs swing out of a car. Being temporarily diverted by the anatomy of the opposite sex was part of being a man he always thought.

“I am very close to Claire Beauchamp actually.”

The woman passed through the door under Jamie’s arm and then turned to look at him in the light of the store. Jamie stared at her momentarily confused.

“It’s me, Mister Fraser, Claire Beauchamp,” she said smiling. “I didn’t have to work tonight and got bored, so I came by to see the rest of the store. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What have ye done to yerself?”

“Oh, I…I…” Claire’s hand reached up and touched her shoulder-length hair and looked nervously for an escape.”

Oh my God lass, he thought, I meant that in a good way. Ye have eyes, he thought, surely ye can see what’s right in front of your face.

He slowed himself down and looked at her like he was appraising a beautiful work of art for sale.

“Ye know Sassenach, I’ve seen my share of makeovers, but none like this. He circled around her showing his appreciation. Claire’s cheeks blushed at his scrutiny, her confidence soared and she giggled at his exaggerated gawking.”

“It was nice to see you, Mister Fraser, I have to get home, goodnight.”

“Ah, two things Sassenach, how do I contact ye? For the community programs, I mean.”

Claire pulled the phone from his hand and punched in her number hearing the muffled ring in her purse. She looked up at him, “and the other thing?”

Jamie was still staring at her trying to see all the changes. “Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?”

“Aye, C’mon, I’ll walk ye to yer car.”

They walked together to the other side of the store. Jamie waved at a few people but otherwise looked at Claire. There was something unsettling about the changes in her. It was making him feel weird, happy, confused and sad all at the same time. Aside from her momentary anxiety when he said something stupid, she was like a new woman and reminded him of someone, but who?

Jamie failed to rally his senses before she dropped into her car. He turned to walk back to the store and looked when she called his name.

“What is happening on Wednesday?”

“Ye, here, and a bunch of wee ones, aye?”

“I will see you then Mister Fraser.”

A fortuitous meeting he thought, looking at her number on his phone. I’ll get the reading programs up and running before I leave for Glasgow.

Jamie did not spend much time at a new store. Once it was opened and running smoothly, he was off to build another one.

A new store was a complex project that easily lost money from delays, inept contractors, expensive labor, and a million other factors. Jamie had commercial construction experience and hired on, nine years ago, as an assistant project manager. The job took him to cities all over Europe and America. He was home for holidays and vacations, otherwise, he was gone.

Halfway through his first year as assistant project manager, he received a formal invitation to a meeting of the full board the following month. The next day he received a phone call from the secretary of one of the members and later a large envelope was hand-delivered to him with plane tickets and a cashier’s check for one thousand dollars.

Jamie walked off the plane after landing in Germany and felt a small hand attached to an arm that linked through his. A pretty woman in business attire pulled him into a limo and handed him an apple martini while giving instructions to the driver in German. The woman sat close beside him and peeled off her jacket as Jamie gorged himself on her jutting chest and fat red lips. She dragged him through men’s clothing stores where a lucky few could afford to shop until his interview suit was complete.

The woman watched him get in and out of his clothes at least a dozen times during the afternoon and when it was clear they were done she looked at her watch and then pushed him into a seat in the dressing room while pulling her blouse off. She was completely naked bouncing on Jamie’s lap and all he could do is hang on. His twenty years on earth had not prepared him for this thrilling experience, nor had the many dropped panties delivered him to the promised land quite like she did.

One month later, haircut and manicured hands, wearing a tailored suit and shiny shoes, Jamie met the members of the board for the first time. They had vetted Jamie so thoroughly they knew his test results in Chemistry from his sophomore year in high school. Millions of dollars would be gambled on his ability in the next ten years and the board gave him no quarter as they questioned his course of action in one impossible scenario after another.

After three hours they all broke for lunch and vaporized except for one man. Clearly the youngest of the board members, he poured the world’s best whisky into a cut crystal glass and handed it to Jamie.

“You are doing remarkably well Mister Fraser. You can relax because you’re already hired. Now comes the negotiation for salary and benefits. I cannot be seen coaching you so listen carefully, “tell them you want ten years as project manager followed by first right of refusal for every position that opens in the next grade up, forever. It will guarantee a life of promotions until you get dizzy from a fear of heights.” He poured Jamie another shot of the whisky he would remember for the rest of his life.

“Good luck friend.” In seconds, Jamie was alone feeling his bravery assert itself. What the hell, he thought, friend or foe, he had a good feeling about the man. Jamie drained his glass and when the board reconvened, he gambled his career on the advice of a total stranger.

Steal gray eyes regarded Jamie under thick white eyebrows. Thin lips pressed together in a straight line across his deeply lined face. You could hear a pin drop in that room and Jamie wondered if the members could hear his ramming heart. He remembered his boss working seventy or more hours per week, missing the birth and growth of his kids, saying he had to make money while the opportunity lasted. Complaining his six-figure income would end after ten years and he would settle into managing whatever store they gave him, at a lower salary, for the rest of his career.

When they offered the same package to Jamie, he stood at the end of the conference table with all eyes waiting for him to pledge his extraordinary life to corporate slave labor. He dropped his head for a minute of quiet before he threw the dice.

“My mother taught me to always know where I want to be, so my feet know which way to go.” He looked up at the man on the other end of the table. “I have a braw picture of my life before my dyin day,” he gave them a half-smile, “and I willna get there with yer offer. I’m sorry gentlemen, I respectfully decline.”

Jamie sat down, shaking from his feet to the crown of his head, silently invoking the love of his parents and the power of Lallybroch to carry him through the rest of the meeting.

The white eyebrows asked Jamie to step out just as the door opened and the sexy secretary found his eyes, smiling her intent. She led him to a hallway and pushed him into a couch, then turned her attention to a flask and a shot glass pulled out of her briefcase. Jamie was so tired. He stared at the shot glass anticipating the lovely feeling it would bring. The woman handed it to him and told him to toss it back. He did.

The phone in the woman’s purse vibrated and she stood, bending over to press her tongue into Jamie’s mouth as she kissed him.

“Good luck” she whispered into his ear and disappeared around the corner seconds before the conference room door opened.

Eight board members filed past Jamie, smiling and shaking his hand. White eyebrows was the last in line and told Jamie to expect an offer in the next two days. It would be hand-delivered and it would rock his world.

He was feeling better, almost like superman as he walked to the exit of the building. Hearing his name, he turned around as the young board member caught up to him.

“Last bit of advice Jamie. In eleven years you will wonder what gift to send me as thanks for how I helped you today.” He pressed the bottle of whiskey into his hand. “I want a case of this.” He smiled with his perfect teeth, “It’s my favorite.”

Jamie watched Claire drive out of the parking lot and returned to the store. Jumping stairs two at a time to his office he left the lights off and drifted to sleep on his couch. Sometime in the dead of night, when unanswered questions are brought to the light, Jamie dreamed.

The dancer was twirling across the room straight toward him. He watched her like a statue, made of concrete and powerless to move. She stopped spinning six inches from him. She spoke rapid Arabic and he could only watch her mouth until she said “Jamie.”

His eyes snapped to her eyes. She spoke to him! Finally! She was pointing to something and his eyes followed the line she pointed to. He saw, in the distance, the room in his store where he found Claire. She sat on the floor with wee ones sitting all around her as she read to them.

The dancer was pointing furiously at Claire, ”love her,” said in her broken English.

Jamie looked back to the dancer. There was love in his eyes, he could feel it. “I love you, I must be with you.”

The dancer took Jamie’s hand and led him across the floor approaching the dressing room. Before she entered the room, she turned around and Jamie saw she was sobbing and then she looked at Claire.

“Please.” Said through her tears. Jamie felt his mind snap having her so close to him. He looked around at the empty restaurant. They were alone and he would have his way with her.

“Jesus!” Jamie yelled in his sleep and his eyes flew open. “Ah diah!” His office was pitch black and the store was empty. He felt the huge erection that pulsed between his legs, his balls were pulled up tight to his body and stung like they were being poked by a live wire. He was literally seconds from ejaculation. All he had to do is close his eyes and see her kneel in front of him and his pain would turn to pleasure. Jamie was panting and conflicted, crazy angry at letting himself go back to her, even in his head.

“Leave me alone ye cunt!” He was seething mad just wanting a way out of this nightmare. “I dinna bide with rape but if it would rid yer presence in my head, I would break yer bones with my brutality.”

Jamie grabbed his coat and ran for his car feeling completely out of control. The speedometer pushed into the criminal zone as he sped through Edinburgh. Where is a cop when ye need one, he wondered? He had to be punished for thinking he could harm another person, especially a woman. A night in jail would be helpful, jar him back to reality before his well-constructed life crumbled around him. He raked a hand through his hair then gripped the steering wheel, hating the shaking that vibrated his fingers like he was as weak as a bairn.

Jenny couldn’t see him this way, just in case she was awake, so he drove the back roads until his tank was almost empty.

Being unsuccessful at getting arrested and nearly running his gas tank dry, Jamie turned into the Lallybroch driveway and sat in the quiet of his truck. Dawn was breaking across the fields and he saw himself running through the corn stalks as a lad with a single concern to get home before he was late for supper. He desperately wished he could go back in time, before his mistakes, and try again to be the man his parents raised.

He took a deep breath and walked to the front door noticing Ian’s car was still where he left it. Jamie wondered if he was sacked out on the couch and felt the sting of guilt for leaving like he did. Setting the alarm for two hours he dropped into bed. Sleep came quickly as she wrapped her cadaverous long fingers around his defenseless brain.

[kasienda]

An Open Secret - Chapter Four

Alright @ladybuginettes! It’s finally finished. It’s got a ton of Adrien bonding with everyone. And I thank you for your patience. And I hope you and yours are doing well and are healthy. 

Chapter 1: A Revelation

Chapter 2: The New Normal

Chapter 3: Advice

Chapter 4: In the Rain

Ladybug and Chat Noir were out for a normal patrol. These mundane patrols had always been Adrien’s favorite part of his week. Vaulting over rooftops with no expectations to meet or city to save felt liberating. He felt so free - like he could fly. When he shot upwards with a press of his staff, for a second he felt like he was. The patrols were also time he spent with Ladybug without fearing for her life. Time where they could just hangout, or play a game of tag. But now, they were even better. Now, the barriers and secrets between them had almost faded away. And that brought a whole new level of freedom because he could be himself. Only himself, and that was enough.

The sky had been overcast, but the weather report had promised it wouldn’t rain. They were halfway across the Parisian skyline when that prediction proved completely false. And it wasn’t a light drizzle that Chat Noir could push himself through. In one moment, the air had been clear, and the next, the sky had opened and a deluge poured down around them like a waterfall. His feline ears flattened against his now soaked blond hair in displeasure. While transformed, few things were worse than rain. He cursed the blasted feline traits that had a tendency to bleed over into his very human life.

Ladybug’s laughter hit him from behind. Usually, he loved the sound, but at the moment it was entirely at his expense. He turned a grumpy frown in her direction.

“It’ll be okay, kitty,” she reassured, and then pointed at the tall building up ahead. “Over there. Follow me?” He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Anything he had to say would probably come out as a hiss in this atrocious weather.

She leapt away, swinging on her yoyo and he was quick to follow her path. He settled down next to her with their backs pressed up against a cold stucco wall under a third story rafter. It was a good spot. They had an expansive view of the city before them, but the roof sloped slightly away so the area stayed dry. Better yet, it was secluded between two other taller buildings without windows. So hopefully, others couldn’t see them well from the street or from other windows.

“Lucky charm,” she whispered. A red and black towel fell into her hands and she offered it to him with a smile. “Tikki’s being surprisingly straightforward for once,” he commented.  

“I have found that outside of battle, the charm is usually more straightforward.” “That must be nice,” he muttered as he rubbed the towel through his hair. Cataclysm had few practical applications in his opinion, though Plagg insisted he just wasn’t being creative enough.

With the help of the towel, Chat Noir was able to get dry enough that he lost the desire to arch and bristle. He kept at it until Ladybug dropped down to one spot anyway. At that time, he handed her back the towel and closed his eyes. He felt the buzz of her transformation drop and saw the flash of pink that said her transformation was down through his eyelids. He resented the need to keep his eyes closed, but Tikki was there.

“Hello Chat Noir,” the high-pitched voice greeted. “Hi Tikki,” he said, still keeping his eyes closed. “I’m sorry you got caught in this storm, Chat Noir,” the kwami said with genuine sympathy. “Perhaps your luck has been too good lately, and as the holder of the black cat you needed some bad luck to balance things out.” “I have felt pretty lucky lately,” the part time superhero admitted. And if the cost of that was getting caught out in the rain, he would take on a hundred thunderstorms.

“I’m so glad! You deserve it as you’ve been very sweet to my chosen these past few weeks. She hasn’t been able to talk about anything else!”

“Tikki!” Marinette hissed.

Adrien laughed. It was nice to know that Plagg wasn’t the only kwami to give his chosen grief.

“I’m flattered.”

“I will give her back to you so you can open your eyes. Please tell Plagg that I say hello.” “I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

“Not that he’ll admit it!” Tikki shot back.

Adrien smiled. It was clear that Tikki and Plagg knew each other well even though he had never actually seen them interact. The buzz along his skin told him Marinette was transforming back. “Okay, you can open your eyes again. Thank you for your patience.” “Anytime.” He opened his eyes to take in her smile.

Then she turned towards the rain. He followed her line of sight. Pounding water droplets hit the rooftops and ground with such force they bounced upwards again, softening the Parisian skyline. Even the street lamps had a glowing aura about them.

He leaned his head back on the cold rough surface of the wall behind them and let his eyes fall closed. The rain was rhythmic and soothing like a cat’s purr. He sighed in contentment. Adrien could appreciate the precipitation more when it wasn’t falling on him and when he was sitting side by side with his lady.

He opened his eyes and glanced towards Ladybug. She stared out with a small satisfied smile on her face. Flickering lights from the street were reflected on the rain drops that still sat on her cheeks. She hadn’t used the towel herself, determined to give him all the time her miraculous would allow.

She had never looked so gorgeous. And he didn’t mean physically, though she was that too. She was just a beautiful human being. One that found beauty in everything, even the rain. He tried to stamp out his line of thinking. She knew how he felt, and nothing had happened. She probably was still in love with whoever it was she had a crush on. He needed to get over her before he ruined everything between them. She glanced at him and her smile widened. He smiled back feeling completely at peace. Even if they were never together, he got to share this moment with her. No one else could have patrols or flying over the city with her. Chat Noir would always be special to her, and he was honestly happier than he had ever been in his life since they figured each other out.

This, whatever this now was, wasn’t all he wanted, but it was enough. “I love the rain,” Ladybug commented, breaking the silence. He looked at her in surprise. He hadn’t known that before. Ladybug had never mentioned it.

“I fell in love in the rain.”

Keep Reading on Ao3 Keep Reading on FF.net

Oh.

If Adrien could have curled up and disappeared into his cat suit, he would have. He had always wanted to know the mystery of the boy she had a crush on, but now, he didn’t. No doubt, he’d at least know this idiot boy. And he didn’t want any jealousy to sour his relationship with Marinette on either side of the mask.

“Tell me about it?” he asked like a masochist that couldn’t help himself.

She smiled fondly into the torrents of rain, as if she was remembering something. “Initially, I didn’t like him at all. I thought he had set up a prank trying to embarrass me. I thought he was just like another classmate I knew who had tormented me for years. I yelled at him and never gave him the chance to explain.” Who could she be talking about? That hardly narrowed down the list at all. He had witnessed firsthand that Marinette had delivered the axe down onto several of their peers when she felt they had done wrong to her or to those she loved.

“And then the next day after school, he apologized,” she continued. “Seems like the right thing to do if he tried to embarrass you.”

“See, that’s just it. He hadn’t tried to embarrass me. I just thought that he had. He had actually been trying to undo the prank that was being played on me.” She turned to him then and stared right at him.  “So, the first day I met him, he had been trying to protect me even though he didn’t know me, and I yelled at him for it.

Adrien took in every impassioned word because it was important to her, and therefore it had to be important to him no matter how painful.

“And then,” she continued, “he apologized for upsetting me, for giving me the wrong impression. I remember being struck by the complete sincerity in his eyes. I don’t think I have ever met someone so genuine before or since. “And then, before I could accept his apology, he offered me his umbrella so that I would stay dry.”

He stared at her in shock. He needed to breathe, but his lungs weren’t moving. The whole world faded from his senses.

Because he could see it too. Marinette standing in front of him, her blue eyes wide as she stared at his proffered umbrella. Paris behind her blurred with the pouring down rain. Their hands had touched for just a second. That had been a precious moment for him as well, because that was the moment he knew that they were friends.

Chat Noir looked up at that moment to see Marinette again, this time decked out in the glory of Ladybug’s suit, those same blue eyes that were currently lost in her own memory of that day. Her cheeks flushed with just the slightest pink even as they were framed with her dripping wet pigtails that were plastered to her face.  

“It was like he was trying to protect me all over again,” she confided. “Even though as far as he knew, I was still mad and didn’t believe him. Our hands touched in that moment, and after that I was totally lost. It took years before I could utter complete sentences in front of him consistently.” His eyes burned. He had too many feelings. He wanted sob at the needless self-doubt that had plagued him for so long, to cry in glee that everything had aligned so perfectly, to shout his euphoria from the rooftops.

Because she had loved him all along. That was why she had always been so nervous around him as Adrien. She was awkward because she liked him. He had always worried he was doing something wrong, but it was because he was doing something right! “A-are you okay?” she asked, her voice dripping with concern. He nodded, unable to form words around the emotion lodged in this throat. He held up a finger to ask for a minute. He needed to get a hold of himself because he was about to cry. He took a deep breath and turned back to her glassy eyes, realizing that she was going to cry too. He laughed, even as the first tear escaped. “I’m way more than okay. I’m just a little overwhelmed.” “Yeah, I can tell,” she commented, a gloved finger wiping the tear from his cheek gently. She smiled brightly at him.

And that familiar expression helped some of the heaviness dissipate, leaving only giddy lightness behind. “Tell me more,” he asked with a huge grin, wiping the last of his tears away.  

She blushed. “Honestly, there’s not a whole lot else to tell. I watched him a lot because I couldn’t manage words. I was a bit obsessive and I’ve done quite a few things I’m not proud of in the name of this crush.” “Yeah?” he prompted, a smirk blooming across his face. He honestly loved that her affections were strong enough to push Ladybug into breaking rules. “Like what?” She glanced away. He could practically feel the heat radiating from her face. “I think the w-worst thing I ever did was s-steal his phone.” He stared at her, baffled. When he said nothing, she pulled her knees up to her chest. He realized she was panicking. “Why?” he made himself ask.

“I left an embarrassing voicemail. It started with stuttering nonsense. Then I thought it was over, but apparently, Al… my best friend left it going, and I may have confessed my crush on him and called yo- I mean, him, a ridiculous pet name.” He couldn’t hold back the grin that split his face. He could picture the scene so clearly. Alya and Marinette up in Marinette’s room. Alya trying to meddle as she apparently did all the time. He wished he could hear it now, though he was glad he hadn’t heard it at the time. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to Marinette’s interest when he was so caught in his own feelings for Ladybug. “What was the pet name?” “H-hot stuff,” she admitted.

He smirked. He had always told her that she’d find his unmasked face irresistible. “Stop it!” she scolded, as she swatted his arm playfully. “Stop what?” “Looking so pleased with yourself!” He bit his lip, trying not to laugh. The strategy proved unsuccessful. “Chaaaat,” she whined. “What else did you do?” He asked with a grin. Now that he had no reason to fear the identity of her crush, he was completely over the moon. He had no reason to hold his curiosity at bay. He wanted to know everything. Every tiny little gift or attempt at a confession. Every embarrassing misstep if she was willing to share. Because even her mistakes were adorable, and made him love her more if that was possible.

“I have his schedule on my wall.”

“What?” he said flatly. And then grinned again. She was never going to stop surprising him. “I probably know it better than he does.” He didn’t disagree. He had no clue what his schedule was. That was what Nathalie was for. “Why?” he asked. It didn’t bother him, so much as he couldn’t fathom a reason for it. She shrugged. “It made me feel like there was a possibility of running into him during the day to tell him how I felt.” “Why didn’t you?” “For the longest time, I was so nervous around him. Completely tongue-tied. I almost always embarrassed myself horribly before I ever managed to confess any feelings. Other times, I ran away before I could horribly embarrass myself.” “I bet he thought you were cute,” he countered. She blushed. “You think so?”

“It’s what I would have thought,” he assured her, turning towards the rain again, pretending to be nonchalant. “Do you think I should go for it?” she asked. Adrien scoffed from inside his cat suit. “If he turns you down, he’s an idiot.” And he had been an idiot for long enough.

“He’s an attractive idiot,” she teased. He grinned again. “Oh? Should I be jealous?”

She smiled in smug amusement. “Super jealous! Did I tell you he’s a model?”

“Uh oh. You’d better be careful, LB. I hear models can be rather self-absorbed.” “He’s not like that!” she objected.

“He’s not?” Chat whispered, all bravado evaporating from his voice. Raw naked vulnerability took its place. “You don’t think he’s selfish at all?” Startled blue eyes flew towards his. “No, not at all,” she insisted immediately without even a second of hesitation. Adrien looked away back toward the falling rain. The falling water felt ominous and heavy again. “Maybe you don’t know him that well.” Her hand rested gently on top of his own. “I mean, I’ve watched him sacrifice himself for the benefit of others so many times. He’s put himself in harm’s way for me countless times. I think that’s pretty selfless.” “I think he just doesn’t know how to live without you,” he countered, staring up at the rafters above them.

“Chat, look at me.”

He did as she requested. I could never deny her anything.

“Wanting something for yourself doesn’t mean that you’re selfish. Being selfish is more like taking what you want without considering anyone else. He’s like the exact opposite of that. He takes everyone into account first. He doesn’t think of himself often enough. I told you, I fell in love with him because he was kind, because he always goes out of his way to protect others. He’s able to see the potential for good in others even when I struggle. He’s just that genuine.”

He stared at her, his chest was pounding so loudly his feline senses could hear it over the rain. He wanted to cry again. He had almost given her up. And so, all of this was completely unexpected - a shock to his system he was unprepared to take, though he wanted it with every fiber of his being. “Why did you wait so long to tell me this?” he asked. He had confessed to her days and days ago. When she knew that everything was reciprocated, why had she waited?

She turned away, red from her mask spreading into her cheeks. “I-I was afraid.” “Afraid of what?”

Her blue eyes stared out into the monotony of falling water. “What if something happens to him because he’s with me? I mean, if anyone ever found out he was Ladybug’s boyfriend, he’d be a target. In some ways, I think he already is one. I don’t know how I would ever forgive myself if something happened to him because of me.”

He relaxed. Like always, she was keeping secrets to protect those she loved. He never really thought he’d be lucky enough to be on that list. “It wouldn’t be your fault. I’m sure if he loves you, he’d be willing to take the risk.” She turned back to him then, her gaze suddenly piercing. “I know he is. But I still struggle with it.” “You’re still afraid.” He wished she didn’t have to be, but as long as Papillion was free, there’d always be a risk. “I don’t think I’ll ever not be,” she admitted softly.

“So, why didn’t you continue to keep your feelings a secret?” He was so glad she changed her mind on this.

“My best friend pointed out that if something happened to him and I never told him how I felt, I would regret that more. And she was right.” He almost laughed. God, he needed to buy Alya a new laptop or something. She had promised she would come through. And she had more than delivered. “Does she know?” he asked, smiling again.

“That I’m Ladybug?” she shook her head. “No. I think she was baffled by my fear, but she knows that I’ve liked this boy almost since the day we met. And she’s been pushing for me to confess for years. She pushes me and has given me a ton of opportunities, but she also has been so very patient when I didn’t take advantage.” “She sounds like a good friend.”

“The best!” she squealed. Then she sobered. “I’m kinda glad I didn’t confess before now anyway because he didn’t really see me before now. And I didn’t really see him. Now, we can really see each other.” She let her fingertips touch just the tips of his.

He forgot how to breathe for like the third time that night. “You’re right,” he finally managed. “It’s better that you’re both ready now. I hope it works out for you. I can’t imagine that it won’t.”

She turned back to him, her eyes sparkling in mischief. “What do you think we should do?”

“For what?”

“For our first date!” she squealed excitedly. “What do you think he would like?” He smiled. “Maybe you should surprise him.”

…

Nino bobbed his head in time with the baseline of the lofi remix he had been working on for days. His current version emanated from the headphones resting on his shoulders, but there was something missing from the track. Mendeliev wouldn’t let him wear the headphones over his ears in class, but he had learned that if there was a certain amount of bustle and activity, he could get away with listening to the music faintly. He glanced at the clock - there was only two minutes left of the period anyway. He and Adrien had long since finished the lab and cleared away their materials. It was awesome to have a best friend who was so good at science.

The bell rang and there was an immediate flurry of activity as students scrambled to pack up for lunch.

“Nino, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

Nino immediately swiveled towards his girlfriend’s sullen voice. “What’s wrong, babe?” She turned her phone towards him. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at the ten day forecast and then another ten seconds to figure out why that was bad. He tried to suck in his disappointment.

“The concert in the park is going to be rained out,” she added unnecessarily.

He hadn’t even considered the weather being a problem! It had been clear skies for like ten days in a row! Why did the rain have to return now, of all times? “Maybe we could exchange our tickets for something else?” she offered. “How about this one?”

“That’s no good!” he countered, glancing through his phone calendar. “That’s bro time!” he explained, as he offered a playful fistbump to Adrien’s shoulder. His friend smiled in response.

“I can always reschedule if you want,” Adrien offered.

“No way, dude! Knowing your old man and his witch of an assistant, I won’t see you outside these walls for another month if I let you reschedule!”

Adrien laughed. “Fair enough.”

Nino noticed at that moment that Marinette had already cleaned up her and Alya’s lab, and was standing in front of Adrien’s desk, writhing her hands. He grinned, offered her a wink, and started pretending that he was looking for something in his backpack. “A-Adrien, I was wondering if you wanted to go get some lunch with me?” “Of course, Mari! Does that sound good to you guys?” Adrien turned towards him and Alya, and Marinette immediately wilted.

Nino shook his head, and pointed his chin back at Marinette. “Dude! I’m sure Mari wants your first date to just be the two of you.” Green eyes went comically wide, and he whirled back to Marinette with a huge grin.

“Date?” She turned bright red, and nodded with a shy smile. Adrien’s smile extended even further, showing off all his perfect glistening white teeth. “Just tell me when and where Nette.”

“How about right now?” “Let’s go!” He offered his hand. She took it and their fingers quickly interlaced. Nino grinned at the sight. He was so happy for both of his friends. “You kids okay without us?” Adrien asked, turning back to him. “We’re chill, dude!” Nino reassured. “Go have fun! We’ll do a double date sometime later.” Alya added. Nino was shocked to see that she wasn’t filming the moment. Maybe Marinette had requested her to not make a big deal of anything.

Adrien turned back to Marinette. “So, what’re we doing?”

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing, and her free hand fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Adrien still held her other hand. It was sweet. “I-It’s a surprise!”

“Well, then lead the way!” Adrien prompted. He flashed a huge grin to Nino and Alya as he grabbed his bag and followed Marinette’s gentle tugs to get him out the door faster. “It’s still so weird to see you get nervous,” Adrien was saying. “What are you talking about?” Marinette bantered back easily. “You’ve seen me a stuttering mess a million times.” “Maybe, but I’ve also seen you…” Adrien trailed off as the door closed behind them. Nino stared at the closed door considering their two friends. Alya was right. Adrien and Marinette had become so close so fast, and they had a weird dynamic where sometimes they seemed oddly nervous and other times way too comfortable with each other.

“I still don’t really know what happened with them,” Alya commented. “Are you okay with that?” he asked, turning towards her. She shrugged. “The curiosity is literally burning inside me, but I’ll live.”

“You’re a good friend,” he told her as he pulled her against him. “And a good girlfriend I hope?” she asked with a delighted gleam in her eyes. “The absolute best girlfriend.” “Good! Because I have something for you,” she said, pulling away just slightly to retrieve a flat wrapped parcel from her bag.

He took the gift from her hands. “What’s this for?” She shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Just that I love you and this just kinda fell in my lap. And I thought you would like it. And if you don’t, well, you can give it back to me because I love it!”

He tore off the tissue paper, his curiosity piqued. He revealed the charcoaled drawing of Carapace and Rena Rouge. She was leaning in towards him, about to kiss. Carapace was grinning in anticipation with a supportive hand on her waist. The curve of Rena’s jawline, her foxtailed hair, her gloved hand laying gently on his chest, the joy in Carapace’s eyes were rendered in astounding detail.

“Wow,” was all he could think to say. He was going to have to make Alya like the most epic remixed hip hop playlist to say thank you for this.

“I commissioned Marinette actually,” Alya explained.

He grinned, his eyes taking in each carefully constructed detail. “If we ever get a place together, this is going up on a wall!”

“Moving in together?! Moving a little fast for a turtle there, aren’t you?”

Nino shrugged. “You haven’t thought about it?” he countered.

Alya’s cheeks darkened, and she glanced away.

He grinned, carefully set Marinette’s latest masterpiece on his desk, and then slowly pulled Alya to him with a hand on her waist trying to enact the portrait. Today was looking very up!

...

Plagg phased through a park bench, glanced around to be sure no one was around, and floated upward to nestle next to his other half. She currently perched quietly in the naked tree branches. They were somewhat exposed, but anyone looking from a distance would no doubt just see what they expected to see - two birds sitting on a tree branch rather than two kwamis overlooking their chosen.

The two teenagers were sitting side by side on the park’s bench eating ice cream despite the freezing temperature. Adrien tipped his tower of cream until it just briefly made contact with Marinette’s nose.

She shrieked in objection. And then promptly shoved Adrien’s Ladybug themed ice cream back into his own grinning face.

“Aren’t they sweet together?” Tikki commented with a deep sigh of contentment, her bulbous eyes sparkling in pure joy at the innocent scene below them.  

“Is that why you haven’t ratted them out to Fu?” Plagg asked. He wasn’t teasing. He needed to know where his partner stood on this. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the kwami of creation said airily, her eyes never straying from the children below who were now lost in a fit of giggles.

Plagg snorted. “Right, and camembert is the worst kind of cheese on this planet.”

“I knew you’d see sense eventually!” Tikki squealed, “Would you like to try one of Marinette’s macaroons? They come in every flavor you could ever want and every one of them is amazing!”

He gagged.

And then whipped in front of her. “Seriously Sugarcube, you’re not going to ruin this for them, are you?”

Tikki did the kwami equivalent of a shrug. “Order is important, and rules are necessary to maintain order. But nothing is more important than love, Plagg. Plus, it’s really nice to see her get these moments of happiness. She is too young for this burden.”

Plagg relaxed, and allowed himself to settle on the branch. Tikki wouldn’t say anything. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true! Plus, they are doing a remarkable job of pretending they don’t know.”

Plagg laughed. “No, they’re not. They’re pathetically obvious. I’m shocked that blogger girl hasn’t figured it out.”

Tikki sighed. “I just mean that they haven’t explicitly said it out loud even to one another. And until they do, there is a small sliver of doubt. And I can’t ask because if I do, I give it away. So, until one of them actually says something, there’s no reason to mention it to Fu.”

Plagg grinned. Tikki had a way of rationalizing and twisting the letter of the law into her favor when the spirit of a law didn’t suit her. Plagg also suspected that if the kids did completely slip up, she still wouldn’t say anything to Fu. She was more likely to pretend she had fallen asleep and missed whatever incriminating thing had been said.

Plagg grinned again and nuzzled up against his other half. “I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking eventually! Rules are made to be broken. Maybe someday you’ll even be able to appreciate the amazingness of camembert.” “Keep dreaming, stinky sock!”

…

A/N: Thanks for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Reviews/Comments/Reblogs are love!

[extrathordinary]

wild palms- thor odinson

thor odinson/reader

word count: 1980

story type: hella angst (sorry)

characters: female reader, thor odinson, sam wilson, and Steve rogers

trigger warning: i curse like a sailor I'm so sorry

A/N: Hi, everyone! This is my first writing piece I’ve uploaded here- I’m trying to get back into creative writing and what better way to find my way than through Marvel fanfiction. I appreciate any and all feedback! Sidenote: I did Samuel Wilson so dirty here I am so sorry. Sam deserves the WORLD and I absolutely did not give it to him in this story, but I wanted to make this as heart-wrenching as possible. Thanks for reading!

“The second time I ever saw you I learned that what I had read in books but I never had actually believed: that love and suffering are the same thing and that the value of love is the sum of what you have to pay for it and anytime you get it cheap you have cheated yourself.”

-The Wild Palms, William Faulkner

The lingering touches, the stolen smiles from across the room, the late nights staying awake talking about god knows what for hours on end; the daily “I made you coffee because you were still asleep and I know you hate everybody and everything until you’ve had caffeine and I didn’t want you to wake up angry” cups of coffee on each other’s bedsides, the delicate “you’ve got something on your face, let me get it for you” touches that are just excuses so you have a chance to finally touch each other- it’s all too much and you can’t breathe.

The rational side of your brain screams at you to lock these feelings back up and throw them to the bottom of a lake somewhere inside yourself and never acknowledge they even existed in the first place, but your brain is getting increasingly smaller by the second and pretty soon you will not be able to tell the difference between good and bad- right and wrong, and god this is wrong. But you have been holding your breath for far too long and he feels like fresh air and it’s far too painful to deny yourself breath any longer than you already have.

You realized this the third time you had acknowledged your feelings for the God of Thunder: you realized that love and the sacrifices you make for it walk hand in hand and any time you do not have anything to lose, anything to risk, you have cheated yourself of what love should be. You, yourself, have absolutely nothing to lose. You do not deserve the love- the honest to God real fucking love you crave so badly. You have too much red in your ledger for someone like him.

Your world before the Avengers was confined to the walls of the Red Room, knowing rarely of life elsewhere. You weren’t stolen from your beloved parents, you weren’t kidnapped off of the streets- you don’t have- no, you don’t get a sob story. You were selfish. The reality of the situation is that you wanted to be something better- something bigger than what your life had to offer. Your greed and pride and lust for recognition drove you over the edge of insanity; you ran off to the Red Room of your own accord at the age of twelve, naïve to the life awaiting you inside its concrete walls. Your intentions were to become the best goddamn weapon the world had ever seen, morals be damned. And you achieved your goal- you had made yourself a name by the age of nineteen; hell, you even popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar, finally getting at least some of the recognition you craved. But all victories come with a cost.

Your cost rang up to be watching your parents being lowered six feet underground, murdered by the very people who made you into the monster you wished to be. No weaknesses, right? After the murder of your parents, you went spiraling. You left the Soviet organization and turned yourself into S.H.I.E.L.D. Following months and months of training, therapy, and conditioning, you were again utilized as a weapon, but this time, for the good guys- for the Avengers.

Now, here you stand, gripping your glass of water so hard it might shatter, angry with yourself for believing for even a second you deserve to love and be loved by someone so kind and so… free, for loving someone you didn’t have to settle for. Clearing your throat, you set your damn-near-forgotten drink on the kitchen counter beside you. You press your back against the cool marble of the counter. Your hands go to your face as you take a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself from the crashing waves of nausea hitting your stomach.

Heavy footsteps echo through the hallway filtering into the kitchen where you are currently situated, cuing you to stand up a little bit straighter and look a little bit happier. Thor strides into the space, carrying himself as if he had wings. That confidence, that strength he possesses is something you’ve admired about him from the moment he stepped onto the grounds of the compound from the Bifröst years ago. The world could be crashing down around him and he’d still stand tall amid the chaos. His strong stature was and is formed by his kingship over Asgard undoubtedly; if not for himself, he must be strong for his people regardless of the circumstances. He never makes himself small.

“Good morning, little dove. Has sleep been kind to you in the night?” Thor’s tired, raw voice rings through the air as he mirrors your position against the countertop opposite of you. A small smile crosses your lips as you take in his sleepy appearance. A similar smile takes its place on his.

“Yeah, um…” your eyes catch his for a fleeting moment, waves of emotion threatening to spill over. You can’t have him, (Y/N). “You could say that…” you trail off. You shift your weight to your arms as you push yourself to sit on top of the counter. “How about you, dove?” you reciprocate with more enthusiasm, poking fun at the term he used mere moments ago.

The god lets out a breathless chuckle with a shake of his head, “Sleep is always no stranger to me.”

His looks, however, betray him. The darkness surrounding his usually-bright eyes, the shallow wrinkles making a home ever-so-subtly in the contours of his face not slipping your mind.  It’s no coincidence thunderstorms paint the skies during odd hours of the night- hours in which only you are awake, or so you ignorantly presumed. They always let up before morning, of course.

You sigh, locking your eyes with the god’s.“Thor, you don’t have to hide from me-”

Your sentence is interrupted by the ding of the elevator opening just a few meters from you and the god. Neither you nor Thor move from your places, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer as you shift your attention to the pair of bodies stepping out of the elevator. You shut your eyes momentarily as your heart drops at the sight of Sam and Steve making their way towards you and Thor. How foolish of you to drift so far from your reality for even one fleeting moment.

“There she is! There’s my favorite girl.” Sam hooks his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “How’d you sleep, sugarmama? I didn’t have the heart to wake you this morning when I got up. You just looked so peaceful and shit laying there.”

You clear your throat and plaster a smile of feigned affection on your face as you turn to look at Sam. “Just fine, thank you, babe.” Little did he know you had been fully awake as you pretended to sleep, your mind running marathons and jumping hurdles as you tried to figure out how to fucking get yourself together.

Steve’s hand makes contact with Thor’s shoulder as he laughs at something he said, Thor not paying much attention to him at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the interaction playing out between you and Sam, anger and jealousy and loneliness flooding his veins all at the same time. You, however, catch this- his change in demeanor. Before, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you was light and safe and now the tension is so thick between the two of you it can be cut right in half. Your eyes meet his again and you give him the saddest smile he thinks he’s ever seen and it just about sends him over the edge.

The god clears his throat and mutters a polite “excuse me” to Steve as he seemingly drags himself out of the kitchen and down the hallway, a small rumble of thunder shaking the skies; it’s faint, but it’s there and it hurts. The boys shake it off and start to discuss their post-run workout. You bite your lip and close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose as all of your self control keeps you nailed to the counter. I’m sorry.

“Hey, (Y/L/N), wanna join us for the workout?” Steve’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “I promise we won’t go easy on you.”

Sam snickers, pulling at the baggy shirt hanging around your body. “C’mon, babe. Training’s always fun with the chococino...” Steve laughs at Sam’s remark as Sam wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Please don’t. You offer a small smirk, shoving your emotions further down your throat and into your stomach. “As tempting as your offer is, I think I’m going to take a rest day today, boys.”

You hop off of the kitchen counter and grab your glass of water. “Oh, okay, babe. I see how it is. I’ll just have to work for it today, then.” Sam snakes an arm around your waist once more as he speaks, pulling you in for a quick kiss shortly after. As your lips graze his, you feel like you want to vomit. Everything is suddenly too much and you feel as if you’re being hurled into the fucking Sun.

You’re quick to pull away and excuse yourself from the room only to find yourself standing in front of a bedroom door- Thor’s bedroom door. Before you can talk yourself out of what you’re about to do or calm yourself down at all, your knuckles rap one, two, three times on the hard wood of the door, the knocks seemingly deafening in the silence of the hallway.

“I am in no mood to converse at the moment, Rogers.” Thor’s gruff voice sounds through the door, muffled by the heavy wood of the door.

My god, you’re going to regret this. “It’s just me.” your voice comes out shakier than you had hoped it would.

Silence. There’s silence, but just for a moment. On the other side of the door, Thor has his head in his hands, gripping and pulling at his hair hoping to make himself just fucking snap out of it. He can’t have you. You. You. You. No. Thunder cracks and crashes against the sky outside. The best of him left as soon as Sam touched you.

You flinch at the sound, cursing your feet for bringing you where you obviously aren’t wanted. Your eyes fly shut. A shaky breath escapes your lungs as the doorknob twists with a creak. The door opens and Thor is met with your terrified expression. You’re not terrified of him, god no. You’re terrified of how you and he are going to get through this because you know damn well he feels the same way you do and you know damn well he’s just as scared.

“Oh, my love, come here.” Thor gently pulls you into him as he closes the door behind you, hiding the two of you from the whirring cameras lining the hallway.

You press your forehead into Thor’s chest, your hands going to his hips. One of his hands is solid on your back, the other weaving its way in your hair, holding you against him. Thor’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to memorize the feel of your body pressed against his, praying to all the gods above he gets to do this every day. How the hell is this so wrong?

“What are we doing here, Thor?” your voice breaks, loneliness and longing seeping through. Just like you hoped it wouldn’t.

“I don’t know, little one.” He tucks his chin on top of your head. “I don’t know.” The god presses a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, silently saying “this is where your crown should be sitting, my queen”.