#anyways nature is cool but i’m afraid i miss the heat

[yearning-rambles]

The clouds are much closer 

to my fingertips here. 

Up in the mountains 

I tend to forget the marsh. 

The swamp where I grew up 

will always have a place in me. 

The swamp where I grew up 

will always have 

some truth in me. 

I am a swamp girl 

hiding in the mountains. 

I've never seen clouds this close before.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

calculated ii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You pride yourself in being cool, calm, and collected... and then Jeon Jungkook knocks you down a peg. Well, you’re still the head Calculus I TA. The noona. The responsible one. The one who would definitely not misunderstand a situation and then end up fucking in a stairwell... right?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, nipple play, tit slapping, fingering, wall fucking, dirty talk); jealousy; fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft instigator Jimin again, lol

--

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

-

You weren't a jealous person by nature. 

Mostly because you had no tolerance for lying, dishonesty, or deceit. In the off chance an ex cheated on you, you dropped them like hot coal and moved on, easily, without so much as a text. Was that the best way to end a relationship? Definitely not, but you did it anyway. 

It got you a notorious reputation, to say the least. 

So, why, as you're collecting the latest Calculus I exam and students are rushing down the steps to run to their next class, were you absolutely fuming as you spy Jeon Jungkook, tongue between his teeth, talking to a girl who looked like she was going to pass out from arousal by being in his vicinity? Why was your blood boiling, knuckles turning white as you clutch the obscenely thick stack of paper, your only thought being, I'm going to fail this fucking punk ass bitch, just you fucking wait–

"Do you need help?"

You turned your head sharply, missing Jungkook's teasing gaze as Kim Namjoon held his hands out, giving you a sheepish smile. Namjoon was the head Calculus III TA, but he was helping out today since the other Calculus I TAs couldn't make it. 

"No."

Namjoon's smile faltered. 

"Last time I let you carry these, you dropped them all."

Namjoon laughed sheepishly. "Ahahaha, yeah that did happen, huh?"

You felt bad for snapping at him. It wasn't Namjoon's fault Jungkook was an asshole. It was not Namjoon's fault Jungkook was looking like a goddamn meal in his untucked black dress shirt, ripped black jeans and heavy black boots, his long dark hair half-pinned back with a wispy curtain of black partly obscuring the right side of his face. Not that you cared. At all. You two fucked one time. One, very hot, very intense, very wild time during Calculus I office hours in this very math department building, a few floors above, just last week.

Did you have dreams about it?

...

You shook your head roughly, breaking out of your thoughts. "Come on. Let's go get some coffee. I'll buy," you said, softening your tone this time, grabbing your bag as you hoisted the stack with one arm. You began to walk out, Namjoon following you with his extra-thick backpack.

"I can help you grade. I have some time before my next class."

You laughed. "You, Kim Namjoon, double Literature and Music major and head TA for Calculus III and Physics II, have time?" you teased, seeing his ears turn red. 

He chuckled awkwardly as you two made your way to the vending machines. "Okay, I don't have the most time, maybe an hour, but there's a key, right? I'd like to help," he added cheerfully. "Since you're carrying it all."

You smiled and stopped in front of the vending machine, struggling to grab your wallet from the back pocket of your black skinny jeans. Your hands kept getting caught in the long sleeves of your cream sweater. You frowned, trying to balance everything. 

"Need help?" Namjoon asked, seeing your brows furrow. He reached for the stack of exams, but you pulled them away from his grasp. 

"No, no, I just can't get my wallet. It's in my back pocket."

"... Uh, I could pa–"

"Namjoon, it's an ass. Just take it out. I won't call the police."

He gave you a hesitant look, but you jerked your head impatiently.

"Fucking do it. You're making it weirder," you muttered.

He shrugged and yanked your black bifold wallet out of your back pocket. 

"Whatchu want?" You looked into the lit-up shelves, scanning. "Get me a green tea."

Namjoon opened your wallet to grab some bills. He raised his eyebrows. 

"I use the same brand myself."

"What?"

You turned your head to see him snickering, pointing to the condom in your wallet. You rolled your eyes at his immature reaction. 

"People get laid; get over it," you remarked coolly, but you were smiling anyway because Namjoon had cute dimples that made you laugh too.

He fed some money into the machine. "You should change it out every once in a while, though. Body heat can cause the latex to break down over time."

"I put it in there last week," you said absentmindedly, watching the green tea and the hot coffee Namjoon ordered plunk down. He raised his eyebrows again, but you gave him a pointed look and turned around, presenting your jean-covered butt.

"Put it back."

"What if I need a condom? Can I have it?" Namjoon sniggered.

"Put it back before I kick your ass," you shot back, turning your head to glare at him. A blur of black rushed past in your peripheral vision. Your eyes flickered to the direction of the movement at the same time Namjoon jammed your wallet in your pocket.

You turned back around, cocking your head into the direction of the offices. Namjoon carried the drinks, laughing behind you. 

"That would have been weird if anyone was around," he remarked to the deserted hallway. 

You shrugged. "Who hangs around the math department besides nerds like you and me?" you muttered, somewhat bitterly.

"Touché."

-

"You said you needed a ride," you muttered, watching Park Jimin stretch his legs out. It was already completely dark outside. Jimin always practiced such long hours that you often wondered if he slept. Did he even know what sleep was? The fine arts building was empty besides you two. 

"I do!" Jimin protested, going into a split that made your own crotch hurt, at least mentally. "But I have to cool down first. It's important!"

You sighed and slid down to the floor as Jimin did his routine. He hummed along as you stared at the bright lights on the ceiling. Your backpack was in the car. You played with the pink bunny keychain on your keys as you waited. 

"How did Jungkook go?" Jimin teased, tone playful.

You scowled in response.

"Ouch, that bad huh?" Jimin's head popped into your vision as he bent over backwards. "Does he have a bent dick or something?"

You rolled your eyes. "He's fine," you mumbled. "Just an asshole."

Jimin sat down, placing the soles of his feet together and pressing on his knees. They went all the way to the floor. You winced as you watched, but he seemed fine. 

"What'd he do?" 

You twisted your mouth to one side. "Doesn't matter. Don't care."

Jimin looked up. He gave you that look mothers give their children when they know they're lying. You relented, grumbling.

"Flirting around right in front of my face."

Jimin blinked at you. "I thought you guys were just fucking?"

You looked away to the mirror of the dance studio. "... We are just fucking. Did, rather."

"Are you jealous?" Jimin gasped in disbelief, scooting over to you gleefully, forgetting about his cool down. "You are!"

"I am not, Jimin. Shut up."

Jimin giggled. "Wow, one fuck and you're in lo–"

You spun around sharply and clapped a hand over his mouth, glaring at him. Jimin's eyes widened at your sudden reaction, blinking at you. You climbed to your knees, towering over him.

"Shut up, Jimin."

"The fuck is going on?"

The clear, silvery voice thundered across the dance studio practice room. You froze, whipping your head around to see Jungkook, in all-black, his pretty features twisted in rage, glaring at you and Jimin on the hardwood floor.

Fight? 

Or flight?

You scrambled to your feet and ran. Straight up bolted, right past Jungkook, not hearing him shout at Jimin, completely forgetting you were supposed to take him home.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jungkook roared, advancing, shoulders shaking. 

"Nothing," Jimin snapped, getting to his feet. "Just like you, apparently. Look how fucking fast she ran from you!"

Jungkook grabbed Jimin's collar, shaking him forcefully. "The fuck are you talking about?" he growled, nearly spitting in Jimin's face. "She doesn't even like me, you idiot."

"You're the idiot," Jimin spat back, shoving him hard in the chest. "She literally just admitted to liking you right in front of me!"

Jungkook froze. "W-what?"

"She just now told me she was jealous because you were chatting up other girls," Jimin hissed, looking at him disdainfully. "I would have never helped you if you were going to treat her like a piece of meat."

Jungkook's face fell, anger crumbling into sudden comprehension. "I-I didn't..."

He turned away from Jimin, dropping his car keys as he chased after you, steps much faster and lighter than your erratic stumbling though the fine arts building, nearly tripping on the stairs. You were running so fast that you were making yourself winded, chest so tight you couldn't even breathe. 

Jimin sighed and picked up the fallen car keys. 

Jungkook jumped over the stair rail, making you recoil and spin around, running back up the stairs. He took them two at a time, slamming a hand against the wall to cut you off. You turned the other way and he stopped you there too, so you ducked under, trying to run. His strong arms grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back, struggling for dear life, hands clawing at the air. 

"Stop, stop," Jungkook was panting, but you started squirming against him instead, flattening your torso to try to slide out. He forcefully grabbed your shoulders and shoved you into the wall. You hissed in pain, seeing stars from your lack of oxygen and panic. He held you there, wheezing, grip so strong it almost hurt, as if he was afraid you would run away again. 

You felt wetness on your face. You started, touching your cheek. Tears blurred your vision. Jungkook lifted his head, his long black hair tousled and wild from chasing you and, even now, he was handsome. Even now, he made your heart stop. 

And then you realized that he, too, was crying. 

"J-Jimin..." Jungkook gasped. "Asked me to d-drive him home..."

You sobbed, trying to blink your tears away. "M-me too..."

Jungkook chuckled wetly despite the situation. 

"Hah... that bastard..."

You tried to twist away, but Jungkook pushed you into the wall with his chest. 

"D-don't..."

And now you were really crying now, so pathetic, so dumb, so stupid you wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, hide your face and your feelings and pretend they didn't exist. 

"Don't..." 

Jungkook's deep voice vibrated your torso as you furiously wiped your face with the sleeves of your cream sweater, stuffing your eyes with the fluffy material, trying to press them away.

"Don't cry, noona... I can't take it..."

And then he was kissing you, soft kisses on your tears, dripping his own onto your cheeks, and then your lips were on his, so full, so nice, so right, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. Everything way too fucking wet, but it didn't matter because his tongue was against yours and you were sucking on it, shivering, whimpering his name, trying not to be pitiful, but what were you supposed to do when he made you feel this way, like you wanted to die in his arms right now? 

He whispered your name too, so softly, so desperately that you thought it was just a dream, but he had you against the wall, hands sliding up your sweater, onto your skin, so warm, stroking it and pressing his fingers into your waist, so familiar, teeth nipping at your lower lip.

"J-Jungkook..." you choked out. "We're in the middle of the stairway in the fucking f-fine arts building..."

"Don't care," he murmured, unhooking your bra, his dark hair brushing against your face. You gasped as his palms covered your already hard nipples, his moan against your lips. "Have to remind you you're mine."

He kissed your face again, massaging your breasts, resting his cheek against yours, letting you feel his smile. You closed your eyes, trying to even your breathing.

"Hah... I'm so ugly right now," you mumbled, cursing your weakness, frustrated that only a single meeting with Jeon Jungkook could turn you into this. You didn't believe in stars aligning or any of that romantic bullshit. But the instant Jeon Jungkook pressed his body against yours, you fucking knew. You absolutely knew there was no other body for you, no other body you wanted to dream about, no other person you wanted to touch, no one else you wanted but Jeon Jungkook to force you to your knees and make you look at him, pulling on your nipples, whines leaving your throat as he yanked on them, your own hands pushing your sweater and bra up so he could stare at your body and watch how he ruined you, turning your nipples pink with abuse.

Were you crazy? Probably. 

Jungkook spread his legs, leaning down, dark hair half-obscuring his face, lips parting.

"So beautiful, noona..." he breathed, swallowing hard. "You're the only one for me."

You scoffed at his words, hastily wiping your eyes. He pulled at your nipples hard, twisting them and making you yelp in pain. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," Jungkook commanded, raw and deep. Voice strained from crying, but his eyes remained dark, flint-like, shaded by his long hair. His eyes traveled down your body, to your knees against the floor, to your nipples straining in his fingertips, to your shaking hands holding up your sweater, to your face, your icy glare rippling through your drying tears. He drew in a long breath, making you wait for him. 

"There is no one else," he growled firmly above you, staring into your eyes, right at your soul. "Absolutely no one. I don't care if they're ripping off their clothes and throwing themselves at me, I will always pick you over them. I will always want you over them. I will always, always desire you under me above all others."

You chuckled darkly, feeling his grip tighten. 

"We fucked once, Jungkook. Once," you muttered bitterly. He pinched your nipples sharply and you sucked in a breath, wetness pooling in your panties. 

"Once is enough," he replied firmly. "Once is enough to know there is no other human being on Earth for me."

Maybe you were both crazy. 

He yanked your nipples harder this time. Your body jerked in pain, pressing your thighs together to get some relief. 

"Get up."

You got up shakily, with his gentle pulls in your nipples, wincing. Jungkook removed his hands and you sighed in relief, only to be silenced as he pushed up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, breathless as you saw his shapely forearms, the right covered in tattoos. He pressed his right forearm against your collarbone and you released your sweater as he held it up.

"Hands on the arm."

You placed your hands on his forearm, one on his wrist and the other just under his elbow. 

"Look at me."

Your eyes flickered up at him. Part of his hair covered his right eye. The rest of his forehead was exposed, brows furrowed, brown eyes intensely on you. His chiseled jaw clenched, lips so pink and pretty you wanted them on you. Your chest was completely exposed, your red nipples hard and poking out in the cold air. 

Then he slapped your tits with his own palm. 

You gasped sharply, skin stinging, nails digging into his skin. The sound rang in the empty staircase. Your knees shook, panties wetter than before. 

"Who is he?"

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. Your nipples prickled with pain but all you could think about was wanting more. "Who?" you croaked.

He smacked you again, right on the other nipple, and you bit your tongue, head pushing into the wall behind you, hissing. Fuck. He wasn't hitting you very hard, but he had a huge palm, expanding the surface area of the sting.

"The guy who touched your ass without my permission," Jungkook snarled, flicking your nipple hard. 

Your eyelids fluttered, knees buckling. Fuck. So good. You clutched into Jungkook's arm, panting. His arm was like iron, unmoving. 

"Namjoon?" you replied, confused. "H-he was just getting my wallet."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. Then he raised an eyebrow and his hand, slowly spanking your tits, making sure to hit your swollen, aching nipples each time, getting you wetter and wetter with each slap. 

"He wants to fuck you," Jungkook hissed into your face. 

You were moaning far too loud, rubbing your knees together, your soaked panties bunching up in your jeans as Jungkook continued, his nails gazing your flesh, leaving red marks and pink skin in his wake. 

"B-but I don't want to fuck h-him..." you managed to get out in between your moans.

Jungkook pressed his palm flat against one of your breasts and rubbed hard. Your eyes rolled back in your head, nipple throbbing with pain as he forced it around and around. 

"Really?" he sneered, putting his face close to yours as he released your breast and moved to the other, placing his nail on it, scratching lightly. Your hips bucked and a desperate whimper fell from your lips. "Who do you want to fuck then?"

Your eyes locked with his, his impossibly dark, reigning eyes. 

"Only you."

He pinched your nipple, hard. You wailed, almost falling, but he held you firm. 

"Say my name."

So deep. So in control. 

"Only you, Jungkook."

He dropped his right arm and roughly pinched both your nipples, silencing your scream with a suffocating kiss, his clothed chest ramming into your torso. You groaned into his mouth as the rough fabric of his dress shirt touched your sensitive nipples, whimpering as he removed his hands to hold yours. Held them tight as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, thrusting into it, fucking it as if it was his cock. You took it all, fingers intertwining with his, whole body shivering. 

He pulled your hands up to his chest, breaking apart for a second. 

"Take it off," he panted impatiently. "Need your skin on mine."

You fumbled with the tiny buttons, far too small with how hazy your head was right now. You were rapidly losing your temper, finally just shoving your fingers into the placket and ripping it apart, causing the black buttons to fling everywhere. You pushed the sides of the dress shirt aside, sucking in a breath seeing his toned chest and abs, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him to you, pressing his hot skin against yours, moaning as your abused nipples touched his chest. Jungkook was chuckling, looking at the fallen buttons.

“Are you going to pick those up later?” he asked, amused.

“No,” you snapped.

“Someone will know.”

“You obviously don’t care.”

Jungkook laughed, rumbling and sexy and so very wonderful. “I most certainly do not.”

He let you press your cheek against his collarbones, hands splayed on his back. Tracing his muscles, chest heaving from too many emotions and too much running. You ran your nails down his back. His breathing hitched and he placed a large hand on your head.

“Were you jealous?” he purred, petting your hair. “Because I was talking to that girl after class? Is that why you ran off with that Namjoon guy? To make me jealous too?”

“No,” was your haughty, tight reply.

He hummed. “Really?”

His hand slid down, down your shoulder and to your bare skin. He dug his nails into the small of your back, raking them up. You whimpered, clinging to him tighter. His head dipped low against your ear, voice dropping several octaves.

“Because I was very, very jealous,” Jungkook growled, teeth snapping, every word rousing your lust. “All I could think about all day was how to punish you. My beautiful, slutty noona.”

You sunk your nails into his back, snarling right back.

“It’s your own fault for being so fucking hot that every single person who encounters you has a full-blown orgasm every time they see you, you punk ass bitch.”

You didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning. “You didn’t. You told me to leave.”

“You didn’t know what was going on in my pants,” you shot back.

“I found out, didn’t I?”

Was it possible to want to choke someone while also wanting to be choked by them? Because that’s how you felt right now, listening to Jeon Jungkook’s stupid, sexy, smug voice in your ear.

“Shut up.”

You felt Jungkook’s body stiffen. Slowly, slowly, he backed up, out of your grasp, his hands leaving your back. You frowned, narrowing your eyes. There was a darkness in his, glaring down at you through his lashes. His lips were slightly parted, no longer smiling. You didn’t waver. His hand came up and took your chin, grip tightening into your cheeks until it was uncomfortable, tipping your head back into the wall. Lips hovering over yours, so close that he could kiss you, but he wasn’t doing it.

“Okay.”

The affirmation made your blood run cold with his unforgiving tone. He placed his lips on yours, but instead of kissing you, he breathed into your mouth, a hot, erotic stream right into the back of your throat, forcing yours back, making you inhale him. You moaned softly, but he retreated just as fast, hooking one arm around you, arching your back forcefully.

“J-Jungkook, what–”

Then he latched his lips onto one of your nipples, flicking it with his tongue, his hand around you rubbing the other as the other gripped the button of your jeans, popping it open. You cried out, hitting your head on the wall, bruising yourself as he yanked the zipper down, shoving his hand under your panties into your tight-jeans. Your nipples for far too sensitive to take more pain and yet Jungkook gave it to you, sucking and rubbing them simultaneously as he shoved one, two fingers into your slopping wet pussy, your moans echoing in the stairway as you stared up, head throbbing. Shocks of pain and pleasure traveled throughout your body, and still he shoved a third finger into you. Your body jerked, trying to spread your legs to accommodate him but your jeans were too tight and he was fucking you too hard, each thrust raising you to your tiptoes. He didn’t even have to stimulate your nipples anymore – they were just rubbing against his teeth and hand by the sheer force of him fingering you.

“A-ah, J-Jungkook, please…” you groaned, grinding into his hand, biting your lower lip hard to try and be a little quieter. “P-please, it’s t-too much...”

His eyes flickered up to you, glaring. You told me to shut up, they said.

“I’m s-sorry…” you panted out, gritting your teeth. “P-please…”

Jungkook detached his mouth, curling his lip. Hand leaving your nipple, tangling into your hair. “Are you really sorry, noona?” he drawled, yanking your head back and exposing your neck. “Are you?”

You whimpered, nodding tightly, his hand still in your hair, forcing you to tug on your own.

“Y-yes, Jungkook,” you breathed, feeling him release your hair. “I’m sorry…”

He smiled at you, an icy smile.

“That’s good.”

You felt him yank your pants down with his free hand, shoving them down to your knees. You almost tripped, but Jungkook grabbed your ass, fingertips digging into you so hard you were sure they would leave marks. He yanked you up, shoving a knee between yours and forcing your legs open. Your eyes went wide, his three fingers flexing inside you. His dark eyes boring into yours, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

“I’m still going to put another finger in you.”

He shoved a fourth into you, forcefully, and now nearly his entire hand was fucking you, pounding you into the wall. Your arms flew up to wrap around his shoulders, desperately holding on as he filled you, pushing his fingers against your walls. You gasped, clenching around his fingers, and Jungkook grinned, watching your face as he pushed you to the edge, feeling so stretched out, so embarrassingly wet that the sounds of your pussy were louder than your noises.

“Fuck, your pussy sounds so sexy,” Jungkook groaned. “Listen to that dirty pussy suck in my fingers, so fucking desperate for my cock.”

You shoved your head against the wall and squeezed your eyes shut, legs straining as you came, muscles spasming and the moan of his name racking through you, your throat already hoarse. He ripped his hand out of you and slapped your clit. Your knees buckled and you whined loudly as he gripped your ass with one wet and one dry hand, spreading it forcefully, pressing you against the wall.

“Take one leg out of your jeans,” Jungkook snarled.

You winced, pussy throbbing, giving him a what-the-fuck look.

“Do it.” He was not going to repeat himself.

You awkwardly kicked one of your sneakers off, untangling your right leg out of your pants. Now you were mostly naked in the fucking stairway with an almost shirtless Jungkook towering over you. Your poor sock fluttered to the floor, lost due to the tight ankle of your skinny jeans.

Jungkook grabbed your calf and pushed it up and out, effectively forcing you to stand on one leg.

“Jungkook, what–”

He hissed, staring at your glistening, puffy, red pussy lips, your hole opening and closing from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

Jungkook leaned you back into the wall, snaking his hand between your legs, moaning with you as he touched your swollen clit. Slow, languid, deliberate, rubbing your clit in circles, melting you, your eyelids fluttering closed at his sudden sweet movements.

“Wanna fuck you just like this,” Jungkook breathed, inhaling your scent. “Just like this, against the wall, in this fucking stairway, your leg around my waist.” He pressed harder, earning a wretched whimper. “Want someone to find us and see you bouncing on my cock, fucked out and screaming my name.”

Your legs trembled, trying to close, but he held them open, teasing you, drawing your next orgasm out of you, slow this time, building you into a frenzy.

“Just do it,” you gasped. “Just fucking do it.”

“I want to,” he hissed back, rubbing faster. “I didn’t bring a fucking condom.”

You chuckled despite yourself, hips shuddering into his hand. “Didn’t think you were going to fuck Jimin or something?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you and pinched your clit. Instantly you yelped, your standing knee buckling, but his own slammed against yours, locking it in place. You gasped at the pain, your pussy clenching around nothing as he furiously rubbed your clit. Your insides curled and you gulped for air, feeling the pain and pleasure rise into a crescendo.

“What if I stop, noona?” Jungkook barked sharply. “Since you’re being such a fucking brat.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to push back your own orgasm, relishing in his anger.

“I have a condom,” you panted, giving him an open-mouthed smirk. “Keep one in my wallet now, j-just for you, Jungkook.”

You saw something in his eyes change, something between an amused sparkle and an agonizing lust.

“Is that so?” Jungkook purred, bringing his face close to yours. His breath lit your skin on fire, the tense knot closing in on you fast as he rubbed you even faster, so fast that it felt like a vibrator on your aching clit. “So, you can always be prepared for me? So, I can take you wherever, whenever I want?”

You bit your lip, nodding, eyes glazing over as the first wave crashed on you.

“Fuck yeeeeees, Jungkook, whatever you fucking want,” you moaned, back arching, legs shuddering, letting him rub you as your hips jerked. Viscous liquid dripping down your thighs, pussy pulsating wetly, hands flat against the wall. He was going to be the death of you, making you agree to such crazy things in the middle of your fucking orgasm.

Jungkook let go of your leg. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, pretty sure all this was going to get you expelled. Even if there was no one in the building, someone down the street probably heard you by now with how loud this was becoming. You heard rustling under you, Jungkook going through your pockets on the floor to find your wallet, pulling out the condom.

“You’re actually insane,” you panted, blinking slowly as you watched Jungkook unzip his jeans, shoving them down. “I can’t even stand.”

Fuck, even just him pulling out his half-hard cock was already getting you wet again. Jungkook smirked at you, seeing your eyes on him. He stroked the length slowly, running his large hand over it. You frowned at him, tapping your hand against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m giving you a break,” he murmured, staring at your body as he gripped his cock, pumping once. He gasped, breathing your name.

“At least let me touch it,” you pouted, not even sure how you were still upright. Just pure lust, apparently.

Jungkook looked at you through his lashes, lips parting, tongue darting between them. He thrust his hips into his hand. You stiffened, seeing his wanton, arrogant expression. He wasn’t going to let you touch it. He was going to make you watch, frustrated, as he stroked himself to full hardness.

“Jungkook…”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, rolling his body into his hand, moaning softly.

“Jungkook, please…”

His tongue danced between his lips, moving his hand up and down slowly, rocking his hips into his cock, enjoying your pleading tone, your hands clenching into fists, your body heaving at the loss of him.

“Jungkook, come on,” you whined, spreading your legs, watching the angry red head disappear and reappear in the curve of his fingers. “I want you. Please.”

He took a step towards you, still stroking himself. “Yeah?” he breathed. Another step. And another. He still didn’t tell you that you could touch him yet, so you kept your hands at your sides, switching between his dark, lustful eyes and his rapidly hardening cock thrusting into his hand. “You want me, noona? You want to touch my cock?”

And now Jungkook was right next to you, still jacking himself off, the velvety, thick head rubbing against the smooth skin of your thigh. You moaned as you felt his pre-cum smearing onto your skin, adding to his lubrication.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, eyes glued to his cock rubbing against your fucking leg. Fuck, you wanted it in your mouth so bad. “Let me touch you, Jungkook.”

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your ear, his dark locks brushing against your cheek. His voice was a deep drawl, low and teasing, breath hot against your skin.

“Tell you what,” Jungkook purred. “I’ll let you put the condom on.” You whimpered, disappointed. “And then I’ll fuck you against this wall, nice and hard and fast, not stopping until I cum because of that delicious, sweet, tight pussy of yours.”

If you had any sanity left, it rapidly disappeared as you nodded hastily, wordlessly holding out your hands as Jungkook dropped the condom in your palm. He calmly removed his hand, his thick, fully hard cock erect as you slid the condom down, moaning as you felt the traces of his veins and muscle pulsing under your hands. Once you were done, Jungkook pushed your hands away, not giving you a chance to disobey him.

You pouted. “You’re a jerk.”

He grinned at you, lifting your leg and pinning it to your chest. “And you’re about to get fucked.”

In less than a second, Jungkook thrust his hips up and into you, tearing a gasp from your throat as he rapidly entered you, peeling apart your soaking, abused walls. You bit your tongue, grabbing his dress shirt as he rolled his hips into you again, groaning as he felt you clench around him.

“That’s it, noona,” he exhaled, slamming his hips into you. “You better fucking hold me tight. If I slip out, that’s all the fucking you’ll get from me.”

You whined, feeling him start a bruising pace, hands clamped onto your ass. Whether he was lying or not didn’t matter because you were squeezing your pussy for dear life, crying out as he thrust into you over and over, so full and overstimulated you didn’t know whether to focus on your aching, raw pussy or his cock periodically throbbing inside you, swelling against your walls.

You hooked your leg around his waist, changing the angle, instantly feeling him ram his cock into a deeper, more pleasurable spot. You tipped your head back, eyes rolling up into your head as your mouth opened, tongue sliding out. He pounded you relentlessly, your shoulder blades smacking the wall. Your swollen clit rubbed against the base of his cock repeatedly. Your body was going to ache all over tomorrow, but you still rose your hips to meet his, so drunk on the feeling of his cock stretching you out that nothing else mattered. You came suddenly, wailing Jungkook’s name, pussy spasming and squeezing him but he set his jaw and fucked you even harder, using every ounce of his energy to keep his own orgasm at bay.

“Who owns this body, noona?” he ground out. “Tell me, who owns this fucking body?”

You had to claw for your words, throat so strained your voice was thin. “Y-you do, Jungkook, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled. “If you cum, it’s for me and only me. No. One. Else.” He punctuated each word by slapping his hips into you, sliding you up into the wall so gravity crashed you back down onto his cock. You moaned, helpless, as he hissed, shoving his face into your tits to moan hotly into your chest as he came, violent, thick jerks of his cock shuddering into you. Quickly, he gripped your hips and pulled up, hissing as half of his cock slid out, cum leaking out of the bottom of the condom and splatting onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck.”

You could barely register anything as he hoisted you onto his shoulder, cursing loudly. Jungkook leaned against the wall with one shoulder, panting, the other half-carrying you, arm wrapped around your waist. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the fact that your bare ass was in the air and your pants were hanging off one leg.

“Jungkook,” you croaked. “Let me down.”

He lowered you, still leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His hair covered almost his whole face, sweaty and glistening. He wiped some sweat off his chin with the back of his hand, flicking it away carelessly.

You pressed your back flat against the wall, using at as leverage to pull your pants back up, wincing at the now familiar cold feeling of your soaked panties meeting your abused pussy. You crouched to collect your sock and your shoe, wincing as pain radiated up your back.

Jungkook chuckled, watching you struggle with your sneaker. “Want help?”

You grunted, shoving it on. “Can we stop fucking in random ass places at school?”

“You said I could fuck you wherever I want, whenever I want,” he teased, giving you an open-mouthed smirk.

You readjusted your bra, putting it back on. You found the two bits of condom wrapping, shoving it in your pocket. “I did, but I want to see you fully naked for once, you punk.”

Jungkook laughed, rich and full. “I support this idea if you’re also fully naked.”

You made a face as you got up, trying to keep your steps steady so you didn’t seem like a drunk idiot. Or someone who just got railed by Jeon Jungkook.

“Give me the condom.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “I was going to drop it here. Mark my territory.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and took it from him as he extended his hand out. “Your buttons did that for you already,” you remarked, tying it up.

He smirked, zipping up his jeans. “You owe me a new shirt.”

“And you owe me new panties, again,” you shot back. “Where are my replacements?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair to push it back. Fuck. Open shirt, half-exposed forehead, smug-as-fuck Jungkook got you wet just by looking at him.

“Guess we should go shopping sometime.”

He smiled slyly, patting his pockets. His expression abruptly changed to confusion. He pulled out his wallet and phone, frowning. “Where are my car keys?” He furrowed his brow, looking at his phone. You found your keys and wallet still with you, surprised that they didn’t fall out of your pants. You phone was in your backpack, still in your car. He swiped at his phone, reading his messages.

Jungkook groaned. “I dropped them and Jimin took my car. Bastard.”

Fuck, his fucking deliciously toned and tan chest was distracting you. “I still have my keys,” you muttered, staring at his abs. Suddenly you started, realizing he was advancing on you.

“Oh?” Jungkook purred, opening his shirt wider. The fabric tumbled off his right shoulder, exposing his tattoos. His long dark hair covered part of his right eye, brown orbs glimmering with mischief.

“Wanna take me home, noona?”

Welp.

-

part iii

--

masterpost

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

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

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

[ikeromantic]

Old Friends, New Adventures

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic - this scene occurs post-Romantic epilogue. Approx. 2200 words of fluff and stuff.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: My Home is Your Home

Mitsuhide was expecting to see Sarutobi. Afterall, he had invited the ninja and arranged the trip to align with the . . . worm hole. Instead, it was Ranmaru waiting for them downstairs. His wide smile and bright gaze made the warlord suspicious. He watched through narrowed eyes as his fiance bounded down the stairs and threw her arms around Ranmaru in greeting.

“It’s good to see you! Is everything ok?” She let go to look him in the face.

Ranmaru laughed. “I was about to say the same thing!” He took her hands. “I just had to come say hi when I realized this was where -” his gaze shifted to Mitsuhide. “Akechi ran off with you to.”

“We didn’t run off!” She pulled her hands out of his grip, clearly remembering Mitsuhide’s advice. “Anyway, I thought you were staying in Azuchi. Did you come all the way here to visit me?”

“Yes, why are you here,” Mitsuhide added.

Ranmaru took them both in with his wide, guileless eyes. “Oh! I suppose you left before Nobunaga announced it! I am taking a message to Kyoto for him.” He leaned forward and whispered theatrically. “It’s top secret.”

Mitsuhide did not believe the page. There were countless messengers for most letters and for important correspondence, there was no way Nobunaga would entrust that to Ranmaru. He needed to see this letter. With his crescent moon smile in place, the kitsune replied. “In that case, I must offer you my hospitality tonight. I’ll have a guest room set up for you.”

He expected Ranmaru to argue, and had already prepared several potential counter-arguments. None of them were needed. The page bowed. “Thanks, Mitsuhide! That’s really nice of you!”

His reaction almost made the warlord second guess himself. Was this what Ranmaru wanted all along? And if so, why? But he couldn’t ask. He just smiled and nodded to his castle staff. They would know what room to put the page in. It had thick walls and no windows. A secure door that could slide into place from the outside, turning the room into a cell. Mitsuhide would have answers from the page one way or another.

“Would you like to join us, Ranmaru? We’re going to visit the town and then have dinner here at the castle.” The chatelaine glanced at Mitsuhide to make sure this was alright.

“No, no. I’ll just head up to my room for a nap. I ran all the way here and I’m pretty tired.” The page wrinkled his nose. “I know you two want some alone time, anyway. But maybe we can have dinner together before I leave. That would be nice.”

Mitsuhide’s smile widened. Miyake could keep tabs on Ranmaru and maybe that would reveal all he needed to know. They said their goodbyes and left the page in good hands.

Outside the castle, the wind picked up. On the horizon, grey storm clouds billowed and boiled. There was a charge in the afternoon air that set teeth on edge. Even grown men looked askance at the shadows under trees and the darkness between close-packed buildings. It felt like the town was waiting for something.

The chatelaine noticed the brewing storm and frowned. “Do you think we’ll get rained on?”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “If a storm blows through while we are out, we can stop in a shop until it passes. This isn’t the season for heavy rains.” Still, he felt the strange currents in the cool breeze. His hand settled on his sword hilt and for just a moment, he thought of bringing the tanegashima. But this was not a battlefield and he was confident he could handle whatever came.

Many of the town’s residents still remembered the battle at Enryaku-ji, and they regarded their new lord with a wary respect. It was obvious in the way their gaze skittered to the side. How they answered every question with care. His little mouse noticed.

Her smiles were gentle and her compliments many. Mitsuhide could not help but be impressed at the way she set people at ease in her presence. She would make an excellent partner, he thought. One that could balance his strength and weakness. He didn’t notice the proud smile that turned his lips up or the warmth in his eyes as he watched her.

It was early evening when the sullen sky began to loose fat, wet rain drops. They fell in a slow but steady patter, creating little streams down the sides of buildings. The street sellers packed up their wares and people ducked into homes and shops to wait out the storm. Mitsuhide and his little one tucked themselves under the eaves of a closed shop.

“Do you want to stop by the inn for some warm sake before we go home?” Mitsuhide had to lean close to be heard over the rain on the rooftop.

She smiled and nodded. “Just one for me though. I can’t drink like you do.”

Mitsuhide grinned, wondering what she would say if she knew he didn’t drink as much as he seemed to. A man needed to have some secrets though. He grasped her hand and together they ran out under the rain, across the street and down two doors to the building with bright lanterns and music.

The inn here was always busy. It was a waystation for merchants between Kyoto and Azuchi. A natural place to stop and rest. Today was no exception. With the storm outside, the inn’s benches were packed from one side to the other. Mostly with merchants and their guards. A few townspeople, and some of the evening ladies who walked between tables looking for the most advantageous company.

One of the servers recognized Mitsuhide as they walked in, and hurried over. In moments, they were seated in a private room, hidden from the common area by deftly painted screens. Another server arrived with a tray of warm sake and onigiri.

“For you, my lord.” Both servers bowed low. It seemed they remembered his comment last time about preferring easy to eat foods.

“My betrothed would like -” Mitsuhide began, but she shook her head.

“No, this is fine. I’m not that hungry right now.”

Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow but nodded agreeably. “Thank you. You may go.”

Both men ducked out quickly, as if afraid the kitsune warlord might change his mind.

“They really seem afraid of you,” the chatelaine frowned after them. “I wish they knew how good and kind you really are.”

“Don’t go ruining my reputation, little mouse. I worked hard on it.” Mitsuhide laughed, but he was only half joking. “Let them see you as the kind and gentle Akechi, and continue to believe I am the monster.”

“But-”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “It is what must be. For now, at least.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue but after a moment, she smiled. “Alright. I know it is necessary, but I will look forward to the day I can introduce the Mitsuhide I know to all of them.”

He felt his cheeks heat at her sweet words and the look of adoration she wore. It never ceased to amaze him how precious she could be. To hide his unwieldy emotions, he turned his head to look at the screens. “Are you going to pour the sake or keep chattering away, little mouse?”

“Ooh that got to you,” she giggled. “I can see red in your cheeks!”

“You had best pour me a drink before I decide to return the favor,” he murmured. His tone had turned more husky than brusque. He hated the way she made him reveal his heart to her. It was impossible to hide from her.

“Alright, alright.”

Mitsuhide felt her move, heard the delicate clink of porcelain. He tried to focus on details to calm the fast beat of his heart and the warmth in his face. It wasn’t working very well. All he could think of was getting his love back to their room in the castle and peeling every stitch of fabric from her. With his teeth.

“You know, Nobunaga asked me once to serve him sake from my lips . . .”

Wide-eyed, Mitsuhide’s head snapped around to look at her. She was holding his sake cup in her hands. While he watched, she put it to her mouth and tipped it just enough to leave a trace of wine on her lips.

It was too much. First the sweetness and now this bold flirtation. Mitsuhide pulled her to him and kissed her. The rice wine blended with the taste of her, a heady alcohol to the drunkenness of his love.

She was vibrant and alive against him, her body warm, her hands caressing his back. Her lips moved against his, savoring the kiss. A breathy moan lost itself between them.

Mitsuhide might have done more, had they not been interrupted. Again. An embarrassed cough from a silhouette behind the painted screen. He broke their kiss reluctantly and turned his head to face the door. “Yes?”

Miyake poked his head in, cheeks stained red, eyes bright with held laughter. “Ehm. Sorry to interrupt your . . drink.”

“I assume this is an emergency?” The warlord’s tone was not amused.

“Maybe?” Miyake shrugged. “The page disappeared from his room. He is not in the castle and no one has seen him in the town. I have some men out looking for him. In fact, I’m on my way to join them. But I wanted to bring you this - in case it’s important.” He held out an envelope.

Mitushide took it. His expression remained one of calm annoyance, but inside he was a tumult of emotion. Worry for his little one, concern for the Oda forces, and even for Ranmaru. It was hard to play the traitor, harder still to be one. The envelope was sealed and on the front, it was addressed to the chatelaine.

She looked at it curiously. “Why do you suppose Ranmaru ran off? You think he’s in such a big hurry? And why did he leave me a letter? He could have just said goodbye in person.”

“I hope the letter will enlighten us.” Mitsuhide broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It held just three words.

I am sorry.

“What do you suppose that means?” The chatelaine looked anxious and confused.

Her naivete was endearing, but there were times Mitsuhide wished she was more suspicious.

Miyake snorted. “Pretty sure he’s not apologizing for missing dinner.” He turned around at the sound of a disturbance in the common room. Benches being pushed across the floor, shouts of alarm, and the stomp of running feet.

A ball of ice solidified in Mitsuhide’s belly. He hadn’t thought the ninja would act so soon - nor so precipitously. And now . . . he stood up. “Let’s see what is going on.”

The three of them pushed past the milling crowd and out into the rainy street. Across Lake Awaumi, red flames reflected against the steel grey sky. A fire big enough that even from this distance, they could smell the char of wood.

“Is that Azuchi,” his little mouse asked in a small voice.

“You can bet your best slippers, my lady.” Miyake’s face was set in a hard smile. One that promised violence to come.

“It appears, my little one, that our vacation has been cut short. We must return to Azuchi tonight.” Mitsuhide hugged her, taking comfort as much as giving it. The peace he’d hoped for was short lived, and now there was work to be done.

Above them, the storm rumbled and the rain began to fall in earnest. In moments, the fires across the lake were no more than a red glimmer barely seen through the wall of falling water. There was no sound but the rushing rain and the thunder.

Mitsuhide, Miyake, and the chatelaine fled back toward Sakamoto Castle to gather what they needed to return to Azuchi.

A figure collided with them in the street. Miyake stumbled and almost fell. Mitsuhide pushed his beloved behind him and set a hand on his sword.

“I - I’m sorry. I can’t see anything without my glasses. Please accept my deepest apologies!” The man had to shout to be heard, but even with his voice raised, Mitsuhide recognized the speaker.

“Sarutobi Sasuke.” It was an inopportune arrival, but then, neither of them could have planned for the events of this evening.

“Sasuke!” The chatelaine pushed past her fiancee to throw her arms around her old friend.

Mitsuhide pushed wet hair back from his face, squinting into the darkness. It looked like the ninja was alone, as agreed.

“Uh, my lady? Could we do this someplace dry?” Miyake’s strained voice cut through the storm sounds.

Sasuke nodded, wiping at his face. “Yes, that would be preferable. We don’t have much time though. I miscalculated the -”

A rush of wind silenced whatever else he’d been about to say. It came with a flash of lightning so bright, it blinded. And a roll of thunder that shook him to his bones. As suddenly as the wind came, it died. It left behind only empty silence and the sense of a vast space.

For a heartbeat, Mitsuhide panicked. This was a strange place, one without a sky or ground. Without familiar sounds or smells. He was alone. His little one, gone.

And then her hand found his.

He traced the small bones with his thumb, fingers entwined with hers. Though he wasn’t sure what was happening, he feared he understood.

Next: Adrift

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can we see Jameson and allyn sharing a soft moment please? 🥺👉👈 - theo-

Happy blog anniversary, @boxboysandotherwhump - I give you softness and angst with a hint of spice, my specialty

CW: Survivors of noncon/dubcon navigating early steps of consensual spice, panic attack, memory of sadistic whumper, referenced death

Timeline- Several months after their arrival at Jake's safehouse

The first time it happens, they're in the literal closet.

Jameson doesn't miss the irony, exactly, but he can't really think about it, with his back pressed against the spaces where he's carved in their names - his own must be somewhere near his lower spine, maybe - and Allyn leaning in, close enough that their breath is warm against his face.

Part of him files the moment away for later, first kiss in an actual fucking closet like seven seconds in heaven, a game he remembers in a foggy way but could never define if anyone asked him.

Besides, it's not actually his first kiss, just the first one that hasn't felt like forcing his head underwater until his lungs burn.

How they went from curling up together in the dark, in the way they have now or working through nightmares here where the cold white light cannot find them, to Allyn pressing themself, soft and only slightly pinked, to Jameson's chapped lips, is beyond him.

He hopes the roughness doesn't bother them. They don't seem to mind, hands on either side of his head against the wall to brace themself, their hair falling forward to make everything smell like them, all the air he breathes is theirs.

"You broke a rule," Jameson whispers when they pull back, and his voice is more hoarse than usual, roughened with the emotions he never lets out. "Big guy's gonna blow a gasket."

Allyn breathes hard, sitting back on their knees, weight resting on Jameson's thighs. He can barely see their gray eyes sparkle in the dark. "Only if somebody tells him," They whisper back, sunshower rain barely misting, tasting like green leaves and ozone. "Are you gonna tell him?"

Jameson doesn't answer. He just carefully puts his hands on their waist, just above their hips, fingers closing in the loose sweater they sleep in, and pulls them back to him.

This time, their hands move to hold his face, and their thumbs rub light as a feather over the short hair growing back in over his bald spots, running wrong-way to feel it, making him shiver.

He makes a sound.

They make one, too.

It feels natural and he's not afraid, and yet... His heart jumps with each unwelcome image, a burst of dread, not quite fear.

He tries to remember what the therapist said, that it might be normal, not bad, to have a flicker of thought that he wishes Allyn would scratch their fingernails, manicured and painted, down his back, that they would close their teeth on his lip, suck a bruise into his neck and make it something he can't possibly hide.

It might have been there all along.

Their hands shift, fingers just slightly grazing the angles of his shoulders, dropping to his sides, sliding down to find the hem of his T-shirt and slide up underneath it, cool palms against the scars layered over his stomach, heated and shifting under their touch and he can feel the blade of the knife-

"Wait." He breaks the kiss, but there's nowhere to go. His heart moves from beating a rhythm against his breastbone to his throat and then to his knees, a lurch that nearly makes him sick with sudden panic. "W-wait, Allyn, wait-"

Their hands freeze, then move away, his shirt dropping back into place. Still he can't breathe, he can still feel it, not Nanda or Brute or the ones whose names he never knew but Robert.

He feels like one of the ones dragged into the basement who never came back out, the smell in the house, the bones they probably found if they looked after he called from the only payphone he's ever found to report it, he feels-

"Wait."

"I'm waiting." It's not impatient. It's soft, and they move back, giving him more space. The air cools when it doesn't come secondhand from their lungs and he gulps it down, hands shaking as he slowly raises them to cover his face. "Jameson? Are you-... Did I-"

"N-no, you're fine, it's f-fine, I'm... I'm fine, I'm okay. It's okay." He's not and it isn't. He's bones waiting to rot and being a fucking masochist is the only reason Robert left him alive. He should be in the basement, too.

Where he left Robert, lying right on top of all his fucking trophies, the IDs scattered everywhere like seeds that might grow back into the lives Robert stole, before Jameson stole his.

Scars on his stomach, layers of them, the newest ones from Robert's knife as he fought not to die, time's up, turn the tables, let Robert scrabble and claw while the pet stares down, unblinking, uncaring-

Jameson hears a whimpering sound and realizes only when Allyn pulls fully away that the sound is coming out of his own mouth. He curls up, as tightly as he can, stomach burning, lit with flame like salt in the wound.

"I can't," He says. "I, I'm sorry, I fucking c-can't-"

"That's all right," Allyn says, voice still gentle, falsely calm. But he can hear how it trembles. "Should I leave?"

"No!" Jameson shudders, seeing eyes in the dark, shakes his head as fast as he can. "N-no, pl-please, please d-don't leave-"

"Okay. I'm right here. I'll stay right here." Allyn swallows with an audible click in the silent darkness. They sit together for a while, how long Jameson doesn't know. Until he stops shaking, anyway. Their hand finds his and he holds on tight.

Then, hesitantly, rainbow spotted through rain, they say, "I guess there's a reason for the rules, huh."

Jameson's laugh is shaky and too high-pitched, but it's real. "Y-yeah, I fucking guess there is."

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[tefilovesreading]

Karaoke nights - Owen Joyner x reader

Pairing: Owen Joyner x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,3k

Warning: mention of alcohol, couple swearing words and a bunch of fluff, ‘cause I love a fluffy story.

A/N: This is my first Owen fic, so I hope you like it. Also, let me know if I should make a taglist. Thanks for the pic @tewksburysmischief​

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland​

MASTERLIST 

The humid summer night in Toronto made Owen readjust his shirt, feeling how the fabric was sticking to his skin, but he couldn’t complain. After all, the temperature finally cooled down when the evening came, giving the couple a much-needed break from the heat.

“Are you okay, baby?” Y/N asked when she noticed his boyfriend run his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“Yeah, I’m just getting all sweaty,” he answered reassuring his girlfriend, “did Charlie send you the address?”

“He did, we’re a few blocks away.” The girl showed him the map on her phone screen and Owen nodded, locking just their pinkies, so their hands wouldn’t get sweaty as they walked to their destination.

“Where are we going anyway?” Owen asked again, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Charlie said it was one of his best mates’ place,” she commented swinging their hands to ease the blonde guy, “I’m sure we’re gonna have a good time, and if we’re not, when can always leave.”

“You’re right,” Owen sighed and leaned to kiss his girlfriend’s forehead.

“I’m always right, Joyner” Y/N bragged, sticking her tongue out to mess with Owen.

“Don’t get too cocky, babe,” he warned with a smirk, “you might regret it later.”

Charlie welcomed the couple inside and introduced them to the rest of the group, too many names Y/N couldn’t remember. 

“You guys want something to drink? A beer?” Charlie questioned pointing to the kitchen.

“I’m not sure if we should-” his friend interrupted him quickly.

“If you want a beer it’s okay, you know you can drink here,” Y/N saw her boyfriend nod slowly at his friend’s words, probably remembering that the legal age for drinking here was 19 and not 21.

“I’ll have a beer,” she said.

“Save the beer for later!” One of Charlie’s friends chirped, putting his arm over his shoulders, “we’re doing shots first, guys.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows in shock, but when she turned to see her boyfriend, he winked at her and whispered: “You’re done.”

What was supposed to be one shot of vodka, turned into three, probably four if Owen hadn’t spilled his before the glass could touch his lips.

“Owen is wasted!” Charlie sang with a laugh, “and here we thought little Y/N was gonna be the drunkest out of you two.”

“Oh c’mon!” she huffed and raised her glass, “you need to have a little more faith in me, Gillespie.”

“It’s not fair, she’s been drinking water,” Owen whined and filled his glass again with the clear liquid. 

“You gotta stay hydrated, baby,” she winked at him and threw her head back, letting the alcohol make its way down with a slight burn on her throat. 

“So guys,” the guy she vaguely remembered introducing himself as Nathan, started saying, “we have a little tradition.”

“If you tell me I have to do one more I don’t think I’m gonna be standing for much longer, mate,” Owen deadpanned, making the group laugh.

“Don’t worry, Owen, you don’t have to drink” Charlie patted his best friend’s shoulder and smirked, “but you do have to sing.”

Nathan handed him a mic and asked him what song he wanted to sing. To her surprise, instead of choosing a song from one of his favorite Broadway shows like he always did, he went with a Justin Timberlake classic.

“I’m bringing sexy back,” he sang getting into character so naturally, she knew his boyfriend was born to be a star, “them other boy don’t know how to act,” Charlie faked a gasp when Owen pointed at him as he sang the next verse.

Owen loved to see the bright smile on Y/N’s face as he sang and danced, making sure to give the people a good show, but most important, one that’d make his lovely girlfriend put a lot more effort into her show. 

“You see these shackles baby I’m your slave,” the blonde boy made sure to sing that line directly to Y/n’s face, loving the way she looked around all flustered and embarrassed.

“Take it to the chorus,” Charlie joined him, helping out his best friend with the background vocals. They were a complete mess together, and anyone could see it when they started singing the chorus together.

“Okay, that was one hell of a good show, guys,” Nathan said and turned to Y/N, “but I’m afraid we have to move to our next competitor, miss Y/N!”

“You said it was a tradition, not a competition,” Y/N accused him but received the mic he was holding out for her.

“It’s a traditional competition.”

Owen kissed her cheek when she passed him and grazed her hand. “I already won, babe,” he whispered. 

Unlike Owen and Charlie, she wasn’t the type of person to put on a show, sure she liked having fun, but he knew she’ll be embarrassed even if she did great. And he smiled when he heard her song choice. It was a bold choice.

The girl singing in front of him, with so much confidence and not a care in the world, was a view he wished to remember his entire life. And when she reached the chorus, he knew he was done, he knew he was head over heels for her. 

“Yeah you make me feel like, I’ve been locked out of heaven, for too long,” Y/N sang softly sitting on his lap, “for too long.” she finished, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That was perfect, babe,” Owen kissed her cheek and felt the heat on her cheeks.

“As much as I love Bruno Mars, we gotta give this round to Owen,” Nathan announced, and she shook her head in disappointment.  

“I told ya,” Owen bragged, leaving a sweet kiss on her cheek, “you had fun, didn’t you?”

She turned her head to focus her attention on her boyfriend and nodded, his eyes were glossy due to the alcohol in his blood, and she was sure hers were just the same. 

“I did, baby,” Y/N said with a grin, “now let’s go and have fun.”

They spent the night laughing and playing random games with their new friends, enjoying the last night they were spending in Canada before going back to Oklahoma. Owen smiled softly at the girl leaning on his shoulder.

“I think it’s time for us to go back to our hotel,” he mentioned, getting up to say goodbye. He held a hand out for Y/N, and she took it gladly.

“Thanks for having us, guys,” the girl smiled politely at the group, “I really had a great night.”

“Thanks for coming,” one of the girls in the group told her with a beaming smile, “if you ever come back, let me know, so we can hang out.”

“Sure, I’d invite you to Oklahoma, but there’s not much to do,” she admitted scrunching her nose just a little. 

Y/N threw herself in bed with an exhausted sigh. Owen helped her take off her shoes and joined her. She wasn’t even drunk now, but she felt so tired she couldn’t keep both of her eyes open at the same time. 

“Shit, I don’t wanna move,” she mumbled, burying her face into her boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, me neither,” he wrapped his arms around Y/N and pulled her closer to his body. “Did I tell you I love you?”

“Every day, baby,” she smiled with her eyes closed, “I love you too.”

“No, but I realized I’m seriously in love with you,” Y/N propped herself up, resting her chin in his chest, and smiled at his words, “when you were singing I couldn’t help but think how fucking lucky I am.”

“You’re the best, Owen,” she admitted, “I feel the same about you, but can’t we talk about this in the morning? I’m fucking tired right now.”

He laughed at her sincerity and nodded in agreement. With a last kiss on Y/N’s forehead, he pulled her closer and closed his eyes, ready to sleep. If having to sleep with his jeans on meant he could sleep holding his girlfriend, he’d do it every time he could.

“I really miss my Bindi,” he confessed in a whisper.

“I miss her too, now go to sleep.” 

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

You know how we have pet costumes? Give Jacob one, make him a cute space cowboy😈😈😈

WE'RE BACK BABY

Please enjoy this little ficlet (that was actually my 3rd attempt to write a fluffy ficlet for this universe because all the other ones kept becoming future chapters lmao)

--

“This is humiliating. I look like sheriff Woody or something.”

“Aw, I was thinking more like John Wayne Gacy, you know?”

“The...the clown serial killer…?”

Angie pursed her lips. “Wait, who was the cowboy guy in all the old movies? Like, before Clint Eastwood and whatever.”

“That’s John Wayne. Not John Wayne Gacy,” Jacob tugged at the sleeves of his costume and readjusted his cowhide vest. “And I don’t feel anywhere near as cool as him right now.”

She rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose. “That’s because you’re not cool. You’re a grown man playing dress up with a kindergartener.”

“So are you.”

Angie straightened her Native American headpiece and threw one of her braided pigtails behind her. “Yeah, but I know it’s stupid, so therefore I’m doing it ironically which makes me cool.”

Jacob sighed heavily but didn’t argue further, instead tugging his cowboy hat down further to shield his face that burned with embarrassment. Being forced into having playdates with his captor’s coworker was nothing new. He had spent plenty of time being Mibao’s sole playmate aboard the ship, doing the best he could to keep the six year girl entertained and not too psychologically damaged. Being the youngest in a sibling group of only boys, he was a bit rusty when it came to knowing anything about kids. Thankfully, Mibao was more than happy to take him by the hand and show up all the “fun” things she used to either do back home or what she would now do with her “kitty”.

Today’s game of choice was dress up. Every day felt like dress up when it came to the girl’s ever expanding wardrobe; she was always dressed in an obnoxiously puffy and sparkling princess dress fashioned with ribbons and bows galore and always with a matching crown. Fine, no big deal, he could slap a tiara on his head and call it a day, he’d worn worse at the few fraternity parties he attended during college. Nope, not good enough. Mibao had a very specific game she wanted to play which involved him wearing a cowboy costume of all things. A very realistic and detailed cowboy costume, assless chaps and spurs and all. Again, he could...handle it for the most part. The only thing that really bothered him about it was all the coos and giggles he received from both his and Mibao’s captors when he finally came out in his new outfit.

And he knew for a fact they took many, many pictures of him.

It didn’t end there, Mibao still had more requests. Angie needed to join in as well and she was required to be an “indian princess” to partake. Naturally, she was more than happy to agree if it meant getting a break from the absolute nightmare of a captor she had been saddled with. So, now Jacob had to deal with the fact that she would have to watch him play pretend in this ridiculous getup. He could never catch a break with her, it seemed, she always had to catch him when he was in the middle of doing something cringe worthy. She didn’t even look half as uncomfortable as him and she was literally wearing half as much clothing.

Or maybe that was exactly why she was so comfortable as she sauntered up to him, making a finger pistol to tip his hat away from his face. “Cheer up, partner,” she teased. “I think it makes you look cute.”

“I think it makes me look like Owen Wilson from the museum movie,” Jacob replied, hoping the shadow of the brim hid his reddening cheeks.

“Oh my God, you are a tiny little twink cowboy, huh?”

“I’d rather be the gladiator guy.”

“You wish you could pull off being the gladiator guy.”

A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue when Mibao made her appearance from behind the monitor where she had been changing. This time instead of her usual princess attire, she was dressed...pretty much the same, only this time she had a tiny pair or iridescent fairy wings attached to the back. What a fairy had to do with cowboys and indians, he hadn’t the faintest idea. She stopped when she saw the two of them and stuck out her tongue in childish disgust.

“Eww, stop kissing!” She scolded. “You can kiss the princess later, Jake, it’s time to play!”

Jacob had never been more grateful in his life that the creatures idly watching them couldn’t understand English because he just might have died if they heard. He could feel the heat radiating from his nape to his cheeks, putting his hands up in defense like it could keep Angie away from him.

“Wh-no! We weren’t, we weren’t kissing, Reagan, w-we-!”

Angie only cackled, her amusement stemming more from Jacob’s panicked response than the actual accusation of giving him a kiss. “Yeah, cowboy, you can kiss me later.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow as she walked past to where Mibao was waiting.

He groaned, tugging the hat down as far as it would go even if that meant obscuring his vision somewhat. That was totally fine, he didn’t want to look at anyone right now and he did not want to be perceived either. The child was leading them back over to her designated play area scattered with art supplies and stuffed toys for where they’ll play their game of make believe. Angie was already sitting on her knees by the time he shuffled over and beckoned him with a sly smile to come take a seat on the ground next to her. Jacob obliged, but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his beet red face.

As soon as they were settled, Mibao immediately launched into the exposition of the scene they would be putting on, including their roles and superpowers (that only she had because she was a magical fairy queen). Jacob was only half listening; the kid usually forgot half of her own rules in the middle of playing anyways because she wanted to change the story and it wasn’t that hard to follow her game of make believe. Instead, he kept side-eying Angie, who was side-eying him back, and every time they made eye contact she would smile and bump his shoulder with hers.

This was going to be a long playdate.

--

The lab door slid open as Talan walked in, peeling off his bloodied gloves to dispose of them in Ylva’s waste bin. “I need my human back.”

“Aw, why? They’re all having a ball together!” Ylva frowned, gesturing to the miniature trio on her desk. Well, the smallest one and Talan’s pet seemed like they were having a good time, namely at the expense of the other human in a hat. They all seemed to stop at the interruption, his human fixing him with a sneer that he was tempted to match.

“What the fuck is it wearing?” He asked, ignoring all the little protests he got when he grabbed it and plucked the stupid looking feather thing of its head. “I thought you said it’s not nice to torment the humans.”

Edix scoffed at him, though his annoyance was more from Talan being in his general vicinity than anything. “It’s not torment. They were having fun.”

Talan did not look convinced in the slightest, his eyes sweeping over the pup who was pouting at him for taking away its playmate and the other who froze any time he breathed in its direction. Like owner, like pet, he assumed as it seemed to unconsciously inch closer to where Edix’s hand was resting for a better sense of security. Pathetic. At least his pet had a bit more self respect and wasn’t afraid to try and stab him in the hand with his own tools. Of course, it got a sharp flick to the stomach to knock it off, but he could appreciate the gumption.

Talan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, looks like a real party. So sad to have missed it.”

“Like you’ve ever been to a party to know what it looks like.”

“Says the one that only hangs out with plants.”

“Okay,” Ylva interjected, rising from her chair and scooping up her adorable little human. “You’re right, we should probably wrap this up, Mibao’s going to need a nap soon and she likes to fight her naps when she’s excited.”

That was all the excuse Talan needed to dip out without a formal goodbye, though it didn’t escape the corner of his eye how Edix’s human took a half step forward when he left, almost like it wanted to say something. Even if it did, he wouldn’t have cared. As quickly as he had intruded, Talan disappeared back down the main hall of the fauna department to return to his lab.

Edix stood up as well and tucked the data pad he had been keeping busy with under his arm to keep his hands free. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing how much closer his little pet was standing to him, even if it wasn’t by much, even though it was caused by Talan of all bastards. A win was a win in his book. The hand the human had been partly hiding behind curled easily around it to lift it up, immediately cradling it to his chest as usual. It squirmed for a moment but settled quick enough, a clear sign it was also ready to go back to the lab it was accustomed to. For a social species, the little one always seemed so drained after any playdate Ylva arranged for their pets. Fine by him, it usually meant his human was much more quiet and well behaved once it was back in the solitude of Edix’s company, making for an easier work day.

He used his finger to tilt back the wide brimmed hat it had been using to hide its sweet little face a majority of the playdate, earning him a surprised squeak. With the way its baby cheeks were turning an adorable shade of pink, Edix had a fairly good guess as to why it was trying to avoid everyone’s line of sight. Damn, he should have had Ylva take more pictures, this was way too cute for him. It reached up to quickly pull its shield back down and Edix let it with a laugh, cooing as he tugged at its little vest instead which only made it wriggle in distress. Overdramatic little thing.

“Can I keep this costume?” He asked as he followed behind Ylva who was preparing to put her own pup down for a nap. In reality, it meant she was going to have to play with it for at least another half an hour because, much like him, she was a sucker when it came to her human wanting to play. The difference being that Mibao wanted to do anything from coloring to singing to continuing its game of make believe while Edix’s pet always wanted to play chase.

Ylva smiled and shrugged. “Sure, I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fit the baby. It was printed for its measurements specifically, anyways.” Mibao was proving to be difficult in its refusal to relinquish the shiny wings Ylva had designed at its request, something that Ylva quickly made a game out of by setting her pup on the desk and letting it squeal and run while her hands chased after it. That would tire the kid out in no time. She looked back at his human and giggled. “I don’t think it likes it very much, though.”

Oh yeah, that was obvious from the get go, but it didn’t change the fact that it was way too precious for its own good in this type of outfit. Edix actually quite liked the contrast of the dark brown against its pale skin, even more given the fact that it matched the color of its doe eyes perfectly. It was much more appealing than that splotchy green jacket it was inexplicably attached to. He had a feeling it was going to try and strip out of this outfit as soon as it was back in Edix’s lab, provided he gave it its normal suit and jacket to change into. But...maybe he didn’t have to offer it its spare set of clothes right away. Maybe it would just have to hang around in its little boots and hat for a couple hours longer while he finished up his latest report that was just so important to get done. And maybe he would get constantly distracted by how cute it looked while it was definitely pouting at him for not taking off its costume that it took a little longer than usual to finish his work, which meant it spent even longer pouting under its hat.

Decisions, decisions.

Edix waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll learn to love it.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t be mean to it,” Ylva laughed, not that seemed bothered by the idea of his pet keeping the outfit on for an extended period of time beyond the playdate. “But send pictures if you do.”

[writing-wrxngs]

Overnight Babysitting

(Heyo! Been a minute! I’m juggling like a shit ton of one shots along with the long form fic I’m desperately trying not to abandon so that’s why I disappear sometimes. Also being back with my parents is Not Fun so my vibes have been completely off for weeks. I do have something for you though! It’s fuckin massive too, it took forever lmao)

Phil turned to Techno and Wilbur one last time as he put on his coat to go. “And you’re sure you’ve got this?”

Techno nodded. “We’re sure.”

“Positive? I’m going to be gone all night.”

“We’ve got this!” Wilbur said, full of self assurance. “It’s not going to be much different than any of the other times we’ve watched Tommy.”

“Well yeah,” Phil agreed, “but it’s still a long time. I didn’t expect you boys to be alone this long ‘til you were older. This was unexpected.”

Wilbur scoffed. “We’re plenty old! Me and Techno are teenagers now!”

“Right, right. No matter what, I have to go so I suppose I have to trust you two,” said Phil. “You know everything you need to do?”

“Yeah,” said Techno. “We’ve got leftovers for dinner, keep Tommy entertained for a bit, make sure he gets ready for bed, put him to bed and get ourselves to bed.”

“And what does getting Tommy ready for bed entail?”

“Run him a bath, for one,” cut in Wilbur before Techno could answer. “Get him some clean pajamas and make sure he brushes his hair and teeth, then it’s bedtime.”

They actually remembered. Phil had been drilling that into both of the boys all day as soon as he found out he would have to leave, but he was worried they weren’t actually listening. It was quite reassuring really. By all means, leaving two thirteen year olds in charge of a child overnight was unwise, but it was necessary. Techno and Wilbur were capable boys. And clearly, knew what they had to do. Phil smiled proudly. “Alright, I actually think you two can do it now. I have to be going now,” he said. He called Tommy over and picked the boy up to give him a hug goodbye. “You be good for your brothers while I’m gone,” he said.

“I will!” said Tommy.

Both Techno and Wilbur knew that was a lie. They had been alone with Tommy before. As soon as Phil was out the door, Tommy would find some way to cause a problem for them. It was just in his nature. Neither of them could say anything about it, though. Instead, they shared the same doubtful silence and a glance of disbelief.

Phil set Tommy down, and opened the front door. “I should be back by morning, try your best not to destroy anything! Take care, boys!” He said as he left.

“We will!” Techno and Wilbur said in unison. Techno closed the door, giving one last wave to his father as he walked away into the evening light.

Wilbur leaned down to Tommy. “I know in a minute you’re going to become a thorn in our sides but can you do one good thing first? Run ahead and get the table ready for dinner. It won’t take me and Techno long to make dinner ‘cause we just have to heat it up on the stove.”

Tommy scrunched up his nose. “I guess,” he said, running off to the kitchen.

Watching Tommy run and disappear, Wilbur crossed his arms and looked at Techno with concern. “What do you suppose Dad meant by should?”

“Well, should typically means that it might not happen but he’s clearly fairly certain it will.”

Wilbur glanced to the direction of the kitchen. “And if it doesn’t?”

Exhaling, Techno paused in thought. “We deal. Act like everything is fine. Take Tommy to school, go to school ourselves, and go from there. If he’s not back by the time school lets out, then we worry.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Wilbur nodded in agreement.

“That’s not going to happen, though. He’s never not come back when he said he would. There’s nothing to worry about. What happened to the bravado you were showing off earlier?”

“Just a front, you know how I am. I don’t want Dad to worry about us. He’s clearly on some serious business. You’re right anyways. Like I told him, we can handle this, and I’m gonna prove that right now,” said Wilbur, shaking off the worry he had before. “Let’s get dinner now before the kid realizes something’s up”

The two joined Tommy in the kitchen, getting the soup that Phil and Techno had made from their garden vegetables last night and putting it on the stove.

“Look!” Tommy said, tugging on Wilbur’s sleeve.

Wilbur turned to the rest of the kitchen while Techno stirred the soup.

“I set the table just like you said! I even got matching bowls this time!” Tommy said proudly.

Smiling, Wilbur gently shooed Tommy away. “Good job, kid. Why don’t you sit down now, foods almost done.”

Tommy nodded and ran to his seat.

After that, the soup was done, and Wilbur sat down while Techno ladled out servings for the three of them. “Thanks,” he muttered to his brother.

Techno just nodded in response and sat down himself. “Careful Tommy, it might still be hot,” he cautioned.

“I know,” said Tommy. He blew on a spoonful of soup before eating it. After he swallowed he looked at both of his older brothers. “How come Dad had to leave all of a sudden?” He asked.

Both of them shook their heads. “He didn’t say,” said Techno.

Tommy shrugged in response. “Weird,” he said, turning his attention to dinner instead. He was only five, but he already understood his fathers idiosyncrasies. If Phil didn’t want anyone to know, nobody would be told, and that was the end of the story. It would work itself out, so why worry?

The brothers spent the rest of dinner just chatting and teasing each other, just spending time in each other's company without Phil there to reign them in. As much of a pain babysitting could be, it honestly was fun, just to have that freedom. Sure, Tommy’s usual little brother bothersome-ness increased without any real authority to stop him, but Techno and Wilbur could dish back out their older brother teasing more, too. Eventually, they all got done and piled up the dishes in the sink.

Wilbur stood at the sink. “Who’s on dishes tonight?”

“You, I think,” said Techno.

“Bullshit!” retorted Wilbur. “I did them last time!”

“No you didn’t!”

Wilbur stopped before he yelled back. “Wait, did you?”

“No, Dad said I helped out enough with dinner.”

“Then who did them last time? We’re the only ones who know how to wash dishes.”

“We’d know if Dad did because he complains when he does them,” said Techno.

“Did we-?” asked Wilbur, afraid to finish the sentence.

“Oh god,” Techno said, not needing the sentence to be finished. He checked the sink. “Well, the answer is nobody did the dishes and Dad’s been too busy with whatever’s got him occupied to notice.”

“Shit,” muttered Wilbur. “Split the work?” he suggested.

“Someone’s gotta watch Tommy.”

Wilbur shook his head. “No we don’t. He’s at that age where he thinks chores are cool because he can pretend to be grown up. We can rope him into this, easy. Watch,” he said, walking out to the living room, where Tommy was sitting. “Hey Tommy,” he said, putting on a grin. “Wanna help me and Techno with some big kid stuff?”

Grinning at the opportunity, Tommy nodded. “Yes!” he exclaimed, running out to the kitchen.

“Pull a chair up to the counter,” Wilbur said to Techno as he came in behind Tommy. “We’ve got a third set of hands.”

Techno did as he was told, and Tommy hopped up on the chair. “You know how to work this kid too well, Wilbur,” he joked.

“So what am I doing?” Tommy asked eagerly.

Tossing a dry dishcloth to Tommy, Wilbur said, “drying duty. I give you a dish, you dry it. Break one and we kill you.”

Tommy chuckled. “You can’t kill me ‘cause then Dad will kill you.”

“And it’ll be your fault we’re dead,” Techno said in response. “Let’s get to work now.”

The dishes eventually got done, with only one soap fight ensuing between them all somehow, and all the dishes clean. They were all dried too, and all unbroken, so no little brothers were murdered that night.

Checking the clock as he dried himself off, Techno turned to Wilbur in shock. “Wil. Tommy was supposed to be taking his bath like, five minutes ago.”

“What?” Wilbur said, also checking the clock. “Oh god,” he said.

Techno was already rushing to the bathroom. “I’ve got the bath handled. Get Tommy and get him clothes. If we hurry, we won’t be behind.”

Wilbur didn’t really have any choice but to agree. Techno had already set the plan in motion. The two of them had shooed Tommy off to the playroom while they finished cleaning up. He walked down, and found him there still, playing with some playset he had gotten for his birthday. Not even greeting him or saying anything really, Wilbur picked Tommy up, tucked him under his arm like a lumpy suitcase and went back out.

Obviously, Tommy struggled against his grip. “Wha- Wil!” he cried. “What’re you doing? Put me down!” he said, punching Wilbur’s ribs in defiance. “Wilbyyy!” he complained.

“You can’t baby-talk your way out of this, Tommy,” Wilbur said as he climbed the stairs. “We screwed up and now you missed you stupid bathtime.”

Tommy was finally released at the door to his bedroom. He scowled at his brother.

“Pick yourself out some pjs. Something you can dress yourself in, cause I’m not helping you and neither is Techno.”

“Fine,” Tommy said, running into his room. He returned with the clothes he needed.

Wilbur snatched them to make sure that they were a matching set, which they were, and that there wasn’t any reason Tommy would have trouble putting them on. No buttons, no long sleeves, all good. He gave them back to Tommy, and rushed him down the stairs to the bathroom.

By the time it took for Wilbur to get Tommy’s clothes and come back, Techno had filled the tub and already had the bubbles in. Him and Wilbur got Tommy in the bath and gave the boy his privacy after that, checking every so often just to make sure he hadn’t drowned.

Tommy came out of the bathroom, cleaner and in his pajamas. He still wore the same indignant expression he had from before. “Now it’s bedtime, right?” He asked, mustering up as much bite as a five year old could.

“Sure is,” said Techno.

“Wil, you didn’t have to pick me up like that,” Tommy said as he passed by the two and up the stairs.

Wilbur followed Tommy, as did Techno. “Well Tommy, the thing is, you have a penchant for being a brat and not doing as you're told,” explained Wilbur. “Sometimes it’s faster to just use force rather than try and talk you into something or fight with you.”

Turning back to Wilbur, Tommy said, “wait, what's a penchant?”

“It means you like something. Like how you like to change the subject when you’re being told off.”

Tommy just ignored that. He went down the hall to his room and waited for his brothers to come.

Techno and Wilbur just stood at the top of the stairs looking at him.

“Who’s gonna put me to bed?”

Both twins crossed their arms and looked at each other. Of course Tommy would pull something like this. “I handled the bath,” said Techno.

Wilbur sighed in annoyance. “You did. Fine. I’ll put him to bed,” he said, rolling his eyes as he followed his little brother into his room.

Tommy climbed into his little wooden bed and got underneath the sheets. He grabbed his favorite stuffed animal, a raccoon Wilbur had won at a fair and held it close. “Thanks Wilby,” he said.

Doing the obligatory tucking in, Wilbur couldn't help but let out a smirk. That kid knew how to press his buttons as much as Wilbur could press his. “No problem,” he said. “Aren’t you getting a little old for this though?”

Making a face in thought, Tommy nodded. “Yeah… but I wanted to tonight cause I’m kinda scared about going to bed without Dad. It’s lonely when it’s just us.”

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” Wilbur said, ruffling Tommy’s hair. “He’s gonna be back before we even wake up, and me and Techno will be right in the next room ‘til then.”

Snuggling into his bed, Tommy smiled. “Okay!” He said. “Goodnight, Wil.”

“Night, Tommy,” Wilbur said as he turned out the light and left the room. He went to his and Techno’s room to get to bed himself. Or more likely, get in bed and stay up far too late for his own good.

Techno, who had already changed into pajamas and was in bed, looked up upon Wilburs arrival. Looking back down at the book he was reading, he greeted Wilbur but said no more.

Rifling through his dresser for a shirt to sleep in, Wilbur chuckled to himself. “Tommy’s something else, y’know? Poor kid just didn’t want to be alone at bedtime. It’s so weird,” he said, finding a shirt and changing into it. “You kinda just have to tell kids that it’ll be okay, but you don’t know that. It doesn’t feel like lying, though. It’s just… the right thing to do. You suppose Dad’s had to do something like that?”

Having closed the book due to Wilbur’s rambling, Techno nodded. “Well yeah, just think about it. I’m sure there’s dozens of things Dad’s covered up for us when we were little. We just don’t remember ‘cause we thought it was nothing.”

Wilbur got into his bed and hummed in agreement. “Oh, absolutely. I just think it’s odd how we don’t really think about it.”

“Well can you think about it quieter? I was reading before you came in.”

“There’s not much else to think about on that subject. I’m just gonna sleep anyways,” Wilbur said, taking his glasses off and putting them on his bedside table then rolling over to face the wall.

After some time, Techno too got tired, and set down his book before doing the exact same ritual. Glasses on the table, rolled over to face the wall. A mirror image.

The two fell asleep, despite Wilbur’s belief that he’d be up all night. Being around Tommy can be tiresome. They both slept peacefully in their room until a sound woke Wilbur up. Crying. Before he could get up himself, his sheets were ripped from him. Rolling back over, he fumbled for his glasses and put them on for a minute.

Tommy. He’d woken in the middle of the night, and was clearly upset. “Wilbyyy,” he cried, “I had- I had,” he hiccuped. “I had a bad dream and I can’t sleep.”

Annoyed, Wilbur pulled his blanket back up. “Tommy, you can if you try. Just get back in bed.”

The boy sniffled and pulled at Wilbur’s sheets in protest. “Nuh uh, I don’t wanna. I’ll be all by myself in there!” He said through tears.

Oh. Of course. The kid wasn’t scared of some dream he had or monsters under the bed. He was just lonely. Little brat melted Wilbur’s heart. “Lemme guess. You don’t wanna go to sleep alone?”

Tommy shook his head emphatically.

“Fine,” Wilbur said, already taking his glasses back off. He made some space on his bed. “Get in you little crybaby.”

His demeanor already changed, Tommy climbed in next to his big brother and snuggled in. “Thanks again,” he mumbled, already sleepy again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilbur said, also setting into bed. “Don't mention it.”

Finally, all three boys were to bed and asleep peacefully. Tommy wasn’t even a pain to share a bed with. Apparently, sleep was the only time that kid was completely still. Wilbur didn’t lose any sleep at all.

Like he had promised, Phil was back in the morning. It was still quite early, long before any of the boys would need to be up. He had stopped in the bathroom first, to get the first aid kit. His little trip had gotten him some bad injuries, but he could fix them up before any of his boys ever knew. And likely never would know. After that he went upstairs. It had been a sleepless night for him, and he was dying to see a bed.

Of course, he had to see if his kids were asleep first. Techno and Wil’s room was the first in the hall, and he popped his head in there first. Techno was asleep, his long hair splayed all around him and flowing onto his face. He looked over to Wilbur’s bed and couldn’t help but grin. Wilbur was asleep, a surprise of course, based on how sleepless the boy usually was, but there was another thing that took Phil by surprise. Tucked under Wilbur’s arm, fast asleep and smiling vacantly, was Tommy. For once in their lives, his sons weren’t fighting or getting up to something. Phil didn’t know what led to this moment, but wasn’t particularly worried with that. Whatever it was, it was just proof that his boys could handle themselves, and Phil was proud. Still smiling, he left the room and went to his own, collapsing onto his bed and finally sleeping himself.

[yououui]

you know what I can’t stop thinking? about the scars that Kurogane probably have on his back for protecting fai in Tokyo just hushushauh and thinking about fai’s reaction to it. maybe they are being intimate one day and fai notices them and goes completely still cause he can’t stop thinking about how Kuro was hurt protecting him and aaaa if you would like to make write a fic about it, I wouldn’t mind <3

Air blows through the open balcony doors, cool and sweet, bringing with it happy chatter and scents of pies, fruits, and fresh bread. A happy country now safe from harm meanders below, while inside the palace of Clow, wounds are tended to and hearts healed.

Fai hadn’t meant to follow Kurogane back to his room. They’d simply begun walking together after dinner, as natural as though they were attached at the hip, and both walked through Kurogane’s bedroom door without a thought. It wasn’t until Fai saw Kurogane’s bed that he remembered where he was and what he was doing and tried to politely slip out of the room.

“You can stay,” Kurogane had told him.

So he did.

Now, he sits on the edge of Kurogane’s bed, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on his knee and chin perched in his palm, watching the sun set outside the balcony doors. He sighs, content though the small breath makes his sore body ache. It was finally all over. He didn’t even know what to do with himself and this new life he’d been given. He lets himself not think about the future too much; he deserves the relaxation of shutting his brain off, he thinks.

Kurogane groans from where he is standing nearby. Fai peers over at him; the ninja is standing shirtless (Fai tries not to stare) with his right hand stretched over his left shoulder. There’s an empty space where his left arm should be, the prosthetic having gotten destroyed in their final battle, and the medics of Clow had provided some treatments for the pain in his tight muscles. Seemingly though, Kurogane is having issues applying said treatment.

He looks at Fai and lifts a brow. “Mind helping me out? I can’t reach the spot that’s really bugging me.”

Fai blinks, mildly surprised by the request, but nods and uncurls himself to stand and pad quietly across the room. Kurogane holds out his hand, allowing Fai to scoop off the unused ointment, then turns around. Fai’s body goes still.

Kurogane says something while pointing over his shoulder to where Fai should apply the ointment, but his words go unheard by Fai, his voice muffled like Fai is sinking under heavy water. Fai can’t breathe, either, his lungs full of that icy water, his throat choking on it until he’s drowning.

Under the warm, red-tinged light of the setting sun, Kurogane’s bared back shows off its multitude of scars. Fai had seen a few of them before throughout their travels, small ones scattered over his skin from previous battles, but now there are new ones. Large, horrible, painful scars that spread from hip to shoulder, that tell ghost stories of an awful memory. A grisly reminder of Fai’s own magic turned against him, of his own power shredding Kurogane’s back open as the man acted as a shield for Fai.

“Oi, mage. You okay?” Kurogane asks, his voice slowly breaking through the water.

Fai’s chest heaves with a new breath and he lifts his eyes; Kurogane is looking at him over his shoulder curiously. “I-I’m fine,” Fai breathes as he returns to his senses and carefully spreads the ointment over Kurogane’s left shoulder. 

Don’t focus on the scars, he tells himself, just focus on helping Kurogane’s pain. Pain caused from his missing left arm, another scar, another sacrifice made in the name of Fai’s life. 

Fai’s hand stops its careful movements, his fingers lingering over Kurogane’s skin. “Mage?” Kurogane asks again, quieter this time.

“I...” Fai’s fingers skirt lower, ghosting over the scars on Kurogane’s back like he’s afraid of hurting him. “I’m sorry.”

Fai watches that broad back expand with a deep breath, and then Kurogane turns around to look at him properly. “For what?” He asks quietly.

Fai keeps his eyes low. “Everything. I’m sorry for everything. Everything I did, and...” He gestures to Kurogane’s body, his eyes getting stuck on his left shoulder, the missing piece of him. “All the times you let yourself get hurt. For me.”

Kurogane doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he turns back around and points over his shoulder. “Right here,” He instructs.

Fai’s brows furrow in confusion but, like he doesn’t know what else to do or say, he does as Kurogane says and begins rubbing the ointment in. They stand in silence for a few long moments as Fai works, his eyes drifting over the scars marring Kurogane’s back as his fingers press gently yet firmly into Kurogane’s muscle.

“I’m not accepting your apology ‘cause you don’t have anything to apologize for, you idiot,” Kurogane says suddenly. “None of this was your fault.”

“But my magic—” Fai tries to say.

“That wasn’t you,” Kurogane tells him.

Fai frowns. “Your arm—”

“Wasn’t you, either.”

Fai’s lips twist as something builds in his throat. “...That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Kurogane asks. “Little lower.”

Fai lowers his fingers and presses into that spot. Kurogane sighs a bit under the touch. “The point,” Fai continues. “Is that you got hurt for me.”

“That was my choice,” Kurogane says. “So why should you apologize for what I did?”

“It was because of me!” Fai says, his voice rising in frustration. “Because I was there, because you felt like you needed to—because you—”

“Because I what, mage?” Kurogane asks, but Fai’s voice dies in his throat, leaving him unable to answer. Instead, he focuses his attention back on massaging Kurogane’s shoulder, leaving Kurogane to answer for him. “I don’t do things I regret. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to. I didn’t want you to die, so I did what I had to. Nothin’ there for you to apologize for, got it?”

Fai sighs and rests his hand flat over Kurogane’s back, over the scars haunting him. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew, from that moment in Tokyo when Kurogane all but begged for Fai’s life, that Kurogane cared enough about him to sacrifice himself to keep Fai alive.

That he loved Fai.

“But can’t you just... let me anyway?” Fai pleads quietly.

“You can do whatever you want,” Kurogane responds. “Doesn’t mean I’ll accept your apology.”

Fai chuckles quietly at that and shakes his head. “Typical Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane turns around, hiding his back from Fai, and knocks his knuckles softly against the side of Fai’s head. “Thought your head wasn’t so thick these days. Guess I was wrong.”

Fai lifts his head to say a teasing retort, but his words get stuck in his throat when he sees the quiet smile on Kurogane’s lips, his eyes soft as they look at Fai. With his one hand he cups Fai’s cheek, smooths his thumb against the delicate skin under Fai’s left eye.

“I forgot to tell you before, but it’s good to see you with both eyes again,” Kurogane says quietly.

Fai smiles shakily. “I’ll make sure we get to Piffle as soon as we can so we can replace your arm,” He says. “And it’ll fit better this time. I promise.”

Kurogane nods at him, still smiling, and the two take a moment to simply exist there, in that moment and that space of just the two of them. Kurogane’s hand is warm against Fai’s cheek and Fai tries not to miss the touch too much when Kurogane eventually pulls away so he can turn to the nearby table to put away the jar of ointment.

“Um, do you need more?” Fai asks quickly. “I can keep going if it still hurts.”

Kurogane rolls his shoulder and shrugs. “Still a little sore I guess.”

“Maybe it’d be better if you lied down on the bed...?” Fai trails off as his words catch up to him, his face heating up as he realizes the... implication.

Kurogane, though, snorts in laughter and shakes his head. “Didn’t think you’d be so quick to get into my pants, mage.”

“I wasn’t trying!” Fai cries, but, never one to back down to such a challenge, slyly adds, “Unless, of course, you’re offering...”

Fai gets a face full of Kurogane’s shirt flung at him and laughter blooms between them in the quiet room. The scars will never fade for good, Fai realizes, but at least the pain will. And if he can help Kurogane through it, then maybe that will be enough.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

You owe Merwaine some happiness after your VERY angsty episode analyses so I would love those two and Sleepy hug please!! 😍

@little-ligi i hope this makes up for the angst!!! thank you for sending a prompt and have merlin and gwaine falling asleep together when with the knights and arthur on a trip thing (unspecified) between s4 and s5 💕

once again, under the cut because this is the longest one yet...

Rearranging his cloak so it provided greater coverage from the brisk wind, Gwaine glanced over at the group who were gradually drifting off amongst the fallen foliage. Despite the undiluted thoughts that inevitably streamed through his head when on watch, Gwaine relished the uninterrupted opportunity to softly observe Merlin without having the eyes of the other knights on him. If he had an apple for every time one of them – usually Percival or Arthur, despite Elyan’s quiet requests for them to shut up – had called him out for supposedly undressing Merlin with his eyes, he would certainly have a bushel of them by now. Granted, Gwaine sometimes did have the habit of mentally undressing Merlin with his eyes when he looked at him, but more often than not the knight was simply gazing in wonder at how such a beautiful being had chosen to devote his life to Gwaine of all people.

Merlin had been out of his sight for the past couple of hours, having accompanied Elyan to retrieve firewood, but Gwaine knew that they were both exchanging new spells that they’d learnt over the past few weeks. Elyan had told Gwaine about his magic before Gwaine had even had his suspicions about Merlin confirmed. Or, rather, Gwaine had stumbled in on Elyan, when the call of nature had echoed in his head on the night they had first met, and had witnessed him throwing all five of Gwaine’s knives without touching a single one. Gwaine had been more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that his knives were missing than by the fact that Elyan was a sorcerer. And then, several weeks later, after Merlin had confessed to Gwaine on the night they had found themselves in bed together after an evening in the tavern, Gwaine had told both Elyan and Merlin to meet him in the Darkling Woods, greeted them with the statement that they both had magic, and had left them to it. Although he forced his unwavering support onto Merlin at every given opportunity, Gwaine knew the value of having someone close who knew precisely the struggles being faced, and he was grateful that Merlin had that in Elyan, and vice versa.

With a smile, Gwaine’s gaze slid over to Merlin, cocooned in a blanket and laughing at some remark that Elyan had sleepily murmured, and he settled himself against a tree trunk, moving his eyes back to the space in front of him as he withdrew his sword and positioned it across torso, the point of the blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. It was probably best that he was keeping watch alone, so he wouldn’t get distracted by talking to someone – but it also meant that there was nobody to check him when his attention slid, as it always did, to Merlin. He squinted up at the sky, seeking out the moon. At least he wasn’t expected to keep watch all night. Not that there was much need. Perhaps it was somewhat of an invincibility complex but, ever since donning the cloak bearing Camelot’s emblem, Gwaine had felt untouchable. Almost. The cloak hadn’t made Lancelot untouchable. Setting his jaw, Gwaine took a deep breath and focused on the lazy wave of the leaves opposite, on the stars splattered across the deep canvas of the sky like a bloodstain, on the soft melody of the wind.

‘Come on, now, Gwaine, you know full well how hot you look when you hold a sword like that.’

Perhaps Gwaine, who had not noticed Merlin – Merlin, of all people – approach, had not been the best choice for watch. He looked up with the smile that always graced his lips whenever the warlock was near, eyes dropping with Merlin’s body as he settled himself next to him. ‘I am by no means opposed to making out right here, right now.’

To satiate his desire, Merlin scattered a trail of kisses along his hairline. ‘I don’t think the others would appreciate it.’

‘Mm, you’re probably right there,’ Gwaine murmured, his fingers tracing Merlin’s face. ‘And you should sleep.’

‘I’m okay.’

Gwaine’s hands found the shadowed purple beneath Merlin’s eyes and he fixed him with a look. ‘I know that you haven’t slept properly for the past two weeks. I can see it written all over your face.’

Scowling, Merlin pushed his hand away. ‘Well that’s rude.’

‘But not a lie.’

Expression softening, Merlin wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.‘That’s because you’ve been on night patrol for the past two weeks and haven’t slept next to me.’

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘No, but at least you get to talk to Elyan. I’m left alone with the ceiling and my thoughts, and you know how much I hate that.’ Realising how he sounded, Merlin leaned closer into Gwaine. ‘I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I know full well there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Just as Merlin knew that, Gwaine knew full well that he shouldn’t do what his arm had already started to do but, noticing Merlin’s poorly-concealed shivers, he set down his sword and drew Merlin in so the warlock was resting his head in Gwaine’s chest. Then, kissing the top of his head, Gwaine pushed him away as swiftly as he’d pulled him in. ‘Go to bed, love. If you fall asleep here then your neck will not be thanking you in the morning.’

Looking up, Merlin held his gaze for several moments. With a sigh, he lifted his head and kissed Gwaine on the mouth before reluctantly standing and stumbling back to the makeshift camp. Gwaine watched as he settled himself at a slight distance from the other knights and Arthur, his back turned. The flickering embers cast subtle shadows across Merlin’s back and Gwaine’s gaze remained turned towards him for several moments more before he forced his eyes to travel away from the warlock’s form. Gwaine didn’t need to see it to know how it moulded to his palms when they were alone.

When around other people, Merlin always seemed to skirt around Gwaine, always leaving at least several inches between their bodies, as if afraid of causing Gwaine to shatter as a mirage if he made even the slightest contact with his skin. Gwaine had started wearing gloves more frequently in the hopes that Merlin would be more liberal in brushing against him then, but it had all been to no avail. Then Gwaine had continued to wear gloves anyway, just so that his bare hands wouldn’t have the nerves numbed by grazing surfaces before they reached out for Merlin’s skin. The result was a warm tingle that, to some, would be more of a scald, but Gwaine savoured every moment that his skin was set alight by Merlin. Having a particular skill with fire spells also helped him not feel the agony of burning so much, too.

When they were alone, though, Merlin was the one to remove Gwaine’s gloves and, every time his fingers skimmed the bones in Gwaine’s hand, the knight had to focus so as not to release skittering flames in Merlin’s direction. There seemed to be a ritual with Merlin when they were alone. The warlock would gently draw the gloves from Gwaine’s skin, toss them to one side, and then dedicate a substantial amount of time to tracing the marks on the knight’s hands, no matter how many times his fingers had already followed the cellular paths that day.

First, he always looked for new scalds or burns, disregarding Gwaine’s protests that they didn’t hurt in the same way that their ancestors had when he had first started learning magic, skimming his fingers over the marks as if the touch formed a mental note to treat them at a later date. After assessing the damage, Merlin’s lips always trailed behind his touch, silently reassuring each of Gwaine’s imperfections that they were so wonderfully loved and successfully sending shivers up Gwaine’s spine. Though those shivers always were abruptly severed when Merlin’s touch made its way to the thick scar just below the fold of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. Merlin had never once pushed him for more information about his childhood amongst bandits, but there was always a part of Gwaine that worried Merlin would one day get sick of the sight of the small branded letter, not quite concealed by the path the knife had taken so long ago, and would abandon him to the abyss he had been lost in before meeting the warlock.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

After studying Gwaine’s hands, Merlin then moved to stripping him of his knighthood and it was a death that Gwaine would gladly watch again and again if it was at Merlin’s hands. The chainmail was cast aside, the cloak thrown over a chair, and the sword noisily skimmed the floor until Gwaine was stood in only a shirt and his trousers, equal to Merlin. The only armour Gwaine had ever wanted covering him, since that day at the tavern, was Merlin’s hands. Arthur hadn’t really given him an opportunity to turn down the knighthood and, even if he had, there was always the possibility – in Gwaine’s mind, at least – that Arthur would have been offended enough to maintain his banishment, and then Gwaine never would have seen Merlin again. Being a knight did have its advantages, though: Gwaine never went hungry, nor did he have to sleep with one eye open, and he had been getting into fewer and fewer brawls over the years. Though that last one was perceived as more of an advantage in Leon’s eyes, who had always been the one to drag him out of any frays and then let him cool off in the cells on the odd occasion. Even when that had happened, though, Merlin had always slipped in and spent the night with Gwaine, heating his body up to unnatural temperatures to keep Gwaine warm. The first few times that had happened, Gwaine had been terrified that Merlin would spontaneously combust, but Merlin had frequently assured him that such a trick was not possible.

So they would stand there, facing one another in silence, Gwaine’s materialistic armour strewn across the room, and then Gwaine would take Merlin gently in his hands, tracing segments of the form he knew so well, and then their souls would fuse together with their lips.

 

When the stars had shifted substantially, Gwaine hauled himself from his position and shook out his legs in the vain attempt to rid himself of the cramp in his limbs, slowly advancing towards Leon’s form. He gently prodded him awake, instinctively lunging backwards as the reflexive swipe came from the blankets, and held out his arms to receive said blankets when a thickened voice quietly called out his name. 

Turning around, Gwaine could just make out Merlin’s hands stretching out in a half-hearted wave in the heavy darkness and, telling Leon to forget about the blankets, picked his way through the sleeping knights, guided by the dropping syllables of his name. By the time he reached Merlin, the warlock’s hands had fallen to the ground and, smiling fondly, Gwaine hastily stripped down to his gambeson and slid into the nest Merlin had made.

There were significantly more blankets than Merlin should have had – not that Gwaine was complaining – and Merlin drowsily pushed several layers towards him, turning around to face Gwaine. His eyes flickered in the darkness as his hand fell against Gwaine’s chest and, from the point where Merlin touched him, the knight could feel a comforting heat pushing into him like a blade. Gwaine realised he probably should have tied back his hair so Merlin didn’t accidentally try to eat it in his sleep, but he was too comfortable to do that. With a smile, Gwaine encircled the warlock with his arms and rested his mouth against Merlin’s forehead as his eyes closed.

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

Gwaine frowned, one eye cracking open. ‘You were asleep. You couldn’t have missed me.’

There was a pause. ‘You know I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I couldn’t sleep properly without you next to me, right?’

‘I did not.’ Gwaine waited until he felt five of Merlin’s exhalations drape themselves around his throat before speaking again. ‘Whatever did you do before I came into your life?’

‘Had a decent night’s sleep, because I wasn’t aware of your existence and consequently didn’t have to constantly worry about preserving it.’ Merlin shifted against him, hands crawling under Gwaine’s shirt and settling themselves on his stomach. ‘It’s so strange to think that we didn’t even know that the other existed. That we had no idea that one day we would be right here, in this moment.’

Merlin, when tired, always became philosophical. And usually when Gwaine was tired he couldn’t make head or tail of what his significant other was saying, but perhaps the cool night air had cleared his head more than ale usually did. ‘I think I prefer it that way,’ Gwaine murmured. ‘If we’d known that the other was out there, then I think we would have spent all our lives searching. We would have pinned our entire existence on the other person and that’s...That just doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m saying I don’t love you.’

‘No, no, I know...I know what you mean,’ yawned Merlin, pushing his head into Gwaine’s chest.

Tightening his arms around Merlin, Gwaine listened to the rhythm of the warlock’s breathing pattern, trying to match his own to it, and gently kissed the top of his head. There was a slight mumble, and something that might have resembled an ‘I love you’ and Gwaine murmured it back, just in case. It had been too long since the two of them had drifted off together, wrapped in one another’s beings, and Gwaine would forever bind himself to the soft form that was quite literally touching his heart.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

capella and rigel

au where you don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. they come to you one at a time the longer you’re together.

word count: 2,530

a.n.: you guys are BREAKING MY HEART you’ve been so sweet and receptive with the last one ( sing to me ) im such a mess ( ´༎ຶv༎ຶ`) i SEE YOU i WILL kiss you i am not playing. anyway!! im posting these soulmate works in an order backwards from which i started - which is funny, because that way it goes from least angstish to most. 

here are the others!

Shinso

Sero

Bakugou

ao3

When the blue exploded, you weren’t ready for your world to change with a rushing suddenness. You were blindsided with the odd experience of a first time that felt like memory.

First off, you didn’t know how you knew blue would be it, but you did.

When someone told you that’s what color that sweater you liked to wear all the time was, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color some of your favorite fruits were, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color the sky was, you just knew.

When someone told you that’s what color the ocean was—because it reflected the sky—you cried because you just knew.

There was something revelatory of such a relationship—the rhapsodic truth that two forces of nature could be reflections of the other, even with completely opposing standpoints.

In your greyscale vacuum, you were none the wiser to a life that could promise that yet. From a young age, you hoped and prayed for that day to come, until it became a hapless strain of static that took a backseat to growing up.

In general, you hadn’t known what to expect; you imagined that cats were probably the color of sprinkles on ice cream, trees were balloons floating in the air, and pavements were the color of spring. When you looked up to the night, you thought that stars might be like lighting a candle. You thought that might mean yellow.

And even when it was so dark, you hoped the sky would still be blue.

It tore through every crevice of your vision, crowding your sight and singeing your senses.

Blue wasn’t supposed to come to you in a maelstrom on a previously peaceful Sunday morning. It wasn’t supposed to burn through the pages of one of your favorite books, or weld your utensils together.

It was supposed to bump into you on a tramline station, at a park, in a crowd, and then apologise quickly; it was supposed to be in widening eyes and stuttering breaths that gave you a name you’d knew like an old friend you had yet to meet.

It wasn’t supposed to be in so much pain.

It wasn’t supposed to cause any of it, either.

You’re on your back, starry eyed and afraid all at once, suffering the memory of your first time seeing color. It’s burning you, you realize, and the tears evaporate before they touch skin.

Blue fire is attention grabbing—it’s blue, you know it is—and watching it move like you imagined blue waves would was mesmerizing. It soaked the ground with scorch marks, scarring bedlam and terror into the earth.

Your eyes blown wide catch every moment, frozen in blue.

Though, as more of the hue crops up in all different directions, your eyes are suddenly the only part of you that can’t sit still. If the fire does anything else better than burn, it’s cast light—as it throws your vision farther than usual.

You don’t miss a single detail.

The sea of people around you scatter in fear— there’s chaos but you just can’t move—and you’re anchored to the ground like roots of a tree that didn’t get to choose its growing place. You’re trapped somewhere off centre in a spiraling vortex of entropy simultaneously inhaling and granting your newfound freedom.

Across the street in spots on a mailbox, the smallest pieces detailed the metal in cool colored rivets; in the scorching bed along the stone wall cafe lay crisped, blue calla lilies; the delicate hue accented in little flora shaded your spilled and shattered tea glass.

With the proximity of unimaginable heat, noise, and overall calamity shuffling so quickly around you, you felt encased in time. An hourglass tipped in your throat and the scalding sands ran through your veins. The inferno raged on until you noticed your place in it. It spun in a tempest around you and everything melted away.

Your vision shifts and you find the catalyst to be a tall, dark, and lanky shadow of a man. He contrasted the unyielding light—that he was producing, you agnised—to an almost sardonic degree. He held his hands in his pockets and shoulders in a slouch that said all of this was of no consequence, concern, or effort to him. He looked bored.

That is, until he saw you, too.

Freezing blue eyes glistened back at you in a cacophony of emotions.

There’s comprehension, apprehension, indignation—you try to settle on one, though absolutely fruitless with a whirlpool of your own at your feet.

You tried to speak your disbelief, a sense of joy, a simple admission to life, but your voice died on your tongue. The fumes coiled at your throat, still you held your ground. It was all you could do in your dormancy, and it was all you were going to do on the precipice of eruption.

It was like watching someone conduct a hurricane, what he did next.

His hands hummed an unknown melody to the flames, and you watched and waited and listened to the music that poured out if him—quickly becoming a little more afraid at the prospect of becoming an unwittingly unwilling participant from the audience.

However, the coiling and dissipation of the blue told you that this was the grand finale, and in a voiceless and motionless dance, he swayed out of sight under the haze of blue hellfire—so searing it was cold to the touch.

•.•.•.

When the heroes arrived, the police whisked you away to take your statement and check for injuries. It was like talking—and mostly listening—through a thick pane of glass, though. You said very little, and perceived even less.

What were you going to do? Include in your witness report that the perpetrator was your soulmate? That fact alone changed everything, and you knew that if you were to speak up about it now, the authorities would take you in. You weren’t about to be used as an asset when you had barely any time to process the truth yourself.

Everything was running smoothly, until the heroes came around to check on the injured. An expressionless man with two-toned hair and a nasty scar over his eye stepped before you, an ‘Are you alright?’ soft on his lips, contrasting the sternness in his features.

You took one look at the color of his left eye and fainted against the ambulance doors.

•.•.•.

Waking in a sweating bundle on your bedcovers was not a good way to end the day. It skewed your sense of reality, and you had to wrestle away the idea that the whole thing might have been a dream. The headache didn’t help, but it was proof you know what you saw. And what you were currently seeing.

A lot of everything else was still in greyscale, but your eyes weren’t lying to you as you took in your room. Blue comic books, pens, decals, posters, pictures; the laundry overflowed your basket, spilling in a pile of blue onto your carpet.

Blue eyes in the corner of your room.

“What did you see?” you whispered. He’s there like the shade of gossamer window curtains, a figureless concept of existence, and yet you speak knowing he’s suddenly the most solid thing there.

“You.”

You inhaled sharply, barely a pinprick to the weight in the room.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not a color.”

“You were the brightest thing there. Might as well have been.”

“Impossible,” you laughed, waving your hand absently to dismiss your incredulity. “You set everything on fire.”

“Makes no difference,” he affirmed in a tone that sounded rich, drawled, and deep like molasses and a smoky room. There was silence as his voice drizzled along your skin, a safe distance in the uncertainty. It doesn’t break, even when you speak the opposite of what you should be uncertain about.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yet here I am.”

There’s a flutter by your open window, and you unfold yourself from your stagnant place on your bed. Without argument, you wisp to its side, facing the world like it was unchanged.

His presence is permeable next to you, yet you were sure you had never felt anything as real.

Everything and nothing was the same.

“What do you see?”

“Still you.”

You glance to the side and see an almost facetious simper gliding across his features, even though you knew he was probably being anything but flippant.

“Dabi.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly, coiling with the dark to a time and space closer. He smelled like amber pine and sawdust, collecting evening dew.

“So you do know who I am.”

You picked at the peeling paint along the sill. It was still white.

“I follow the news. I’ve seen your face stuck to faded alley posters.”

“Now what would you be doing in alleyways?” He chuckled lowly through thinly veiled, amused bewilderment.

So he didn’t know who you were.

Just as well, it wasn’t like you lived a life of any consequence.

Truth was, you were simply a curious person with an awkward and clumsy sense of direction—finding yourself on adventures you could easily get yourself out of, only with a little time, effort, and backtracking. Even though you’d much rather see it through to the end, no matter how dark, twisted, or ugly.

The truth wasn’t meant to be pretty.

But he didn’t need to know that.

And if this were to keep up anyway, he’d find out soon enough.

You peered at him through your eyelashes and his shape almost disappeared. Instead, you leaned forward into the open world, trying to catch life as it moved below you. Your eyes spotted grass and trees, and you gasped before you could stop yourself.

“They’re green.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You turned your head to face him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve never seen green before.”

He’s quiet as he stares at you. He had leaned against the wall beside you, hip and head propped like he wouldn’t rather be looking anywhere else. You stare back softly, still not used to the visceral experience in eye contact.

“What do you see?” he asks like holding glass. You’re tempted to keep it to yourself for at least a day longer—safeguard the truth like you were the only one in the world who could see colors. An innocent secret you’d never have to share with anybody.

And yet here was a thread presented to you by the universe, asking to be pulled from the tangle.

You looked at his frayed edges and twisted knots, feeling your own pull tighten like a lifeline.

“Blue,” you breathe. He’s beside you now, angled to the open window, eyes still burning answers and questions—so many questions—across your very surface.

You both stretch out, casting your eyes up to the night sky, in your own world like he wasn’t who he was and you weren’t who you were. Collected in a jar of your own making, you spill your breath across the open air, and he’s there with you like a pooling splash of ink you don’t want out. Oh, the memories you could write with him.

“So these are the stars, huh?” his tone hasn’t lifted from that tedium, but he talks like he’s standing among them.

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t tell whether from happiness or nostalgia or disappointment or confusion or another nameless thing—you only knew that you were looking at the stars. You were looking at the night sky and suddenly seeing the stars, and—

“Some of them are blue.”

Dabi traces the bottom hemline of your sweater with his thumb, breathing clearer air than he had in a long, long time.

“There’s yellow up there, too.”

The tears spill down your cheeks, but his hand is there to catch them with cracked fingertips.

“You know,” you begin with a small sniffle, “I don’t remember the night being this… luminous.” His face splits in to a grin.

“That’s your fault.”

You roll your eyes, peeling back to lightly shove against his arm. You had barely touched him, but his heart beats as though he’d been caught in an earthquake. He’s unsteady, and grows more and more terrified by the second of the anchor in your eyes. He’s not strong enough to try and move it.

You watched him pull back, startled by the alertness in his movements. He sweeps his legs up and over the side, perched on the windowsill as though he made to jump through it.

“You’re leaving?”

“I thought you were the one who said I shouldn’t be here,” he grinned, though not without that bitter glint in his already harshly blue eyes. Your lip finds its place pulled between your teeth.

“I think there are still some things I want to see.” You glance to the side, searching for words in the spots of color blooming along the edges of your world. “With you.”

Dabi bridges small gaps between you two—some rickety and many burnt, but still there—leaving space for you to jump ship. His fingers brush warm trails across the skin of your face again, like forfeiting a whittling candelabrum to the shaking hands of a blind man.

You suppose someone like him defies all laws, even the ones of the natural world as he ghosts down the siding of the building, just another wandering shade looking for its way back.

In a day of unforseens, you try and convince yourself that it was the stars that got to you. It’s easier to place blame on things you can’t control, and part of you feels liberated knowing this was just not one of those things you were meant to expect. You let your hopes and predictions solidify the labyrinthian ground you walk on.

But as you lean through the window, you call out to him and realize you’re swallowing your assumptions like antifreeze.

“Wait!”

His head turns to the side to catch you pouring out of your mundane and into his living underworld.

“You have to come back.” The yellow on your sweater burns into your irises, and he has never been more wary of his place in the universe. Especially when it glows back at him through the eyes of a future he didn’t know he even had.

“I want to know what sunrises look like.”

The tempest in him glares up at the beacon your window—no—you provide and he feels a weird, opposing sense of mitigation and incertitude. A ubiquitous tangibility his first instinct declares a malignant impediment.

Still, he can’t help but feel as though a tide were in the process of crashing his lifeboat—a stray piece of driftwood—on to obscure shores.

That can’t be all that much of a bad thing, he considers.

With a small, barely there and imperceptibly honest smile, he places a two fingered tap to the crown of his forehead—throwing an ignition to the wind in a quiet promise.

The light fades, and you clutch the matchstick, watching the blue disappear with him into the dark of night.

[star-spangledstud]

PARADISE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader 

Summary: The Avengers enjoy a hard-earned vacation.

Word Count: 3700-ish

Warnings: Fluff (None)

Blistering heat. Skin sticky from several layers of coconut-scented sunblock with built-in self-tanner, causing a dewy glow to set upon your bronzed, heated skin. A bright pink cocktail stood beside the tanning bed you were laying on, a slice of fresh lime and a tiny blue umbrella hanging off the side of the glass. Drops of condensation made their way down the length of the fishbowl shaped glass, collecting on the palm tree coaster it sat on. You sipped it every minute or so through a neon yellow plastic straw, allowing the icy drink to cool you down while the alcohol warmed the back of your throat as it went down.

You turned the page of your romance novel, green doe eyes covered by large black sunglasses following along the words written on the tattered paper. A glance up from your book to the pool area in front of you revealed toned bodies in brightly colored swimming trunks and skimpy bikinis sprawled everywhere. Natasha sat beside you on Wanda's sunbed. She'd braided her hair and was busy putting flowers in it. Fake daisies by the looks of it, made of cloth with little plastic stems. You smiled and took another sip, savoring the sour taste and slushy texture and took a mental note to order the same thing over dinner later. Then, you turned back to your book.

Steve loved summer. Perhaps it was the stark contrast provided by the sun's rays to the ice he was trapped in for so long or the scent of nature in bloom all around him that sparked his admiration for the season. He wasn't sure. All he knew is that he enjoyed the blistering heat and the breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers across the resort.

His skin had become wrinkly from spending hours on end in the pool with the guys, but he was finally starting to win the game of volleyball against Sam and Thor, and Captain America did not like to lose. He'd tried to convince Tony and Bruce to join them but they were sitting in the shade, stacks of paper and two laptops covering the sunbeds around them. You smiled and shook your head at them, but didn't comment on their constant need to work, even though it was Tony's idea to take everyone away for a two-week paid trip to paradise in the first place. Maybe he just really loved showing off his money. You didn't care, because you were sipping on your fourth free cocktail.

Your eyes drifted back to the water glistening beneath the rays of the sun, to Steve, who was laughing so hard at something Peter said his hand went to his chest.

Steve felt your eyes on him as soon as you lowered your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose so you could watch him lose the game. He held his hand up to the guys, motioning for them to continue without him. Peter begged him to stay, knowing he could never win the game by himself, but Steve already waded to the edge of the pool. Instead of using the metal stairs, he gripped the edge of the pool and lifted himself out in a fluid motion. Water dripped from his torso and out of his shorts, leaving a trail of it on the marble tiles as he closed in on you.

He softly took a hold of your calves, lifting your legs and placing them into his lap so he could sit down on the sunbed. You placed your book on your chest, marveling at drops of water that ran down his milky white torso. That boy did not tan.

"Tired?" You teased, eyes drifting to Thor smashing the ball across the water.

"I can go all day, remember?" He replied, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sore loser then," you retorted, "nothing wrong with admitting defeat."

"'S not in my genes, I'm afraid," he paused, "so, what' cha reading?"

Even after the sun had set behind the palm trees, the heat remained. The air was still heavy and humid by the time you woke up from your pre-dinner nap and the second you stepped out of your shower, your skin was sticky again. You'd already given up on washing your hair. It would just get greasy again.

It was nearly nine when all of you met up at the restaurant. Overlooking the beach, you had a perfect view of the waves that crashed upon the shore from your seat at the table. You ordered the same ridiculous cocktail and were sipping it quietly, listening to your teammates conversating. Shadows of the palm trees waving gently in the breeze cascaded across the candlelit tables, hypnotizing you for a moment.

Tony's laugh broke your trance and you smiled, not really having listened to the joke. He stood up, scraping his chair back across the cobblestone. His glass of white wine swirled when he rose and he used a fork to tap the side of his glass. Silence immediately fell over the table.

"A toast, to the most annoying yet best teammates a guy like me, could ever ask for," he grinned, "the only reason why I'm saying this is because I've been day-drinking. They make hella Pina Coladas here."

"We know," Natasha said, grinning widely, "we love you too, Tony."

Waiters circled around the tables that had been pushed together to accommodate all of you, plates filled with various kinds of gourmet dishes balancing on their arms and in their hands. You raised your glass, smiling while everyone else did the same.

You looked at Steve, who had taken a seat beside you. He'd traded his swim shorts for a pale blue button-up shirt of which he'd rolled up the sleeves. A shark-tooth necklace, courtesy of one of the salesmen down at the beach who just wouldn’t leave him alone, hung around his neck. It was perfectly visible through the undone buttons on his chest. His hair was fluffy and soft from being in the water all day. You could tell he hadn't tried to style it with gel.

You almost hated yourself for watching him, even from the corner of your eye. It was a habit that had crept into your system over the course of four months. A habit that resembled an addiction to drugs. It was just fun at first, but your constant need to have your eyes on Steve had turned into a necessity, into a way of life.

The two of you had always hit it off. He was the first person to introduce you to the rest of the team when you were initially hired and he had taken it upon himself to show you the ropes and guide your training after that. He made you feel comfortable in an environment filled with strong, confident people during a time in which you felt like a small fish in a big pond. He watched your back on missions and took you to the city on days off - although admittedly, he mostly brought you along for his own selfish reasons.

He forced you to take him to places like McDonald's and KFC, not because the food - although advertised as such - was finger-licking good, but because he'd missed out on the experience of greasy fast food when he was growing up in the previous century. He forced you to take him to BestBuy, not because he was in the market for a new smart-fridge, but because he needed you to explain the appliances that had been invented after he went into the ice without judging him for his continuous stream of questions. It wasn't until your throat was sore from all the talking that he would take you to a coffee shop so you could sit down and enjoy a hot beverage. Not Starbucks though. Way too crowded and the drinks were too complicated. What the hell was a Frappuccino, anyway?

It was during those days where you began to glance at him. Peaks, out of the corners of your eye when he was trying to figure out whether to order a Quarterpounder or a Big-Mac. Admiration for adjusting so quickly in a world so far away from his own, for accepting it. Glances turned into zoned-out stares that focused on his features until he'd wave his hand in front of your face and ask you what planet you were on. Your cheeks would heat up every time, a sight he loved - but would never admit - and you would stammer and make up a stupid excuse about being tired.

You hated the feeling of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach whenever he would brush his arm against yours during the movie nights, or when his knees would hit yours as you sat opposite each other in the coffee shop. You hated the lopsided smiles he gave you when he thought you weren't looking and hated how close he would stand to you in the kitchen when you were making breakfast, shirt off and sweatpants riding low on his perfectly sculpted hips.

You hated how you'd begun to develop a crush on Steve Rogers. It just crept up on you, silent and deadly like a black viper. It had wiggled its way into your heart and settled there, causing it to hammer skip every time you were near him. You wanted to punch yourself for acting like a lovesick puppy because you were sure it was a one-sided thing and yet even as you laid in bed at night with thoughts racing and images of Steve flashing before closed lids, you couldn't turn your fucking brain off long enough to think clearly.

You and Steve were friends. Not just friends, either, but best friends. You spent so much time together it made Tony gag. Natasha couldn't stop obsessing over the two of you, constantly trying to prove that you were secretly dating. Even Bruce caught wind of the closeness of your supposedly platonic relationship and when he caught the two of you in the common room late one night doubled over in hysterical laughter, piles of blankets and fluffy pillows surrounding you on the couch you were sitting on, even he was convinced there was more going on than you were letting on.

As you were sitting on a tropical island, surrounded by the people that you cared for the most, a part of you wished there was. How nice it would be to experience a vacation at a fancy resort in the tropics with a romantic partner. You snorted, picking up your knife and fork while shaking your head. There was nothing going on between you and Steve and as far as he was concerned, there never would be. You were friends, after all, best friends at that, and there was no way that Steve could be interested in you in any other way. He was so perfect in every way and you were just, ordinary. Plain, a Big-Mac without toppings.

Dessert came before you even realized what was going on. You were buzzed at this point from all the cocktails you'd consumed and instead decided to order a glass of ice water to accompany the chocolate lava cake you had ordered. You only ate half, stomach feeling like it was going to burst at any point if you ate any more. Steve, being the gentleman he was, took the fact that you placed your spoon down as a sign and finished it for you.

"Y/N?"

You hadn't heard him coming.

He was standing behind you suddenly, shirt unbuttoned further than before and hair blowing in the wind that had started to pick up. Of course, it had been Tony's idea to host a private party after dinner in the club that was attached to the resort. Employees of SHIELD and the Avengers were dancing inside, booze flowing just as smoothly as the music. You'd stepped outside for only a moment in desperate need for some fresh air and time to think. 

It was still warm outside, the soft breeze feeling wonderful on your slightly reddened skin. 

"Hey," you said, elbows leaning on the railing that separated the resort from its private beach, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said smartly, offering you a sip of his sprite, "This is a nice place."

"It's beautiful," you mused, watching the gentle waves and the pearly white sands ahead.

"Yeah," Steve mumbled, "it is."

Seeing you in a white triangle bikini was the single most amazing thing Steve had ever seen. It had taken all his strength not to rip you from the beach and into your bungalow where he could kiss you and have you all to himself at last. The salty water had transformed your hair into waves, and the sun had kissed your skin and made you glow. You were on a towel on your stomach, book in front of you and sunglasses hiding your eyes. A bottle of sunscreen poked out of the tote bag you brought and a bottle of water stood perched up into the sand. It had to be warm by now, but you didn't care.

He loved seeing how much you enjoyed this. How naturally you adjusted to the change of pace, how you blended in with the scenery as if you'd always been there. He got to see a side of you he'd never seen before when you were in New York, where the rain seemed to permanently hang over the city. He loved how you interacted with people you were so used to seeing only at work,  but this also made him jealous. He was used to being one of the only people you would hang out with in private but now, you'd practically been glued to everyone but him. How badly he wanted to take you out for a stroll on the beach alone or enjoy a cocktail with you with no-one else watching. Hell, he'd even dance for you at that club with the music he could hardly call music if it meant he got to spend more time with you alone.

He was playing volleyball again, on the beach this time. Half of your party had gone out on scooters for an island excursion, but not you. You had decided that your book was more important, and so you were reading the final chapter with the sun cascading on your back. He'd tried to get you to join him earlier, but once again, you'd declined. Not now, when you were so close to finishing the book. The main character was about to confess her love for the man she'd been chasing for years. She had finally built up the courage to tell him how she really felt. Her words caused your stomach to clench and your heart to pound. You had to know how it would end.

But even the most experienced of readers required a break every once in a while. You were hot, extremely hot and in desperate need of something to cool you off. Alas, the water you'd brought had warmed up, offering no relief from the constant heat blazing down on you. You got up, placing the book into your bag so it wouldn't get covered in the sand and stretched your limbs.

You looked around the beach for a while, noticing it was a lot quieter with half the staff gone for the day and exhaled, allowing a deep breath to escape your lungs while you began to jog across the hot sand.

"When are you going to tell her you're in love with her?" Tony asked with a smug smirk on his face and the ball in his hands.

Steve swallowed, catching the ball with ease.

"You're supposed to hit it back, not catch it and stand there like a dead guy," Tony commented, "Anyway, you dig her and for some reason, you're too afraid to just man up and tell her. Why?"

"Because," Steve said, "we're just friends."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Look, nothing's ever gonna change unless you act and you're an idiot if you think she doesn't feel the same way. Plus, I made a bet with Tash, so you better step up your game and get to it. Like, right now."

"Tony, I can't do that."

"Give me one good reason. Go on, I'm waiting." Another cocky smirk.

"We're coworkers."

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh please, Fury doesn't give a shit and neither do I. Sign a couple of forms if you have to. Listen, pal if you don't make a move soon, someone else is bound to come in and sweep her off her feet and you'll be sorry forever."

Steve thought for a moment, watching as you walked further away from him and cursed Tony for being right. Again.

"She's the only one who can tolerate your shit, Rogers. Don't let her get away so easily."

Your feet were just touching the water when a hand around your upper arm stopped you from walking into the ocean. You'd ventured out to a more quiet area of the beach, where the only sound audible was the crashing of waves and seagulls over your head. You could still see your towel from where you stood, but the details had become blurry. Perfect.

"Hey,"  you said, voice sounding startled after you'd turned to look at whoever was holding you.

"I don't know why I allowed Tony of all people to convince me to do this, but I wouldn't be here if what he said to me didn't have a truth to it so I suppose it was for the best." Steve stammered, hands now on your shoulders as if to shield them from the sun.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, confused.

"Do you like me?" He asked, cheeks reddening more and more with each passing second. You couldn't tell through the darkness of your sunglasses, but he didn't know that.

"Of course I do Steve, you're my best-" He cut you off, testosterone and adrenaline taking over now.

"Not like that. Listen, you make me happy. Like, happy, happy. I don't mean the kind of happy that I get when I run into Sam at the gym and he has a fresh smoothie and a bagel for me, or when we successfully complete a mission and return home safely. It's not the kind of happy I get when I drink my favorite coffee, or when I see a dog at the park."

"What are you saying?" You whispered, eyes hidden by tinted glasses sliding across his face for any sign of fuckery.

There was none. You're suddenly painfully aware of the water swishing against your legs, aware of the grains of sand beneath your feet and his touch, which burned hotter than any sun in the universe could ever do. It's like you'd taken a step inside the book you were just reading.

"You make me feel things I haven't felt before, but want to feel all the time. I crave you when you're not there. The brush of your fingers, the softness of your voice and your laugh, Y/N, I need to hear it all the time and hell, I don't want to even think about having to share it with anyone else because I can't stand to bear the thought." He realized he was being dramatic, but he didn't care.

It disgusted him how easy it had been for Tony to convince him to tell you, but he was right. Walking on eggshells around you was ridiculous and even though Steve realized that being this honest could ruin everything in a matter of seconds, he also knew that lying was a habit he hated and he had been lying to himself for far too long by pretending to accept your friendship as the endstage.

Your hand was on his chest before he knew what was happening. A small smile played on your rosy lips, yet there was hesitation hidden behind those sunglasses. Hesitation, because what if the only reason why he said those words to you was because of a stupid bet? You were almost convinced of it, but his blue orbs told you the truth far better than any of his words could ever do. He was searching for confirmation, waiting for you to tell him you felt the same. Hell, they were begging you to say something, anything just to get the anticipation out of the way. It was like a horror movie, where you knew a jump scare was coming but you didn't know when.

"I do like you,"  you said finally, "more than dogs at the park."

An amused expression on your face allowed him to finally breathe again. Bright blue eyes still intensely scanned your face, just to make sure you too were telling the truth. He wasn't a walking lie detector - unlike Natasha - but he could tell you were honest.

"I want to take you out," more adrenaline, "properly. Not a coffee shop date, but a real date. With flowers and dinner."

Your heart clenched, second hand finding his chest, "I would like that."

It was hard to stand on the tip of your toes while being in the sand. You sank a little, so it kind of defeated the purpose, but still, you did your best to gain some height on the tall man in front of you. His piercing blues traveled across your shoulders, followed a trail of glimmering sunshine along your body and you sighed, almost fearful you ended up with a heat stroke and were currently delusional. Or drunk. Or both.

But his lips, salty from the ocean water he took in when he went under a while ago and soft, felt very fucking real. You could hardly believe it because did dreams really come true, but hell yeah they did, because you were in one right now and you were not asleep. You were kissing, mouth on mouth and it didn't stop there, because your tongue soon slipped in - you blamed the alcohol you had earlier for your sudden boldness. Blamed him too, for overwhelming you with it.

You didn't even care about the fact that Tony and some level 6 SHIELD employees were watching you guys make out on a private beach. Didn't give a damn about the fact that Tony picked up his phone to call Natasha about how she now owed him $200, or how your sunscreen was starting to wear off and your skin would soon turn red. You finally had Steve right where you wanted him, really had him now, and you didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

[aesthyuckic]

AVENOIR | l.dh - VIGINTI DUO

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: (bold if in use) slow but with a purpose, belief contradictions, mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

THE LOVERS: partnership, union, duality, choice

The boy has taken her to one of his favorite restaurants in their own town. She never really ate out much when they were still ‘alive’ to the world and he wanted to share it with her. He asked if it was okay they go back for the surprise, just to make sure and they currently sat outside the restaurant. Though, considering they were dead and in a place where everyone knew everyone, that had to cover a lot of themselves up just to avoid the risk of being recognized.

Luckily, the streets were quite bare but it was still relatively early in the morning and a week day. It was a cold day anyway, the air was cool enough they could feel it through their clothes. It was nice though, to not have many people around them.

“Is my mom here with you?” Cosimia asked him.

“No, actually. I haven’t seen her since...” He started to blush just thinking about early that morning, still wondering if it had actually happened or was it his imagination at it again. “This morning... it’s the first time she’s left me alone since I woke up from my coma now that think about it. She’s got all day to spend with you when we get back even if I’m there to ruin it.”

“Don’t say that.” She chuckled. “You don’t ruin things, you make them better.”

And still, he always blushed at her kind word toward him. Her mom always did spend time with her, even if she wasn’t aware of it. He often find her sleeping in his spot on their bed next to her daughter when she was sleeping. The coldness of the ghost resulted in her curling herself in all the blankets. Most nights the boy spent sleeping on the couch, if one could consider it that at all along. He was too tall it was uncomfortable.

Too lost in his head, he was shocked when he felt Cosimia grab his hand that sat on the table next to the menu he was holding with his other hand. He looked confused about it and to leave him perplexed more, she had intertwined her fingers with his own without any sign of hesitation. He felt his entire being heat up when did so. Something about it now just seemed so different to him... It use to be something that could’ve just been viewed or done platonic but after that morning, it was obvious it was more which left him blushing and his heart racing.

“W-what are you doing?” He stuttered.

“Holding your hand.” She answered. “I thought you liked that.”

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it a little soon?” He asked.

“We’ve held hands plenty of times before, Hyuck, and we literally kissed each other hours ago. Plus we’ve cuddled and stuff like that before...”

“It just seems so different now...”

“I know... I’ve noticed you’ve been afraid to get close to me since I told you that story. You’re always asking if it’s okay and everything.”

“Well, what am I suppose to do? I don’t want you to feel frighten because of me or anything.”

“I know my limits, I’d tell you if something was wrong, honestly. Don’t worry about it. It’s new to me too, remember?”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, softly. Something he still very much blushed about... He nodded, slowly before putting his attention back on the menu. He thought maybe he was being childish still acting like he had a crush since they were together now. Well, were they together? He wondered to himself since usually don’t couples discuss it before confirming it? All they did was kiss... and hold hands... but he had seen people that weren’t together do that too. They were obviously more than just friends, though.

“Should I call you my boyfriend now?” She asked, almost like she read his mind.

“Do you... want to?” He spoke, quietly.

“Why else would I have confessed and kissed you this morning, dummby?” She sighed.

“Does that mean I get to call you... my girlfriend then?”

“I would assume so.”

“Cool.”

He was internally screaming while trying to hide the big smile on his face. He tried to cover it up with his menu as he put on a straight face and cleared his throat. He seemed to forget she was naturally observant and could see what she needed from the corner of her eye.

“You’re a dork.” She giggled, rubbing her thumb over his hand which again was just something that put a smile on the boy’s face.

When the waiter came to take their order, Donghyuck was surprised to it was Renjun, an old friend of his, one of his best friends actually. He felt nervous and... guilty too, the whole time he was ordering to the other boy. He probably hurt him with what they pulled... Though, the sunglasses blocked out his eyes to anyone that anyone that was looking at him, he somehow felt the other could see through it.

He seemed complex when Donghyuck spoke too, which made it worse. The brown haired boy took the menus from them once he got everything, still with a very confused look on his face. He looked back at the boy and at the state, he tensed up.

“I’m sorry.” The waiter bitterly chuckled while touching his fingers up to the bridge of his nose with his eyes eyes closed. “I might be going crazy... Do I know you? You just sound very familiar, that’s all.”

“No.” He said quickly and firmly in hopes of not risking things any further.

“We’re from the east coast.” Cosimia chimed in to help. “We’ve never been here before either, we’re just visiting anyway.”

“Ah,” Renjun nodded. “Sorry about that... I just figured it out just sound like my old friend, Haechan... Kinda look like him to from what I can see. The anniversary of his passing is soon so maybe I’m losing it a bit, they say that happens. I’m sorry, that’s probably more info that wasn’t needed. I shouldn’t have said anything, just please don’t report me to my manger or anything. I’ll get on your order and make sure you get extra chocolate chips in your pancakes.”

“It’s okay.” The other boy reassured him, even though it was kind of hard. “You really don’t need to, I understand grief or anything.”

“I feel like I need to.” He shrugged. “You’re not a Lee by chance, are you?”

“Close, a Park.”

He gave a slight nod at the answer before he turned away to go back inside. He felt relieved when he went back inside because it was so close. Donghyuck questioned how dumb Renjun could be though. It made him feel a little better and the girl seemed to catch on to the boy’s unusual quietness, quickly. She reached up to rub his shoulder but now his hand felt cold without hers in it...

He was shocked they managed to pull off a fake death and now, everyone in their hometown thought they were dead. Though, it was his own hometown more than it ever was hers. Other than all that, the morning was fine and the both of them enjoyed their breakfast. The boy even shared some of his pancakes with, dare he say his girlfriend. It felt weird, but in a good way to say he had a girlfriend. Whenever he thought about saying he felt his heart flutter at the idea.

Cosimia went inside after they were both done with their breakfast in order to pay. While he wanted to do it because it was her birthday, she just reminded him of the risk they had just encountered. When she entered, she noticed the restaurant was much more lively compared to earlier and they were getting out of there at a good time. The old friend of Donghyuck’s was at the register and when she came over to pay he gladly accepted it. Though, he looked at her a little too long after the transaction was over. She had taken off her sunglasses but not the floppy, black hat which a lot of the people in the restaurant found rude and weird.

“You look familiar.” Renjun blurted out as he handed her the change, knowing full well she had said she’d never been around here.

“I get that a lot.” She shrugged with a small smile. “Just have one of those faces, I guess. Thank you, by the way! See you around, maybe.”

She left quickly after with a sigh of relief. Somehow she was thankful that she was forgettable to the people there.

Even though they had the whole day off according to Johnny, they went back after to go work just because it was the girl’s wish as to what she wanted. It turns out, their boss only put a closed sign on their booth so it wasn’t a hassle either. The only thing that was bothersome, was remaining so covered up since they had no idea who could come by and god forbid it be someone they know and end up with an incident like earlier. Luckily, it wasn’t a busy day for them either which meant more time with each other than anything. Work seemed to be less fun since their roles switched and the girl was still facing trouble with the cards, but they were both figuring it out.

“Okay, I have to go to the bathroom now.” He chuckled as he stood up out of his chair.

He found himself not wanting to leave, though. The both of them seemed to not want to let go of each other either. He suddenly noticed they practically never let go of each others’ hands all day... She managed to let go with a small smile. He’d just be right back anyway... It’s not like they hadn’t had conversations before where they didn’t want it to end either and it’s not like they had never held hands or that he’d gone for ever but still... For some reason, she missed his sweaty palm as he walked away and how comforting it felt to her.

Much farther away from their booth, the entrance to the carnival was full of people in long lines, trying to get their tickets and also get in. Mark had managed to finally get passed the gate after a long awhile but only then did he realize. He had no idea where he was going or what exactly he was doing. What if it wasn’t even his best friend and just some stranger that looked like him or something? He’d look like an idiot.

He walked around aimlessly for a little before he came across a guard standing by one of the metal barriers that closed off the area of land they were using. He seemed to be his age, though was much shorter than he was but was quite buff.

“Uh, excuse me?” He said while he approached the guard that was kind of intimidating. “I had a question...”

“What is it?” He asked.

“Do you happen to know a guy named Haechan..?” A little hope was in his eyes as he questioned the stranger. “He might even go by Donghyuck or Peter...”

The guy’s eyes seemed to widen.

“I need you to go, or else I’ll have to kick you out.” He stated, before he started to shove the black haired boy.

“Wait, no. Please!” Mark begged. “He is, or was my best friend and I seriously thought I was losing my mind because his death anniversary is coming up really soon! I just wanna know he’s alive and okay! No one else knows about this but me, please!”

The yellow haired guy seemed to stop, he was really strong for his size, “Do you swear?”

“Yeah! Yeah!”

“Give me your map.”

The other mumbled under his breath about a ‘Johnny’ killing him, presumably and hopefully figuratively as he drew on the map for him. Mark was on his way once the shorter of the two shoved the map into his chest abruptly, and walked away. He saw a line from where he was standing to a certain both that was circled on the map. Even though he hadn’t seen his supposedly dead friend yet, it felt surreal to know he was alive. He wouldn’t truly believe it until he saw him.

He followed the line drawn with marker until he reached the corner of where he was suppose to go. He took a deep breath while he closed his eyes. His heart was racing over it, this whole time Donghyuck had been alive. What was that trauma for exactly? He swear if it were real he’d kill the boy himself for what he pulled. He opened his eyes and before he could go any further he saw someone walk into the intersection of the tents there.

He recognized the side profile immediately, even with the sunglasses and baseball cap the other wore. The younger boy walked rather fast which left Mark to go chasing after him. In a small moment that seemed longer to him, he hesitated to stop the other but before he knew it, his hand rested on his shoulder. His old friend turned around, ready to punch someone until he laid eyes on who it was.

“Mark?” Donghyuck questioned, as he turned as white as a ghost.

“So it is you...” He huffed.

“Fucking shit, you come on the worst day!” He muttered on his breath. “Hold on, stay here.”

He saw his friend walk over to the booth that was circled on the map. He decided to spy on him and peek out more. It looked like he was talking to someone from the front of the booth for a moment. He went out a little more to see it was the girl he knew as ‘the weird freshmen’ but what shocked him was seeing the other lean down and kiss her. His jaw dropped but as soon as the boy moved he darted to where he was standing before.

Donghyuck had come back and found an area behind the tents with no one around to take Mark. He took off his glasses and cap since it was now in private basically. He already knew it was him so there was no point in hiding it. They leaned up against the wooden boxes that were stacked up. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with your own best friend after a year of almost being dead the whole time and then surprise, you’re alive and you lied? Not really a small talk sort of occasion. He sighed before he started on the very long story he knew he had to tell his friend. Though, he left out the paranormal stuff... He may have believed the ghost but not Cosimia being able to tell the future for some time and him being able to actually see ghosts now. At the end, he pulled up his shirt to show the other the scar he gotten when Ten had shot him. It was healing nicely but it was still so terrifying.

“That’s... something else, bro.” Mark said, not really able to find words for it all as he was speechless. “You couldn’t have at least told me? Or Renjun? We are, or were your best friends. Still very confused on what tenses I should use for this...”

“It was...” He started. “A last minute decision. I didn’t even know we’re going to be faking our deaths until we got to the beach either, dude. I didn’t have time too in the first place.”

“I can’t believe you left with the weird freshman girl like her dad said you did. Everyone thinks you two dated in secret after everything found in your guy’s room. It’s wild... and really weird for you to date her considering what she was like and what you were like...” He said, in hopes the other would say something himself rather then him bringing it up.

“I don’t like the way you talk about her. She has a name, you know? It’s really pretty and fitting too... It’s Cosimia, it was probably on the missing posters, her vigil and it was even in the yearbook so how wouldn’t you know at this point? She was never weird in the first place, and as cliché as it sounds, she was truly just misunderstood.”

“You didn’t know her name before either. You use to make fun of her too, so what’s the big deal? She acted weird and no one knew her name, she was invisible besides that trait.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have, okay?! I was so fucking stupid then and so was everyone. You don’t know her, no one knew her and I feel... I’m still getting to know her even after a year of us almost always being together... She’s really strong, caring and smart. She’s a lot of things and she’s taught me so many things. What’s the big deal if she was or is weird? Isn’t that what makes people interesting? She was really... alluring, that’s what I left with her the way I did! And you know what? I’m pretty sure it’s the best decision in my life I’ve ever made! I’m happy now, with everything I have and who I’ve become. I’m truly happy, something I now know I never was a year ago having to juggle school, sports, and a job to support my entire family. I get it’s selfish the way I just got up and left. I get it’s selfish I faked my death and leaving my family hanging like that along with you guys and I’m sorry! I can’t take it back, not now. It may seem pathetic I live in a trailer and work here now, but I’m happy with it all...”

“Wow, why are you getting so defensive?”

“W-why am I getting so defensive? Why am I, getting so defensive?! That’s my girlfriend, you idiot! She makes me happy and man, for as long as been out here with her, I think I might be in love with her!”

“Well, how am I suppose to know all that?! You’ve been dead to me, literally, for the last year basically!”

Donghyuck sighed before it all fell silent between them. He crossed his arms as he looked at the dried grass under their feet. He calmed down a bit when he looked toward the field and say the sky was light orange as the sun rested in between the hills. The wind blew softly which was something always soothing.

“You weren’t.” The younger mumbled. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that, it just angers me... to realize the person I was a year ago... I didn’t even know her then and she turned out to be the most interesting person I met in the end. No one knew anything besides she was quiet for the most part and had no friends. No one noticed the bruises on her or the days she’d go missing.”

“You didn’t either.” Mark pointed out.

“But I started to!” He explained. “Right at the end, before we left. That was really the start though, wasn’t it?”

They had talked to one another for awhile after, it had been too long since they talked. To Mark, it was like having a friend come back from the dead on final time. It was just nice to know he was okay and doing well. The silver haired boy suddenly realized how long he had been away. Somehow the time still felt too short...

“I should get going.” Donghyuck sighed. “I really just told the first lie of my first relationship for this.”

“The first?” The older questioned. “That’s kind of impressive... How long have you even been dating?”

He hummed while he blushed and rubbed the nape of his neck, “We just made it official this morning but it’s kinda been months of pining, some mutual.”

“You really like her, don’t you?”

“Well, duh. Did you not hear the part were I said I might love her earlier? It’s not something you say lightly if you don’t mean it, especially when you’re angry like that.”

“Yeah, we don’t need you going off like that again. I should’ve just questioned you about the kiss I saw earlier.”

“Y-you saw me kiss her? And you couldn’t figure it out or anything?! You’re an asshole!”

Mark laughed as his old best friend playfully beat him up as he defended himself. It just felt nice to finally have it again after awhile of missing it.

“Wow, dude, are you wearing makeup?” The black haired boy asked.

He started to blush again, and sweat a little at the question he was afraid to answer. He put his cap back on along with his sunglasses to hide himself.

“Cosi, I mean Cosimia, she does it for me every morning.” He replied rather softly.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” His friend shook his head. “It actually really suits you, makes you look less ugly.”

The comment earned him a punch in shoulder which he laughed at. Some things never truly did changed, regardless of time and growth. The two boys ended up sharing a hug before they went their separate ways.

“It was nice to see you again.” Mark smiled. “You know, after thinking you were dead and all.”

“You too.” The other chuckled. “Hey, please don’t tell anyone that we’re here. There’s a reason we faked our death.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He nodded.

“We come here every year, usually it’s earlier though. Come by next year if you can. I can let Yangyang know who you are and get you in free or something.”

“Write me when you’re back in SoCal for the winter months too!”

“I’ll try.”

They finally bid their final goodbyes before they went their separate ways for the year.

It was later that evening, when they were done with work for the day and getting ready for bed that he saw the girl sitting on the bed, looking at papers. He had just gotten out of the bathroom after he cleaned his face and changed into more comfortable clothes. He sat down on his side before going over to hers and wrapping his arms around her while rubbing his face against her shoulder.

“Whatcha doin?” He hummed.

“I’m just looking at our natal charts again.” She laughed a bit. “I haven’t done it in awhile... especially not since this started.”

“What are the results then? Are we compatible?” He asked.

“Well, I don’t think I’d leave it up for that to tell. We already work well together as it is and you know there’s different types of astrology too. We do share a moon though. Supposedly when you do, you usually feel really close to them in a short period of time, like a soulmate but not exactly.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we are soulmates?”

“Soulmates are different from twin flames. I think I’d rather have you as a twin flame.”

“What’s the difference?”

“That may be a little too intense for now. I’ll tell you another time.”

He nodded and he kissed her cheek before he rested his chin on her shoulder, “Is there anything surprising on there to you?”

“Hmm, you’re Gemini Venus actually.” She answered. “I think to some extent you resonate with it but I feel like you’re a Taurus Venus since that’s what it is on your sidereal.”

“Why do you think that exactly?” He wondered as he didn’t know astrology as well as she did. “Honestly, you’re so good at this stuff you should offer it at the booth or something.”

“It’s too exhausting for me to do that, no matter how much I love it. But, the reason I think you’re more like you’re Taurus Venus is because you’re loyal, like they are. You like psychical affection in friendship and relationships. Remember what you said before summer solstice? About if I was going to love you it was going to be natural? They like when friendships and relationships happen that way. You’re also very stubborn but patient and devoting too. You get jealous as well and you’ve done nothing but be supportive of me and my limits. The kicker is they’re known for having very beautiful voices and being great singers and musicians, which very much applies to you in my eyes. Your voice is really soothing to listen to, especially when you’re singing and you play the piano and drums pretty well.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t I sing you to bed tonight then?”

He smiled at the compliments she had given him at the end. He started to think she was right about the Taurus Venus thing, what she said sounded like him. She let go of her for a moment so she could put the papers away as he got comfortable on his side of the bed. She turned off the light before joining him in the space next to him. They both got comfortable with her head on his chest as he played with her and started to softly hum.

He noticed she always fell asleep so quickly when he would sing to her. He could see she was barely able to keep her eyes open in that moment. Again, like he did so often, he felt his heart flutter at most mundane but beautiful sight.

“Cosi?” He softly called in the dark.

“What is it?” She asked, rather sleepily.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered.

“Of course.”

“Do you promise not to freak out?”

“I promise, Hyuck.”

“I think I... love you, like I’m in love with you...”

She seemed wide awake when she looked at him. She didn’t say anything though and the silence between them was agonizing as they looked at each other. He was thinking maybe he shouldn’t have said that so soon but then she leaned up and kissed his nose. Yet, nothing was said about it or in response before she fell asleep for the night.

[decayedflower]

Stranger II

⋆ gif is mine

Pairing: Yang Hongwon x Reader

Genre: Underground rapper!Hongwon, Barista!Reader | angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Don’t get attached. This was his number one rule. Attachment means getting hurt. Attachment means vulnerability. You are the only person you can trust. So how could she so easily sneak past and break the walls he had worked so hard to build around his heart when all she is, is a stranger?

Warnings: cussing, some angst, hamin being a noodle

A/N: Sorry this took forever to upload, life happens ya know? Next chapter should be more exciting as the ball gets rolling. Hope you guys enjoy :)

You told yourself that no matter how in love you were with someone, you could detach yourself from your emotions enough so that—should the day come—you could live your life without them.

Looking at yourself now, you admit you’re a little ashamed. You couldn’t stop bawling your eyes out for 2 weeks straight. You guess you didn’t do as good a job ‘detaching’ as you thought you did.

You mentally slap yourself. You once lived your life without him bitch, you can do it again. 

It was on a rainy Monday afternoon that you found yourself in bed—cheeto dust on your titties—marathon watching Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo. Curse Nam Joohyuk. How could a man be so goddamn perfect? He was handsome, funny, loving—and most certainly not a CHEATER. 

You sigh and decide that you should probably get up and shower before Hyeri comes home and sees your miserable state. You feel bad worrying her so much. She’s always been way too kind and selfless for her own good.

You grab a fresh set of pj’s and determinedly head to the bathroom. The least you could do was stop moping and try to clear your thoughts of him. For both your sakes.

Just as you finish that thought, you catch sight of the item sitting on top of your dresser. Your favorite hoodie. His hoodie. You scowl and toss it into the trash bin. If only all men were like Nam Joohyuk. The world would be a much more peaceful place.

“Sooo, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You know how Princess Peach is always getting her ass kidnapped?”

You laugh at the odd question. “I do recall the kidnapping of the Princess Peach ass, yes.”

“Well, it just hit me. Why doesn’t the bitch ever fight back? I mean,” Jin places a hand on his hip thoughtfully, “how is it that she manages to get kidnapped by the same dude every single time? She’s a princess. Shouldn’t she have high level security?”

“Huh. I never really thought about that.”

“How could you not! She has marshmallows for bodyguards. It’s outrageous.”

“Does it really matter?” you ask.

He sounds genuinely offended. “Of course it does. You ever see Daisy getting kidnapped?”

“Well, no but—“

“Besides, isn’t it a little ridiculous how there’s this expectation that Mario has to save her? I mean, he’s not even a prince or a knight, he’s a plumber! An italian plumber! The amount of disrespect is just astronomical considering the lengths he goes to—”

“Seokjin why are we talking about this?” You ask, baffled. You take a look at your workstation and head to the stockroom to get more large size cups. Jin trails behind you, obviously upset with your lack of interest in the conversation.

 “It’s a legitimate concern, Y/N. Someone needs to pay attention to these details and it is the duty of I, the consumer, to voice the—whoa whoa whoa, since when do we have oatmeal raisin cookies?!” He screeches mid-rant, staring at a pack of cookies he holds in his hand.

You whip around to have a look, not believing your ears. “What the fuck?”

It’s true. The box of oatmeal raisin cookies sits atop the third shelf, right next to the double chocolate chip cookies.

“The boss sent an email out on Sunday,” Yoongi stands at the doorway holding a box of promotional flyers. If it were possible, you swear tumbleweed would have made its way between the three of you with the silence that follows as you and Jin stare at each other blankly.

“Which,” Yoongi drawls out, “I guess neither of you read.” he states dryly, walking away.

“Who the hell likes oatmeal raisin?” Jin asks defensively. Personally, you couldn’t agree more. Oatmeal cookies on their own were tolerable—it was the raisin part that completely ruined the entire cookie.

“They’re Satan’s spawn,” he scowls, tossing the aforementioned cookie back in the box as if it had personally insulted him. You chuckle and shake your head, walking back to your station with the box of plastic cups.

You start stocking them back up on the counter, making sure it looks neat. 

“Hey Jin,” Yoongi calls out from the front of the store, “can you grab that window marker and write out the menu again? The rain washed some of it off.” He says, examining the missing bits of letters, nose scrunched in annoyance.

You could practically hear the way the older boy starts seething at Yoongi’s lack of use in honorifics. The tips of his ears flare a bright red, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I’M SORRY, COME AGAIN?! I couldn’t hear you over the DISRESPECT.”

Seokjin takes great pride in being the oldest of the crew. He enjoys taking care of the others as if they were of his own blood, you included. He has a somewhat sarcastic sense of humor—but never overbearingly so—always exaggerating his facial expressions and reactions, which you personally find charming. Seokjin is also infamous for his constant dad jokes, the younger ones usually cringing at their cheesiness and have you bending over in laughter. (The other boys beg you to stop egging him on as it only fuels his desire to keep them going.) That being said, Jin is not someone who gets easily irritated. When it comes to certain things, he is just, well, a bit of a drama queen.

You stifle a laugh, watching as Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, very obviously regretting his choice of words. “Hyung, will you please go rewrite the menu outside?”

“Thank you! Can’t you just do that from the get go? I swear you kids are so ungrateful sometimes. I mean, you all seem to forget how I practically raised you brats—”

“Hyung, please get your ass outside or so help me I will go into that break room right now, clock out, take the longest nap of my damn life and just leave you two out here to die.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting his hand up, “I’m going geez. What a drama queen.” He huffs his way to the entrance, shaking his head, marker in hand. “And you guys say I’m the dramatic one.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

Yoongi stands there looking up at the ceiling with his hands on both hips as if silently asking the heavens for a tiny shred of patience.

You snicker behind your hand. You swear hearing those two bicker is your daily source of serotonin. 

It’s 3 more hours into your shift when Hamin shows up at the front counter with his signature soft boy smile.

He first visited the cafe during the summer one day back when you had just been hired. The intense summer heat wave had him coming in search of some shelter from the sun and a drink to cool off. The Grind was promoting the seasonal summer drinks and naturally, as a new hire, you tried your best to advertise it. It was only your second day on the job and in your nervous state you sold him a drink that, to just your luck, wasn’t available that day. You apologized profusely afraid that he would turn out to be a Karen, but Hamin had been very sweet about it. He befriended you after that, making frequent visits to the Grind, declaring that he had found a hidden gem.

After talking to him some more you learned that Hamin had studied psychology for two years at a local college before he decided to drop out and pursue his musical career. Of course he didn’t tell you that last part up until a couple of weeks ago, so you had been under the impression that the reason he spent so many hours at the coffee shop was to study for his exams. You weren’t the type of person to pry into someone’s personal life unless they decided to tell you themselves so you never asked. Ever since Hongwon confessed to you that both he and Hamin were working towards becoming musicians, Hamin began to share more about himself to you. He figured that now that the cat was out of the bag, he could be more open with you. Prior to that day, you knew very little about Hamin’s personal life.

“Hey you! You’re back,” you beam. 

“Yeah, gotta grind,” he pats his bag for emphasis. “Ha! Grind...” he snorts suddenly. “Get it? Cause we’re at...” he gestures to the shop and laughs to himself. He looks goofy standing there in his bright lavender tie dye hoodie, a big contrast to the muted colors of the walls. His tall lean form stands out like a sore thumb. An Adidas baseball cap adorns his head but it’s so washed out you can’t even tell what color it is—or is supposed to be. 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh come on, it was funny,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“It was funny the first couple times Jin said it when I just started working here,” You correct.

“You still laughed though,” he winks at you, making you laugh again. “Anyway,” he straightens up, “Can I get the usual, please?”

You grab a cup and start writing his name. “Just you this time?” 

“Nah, my idiot friend is coming but he’s gonna run late so I’ll just order ahead of him.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket in search of his wallet. “How much is it?” He asks, fumbling through a bunch of receipts and cards.

You wave him off. “On the house.”

“No way, I can—”

“Hamin, dude, relax. You do this every time. I keep telling you, discount: friend. Total: zero.” 

“You gotta let me pay every now and then. I don’t want your coworkers to think I keep coming here to leech off you…”

“Look, if you were really taking advantage of me, you wouldn’t keep disappearing on me for weeks at a time. Consider it an advance payment for when you finally let me hear a song of yours. ”

“Sorry…” He smiles sheepishly, “It’s a deal then. Thanks Y/N, you’re the best,” he grins. You flip your hair dramatically, playing along.

You make his drink and note that work is slow enough, so you head over to his table instead of calling him over.

You place his drink on the table, “so what’re you working on today?” He looks up and thanks you, taking a sip before he answers.

“A solo project. I don’t have anything now that’s worth listening to though…” He says dejectedly. Admittedly, he’s been going though somewhat of a writer's block. 

“That’s okay! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be glad to give it a listen if you’re still willing to let me. Good music also takes time, right?” You smile encouragingly.

Someone yells out your name before he’s able to respond. You turn at the sound, “Oh hey!” you exclaim when you see your roommate. You turn back to wish Hamin luck on his writing.

“Thanks for the lunch, Hyeri,” you pat your stuffed tummy in satisfaction. “I forgot to prep mine last night so I was honestly just gonna wait until I got home to eat,” you confess meekly.

She showed up during your shift planning to ask you what kind of food you were in the mood for so she could bring it to you, but Yoongi caught on and sent you on your lunch break so the two of you could eat together instead. Min Yoongi was a godsend. 

“I knew it! Y/N, you have to eat your meals! Do you know how detrimental it is to your health if you’re constantly working and skipping your meals?!” you cower as she scolds you. 

“I know…sorry. I just forgot...” you squeak.

“Ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I just worry about you,” she sighs, taking her seat again.

“And I’m so thankful!” you say quickly placing your hand on hers, “I’m sorry you’re always having to take care of me. I’ll work harder so that I don’t become a burden to you. I promise. I haven’t been myself these days but...just give me some time.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, “Hey. You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. You’re like a sister to me. And I would never put your emotions against you. You need time to heal and that’s okay. Take it at your pace. I will always look after you, no matter what. Okay?”

Your heart warms at her words. You were so grateful to have her for a best friend. You engulf her in a hug and look at the time. 

“I should head back. My break is just about over. Thank you for everything, Hyeri. Are you staying? I’ll make you a drink. On the house. You can study there?” you ask.

“Well, I was planning on going to my school’s library, but I guess I could use a drink…” She paused for a moment. “Is Jungkook working today?” She asks, hopeful. 

Her crush on your coworker was so amusing. “Unfortunately for you, not today, sorry.” She pouts cutely.

“I’ll make you a green matcha latte?”

“Pretty please.”

You giggle, “Okay, let’s head back then.” 

It was a good thing the two of you decided to eat at the chinese restaurant across the shop, so the walk isn’t long. You came here so often that the kind elderly woman who owned the restaurant had memorized your order. You couldn’t help it that their sweet and sour chicken was bomb as hell. What you would give for that recipe.

You’re internally groaning at the thought of having to go back into work when Hyeri stops in front of the entrance and lets out a low whistle. 

“Whoa, hey. Which one of your coworkers drives a damn motorcycle?!” She points to a sleek, graphite motorcycle parked on the curb, two cars away from yours. 

“Whoa. Uhh...no one, not that I’m aware of. Jin drives a Honda Civic and Yoongi ubers cause of car issues.” You shrug, opening the door. “Must be a customer’s.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s just me, but that thing is screaming big dick energy.” She says, following behind you. You laugh and smack her shoulder. 

“You say that but what if it’s some old bald dude that listens to metal?” You ask, leading her to a table farther in the back so she can study peacefully. 

“Well err...hopefully not. I’m just saying whoever rides that thing, I wouldn’t mind riding too. Hell, I could ride all night…” she trails off. You bury your embarrassed face in your hands and try to hold in your laughter so you don’t disturb the customers. 

“Oh my god. Stop talking. You’re gonna get me in trouble.” You point at a chair, “Sit here and I’ll bring your drink. Behave,” you warn playfully.

“Yes ma'am,” She winks and points shooter fingers at you. You laugh with a roll of your eyes, heading back to clock in. 

“You seem...distracted.” Hamin says, amusement lacing his words.

“Huh?” Hongwon turns at the accusation with wide eyes.

He sighs. “I mean,” he says crossing his arms, “ever since you got here 15 minutes ago, it’s like you keep looking around for...something.”

“So, you’re saying for the past 15 minutes you’ve been watching me like a creep?” He turns his attention back to the music software in front of him. “I told you I don’t swing that way.” he says, clicking random notes on the half-finished project.

Hamin snorts. “Don’t change the subject. What‘s got you so distracted dude?” He asks, slurping up the remains of his drink through his straw.

“The only distraction here is the eggplant sitting in front of me...” He trails off when you enter the coffee shop with your friend in tow. You’re laughing, giving her a smack on the shoulder playfully at a joke she tells you.

Hamin stops his obnoxious slurping when he follows his friend’s gaze. “Ohhhhh!” he grins.

“What?” He snaps. “No ohhhh. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Hamin brings his hands up defensively. “Brain empty. No thoughts.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “Buuuttt if you were so interested you could’ve just asked, you know.”

“And what would I have asked exactly?” He asks with a tinge of annoyance.

Hamin tsks under his breath, exasperated. “Oh come on. I mean Y/N. You wanted to know if she was working. Am I right or am I right?”

“Why the hell would I wanna know that? I don’t even know her. ”

“Hongwon!” He’s caught off guard at the sound of your voice. He internally slams his own head against the table and forces a smile when you approach the table, avoiding Hamin’s gaze.

“Y/N, hey…”

“Hold on, you know each other already?” Hamin asks obnoxiously, “I only briefly mentioned you to him, but you already know his name!” Hongwon shoots daggers at the side of his head.

“Actually,” Hongwon says through gritted teeth, “we talked for a bit when I was on my way out the other day. It would have been rude of me to not introduce myself since she’s your friend.”

“He was even kind enough to walk with me on the way home even though it was raining. Thanks for that by the way, you really didn’t have to do that.”  Hamin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shit. The smile you give him is so sincere that he almost misses what you say completely.

“Really!” Hamin grins, clearly enjoying the situation. He pats his shorter friend’s head in mock endearment. “That’s so sweet of him! I mean, considering he lives in a completely opposite di—” Hongwon sends a swift kick to his shin underneath the table.

“Fuck!” Hamin rubs the spot and laughs through the gritted teeth. “I mean...that’s sweet of him considering he’s normally so shy.” He growls at Hongwon and plasters a smile when he looks back at you. You probably think they’re both lunatics.

“Right…” You laugh, unsure of what’s happening. “By the way, did you want a drink? I’ll make it for you.” You tell Hongwon.

“Oh, uh yeah I was just gonna get an americano. Let me just—” He starts to stand up and take out some cash when you stop him.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” He asks. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”

“Don’t worry, I get free drinks and pastries since I work here.” You say.

“And she shares them with me because I’m her favorite customer. Right, Y/N?” Hamin wiggles his eyebrows at you. You laugh and pick up his empty cup.

“Is he always this much of a moron when he comes here?” Hongwon asks, scrunching his face in distaste. You laugh and ask them to wait while you bring them coffee. 

Hamin waits until you’re completely out of ear shot before he begins his interrogation. 

“You know, for a pair of strangers, you two seem very well acquainted.” He states, eyes narrowed.

Hongwon scoffs. “You know, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but somehow you have a really punchable face.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh shut up. I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I needed to.”

“‘I don’t even know her,’” Hamin mimics.

“I don’t know her. I know her name, that’s it. Not the same thing.”

“So you like her.”

He laughs. “What are you, five? How could I like her? I just met her, idiot.”

“You walked her home.” He says pointedly.

“Part way. I only did it because it was getting late and she’s your friend.”

“Ha! Since when do you care about my friends?”

“She’s a girl, it’s different. If something happened to her because I looked the other way, it’d be on my conscience.”

“You live in completely opposite directions.”

“So what?”

“You wouldn’t even do that for me.” Hamin deadpans.

“Yeah but you’re not a cute girl.” He shrugs, crossing his arms.

“So you think she’s cute!” He slams both hands onto the table, leaning forward to peer into Hongwon’s face accusingly. 

“So what? She is cute.” He shoves him away, “that doesn’t mean I like her.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Hamin smirks and leans back in his seat.

“What?” He snaps.

“Nothing,” He says with a look on his face that screams everything but nothing.

Hongwon drags his hands over his face. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“You may have mentioned that before,” he replies, appearing unbothered.

He’s lucky you decide to come back at that moment. He swears he’d have slapped the smile off his face had he been left alone with Hamin for a minute longer.

You set down the coffee and start to walk back to the counter. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you guys too much so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Y/N!” Hamin shifts in his seat to face you. “Are you busy Friday?” This puts Hongwon on alert.

 “Hmmm...no, I don’t think I have anything going on actually. Why what’s up?”

“You’ve been wanting to hear some of our music for a while now, right? Well,” he loops an arm around Hongwon’s shoulder, “guess who has a gig that night?”

“No way!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands. “Wait, but I thought you didn’t have any music that’s finished.” You frown.

“Well, it’s not that we don’t, I just kinda wanted you to hear our new stuff first. But now that I think about it, this is as good a time as any. If you’re interested, a friend of ours is hosting a party and he asked a couple of artists to play for him. It’s at the Henz Club.” 

“You mean that scary looking club in Mapo-gu?”

“Scary? I mean sure, some odd looking people hang around there, but they’re all pretty chill for the most part. Right Hongwon?” 

Hongwon slaps his arm away. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to come but you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” He supplies. “We’d understand if—oof!”

“Nonsense!” Hamin butts in, shoving his elbow into Hongwon’s side. “You can bring your friend over there if you want, so you don’t have to worry about being alone.” He motions his head in the direction of Hyeri who—not so discreetly—pretends like she hasn’t been trying to make out what the three of you have been talking about for the past 10 minutes.

“Ah, but either way we won’t ditch you after the performance, I promise. How about it?”

Hongwon is still recovering from having the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knows it, somehow you’re agreeing and Hamin is giving you the details. 

“I’m so excited, I can’t wait to hear you guys.” You say cheerfully. 

“You should see this guy on stage,” Hamin gestures to Hongwon, “he really puts on a show. Like a true rockstar.”

 “You know, you saying that doesn’t make me feel good,” Hongwon says with a frown, sitting back in his chair defeatedly. 

 “Oh and don’t be surprised if you hear a lot of screaming.” He ignores him, “There’s always a lot of fangirls, especially for Hongwon. They literally come in swarms, it's crazy.”

“Oh my god. Stop. You’re so embarrassing.” He groans, looking away.

“Wow, you’re really hyping him up,” you laugh.

“Ignore him. He’s just saying whatever the hell he wants.” 

“No way, it’s really the truth.” He insists, folding his arms across his chest.

“Y/N! We need you in the back!” Yoongi calls out, his head poking out from the staff only door. 

“I gotta go. I guess I’ll see you guys on Friday!” You say, waving. “Coming!” You call out, following after your coworker.

Hamin smiles stupidly as you leave. “Isn’t she sweet!”

Hamin and Hongwon hang around at the café for a few more hours until they decide to grab a bite to eat. For the remainder of the time they spent working on their music, Hongwon had not uttered a single word. The most Hamin had gotten out of him was a “sure” when he suggested they get burgers before heading home.

He exits his car, watching as Hongwon removes his helmet to fix the mess it makes of his hair. 

Sighing deeply, Hamin leans against the side of his car, hitting the park button on his remote. “Come on, don’t be so cold. How long are you gonna give me the silent treatment for?” 

He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dreading to ask but needing to know. “Are you really that pissed off because I invited her?”

Hongwon slips the hollow side of his helmet onto the handlebar and mimics Hamin, leaning against his motorcycle. “Depends,” he says, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket to light one up, “why’d you invite her?”

Hamin considers his answer carefully, shifting his weight onto the other leg. It’s obvious that Hongwon is already upset, so anything he says will probably get him angry anyway. “I was hoping maybe you guys could hit off,” he says at last, deciding to be honest.

In truth, Hongwon isn’t surprised to hear this—he actually suspected it—but it still pisses him off nonetheless. It wasn’t the first time Hamin tried setting him up with someone. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. This was something he had told him countless times and yet, he continues to pull stunts like this.

“I know you said you aren’t looking for a relationship,” Hamin continues when he proceeds to bring the cigarette to his lips without a reply, “but I just think you could at least talk to her and—“

“And then what? We fall in love, get married and ride off into the sunset?” He cuts him off abruptly.

“No, I just—“ he starts to say but stops when he can’t think of how to word it correctly.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Y/N went through a bad breakup, and so did I. You think maybe the two of us can find the comfort we couldn’t find with our previous relationships, in each other.” He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that's a load of shit. This idea you have that love can just make me forget about all my trauma, is a load of shit.” Hamin flinches at the sudden aggression in his tone. This really didn’t come across the way he intended it to.

“Guess what, I’m fucked up Hamin!” He continues, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I have too many damn issues and I don’t need some chick to try to figure me out or fix me. I told you already, I’m happy with the way things are. I’m not gonna play into your stupid games just because you want to play fuckin’ cupid.” Hongwon scowls, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Hamin keeps his gaze on the ground, frustrated with how easily and accurately Hongwon is able to guess what he’s thinking. He didn’t realize how terrible it all sounded out loud. He racks his brain for something—anything—to say and argue that those aren’t his intentions, but Hongwon is speaking again before he’s able to do so successfully. 

“I don’t care if you invite her. Just don’t go expecting anything out of me.”

He nods his head weakly. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, bro…” He says scratching his neck, “I’m not trying to find someone to fix you...” he trails off.

“It’s cool.” He sniffles, the cold air getting to him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap like that.”

Hamin is taken aback for a second, not expecting him to apologize. He kicks the floor with his sneaker, “S’cool.”

“You still hungry?” Hamin asks, afraid that their little spat would create unnecessary tension between them.

Hongwon tosses his cigarette onto the floor to put it out with his sneaker. “Fuckin’ starving.”

You went home together with Hyeri later that afternoon once your shift was over. It was always nice to go home when the sun was setting and the air felt cooler. You loved how quiet the city got, allowing you to simply be one with your thoughts. 

Unfortunately for you, today was not one of those days.

You release a sigh as you continue to pretend to not notice Hyeri’s constant fidgeting. “Hyeri, if you want to know so badly just ask already.”

She releases a giant breath as if she had been holding it this entire time. “Oh thank goodness because I felt like I was actually going to die if you didn’t say something soon,” she says grabbing your arm excitedly, like a puppy who was just called over by its owner. 

“What were you doing with those two hotties I’ve never seen before?” You couldn’t tell what made her more excited―the fact that she found them so attractive or the fact that you were talking to men other than your coworkers. “Is one of them single?” she stops walking and gasps, “Are they both single?!”

An older lady walking her Chihuahua gives you a scornful look as she passes the two of you and you bring your finger to your lips to shush Hyeri. “Sorry,” she says with a giggle, “but this is huge!”

You pull her along with you to cross the short crosswalk and to the steps of your apartment complex, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’ve seen Hamin before.” You say, slipping your house key into the lock and opening the door.

“Okay but, this time there was another guy too. And you guys talked for like 20 minutes! On your shift!” She says, removing her shoes quickly to stand in front of you excitedly. You stop untying your shoelaces to give her a look.

“He’s a friend I made through Hamin. Who is also just my friend,” You tell her slowly as if you were explaining it to a child but you can tell by her smile that she’s not listening. You sigh and slip your work shoes off, putting them in the hallway closet. Hyeri hovers behind you, not wanting to be too pushy but also too worked up to leave you alone.

You stand up straight and turn around. “Okay fine. Hamin invited me to this party,” this already has Hyeri clasping her hands over mouth, “he and his friend are playing a gig for a friend—”

She’s squealing and jumping around before you can finish your sentence. “And they want you there as their plus one! Oh my—”

“But I think Hamin knows about the breakup and he feels bad and that’s why he invited me,” you say quickly. Hyeri stops mid spin to give you an incredulous look. “I mean, they kind of saw the whole thing since it happened at work,” you say glumly.

Hyeri wraps her arms around you when she sees how you deflate at the reminder. “Hey, don’t make such a sad face. You guys have been friends for a while now, right? I haven’t met the guy but I’m sure he invited you because he wants you there and not because he pities you.”

“Sorry. I think I’ve been trying too hard not to think about it so all the negative thoughts are really hitting me now,” you say, resting your head on her shoulder. She always had such a comforting mom warmth to her.

She releases you and gives you a comforting smile. “Do you want to go?”

“Well,” you sit on your bed exhausted, “I actually didn’t know Hamin played music until recently. I’ve really been wanting to hear some of his stuff and apparently his friend does music too..”

“Girl, there’s your answer! Who says you have to spend your days sad and alone after a breakup? If you want to go, go.” She encourages you. She had a point. Although somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt guilty. When Hamin invited you, you were super stoked and set on going but now that you were really thinking about it, you couldn’t help but think of Jaewon.

“I can tell you’re overthinking this,” Hyeri says. “Don’t. You’re a free woman! Free from a man who took advantage of you and didn’t know how to treasure you. Do whatever the fuck you want because it’s no one’s business. It’s not like you’re planning to go sleep around.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “and even if you are guess what, it’s still no one’s business.” She says vehemently.

You pick at your nails and bite your lip. “Okay.”

“Okay?!”

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

She squeals again and launches herself onto you. You land with an oof on your bed, her head barely missing yours by an arm hair. “Oh, one more thing though,” you manage to say from beneath her. “They kind of invited you too.”

Hyeri lifts herself up at this. She stares at you with wide eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I guess they saw us talking together and figured we were friends. Also, they caught you trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.” You tell her.

“Nooooooooooo,” she cries and runs to throw herself onto her bed face flat.

“It was the hiding behind an upside down textbook for me,” you snicker.

“Y/N, please I’m in the middle of dying of embarrassment.”

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (7/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33) 

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Big thank you to @profdanglaisstuff​ for being a wonderful beta and having my back all through this work! 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 7000 words - ao3

Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST  , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN

Note: This is it, the great, the terrible last chapter. I hope you guys will like this as much as I tortured myself writing it, making sure it is the perfect ending to this story :’) It’s been a pleasure writing this story, I loved every second of it and yeah...Thank you for sticking with me through this. It’s been really lovely having you as my readers. 

PART 7 - INVISIBLE STRING 

Present Day -- August, Storybrooke, Maine.

That night, Granny’s dinner is fuller than usual. Fuller with people, fuller with life.

It’s an agreeable summer night, the air a cool breeze against Killian and Emma’s bare arms as Mary Margaret and David argue over the color choice of the napkins for their upcoming wedding. Crickets chirp all around them, seeming to mock them.

Their plates of food are now empty, and Ruby expertely piles them up on her left arm as Mary Margaret shoots a death glare at her boyfriend.

“White is simply perfect, David.”

“So you play Snow White once in High School and now it’s your favorite color? That’s ridiculous, Mary Margaret.”

“Is it now? And what kind of color would you go for? Orange?”  

“Well, orange would be a statement for one!”

“Over my dead body, David. It’s white or nothing.”

If Emma weren’t so distracted by the warmth of Killian’s fingers around hers, she would have probably choked on her beer and mumbled “Mary Margaret - 1, David - 0.”

Thankfully for everyone, the palm that curled around hers a few minutes ago metaphorically threw her straight into a pink cloud kind of paradise.

Looking up from their intertwined fingers, Emma is greeted by the very real purple pink clouds in the night sky, behind Killian and Mary Margaret’s back. They are sitting opposite Emma and David, while Ingrid sits in the middle, a small contented smile on her lips, as she eats her onion rings in silence.

Fairy lights hang above their heads. Emma loves fairy lights, she always has.

“Why not settle for another color, mates?” tries Killian in a calm, soothing voice, and Emma is surprised he is talking at all.

He should know better. Grave, stupid mistake it is to get between Mary Margaret, David and their napkins.

“NEVER,” the couple answer as one voice, and Emma watches with a chuckle caught in her throat as Killian backs away, hands in front of his face.

“Wohoho, mates. Calm down. The only people you’re allowed to kill are each other.”

And as Emma swallows another grin, she thinks Killian and she haven’t talked about it, but that’s fine. Emma’s brain doesn’t seem able to come up with words, anyway.

A few hours ago, the walk back to Ingrid’s was achieved in near complete silence, and it was weird -- considering with whom she was walking. Actually, cross that -- it was weird to be walking back to her childhood house with Killian Jones, period.

But Emma was able to find comfort in Killian’s lack of words as well, and god knows how talkative Killian can be, she found comfort in his breathy tone when he handed her the box back and the flush on his cheeks, knowing if she could barely hear anything if not for her own heartbeats, surely he wasn’t pulling this any better than she was.

“Earth to Emma, would you like a desert?”

Emma blinks. Two green eyes are staring at her.

Right. Dinner. Granny’s. Damnit, focus Emma. Ruby’s voice sends a shameful loop down Emma’s belly.

“...Mmm, no, actually. I’m fine, for now.”

Ruby’s raising an eyebrow. Everyone is staring at her. Why are they staring?

“Are you sure, Ems?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“...It’s just, it doesn’t sound a lot like you.”

And then Emma’s pretty sure her hair stands on end.

“Really.” And each word is meant to sound more threatening than the last. “I. Am. Fine. Ruby.”

She’s not looking at him, but Emma catches Killian’s small chuckle all the same. It’s hard to ignore how easily her rage melts away, and she hides the beginning of a smile behind a napkin.

“Fine.” And Ruby nearly sounds like she is the one who got attacked. (Perhaps she was. But she deserved it.)

As the waitress disappears in a clatter of heels, Ingrid is tapping a napkin against her mouth, delicately, and Emma knows very well what this means.

“Well, it’s already 10pm. I think I’ll leave you youngsters to it.”

Emma watches as Ingrid folds the napkin in front of her, just like she always does, and gracefully stands up.  

“Goodnight, kids.” Ingrid grins, and everyone replies with a lively “Goodnight, Ingrid!”

A kiss is dropped onto Emma’s forehead, and Emma doesn’t miss the subtle pat on the back Killian receives on Ingrid’s way out. Emma thinks Ingrid’s always liked Killian, but then she stops thinking about it because David and Mary Margaret are coughing, and it is the least natural piece of acting Emma’s had the chance to witness in a while.

They both exchange a sly glance, nod and stand up at their turn, and Emma stares at them -- cheeks burning.

“Yeah, we’ll go, too. It’s getting pretty late, and we flew in very early this morning.”

Traitor, shout Emma’s eyes at Mary Margaret, but the small brunette is smiling with all of her teeth out and doesn’t seem concerned by Emma’s impending murder threat.

“Enjoy your night, guys,” David looks far too delighted. “Byye.”

“Aha, bye guys.”

Away from Granny’s dinner and up Main Street towards Granny’s B&B, the couple vanishes into the night.

And just like that, Emma and Killian are alone under the fairy lights.

Chirp, chirp.

This time, Emma cannot ignore the childish panic that strangles her throat, as his touch begins to burn her skin and her hand slowly slides out of his palm. She looks down at the green plastic table.

What to do now? Jesus, she is not nineteen anymore, she needs to take initiative, and—

“Fancy a walk along the beach, Emma?”asks Killian, and Emma is so thankful for the distraction she nearly knocks the table down as she springs to her feet.

“Excellent idea!” Why do her legs feel so wobbly?

And Killian smirks, and she wonders if he knows just how badly she is afraid, of him, of her, of risking her heart.

“Perfect then, let’s sail away.”

But she wants this to work, she wants them to work. She spent a good part of her life agonizing over this relationship, daydreaming about it, and then cursing it, and it better be as good as she thought it would be.

.

As things turn out, this walk along the beach feels like brutally falling down a rabbit hole. It knocks the wind out of Emma and it is wonderfully terrifying.

The wind blows that night. Salt air dances with Emma’s light dress and Killian’s hair.

Emma’s shoes dangle from her fingers, but she is still shaking like a leaf.

Awful, isn’t it, to finally get all you’ve ever dreamed of?

She knows it’s not entirely hers yet, she knows she still has to dash forward and grab it with her two hands, and not let it go – on any account. (Do you want it?)

It’s terrifying.

She did not reach out to Killian, this past month, although she knew about his letter...and she probably wouldn’t have reached out first, had he not appeared on her porch.

There is still this stupid fear, down her stomach, this stupid fear that he never cared, he never will, and this is all a sick joke.

(She wants it.)

“Should we sit?”

“Aye.”

He complies as she sprawls into the sand she feels moist under her toes, sitting down a few inches from him.

Somehow, staring at him still feels illegal.

When he gets a flask of rum out of his leather jacket, she rolls her eyes, and her bracelet glints under the moonlight. For the first time in ages, it is not a painful sight. She does not twist the little charms.

“Really? Is rum your solution to everything?”

“It’s not rum, Swan. It’s merely water.”

“Is it now?”

“Nah, it’s definitely rum. But it never hurts to have a drink between friends.”

And at that wicked, wicked word, they both stare at one another and gape slightly.

It should be funny. Except it still itches.

Aren’t they friends?

There are stars reflected in his eyes. There is still this ache inside her chest.

Emma is urged by a desire to look down then, but she doesn’t cave in. Instead, her mouth curves into a smile.

“…Friends or other types of acquaintances,” he adds after a while, and Emma’s smile widens.

The flask of rum is handed to her, and she drinks a few mouthfuls that diffuse a sweet heat and courage down her throat. Lord does she need it.  

“Acquaintances, you say, um?”

She licks the small drop of rum that rolls down her lower lip, notices with satisfaction as Killian’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue and widen when he realizes she has caught him red-handed.

“Aye. I believe we’ve been acquainted.” There is a delicious twirl, down in her stomach, that could drown her fears, she knows it, if only she allowed herself to let go.

“Right.”

Idiot. Her cheeks burn. It is ridiculous, they are ridiculous and she doesn’t mind.

Woosh, woosh, the waves giggle.

As Emma inhales deeply, she figures she has to give him back his flask and that this -- whatever the hell this really is -- is probably going to be more difficult than she initially thought.

Her fingers brush against his as his hand closes over the flask -- of course they do -- and Emma couldn’t honestly say who’s to blame.  

“Thanks, Swan.”

Oh, how many scenarios she made up in her mind, about him showing up. They all ended with their lips locked together. What she had a very hard time figuring out was the in-between. The talking. The confession. Because there has to be one, right?

She hears him gulp a few mouthfuls of rum down next to her and she refocuses her gaze on him. He clears his throat.

“So, erm, any plans for the foreseeable future?” he inquires.

The flask is buried in the sand between them.

“I don’t know, to be honest. For now, I think I’ll stay in Storybrooke. It’s my home.”

And then a pause, she glances at him through her eyelashes. A mischievous wave comes crashing at their feet, bites their toes.

“What about you, Killian? Still in Portsmouth?”

She watches him tilt his head next to her as he carefully sieves a handful of sand between his fingers, brows furrowed.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about moving back to Storybrooke. Joining the Navy again would not be easy, and I’m not sure it’s entirely what I desire. I mostly did it to honour Liam but it’s never been a dream of mine…”

A pause, a breath, for him, Emma has stopped breathing somewhere after “Storybrooke”. And her mouth refuses to shut.

“Plus, there’s the fact that Graham did mention the need for another deputy,” he casually adds, shoots a swift glance at her.

Oh. Breathe, Emma, breathe.

It’s very hard, then, for Emma to swallow the smile that tingles her lips.

“You are?” she asks, curses silently her quivering tone. Clears her throat. Dammit, why did it come out like this?

If he notices it, Killian doesn’t show it. Instead, he goes on, the ghost of a smile over his lips.

“Aye. I don’t think there’s anywhere else for me to be. It is high time I came home.”

Home. The word echoes between them, much like the gentle rustling of the waves.

And Emma nods and she has no idea where to put herself, what to say. She settles for telling the truth.

“That’s great. I could really use you around.” A pause. “I’ve missed you.”

Twinkle, twinkle the stars in the night sky, and the constellations in her heart as her eyes meet his. They put to shame the sea of stars in front of them.

Emma’s heart is bursting out as he slowly glances down at her lips, and then even more slowly looks up, a dangerous grin overtaking his features.

“Aye. I’ve missed you too, Swan. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Hearing him repeat her words is positively the worst thing that could have happened to her heart rate. That one nearly rips her heart out of her chest and sends it ricocheting on the waves.

She nods, laughs a bit, crinkles her nose mostly to hide how flustered she truly is.

“How…How did this happen?”

And he sighs next to her, a very dramatic sigh that she recognizes as a poor attempt to hide a deeper kind of pain. She watches as he stretches his legs, digs a shape into the sand with his fingers.

“How did you end up marrying Neal Cassidy, you mean? Poor judgement, if I do say so myself.”

The bastard.

She elbows him in the ribs, of course, he deserves it.

And he only chuckles, feigns a moan of pain, and… and grabs the arm she threw at him to bring her closer to him. There are grains of sand stuck to his skin as his hand closes over her fisted palm. As he stares at her, all air has definitely been knocked out of Emma’s lungs.  

His nose gently brushes hers. Little pulses of magic seem to climb up her hand, her arm, to gently tickle her heart.

And she gazes into his eyes, mortified. Swallows hard.

“To be fair, he did hide that letter from you. A shame really, it was truly a pearl of literature.”

His breath tingles Emma’s lips, and it isn’t fair.

She snorts, she tries to at least, because it is hard to do anything when he is this close to her.

“David told you,” she mumbles, rolls her eyes dramatically, blushes furiously.

He isn’t denying the letter. He isn’t denying anything.

“Aye that he did. You can’t trust the guy with a secret, love.”

She doesn’t know what David told him over the phone, but Emma thinks it is safe to assume that it is somewhere near absolutely everything. And it should bother her, it should bother that secret and private part of herself, but Emma’s tired of fighting against herself, and she lets it go. All of it.

Her hand is still in his, twisted against his chest, right above his heart. She doesn’t mind. They could remain like this, forever, for all she minds. But that wouldn’t be very practical, now, would it?

“And it’s not like I didn’t know…” he continues, and Emma’s mouth drops even more, if it is possible. “I think I’ve known from the moment I met you. Haven’t you?”

A nervous chuckle shakes her shoulders.

“What exactly have you always known?”

“You can’t answer my question with another question, Swan. That’s just not how the English language works.”

“Well, if you could drop the metaphors and double entendre, then perhaps, perhaps I…” A breath. There’s no need to hide anymore, although something ludicrous seems about to explode inside her chest. “Y-yes, I think I knew...But I --”

“-- Good, because in that case, there’s no use for me to hold back from doing this…”

And as she opens her mouth to complain about metaphors and double entendre, again, he leans into her, tilts his face and, as Emma’s heart does a weird leaping thing in her chest, delicately presses his lips to hers.

While Emma does think it is definitely very rude of him to interrupt her like that, she cannot bring herself to complain too much.

Neither can she ignore the sudden explosion in her chest, thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness that taste of childhood and dreams bursting out.

Oh god. She muffles a moan against his mouth, snatches her hand from his grip to tug at his hair, brings him closer to her, as close as humanly possible, presses her mouth harder against his, as hard she can, and she quite literally feels like a house set on fire.

Thump, thump, cries her heart, as their lips dance together, as his hand gets lost in her hair, and no air reaches her lungs and this goddamn flower keeps blooming inside her chest and there isn’t any space between them, and she’s pretty sure she’s combusting into flames, but it’s fine, it’s really fine when his mouth opens and gives her access to his tongue.

It’s a gentle kiss, in spite of the passion. It’s such a gentle kiss, in the way with which his hand tenderly lingers in her curls, as if he were afraid she’d shatter under his touch, or in the way his other arm curls around her waist, holds her tightly, but not too tightly, so as not to break her it seems.

Years of yearning will do that to you, make you afraid of shattering the glittering and fragile object of your affection.

And when they let go, burning forehead against burning forehead, because they really, really need to breathe, Emma doesn’t want to run. In fact, she doesn’t want this to ever end. And she doesn’t know it, but she smiles.

“Then why –” he begins, his lips lightly, delicately brushing against hers as he speaks.

And how dare he be talking! She can barely breathe.

“—why the wedding?” she lazily answers against his lips. “Because I didn’t think you cared…” A pause. “You never told me you did... You didn’t even call, after the k-kiss.”

Damnit, that was harder to spit out than anticipated. And it probably sounded more accusing than she wanted it to, but she forgives herself.

The painful memory allows her to step back a little, to gaze into his blue eyes and discover his cheeks crimson and an awestruck look on his face, as well as a lot of guilt and tenderness.

A sigh. “Of course I didn’t. I was waiting for you to do it. You were bloody engaged, may I remind you.”

Her brows furrow.

“And I did! But you didn’t answer.” Silence. “Tink did.”

She watches his features with weariness. She watches as he frowns. Backs away slightly, to gaze into her eyes, seems to seek the truth. And then, sighs.

“Of bloody course. Tink.” Emma watches as he rolls his eyes dramatically, hisses a few insults between his teeth.

She thinks he is still infuriatingly handsome.

Another nervous laughter begins rattling her body, because this is ridiculous, they are ridiculous, they just had to talk it out and it would have been fine but --

“Seems like our lack of communication isn’t only on us.”

Emma smirks. “Well, it’s mostly on us.”

“Point taken.” And it’s unfair because he smiles a bright smile then and her heart jumps once more.

And he looks down, again, at her lips, and Emma feels frozen only she is burning. She needs to kiss him again, and forever, probably.

“But if you cared--” Why is he talking again? She opens eyes she didn’t know she had shut to dart a murderous gaze on him. He doesn’t see it, the fool, keeps talking instead. “--why did you ask me to forget our kiss?”

That nearly knocks her out. “Our kiss? Which kiss?”

She doesn’t know just how right she is to ask this question.

He raises an eyebrow. His cheeks are flushed and his hair dishevelled, and Emma has to focus to look into his eyes and not stare at his swollen lips.

“You mean to tell me you don’t remember?”

And his eyes do a weird twitching thing. He doesn’t seem alright. And he sounds a little bit as if a part of himself has just died.

“I mean… I sure as hell think I would remember this.” Oh, she totally would.

“Your nineteenth birthday,” he exhales, and if he could raise his eyebrows any harder, they’d get stuck up his hairline, “we kissed on the rooftop right before you fell to the ground.”

Well, she does remember the wicked headache she got that day, but she thought it was caused by the alcohol and…

“No…Yes?” A pause. She frowns. Realization sinks in. Well that would explain a lot, indeed. “We did?”

That would explain his crumpled face as she asked him to forget their night, it would explain why he avoided her all through summer, and why he stayed with Milah, and why she started dating Neal in the first place, and oh -- they are two idiots, aren’t they?

“Aye. And you specifically asked me to forget that night.”

If she keeps frowning her eyebrows will remain stuck forever. She frowns harder.

“But I had no memory of that kiss.”

“Bloody hell.” And Killian lets go of a very dramatic sigh, shakes his head.

Emma’s mouth forms an “O” as she watches Killian glance further away, to the sea, and she begins to understand years of struggle could have been avoided, had they, had they…well, talked about it, it seems.

An angel passes.

“Damnit,” she whispers.

And Emma is surprised to find a chuckle tickling her throat. Why is she laughing? This isn’t funny.

He still isn’t looking at her. Impish waves keep nibbling their toes. She hates how heavy everything suddenly feels.

Emma thinks that all this time he thought-- he thought she didn’t care, but she did, oh she cared, and...

Emma breathes in, fingers pressed to her temples. Shrugs a bit, breathes out and casts an eye on Killian. He doesn’t seem alright. But she knows how to distract him.

“Since I don’t remember, allow me to ask: did you kiss me?”

His blue eyes flash in the dimness as she smirks.

She doesn’t think she has seen him look this offended before.

“I beg your pardon? You bloody kissed me, Emma!”

His high pitch does make her chuckle.

“Don’t give me that offended look. That does sound like something you’d do.”

Oh, the wrath sparkling in his gaze then, it’s a sight for sore eyes, and she cannot stop smiling.

“Nah, you were the one who melted onto my lips and sucked the bloody life out of me, perched on your high heels.”

“They weren’t that high. And, at least I did something about my feelings.”

“Well, you forgot so it was pretty useless in the end, anyway.”

“Hey!”

And her fist punches his chest, and he captures it again, traitor, and time stands still for a moment, as they glance at each other.

Everything still feels very fragile and terrifying. But that’s quite alright.

And then with a swing of his hip, he shifts her under his weight, onto the sand, and her body meets the ground softly.

His face surrounded by dark, tousled hair hides the moon from her sight, but as her breath catches in her chest, she doesn’t mind.

“You were saying?”

“Mmm…”

Emma thinks sand will get stuck in her hair. And it’s going to be a pain to wash it out. But that’s okay.

They’re only twenty-three, murmurs her inner voice, they’re allowed to be young and stupid and messy and –

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t take us another ten years to figure our shit out. Wouldn’t be nearly as sexy.”

“Speak for yourself, Swan.”

“Idiot.”

And without a second thought, or a first, she raises her face to capture his lips, drink his breath, because she is allowed to, and this is right and all she’s ever wanted.

.

Up the beach, down Main street, Killian and Emma walk along the roads of their childhood.

Emma doesn’t know where they are going, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not just yet.

Fear is of course lurking in one deep corner of her mind, but it is easy to ignore it while her hand is safely tucked in his.  

“Where are you staying?” she asks as they shift to stare at one another.

Granny’s green B&B sign flashes behind Killian’s back.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Granny’s.”

Emma remembers New York’s cold street lights, and the snow melting onto her lips, and Killian’s damp hair, and the sad glimmer in his blue eyes and her cold, shaking hand in his.

It was the night she decided to give him up, not knowing, not knowing he cared too.

It was the night she would have burned in hell to hear him invite her into his hotel room.

(Was it worth it, all the pain, in the end?)

“Fancy a last drink, Swan?”

Streetlights dabble gold beams into his blue eyes.

She nods, a little out of breath. Something soft and awful swallows her from inside.

“Yeah.”

And down the road, up the stairs, they go, hands clasped together. Her bracelet jingles up the stairs.

Emma remembers standing on his porch before her eighteenth birthday party, forehead pressed to the door, eyes locked on her phone screen, heart beating fast, fast.

“Come in whenever you want, I’m ready!” And her stomach twisting at his reply.

Things were so easy while she was still convinced that she was in love with him and she would never love anyone else and they had all the time in the world.

She was wrong, but that’s also fine.

(Isn’t pain just pain?)

Click, he’s unlocked the door, and Emma steps forward to gaze inside. Beyond Granny’s questionable decoration choices, everything is clean and proper and Navy and Killian. What a relief.

It is quite late now, and exhaustion burns Emma’s eyes, circles her throat and crudely brings to light her fears and insecurities. She feels bare, exposed, vulnerable under the dark green chandelier.

For a short moment, she fears there will be too much to mend between them, too many scars over their chest for them to offer their hearts again.

“Make yourself at home, Swan.”

The red leather jacket is dropped onto the bed just as he neatly folds his own on a chair by the wall.

And she keeps staring at those four walls, at this cramped room, and she thinks a month ago she was marrying someone else.

She’s still scared. Is she supposed to be scared?

“You okay, love?” he nudges her.

His hand softly grabs her shoulder.

She shrugs. If she is honest with herself, she does feel a little bit overwhelmed. This room is too silent. She can almost hear past echoes of their hearts breaking.

“Yes, I’m just…”

“Reminiscing?”

A smile. “That’s not the word I would have gone for, but yeah.”

His hand hurtles down her arm and slides into hers. His touch still shoots electric trails all over her skin.

“Want to sit down, Swan?” A nod, and he’s tucking her down with him.

When Killian switches on the small outdated TV on the wooden table in front of them, Emma sighs in relief.

And when still no words echo between them, Emma feels his eyes burn the skin of her cheek.

New York again. A cold bench. The snow falling onto his hair. This pain, in her chest, as he utters her name. Milah.

(Pain is just pain.)

“What are you thinking about, Swan?”

She blinks, licks her lips. Breathes in.

Will not look at him.

Augusta airport this time. His back, his image printed in blood over her retinas, this dark shape she cannot forget, forever turned on her.

“The past.”

The pain.

Storybrooke’s town hall. Her weary eyes twitching back and forth from Neal towards the door. Begging Killian to appear. And he doesn’t. (Or he does, but he’s too late.)

“Listen, Emma,” and his fingers have found hers again, and they are soft, and she looks up to discover his eyes even gentler, and his lips spread in a tender smile, “The past is behind us and we cannot change it.”

“But there’s been so much pain…”

She sounds like she is twelve again, she can almost touch Ingrid’s wooden fence under her fingers, can almost feel the tingling fear that a splinter might get stuck in the tender skin, and she can almost smell the yellow irises, and it almost brings her to tears.

“I know. But we can do better now.”

She nods. Can they do better? What if all of this is just a chimera and they’ve both idealized their love and what if … What if none of this is real?

She should sleep. Her eyelids are heavy and her eyes burn.

But then his hand cups her cheek, and its warmth brings her back to reality, tethers her. Her own palm settles above his as she leans into his touch. Closes her eyes, for just one bit.

She is so tired. Morpheus is luring her into his arms.

“As long as I am alive--” Oh, but then he is talking, and his voice is velvet against her skin, and she opens her eyes to stare at him. She’s pretty sure he can hear the thump of her heart. “--you can live with the conviction, Swan, that I will always be by your side.” A pause. “Always.” Another silence, his words sinking into her skin, as his fingers trace butterflies along her neck. A smile. “I’ve always been in love with you. From the moment I met you.”

Oh. Her eyes widen. Thump, thump.

She is swallowed by a gigantic wave of confused feelings. She thinks an earthquake is shattering the windows and shaking the walls. She thinks a tear rolls down her cheek, but she is not crying.

And it’s not like she didn’t know, she knew, but, but also she didn’t, for so long, and this is all very confusing and unexpected but very much expected, and he keeps staring at her and she doesn’t know what to say, for fuck’s sake.

And the only answer she can come up with is her trembling hands caressing his cheeks and then slowly grabbing the lapel of his t-shirt, and then, finally -- the pressure of her lips against his. Tender, at first, and then furious, desperate, hungry.

She wants to tell him, I loved you when you walked away from me, the first time, and the times after that, as well. I loved you although you never looked back at me, and I couldn’t look forward. I loved you when you were avoiding me, and I loved you when I didn’t think I loved you anymore. But mostly, I loved you from the moment I met you.

Instead, she presses her mouth into his, fiercely, for all of those times she wishes she had been brave enough to kiss him and she didn’t.

And Emma forgives them both. Forgives their past mistakes and heartaches.

They will do better. (They want to, and that’s already half of the journey, isn’t it?)

.

A number. Nineteen. Emma’s nineteen tonight. He’s been for a while now. (He feels a hundred years old since Liam left. Feels like he’s been holding his breath for centuries. Only the pain doesn’t flatter.)

They’re on a rooftop. Emma’s pink dress floats in the wind, much like a pirate flag. Her smile, that night, is bright, vivid, infuriatingly confident as she glances down at his lips.

The waves crash against the sand, back and forth, back and forth.

Her body is warm against his chest. Both of his hands hold her waist.

Time stands still, as she stands up on her tip toes and kisses him.

It’s an explosion, then, in his chest. A mercurial bliss.

And this time, he catches her before the fall. He doesn’t let her go. This time, his grip is secure around her waist, his fingers firm around her hips as she stumbles forward and they chuckle together.

This time, she doesn’t forget their kiss.

No.

Instead, she stares deeply into his eyes and she says: “I’ve been meaning to do that for a while, now.”

And he says: “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

And if everything is easy, it’s only because it is a dream.

.

A ray of sunshine tickles Killian’s eyelids. His face crinkles, he groans, opens one hesitant eye.

Bloody hell. What a dream. Or a nightmare, he cannot really tell.

There is a weight against his chest, bitterness at the back of his mouth.

He glances down. Emma. She fell asleep in his arms last night while he was slowly rocking her, and they forgot to close the shutters and now Killian will never fall back to sleep again.

His eyes still burn.

He gazes at her face buried in the hollow of his neck, blonde hair across his chest. He smiles.

A hospital room, eight months ago. A blinding, golden light. Her sleepy smile. “Oh, you’re awake?”

He would pinch himself if he had a hand to spare.

Those six months, without her, thinking she didn’t want him, were some of the bleakest of his life.

It was like losing a limb, only he lost two. And he had to keep on learning how to walk without an anchor, how to live without a hand and without hers to hold.

And then, David’s call, one morning.

“They broke up, Killian. Neal found your letter. I think you should do something about that, or I will personally come to murder you in your pitiful apartment, do you hear me?”

Emma snores lightly against his skin. He traces the shape of her jawline with gentle fingers.

He is terrified. Perhaps it is the only way to be, for now.

Perhaps it is good. It means they’re trying. They’re evolving, together, for the first time in ages.

A grunt, her small hand spread across her face, she’s starting to wake up, he can tell.

There is still a lot of sadness in his chest, for the boy who loved a girl and suffered deeply for it. For the boy who lost everything and still managed to lose more through the years, until there wasn’t anything left to lose.

Liam’s smile from his car window. A wave. And then void, nothing.

Killian clenches his jaw.

“Hey,” a small voice groans, “if you keep staring at me while I sleep, it’s going to get creepy.”

A grin.

“Sorry love, couldn’t sleep.”

Emma lifts her chin, green eyes shimmering in this golden morning light, and she tries a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Killian.”

“Morning, Emma.”

“Am I crushing you under my weight?”

“I think I’ll survive, love.”

She still hesitates to kiss him, he sees it in the small start of her head backwards, so he bends forward to kiss her.

It’s a sloppy morning kiss, but he wants all of them.

Last night, they absolutely did not take time to undress. Emma fell asleep like a rock, and he was too afraid he’d wake her up to try and remove his clothes.

But she seems very much awake as her legs curl around his hips, and it is very hard for Killian to ignore the way her dress climbs back up her thighs and gives away the beginning of her red panties.

He can feel his cheeks become hot and red, and suddenly Emma’s smirking at him.

“Like what you see?”

He swallows down.

“It’s quite alright, aye.”

A squeeze of her thighs around his torso, he is trapped, and his heart leaps.

“Alright?” she repeats. “That’s definitely a disappointing answer.”

As for Killian’s heart, it’s practically bursting out in his chest by now. He gulps.

He cannot say he hasn’t thought a lot about it, what it would feel like to go beyond a simple kiss with Emma. How her skin would taste under his tongue.

He may have started to think about it at around age fifteen, when he saw her come back from summer vacation all tan legs out, and he can still hear Liam’s mocking tone “If you open your mouth any wider, little brother, you’re going to swallow flies.”

The thoughts worsened after their kiss. There were some lonely, desperate moments as well during which he imagined tracing the shape of her body, much like his fingers flutter against the side of her leg right now.

His eyes don’t leave hers, scrutinizing her to know if he is allowed to go further.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, Emma,” he whispers.

The wicked smile she shoots him is a sufficient answer. “Oh don’t worry, I want to.”

And then her lips find his again and his fingers are gripping her thigh now, clutching her skin, leaving marks, climbing back up some more and feel the soft skin right under the fabric of her dress.

She moans against his mouth, and it’s a wonderful sound, and suddenly they are both wearing far too many clothes and they have to hurry or they’ll combust into flames.

Emma straddles him just as her nimble fingers pull her dress up and throw it over her head.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself,” he mumbles and it’s very hard to look anywhere else but at her naked body.

But she’s already getting impatient with his t-shirt, and she groans. “Come on Killian, help me. Raise your arms up.”

“Didn’t think you’d become such a morning person, Swan.”

She laughs a bit as his t-shirt hits the floor in its turn in a muffled sound, and she does this thing where she stops to gaze into his eyes and he will die for a lack of oxygen.

He watches as she swallows, ogling him.

“Some things are worth waking up for.”

And then she’s melting into the skin of his neck as her fingers sift through his hair, and Killian ceases completely to think.

.

A month later -- Augusta Airport.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest. Her hold is gentle but her lips form a firm line.  

As she stares at the Arrivals Board in front of her, the beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs. 

He’s only been gone a week, mumbles her inner voice, but Emma’s too happy to pay attention to her pride. 

She glances up, and a breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.  

“He’s landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She glances down, careful not to damage the beautiful bouquet Ingrid offered last night, over the dinner table. 

“I know how much he loves them,” Ingrid smiled. 

Another look at the clock. He should be here any time now. 

Her heart skips a blissful beat. 

A part of her still cannot believe this is real. That he is coming home, for good, that Emma found them a cute apartment near the beach and they’re going to get everything they’ve ever dreamed of.  

“Are you sure you want to do this...I mean, we could wait, and I could go back to Ingrid’s for a while…”

A butterfly in the dark, a kiss in the night. 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything…” 

Gazing all around her, Emma spots the familiar large window in front of her. It still shows a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. Well, that will never change. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair. 

It is now mid September in Storybrooke, Maine, and Emma has to admit she’s missed him.  

It wasn’t the kind of missing him she was far too familiar with only two months ago. It wasn’t a burning ache in her chest. It was just like losing your glasses and finding them again on your bed table, where you left them. It’s a kind of missing she knew to end. And it made a great difference. 

As she remains very still, feet stuck to the ground, she remembers shaking, bouncing up and down on her feet, waiting for him to come back the first time, four years ago. 

Nothing’s really changed. She is still Emma and he is still Killian. Except everything’s changed. 

It feels like another lifetime. Emma smiles down at the flowers in her hands. A very peaceful sunflower blooms in her chest. 

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

And she waits, knowing her love is about to arrive. 

Another few minutes go by, and time seems to slow down. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Come on, relax, Emma. 

And then… And then, there he is.

“Killian.” The blissful whisper escapes her throat as a brutal wave of bliss sweeps her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back. It isn’t scary anymore.

  She’s somehow thankful to notice he hasn’t changed one bit, but it’s only been a week, what was she expecting? A tender hue of blue meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma, my love,” he mirrors her happy sigh. 

Her heart beams as they walk towards each other, their pace sure and quick and knowing, and in a few steps he lets go of a thousand suitcases to pick her up from the ground. 

  “Careful, Killian, your flowers,” she complains even as her feet quit the floor.

And she tries to hold the bouquet away from his face, but he doesn’t seem to care and presses a long kiss to her mouth instead.  

She sighs happily into his embrace, wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she is only too familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair.

“I missed you,” he exhales against her cheek, and drops another kiss to her cheek. 

She slowly backs away, smiling. “It’s only been a week…” 

He raises an eyebrow that challenges her to lie some more. She chuckles, crinkles her nose, mumbles: “Okay, I might have missed you too…”

He sighs a dramatic sigh, rolls his eyes. 

“Now, you nearly gave me a heart attack, Swan. I was this close from flying back to Portsmouth.”   

Idiot, her inner voice snorts, unimpressed. But her heart isn’t very concerned, and a giggle jolts out of her throat. Even her cheeks give her away, flush furiously, and she hates them for it - come on, it’s been a month now. 

Her hand lingers on his face, tracing the little scar on his cheek.  

“Are you going to take those flowers, or should I keep them for myself?” She attacks in a coy, sharp tone. 

He flutters his eyelashes. The fucker. 

“If the lady insists.” 

A roll of the eye, a bright smile, and Emma’s heart sighs -- defeated. And the flowers carefully slip into his hand. 

He drops another kiss to her lips. “Thank you, love.” 

“Of course, Killian.” 

And then there is this very dramatic moment during which they both stare at his three enormous suitcases and wonder how the hell they are going to make this work. 

“Damnit. Did you have to take your whole life with you?” 

“Well, a blonde lass did ask me to move in with her.” 

Her fist punches his shoulder, playfully. Another sigh echoes all through the airport’s hall. 

“Well, let’s go, I guess.”  

She’s quick to grab the bag he let go of to hold her and seizes two red suitcases. And he watches her, the fucker, flowers in the crook of his arm and the third suitcase secure his hand. He seems infinitely entertained. 

“Don’t you dare laugh in my face, Killian Jones.”

“Well, if it weren’t for the flowers, I could maybe hel-”

“-- NO. You keep the damn flowers! For once Ingrid offered them.” 

And as they are walking down the airport like old times, Emma knows they’ll do better. They already are doing better. 

(Emma thinks pain is just pain, and they should have known sooner, they should have known better but she also thinks that doesn’t matter because surely there is no kind of pain that cannot be absolved by a lot of love.)

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@yasbio2015 @bubblegum1425 @daenerysmyhsa @dancingnancyy @elizabeethan @farewell-courgette  @beca0912 @stina-g @tenaciouskittynightmare @noensnaringnet @klynn-stormz @sekretny13 @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @brustudyblog @peggyyswan @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @courtorderedcake @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @teamhook @mariakov81​ @folkloreismylullaby​ @officerrogers​

(Might write some missing scenes, and add a few bonuses to this story, so if you’ve got anything in mind you’d like to read, hit me up ;) (actually hit me up for anything and let’s be friends.) 

[random-mha-thoughts]

Smile (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader

For anon (request)

Genre: Slight angst to fluff

Summary: Shinsou has a crush on someone in 1-B and works up the courage to ask them on a date.

Tags: @wwwwyamd​ @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

Word count: 1,680

a/n: Ah, I missed writing for my tired purple boy. I just miss him in general, when I was searching for fanarts to post, I really was like “Damn I really miss Shinsou.”  How many of you agree?

So this is a request that some of you have seen already, but I don’t quite want to spoil anything for anyone who’s new, so I’ll post it at the end.  I'm glad I was able to extend this longer than I was planning, because I really only had just the one scene from the request in mind vividly and the rest I wrote as I went along.

I have 3 more requests, but I'm gonna take a break from them so I can write some of my own original ideas before starting those up again, so look forward to that!  Enjoy this one!

(Also gender neutral pronouns they/them coming through!)

Buy me a coffee?

Shinsou first saw his crush at the beginning of the first semester.  He was taken by their quirk, a pretty flashy light quirk.  From what he overheard while they were telling their 1-B friend - he was totally not stalking, Shinsou doesn't stalk people - they can control the color of the light to do different things.

"Red light is a heat laser, green light heals, yellow warms things, blue cools things," they explained, the proudest smile on their face.  "I'd say it's pretty versatile.  And the more saturated the colors are, the more powerful they work!"

Shinsou was already intrigued by their quirk, but seeing their face light up was like icing on an already delicious cake.  The sparkle in their hazel eyes, adorably smaller form that's the right right height for him to kiss their head, a smile he already decided he wanted to protect.  If only he could go over there and ask them to tell him more about their quirk, but he was afraid that his intimidating figure would scare them away.  Discouraged, he walked back to his own class to mope.  Crushes and him never worked out in the past anyway; once they found out about his quirk, they would either run for the hills or try to abuse him.

However, he still longed to be with them.  He found himself naturally searching through a crowd to find them.  Each time, they would have the most brilliant smile on their face as they chatted with their friends.  It always put a smile on Shinsou's face that they were happy being in the company of good friends.  More and more, he found himself craving them to smile at something he said, to pat their head to greet them, just to hold them in his arms for a warm hug.  It became less of a want and more of a need, but he held himself back for his heart's sake.

After the Sports Festival came and went, Shinsou had a change of heart.  He's not a villain, he will only appear that way if he comes off like that.  He won't let his quirk define him, and he'll make a much more pleasant impression so they wouldn't think of him as dark.  He took the opportunity to work on himself as a person, gain more confidence in himself so he can put his best foot forward.  He's won't let himself lack in any department, he'll only show the best parts of himself and present himself to them in a new-and-improved form.

After training with Aizawa for a while - not to mention bulking up quite a bit to improve his chances - Shinsou decides on the right time to face them.  The purple haired boy practically shakes with anticipation the entire day.  During his last class, he rehearses the words he's wanted to say since he first saw them.

"You're such a bright, shining person.  To me, you stand out among everyone else.  I'd like to get to know you better, would you mind going out with me?"

He second guesses every word and intonation, convinced that even the slightest error would throw the entire mood off and send the whole thing crashing down.  He won't let that happen.

The final bell rings and Shinsou's practically the first person to jump from him seat, throw his belongings haphazardly into his bag, and rush out the door of the school building.  Stationing himself at a nearby bench, he waits for them to come out, tapping his foot impatiently while still trying to look casual shoving his hands in his pockets.

Scanning the crowd of exiting students like a human radar, he searches for that smile he adores.  His heart practically beats out of his chest when he locks onto them, homing in on them without paying any mind to the surrounding students.  He collects himself and breathes, keeping in step behind them.  They're talking to a friend of their's, going on about hero training and homework.  He could listen to them talk indefinitely if he wanted, but then he wouldn't have the chance to confess his feelings.

Just you practiced big guy, go on.  Do it for that precious smile.  Shinsou gathers his wits and approaches just a bit closer.  Do I say "hey?'" "Hi?"  "Yo?"  Damn it, just do what's natural!  Calm down!  He bites the bullet.  "Hey."  He's proud that it sounds casual enough.

The apple of his eye turns around curiously, their smile just faltering slightly from their conversation with their friend.

Take it away big guy.  "Hey, I noticed you around.  I think you're-"

It's then he notices.  The way their eyes widen, the smile drops completely from their face, their skin turns pale, and Shinsou isn't sure why.  He's sure he didn't say anything wrong, he's barely said anything.  "Is-"

They let out a yelp and hide behind their friend, squeezing their eyes shut and quivering.  Beyond bewilderment, Shinsou's chest hurts as his world darkens.  The one person he wanted to smile at him and lighten his life plunged him into despairing blackness.  All his fear of people hating him for his quirk and being frightened of him resurfaced.  He feels naked, vulnerable, and ashamed all at once standing there frozen.

"You have to forgive them, it's not your fault."  The friend offers a sympathetic smile.

"Did I do something wrong?"  The entire ego he's spent the last few months popped in two seconds flat.

"No, it's not you, trust me."  The girl pats the frightened soul behind her on the had to comfort them.  "You see, they have a deathly fear of purple."

It almost sounds like some twisted joke, a prank the universe was playing on him for some unknown reason.  "Oh.  I see."  That's all Shinsou manages to say in response.  At least he's doing his best not to show how heartbroken he is.

"Sorry about that," the girl flashes another sheepish smile in half-comfort while his crush drags her away by the arm to escape  what anyone from the outside would think is a monster.

And the monster is him.

Shinsou is way past disgruntled once he gets home.  He doesn't know what to do now, what can he do now.  Giving up would be the easiest thing to do, especially with how dejected he feels.  The thing that hurts him the most is his sunshine who he never saw without their smile didn't smile when they were around him, all because of something else about him that he can't change.

He swiftly sits up from his laying position as an idea strikes him.  Or can he?

Two weeks later, Shinsou shows up to school so people barely recognize him.  He'd bought one of those hair coloring conditioners in black and washed his hair with it last night, and the brown colored contacts arrived shortly after he placed his order online.  Shinsou isn't the type of guy to give up that easily, and for someone he really wants to get to know, he'll make it work.  If he can temporarily change his appearance just to get to know them first, maybe he can be the one to help them get over their fear little by little.

Shinsou brushes away all the comments about his drastic appearance change; he's doing it for them and that's all that matters.  He decides this time to just approach them at lunchtime, no dramatic openers or well-timed moments; a friendly conversation is just as good an introduction as he can get now.

He approaches them while throwing away their lunch alone, tapping their shoulder.  "Hey."  He holds his breath when they turn around again, eyes scanning his figure for recognition.  "You don't know me, I'm in 1-C, we haven't spoken before."

A friendly grin spreads on their face.  "Oh, it's good to meet you!"

The boy inwardly cheers in victory.  "I'm Shinsou, your name is?"

"(Y/n)."

He rubs the back of his neck.  He wants to be honest, but doesn't know how they'll take it.  "I tried to talk to you a few weeks ago, but you were startled and ran off before I could say anything."

Their hazel eyes widen slightly before guilt morphs into their features.  "Oh, you're that guy.  I'm really sorry I did that to you, I must've made you feel awful."  They groan, a sound Shinsou admittedly finds cute, red color rushing to their cheeks, "And you even changed your hair color and everything, I'm really sorry!"

"Hey, it's okay."  Shinsou offers empathetically, "You shouldn't feel bad about things that you have no control over."  He knows that feeling all too well.  "I put the effort in because I want to get to know you better, it's not something you should feel bad about.  I think you're cool, from what I've seen.  We should hang out."

The boy can tell how taken back but grateful they are, a deep rooted appreciation shines from their eyes and more color saturating their cheeks.  "I'm not that special, but I think you're a cool guy for doing this for me."

Shinsou's heart can't help but feel captured once again by their vulnerability.  "It's what's on the inside that matters, I guess.  Can I join you for the rest of lunch?"

And finally, he's rewarded with what he's wanted to see:  His bright light shows him a beaming, toothy grin that crinkles up their eyes and puffs out their cheeks; it's a smile that's directed straight at him.  As his heart thumps wildly in his chest, the boy thinks he can die happily in this very moment.  "Of course!  Let's go sit."

It takes him a moment and a cough to clear his throat before he's back on Earth, nodding and following them back to their table.  As they walk next to him, he steals a few glances down, hoping that nothing else goes wrong.  Even if they do, he knows he'll have to find a way to work around them.  With that battery-charging smile, he knows he can figure out the solution to any problem.

So the full request from Anon was: “Hey you could take ALL the time at this but it wouldn't be sad if Shinsou's crush, the reader, is porphyrophobic. That means the reader is scared of the color purple. Have a good day!"

I hope I did it justice, it was originally gonna be just full angst, but it would only be drabble length, so I took it a step further.  I hope it made you guys feel all warm inside :3